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PROLOGUE

“She was so flawed, so perfectly flawed. So perfectly flawed for me.”

—Atticus

Creed

In the world of monsters and men, there were no heroes, only villains. And they were very hungry…

The darkness couldn’t hide the smell of fear or the scent of copper, blood often drenching the trees and foliage. I was surprised how giddy I felt, the need for the hunt more overpowering than usual. I was hungry, my beast already out of control and the prey had yet to be dropped off.

I lifted my head as the vehicle approached, driving over the underbrush, the sound of the tires crunching on the fallen limbs making me lick my dry lips. I shifted from foot to foot, antsier than I’d been in a long time.

“You seem eager tonight,” my older brother Styx said from beside me.

I glanced in his direction as the headlights from what our father called the hunting machine showered the starting point with shimmering light. “The prey did kill five of our soldiers, taking a father from his kids.”

“Yeah, well, there are always bad men in the world of organized crime. What makes this asshole any different?” Styx was disgruntled, in a nasty mood from the last beating he’d received. However, nothing he could say would take away the joy.

“I’m sick of this shit,” Easton said, tossing his bag of weapons down and trying to walk away.

I yanked him back by the collar of his shirt, fisting my hand around his throat. “You know how our father feels about one of us not being here for the beginning.”

“Get off me,” he barked, pitching his fists against my chest. I was only a couple of years older, but I’d grown four inches in the last few months, increasing my bulk by almost twenty-five pounds.

“Father will be here any minute. Shut the fuck up or we’ll be added to the hunt.” Styx was right. Our dear ole dad didn’t take kindly to anyone ignoring the rules, including his own sons. A single infraction usually meant we were beaten. But anything egregious brought the kind of savagery that nightmares were made of.

I would never forget the moment we heard a loud popping sound followed by our father’s footsteps as he’d walked into our study room. He’d looked all three of us in the eyes, saying with no emotion that our mother had left.

It was the moment the three of us knew we had no one to count on but each other.

And our father.

The most dangerous man alive.

The vehicle rolled to a stop, two of our dad’s most trusted men climbing from the old car. They stood in front of the headlights, waiting as the protocol required. It didn’t matter that the trunk was closed. I could still hear the cries of the man picked up earlier in the evening. He’d been warned not to hassle my family or my father’s powerful regime. The fucker had ignored the helpful advice, choosing to take out decent men inside a diner only days before.

I shifted from foot to foot again, more eager than normal to get the hunt going. How many had my brothers and I participated in? How many assholes who’d dared defy us were rotting in their graves?

Within seconds, the air crackled from heightened electricity indicating my father’s approach. He enjoyed the pomp and circumstance almost as much as watching the brutal game via dozens of monitors while perched on his throne.

I grinned as our father approached while Easton was cowering in the shadows. He didn’t understand the need for the hunts, the ritual that had garnered our father his reputation. I relished the experience, learning how to be better than anyone else on the planet. Sadly, my two brothers didn’t feel the same.

As our father threw out his arms in a kinglike move, I found myself tingling all over. Some would say this was wrong, an abomination, that playing judge and jury should be left to the courts or to God. But I knew better. This was exactly what needed to happen in our world.

“A truly glorious night,” our father said, peering up at the heavens as if he was the truest savior of the world.

“Yes, Father,” all three of us chanted in unison while the two soldiers remained still. They knew their places within our father’s regime.

“Let it begin,” he commanded after taking a deep breath.

As required, the two soldiers headed to the trunk, taking their time to unlock it, finally jerking it open. They’d learned that almost as important as the artistry of the kill was the allowing of the utmost anticipation by the participant. As the fucker was dragged from the trunk, the light presented the blood and bruises he’d already received for daring to resist his fate.

The enemy had been stripped bare, buck naked as the day he was born. That’s the only way those who’d been judged should meet their maker.

He was tossed onto the ground, one of the soldiers grabbing the back of his neck with one hand as he reached into his pocket with the other, yanking out a pocketknife. Everything was ceremonial, including slicing through the thick rope binding his wrists together.

I was edgier than normal, perhaps because the man’s son had taunted me at school years before, the kid stupid enough to bully me inside one of the bathrooms. He’d learned his lesson, screaming for his mommy after I’d gotten finished with him. But sadly, the kid wouldn’t be forced to anticipate in the primal event. Even my merciless father had a certain number of scruples.

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