Page 2 of Controlled

Once the fucker was freed, he scuttled away like the vermin he was, even going as far as hugging the closest tree. His lips were puffy, one eye swollen shut. As he scanned the area, his chest was rising and falling from his ragged breathing.

My father took a step forward, holding his favorite spear in his hand. Tonight, he looked like a tribal warrior, a truly evil man. “Edward Vallerio, you have been found guilty of performing sins against mankind. For that, you have been handed down the punishment of participating in the hunt.”

He rarely explained why or what the rules were, but I had a sense tonight he was more than eager to toy with the man.

“What the fuck?” Edward managed. “You’re going to die. All of you.”

Even the way my father laughed was threatening to most men. Tonight, he was relishing his power even more than usual. He pointed his spear toward the participant. “Your fate has been selected. However, I am a fair man. You see the woods around you? The forest is thick for ten miles in every direction. But there is a path that can lead to your salvation, granting you parole. If you’re successful in reaching the finish line prior to being caught by one or more of my sons, then you will be set free.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Edward insisted.

There were things that should never be said to my father, including challenging his mental aptitude. I was certain he was going to lose his temper, which wouldn’t bode well for Edward. My father was shaking from rage, the man daring to defy him even having the audacity to laugh at Dad’s discomfort.

I prayed to God the asshole hadn’t ruined the night. We’d been waiting for over three months for a fresh specimen. I would gut the son of a bitch myself if he fucked up the event.

Finally, my father managed to rake his hand through his hair, smiling as if nothing in the world bothered him. That meant he would push us to increase our methods of torture to the highest point.

My favorite.

“You will have a ten-minute head start. In my mind, that’s fair. I suggest you don’t waste the valuable time.” He pointed toward the darkest part of the forest, staring Edward in his eyes.

“Don’t waste time,” Styx finally commented, mimicking our father as if on cue.

“You’re all fucking crazy,” Edward retorted as he wiped blood from his mouth. After he glanced at all of us, his expression changing to a pleading look when he turned his head toward our soldiers, he finally got the picture. The dumb fuck. It had taken him long enough. He finally took off running.

Our father pounded his chest, yelling like Tarzan. “Don’t let me down, boys. Make it painful and bloody.”

“Yes, sir,” we answered, watching as he turned toward the Jeep that had brought him to the starting line. As he climbed inside, he issued a battle cry, which we answered in kind. Only I also threw my head back and howled like a wolf.

Tonight would be the greatest testament of our faith and our abilities, a test to see if we were prepared for our illustrious futures. As the clock ticked down, my brothers and I communicated with our eyes. Very soon, all of this would belong to us.

I was far too eager as I pulled my favorite weapons into my hands, sliding several into my pockets, placing the gun into the holster, my least favorite but sometimes necessary. Then I lifted my beloved machete, the specs of blood from the last hunt remaining.

“It’s time,” Easton growled, finally feeling the excitement. As the two of them took off running, I waited just long enough to issue my favorite statement.

“Beware, little prey. The big bad wolves will find you.”

CHAPTER 1

Twenty years later

Creed

The stench of blood in the air was more enjoyable than it had been in a hell of a long time. The beast inside of me had already risen, demanding his pound of flesh for the betrayal. While lately I’d sent my men to handle losers and rats, my time taken with building the Saint Empire, including that of our weapons corporation, I’d craved getting my hands dirty.

I’d been determined to take out the assholes myself. I stood over one of them, fisting the broken man’s shaggy hair, staring down at his brutally beaten face. My soldiers had worked him and the other two men over prior to me arriving at what I liked to call my warehouse sanctuary. My family’s corporation owned dozens of buildings in Chicago, some worth millions while others were slated to be torn down. At some point. And this building in particular had been targeted for demolition in the next two weeks.

Fortunately, a new pad of concrete was about to be poured, the thick foundation of a brand-new arts building. Our family had ventured into less profitable but soul healing decisions including funding various arts programs in our beloved city. Well, Chicago was only home to two of the three Saint children, my older brother Styx returning to his life as a surgeon in Boston. However, he’d convinced Easton and me that providing a location for students in several artistic programs who couldn’t otherwise afford a formal education was ideal for our reputation.

Without actually trying, we’d become heroes in just a few months, our donations to the ballet, opera, symphony, and arts foundations bringing us the kind of recognition one couldn’t buy even with the billions of dollars we had. That had forced the typical haters of our main business operations to take a couple of steps back. Yes, we were the world’s largest and most profitable producers of combat weapons in the world. Our technology was off the charts, our designers and scientists creating everything from security devices to undetectable bombs.

That had brought us thousands of haters over the years. But we weren’t daunted, only careful who we sold to.

My thoughts drifted to longing for a hunt, the desire taking me back almost twenty years to when my brothers and I had been young and stupidly naïve. We’d cried for our mother who’d walked out on us. But I knew the truth, even if I hadn’t told my brothers what I’d found. I hadn’t needed to.

But the day I’d found her bones in a shallow grave on the property I still owned, the dress we’d last seen her in a dead giveaway, I’d ceased the hunts altogether. My father had killed her, driving a single bullet into her brain. Maybe I’d known it all along. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to believe it.

But it had added credence to how we’d all come together to handle our father’s brutality, taking out his hatred on his own children.

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