Page 1 of Flames of Ruin

Prologue

Thirteen years ago - 2009

Three hundred and eighty-three people died at the hands of my father. The faces of all the people who perished that night run through my mind like a film reel. I have memorized all the names and families of those who died. The night I was too late to thwart my father’s vile plan.

Their memories chase me in my nightmares, as though their blood is on my hands, even though I was not directly responsible for their deaths. There is one whose face sticks out among them all. One who didn’t die that night but suffered tremendously, nonetheless.

The face of the young teenage girl flashing across the television screen looking lost without her parents will haunt me for the rest of my days.

And so it goes, a twenty-seven-year-old party boy and son to one of the richest crime lords and businessmen on the East Coast, made it his mission to hunt down any person who tries to harm an innocent bystander just to gain power in Edinburgh.

Bless me, Father, for I will atone for my father’s sins. No matter how big of a monster it may turn me into.

Blood of the greedy will run through these streets before I see them fall to the power of evil.

Edinburgh is my home, and the Dragon will protect it at all costs.

Chapter one

Drake

January 2022

Parked outside on the corner street of Anderson Holdings, I wait patiently for my intended target to make his move. Tapping my gloved fingers on the steering wheel, I carefully scan my surroundings. It’s one a.m. and the streets of downtown Edinburgh are strangely calm. My eyes snap up toward the windows of the twenty-fourth floor when the lights of the office turn off.

Within less than ten minutes, McCollough Anderson emerges from the front entryway of the building, accompanied by two of his hired private security. There has been talk on the dark web of three new players entering Edinburgh’s crime circuit. Not only is Anderson partners with a man I tried to take down years ago, he also traffics women through said partner’s share of the docks. He is known for having the most recent intel when it may come as a threat to his business.

Tonight’s takedown will serve two-fold.

After slipping on my mask, a black full face mesh balaclava that only shows my eyes, I quietly exit my car, fingering the syringe in my pocket and ensuring it is secure. Satisfied, I grab my Glock from its holster and turn on my heel toward Anderson as he makes his way to his armored SUV.

I stalk behind the three men, grinning and humming to myself. The anticipation of what’s about to transpire is building inside me. The excitement of Anderson getting what he deserves sends chills through my body.

Pausing for a step, I shake my head.

A surprise attack seems too easy. Let’s up the ante. Give them a bit of a head start. I long for a good chase.

Clearing my throat to bring attention to myself, I quickly raise my gun as one man turns around.

His eyes grow wide in realization.

“Well, hello there.” I smirk beneath the mask.

CRACK!

A bullet escapes the barrel of my gun and finds its way between the eyes of the security guard. His body falls limp onto the pavement, and the blood slowly pools at his head.

Anderson turns around at the sound of the gun and runs behind the armored car as his second security guard lunges for me. He attempts to throw a right hook at my left temple, but narrowly misses. I grab his wrist and twist it around, pulling his arm down simultaneously to meet the top of my knee cap as I thrust it upward. The sound of his elbow cracking as it inverts on impact rings through the night air along with his cries of pain.

He doubles over, groaning, cradling his now useless arm, and runs in the direction of his boss.

“Oh no, no, no. No witnesses.” I taunt as I walk toward both men.

I grab the security guard by his shoulder and whip him around to face McCollough, who is now staring at me bug-eyed and overtaken with fear. I wrap my right arm around the base of his neck, squeezing tightly so it begins to cut off his air circulation. Then I place my left hand at the top of his head and, in one swift motion, I crack his cervical spine. Just like the first man, his body falls flaccid in my arms, hanging limp like a puppet with its strings cut. His open eyes frozen in time, wide and fearful. The last emotion he felt before he died.

I smirk to myself. Nothing feels more glorious than avenging the lives of innocent people.

“Your turn,” I snarl, as I throw the lifeless body to the ground and stalk toward Anderson.

---