Page 2 of Lost Kingdom

His name alone makes men quiver at the knees. His existence makes the toughest, meanest soldiers tremble. But his complete and firm refusal to accept his throne, the one he was created to sit upon, pierces his adversary’s hearts with fear.

Where his father and grandfather had thrilled within the realm of brutality, Timothy the Third simply says ‘no’. Where two generations of Malones danced upon the ashes of those they destroyed and sullied the beds of women who never consented to be there, the third Timothy refuses to create a victim out of innocence.

Tim the Third is a different breed altogether.

He was bred to rule. Trained to demolish.

But he chooses peace.

That is, until his hand is forced. Then all bets are off.

1

TIM

THIS IS NOT MY HOME

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Boss.” Frank softens his tone, lowering his voice until I’m forced to press my phone closer to my ear. No one likes to deliver anything unpleasant to people in this family.

“Remove him from the club and keep eyes on him for the rest of today,” I order. My voice, unlike Frank’s, is harsh. Unbending. “He’s not using our clubs, which I figure is intentional. That means it’s gonna be more difficult to curb this shit. But you’ve gotta convince Sarge that he’s no longer interested in extending a line of credit.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Take away his supply. Cut him off and send him home before he makes a mess he won’t be able to clean up.”

Again, he snaps out an unflinching, “Yes, Boss.”

“Good.” I drag the phone from my ear and drop it and my hands into my pockets, while rage courses through my veins, punching with every beat of my heart until my bad mood only grows worse. I lower my gaze and stalk through the massive historical building in the heart of Manhattan. I have somewhere to be. Something particularly important to do. But for as long as my latest phone call echoes in the back of my mind, I walk the other way in search of fresh air.

“Mr. Malone.” A man and his date quicken their steps as we pass in thehall, music playing through every walkway. Every doorway. Every fucking room. The hum of a bass line and the melody of a woman’s sweet voice vibrate every wall.

Because my brother is getting married today, which means my decision to leave New York City more than sixteen years ago counts for naught now that I’m back. Just for a day. Two, at the most. I’m here to witness the nuptials. Protect my brothers. Welcome my new sister into the family. Then I’m putting my ass back on a plane and leaving this godforsaken city in my past.

Though Copeland is becoming less and less peaceful with every call I accept.

“Mr. Malone.” Another face. Another terrified man who dips his chin as we pass, white-knuckling the hand of a woman I suppose is his plus-one to Felix Malone’s wedding.

The second-born son. The noisiest, wildest, craziest of five. Where our father lacked morality and humanity, Felix lacks a filter and volume controls. When I refused to continue the family business, Felix stepped in and said he’d do it. And the only reason I haven’t slit his throat and ended a reign that never should have existed in the first place is because he’s not like my father or the man who came before him.

Felix rules because hemust.

A Malone has to have a seat in New York, or the gap left behind will be filled with men just like Timothy the Second. Just like the men currently making noise on the West Coast. And those men still hold grudges against our family. They’ll end a bloodline to make up for the crimes committed before we were born. And though I don’t particularly like the pricks who came before me, that doesn’t mean I’ll accept the eradication of those born alongside me.

My brothers will not die because of what our father did. I won’t allow it.

Thus, Felix’s ascension to leadership was out of protection and necessity, not a hunger for power. An acceptable distinction in my eyes. Tolerable, so long as he keeps the family business on this side of the country, far from the life I live in Copeland City.

“Mr. Malone.” Averted eyes. Pale cheeks. Men in suits and women in gowns hustle in any other direction to avoid a meeting with me. Fuck knows, maybe my rage is clear in my stance. My eyes. My very existence. These peoplewantto stop and talk. To introduce themselves. To socialize with power. But without a direct invitation, and with the presence of violence in my expression, they know better than to try their luck.

Also tolerable, considering my desirenotto partake in unnecessary small talk.

“Tim!” Finally, a voice I know, a command that has onlookers gulping. I slowly turn, forcing my lips into a grin. Albeit hidden behind the beard I keep short and trimmed. I finger the phone in my pocket and wait as Minka Mayet strides along the hall in an expensive gold silk dress.

She’s Archer’s wife. The second youngest Malone was the first to marry. And shit, she isn’t even the daughter of some high-flying gangster whose father sold her to a rival family, all to strengthen ties and blah blah blah.

“Where the hell have you been?” She grabs my sleeve and spins on four-inch heels, her bare shoulders showing off a scar on one side, and her dark hair tied so the ends tickle her shoulder blades. “They’re ready to get started, dummy. And you’re out here holding everyone up.”

“Ya know…” I change our grips, peeling her powerful doctor fingers from my suit sleeve and instead loop my arm through hers so we’re walkingtogether. Much better than her ball-and-chain impersonation. “It strikes me as entertaining that no one inside this building is brave enough to look into my eyes. But then there’s you, screeching at me to move faster and dragging me around like I’m not New York royalty.”

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