I’m sixteen years old, going on seventeen, and I think I’m the baddest motherfucker around. I’ve finally hit my growth spurt, shooting up to six feet, although I haven’t started to fill out yet. Sitting in a little bistro booth at the close of business with my brother, Dryas, I’m waiting for Uncle to call us to be of service.

Usually, Dryas and I just go around and collect the protection fees from local businesses, which is uneventful. But sometimes someone will get salty about paying. That or Uncle will call us in to help with a hit.

That’s what I live for, doing violent things to people who deserve them. Or don’t deserve them, I really don’t care. I just love the sound of bone-crunching, of fists smacking flesh, of a bullet exiting the back of somebody’s head full force.

But at the moment, no one needs me or Dryas for anything at all. So, we’re sitting in the corner bistro that the Cypriot favor, pissing off until we are needed. For Dryas, who is obsessed with weaponry, that means that he’s leafing through an American catalog of weapons. Sitting there with a look of total concentration on his face as he pores over the pages, ignoring the English words.

For me though, it means I’m drinking a cup of coffee and staring at Alice, the waitress I think is hot. A’s a few years older, out of high school at least. She’s not just hot, but also pretty, with blonde hair, big green eyes, and sun-kissed skin. She always wears these high-waisted shorts and a band t-shirt, tied up in the back so that they are really tight.

Right now, I am watching her bend over a booth on the opposite end of the restaurant. Her ass peeks out as she scrubs something out of the crevice of the booth. I imagine taking her by the ponytail and kissing her, hard enough that she would know what I’m all about.

That’s what men do. What I would do, anyway.

What I will do, I correct myself. Soon.

The door chimes. I scowl when I see Brandon, the older version of me. The older nephew of Uncle, he’s a Cypriot through and through. He didn’t even have to pledge anything to be in our gang, unlike me and Dryas. We got the shit beat out of us and we had to have four confirmed kills just to be part of the gang.

Brandon? He just walked in, years after Dryas and I were already hanging around, and took his supposed rightful place.

Yet another reason to be envious of that fucker.

He’s at least twenty-five, covered in tattoos and sporting a motorcycle jacket. He doesn’t even have a motorcycle, but Alice still straightens up and blushes at his mere presence.

Brandon nods at her, striding across the restaurant. His heavy black boots strike the ground, seeming to shake the air with every step. Looking at Alice, at the way she bites her lip and looks Brandon up and down, I know that it won’t be long before she’s his girl.

Unless I intercede, that is.

Brandon stops just a few tables past us, letting Alice head over to him.

“Can I get you something?” she asks Brandon shyly, the tips of her ears going pink. “I mean, the grill is closed, but I can get you some dessert if you want.”

He watches her walk over, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Nah, I want something better than food,” he says, smirking.

She goes a darker shade of red, glancing at me and Dryas. We’re the only ones left in the front of the restaurant, just waiting for her to kick us out. Dryas glances up from his catalog, then dismissing the whole scene.

Not me though. I sip my coffee and pretend not to be hanging on her every word.

“Oh, yeah?” she says coyly. “What’s that?”

Brandon grins wolfishly. “I wanna party. The guys are throwing one at their place, up the street. You need to come.”

Alice smiles. “Yeah? What kind of party?”

Brandon considers her for a moment, looking her up and down. “You’re coming. It’s going to be awesome. You’ll see. Go ask your boss if you can cut out right now.”

She bites her lip and turns toward my table. “Well, I still have customers…”

Brandon puts his fingers to his lips and blows, producing a sharp whistle that makes me grit my teeth. “You two! Get the fuck out. My girl has other places to be.”

I glance at Dryas, who just shrugs. We slide out of the booth, making our way to the door.

“Night!” Alice calls to us. But by the time I turn back to look at her, she’s already glowing at Brandon.

I push my way out the door, the chimes tinkling on my way. It’s nighttime in the city, and there aren’t many street lamps in this part of town. Frowning, I spit on the cobblestone street.

I glance at Dryas. “What now?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. We should probably be somewhere that Uncle can find us. We are on call, after all.”

I nod. “We should probably go back to the house and check on Damen.”

Without another word, we turn and amble down the ill-lit street.