Page 1 of The Merciless King

PROLOGUE

BRAXTON—Age 15

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“Come here, you little shit.” I laugh, scooping my arm around Amy’s waist and lifting her.

She’s five now and I like to think I’m a grown man. I’m not, but I’ve definitely got more muscles than other boys my age. I overheard my dad say that I was going to be big when I got older.

I’m old. I’m fifteen.

Well, I’m bigger than Amy.

Then again, she’s only five and she might as well be my sister, not my cousin. Her dad, my uncle, died when she was only two. My family has been supporting her mom, my aunt Tracey, while she grieved.

It was a sudden death. He was hit head-on by a truck late at night. Horrible. I was twelve when it happened and something inside me broke when I saw Amy’s little tears. I’ve been her protector ever since.

That’s what Mom calls me: Amy’s big protector.

“Let me go, Brax!” Amy giggles.

“You’re not going back into the ocean.” I carry her under my arm like a sack of potatoes as she wiggles around.

I do feel like a big strong man as I stomp up the sand, carrying her with just one arm.

Like Superman.

“Here she is.” I drop Amy on the grass and slap my hands together as if it was a job well done. She kicks at me playfully and pokes out her tongue.

“Nice work, son.” My dad says, then Amy tries to run off again.

I reach out and grab her.

“She’s as slippery as an eel.” I tickle her, grinning as she giggles.

“That girl isn’t going to get away with anything with you as her cousin.” My aunt Tracey says, almost as if she isn’t impressed, while sipping her margarita.

She drinks a lot of those. Too many, I heard Mom say. But we all, apparently, understand why.

She’s grieving.

I wonder when the grieving ends.

Or when she will start hugging Amy again. That’s why I like her staying with us—which she does a lot—because I make sure she smiles and gets cuddles.

So does my mom.

Most nights Amy ends up snuggled up on the sofa with her head on my lap. Don’t get me wrong, I hang out with my friends playing basketball and talking crap, but when I’m at home, Amy is like a little cling on...and that’s fine with me.

More than fine.

Especially when I see the sadness in her eyes when she climbs in the car to go home.

If I was older, I’d let her live with us full time.

“That little girl loves you, Brax.” Mom said to me one night, watching Amy snooze like a little kitten curled up beside me as I watched an action movie. “Don’t grow up too fast and break her heart.”

“Why would I hurt her?” I snapped back quietly so as not to wake her up.

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