Page 9 of Poisonous Savage

"Timeto learn the ropes,Rosalind,"Marcohad said earlier, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder.Hismuscular frame loomed in the doorway. "Hunterexpects you to handle shit when he's not around."

Asdarkness swallowed the last light, the weight of his expectation settled heavily on my shoulders.Iturned from the window, the reflection of the queenIwas becoming staring back at me with eyes of smoldering coal.Ididn't ask for this life.ButIhad two choices: do or die.AndbyGod,Istill had so much to live for, even if it didn't include a marriage of love.

Footstepsapproached, deliberate and slow.

"Rosalind,"Sofia'svoice cut through the silence, sharp and clear.Herpresence commanded attention, her figure outlined by the flickering candles. "It'stime."

Timefor what?Thequestion hung in the air, thick with implication.Atest, perhaps.Aninitiation.

Ifollowed her, each step echoing ominously through the halls, past rooms where whispered secrets andconcealed weapons were commonplace.Westopped at the door, its surface cold and unyielding beneath my touch.

"Behindthis door lies your future,"Sofiastated, her eyes piercing into mine.Theyheld a challenge, a dare to step forward or retreat into the safety of ignorance.

Myhand pressed down on the handle, the metal biting into my flesh asIpushed the door open.Agust of air, laden with the scent of iron and sweat, rushed out to greet me.

Insidewas a tableau of the mafia's underbelly—men with faces hard as the guns they brandished, their gazes sharp and assessing.Acircle of power, and at its center, a chair that seemed more like a throne than a simple piece of furniture.

"Takea seat,"Sofiagestured, her tone brokering no argument. "Observe.Learn."

Theroom fell silent asImoved forward, each eye tracking my progress.Settlinginto the chair,Ifelt the ghost ofHunter'spresence, the echo of his dominance.Themen shifted, uneasy under the scrutiny of their boss's new queen.Marcostood behind me, his presence almost as impossible to ignore as the current that still thrummed between us.

Theair was thick with the promise of violence.Thesewere the challenges that lay ahead—navigating the treacherouswaters of loyalty and power, where one misstep could mean drowning in blood.

"Howthe hell can we trust the daughter ofTheBlackHands?"Oneman spat, his one good eye resting on my face as his glass eye rolled to the right.

"Hunterhas requested she see what happens at the council meetings.Ifyou don't like it, feel free to leave."Sofia'svoice was like ice.Whothe hell was this woman that she commanded so much respect?

"Whythe fuck is the cook here.Marco, get rid of this woman."Hesaid again before spitting on the floor beforeSofia'sfeet.

Ina flash,Marcowas in front of him, slicing into his neck with a knife that had serrated edges.Hedidn't stop until his head was parted from his body. "Anybodyelse has any stupid fucking questions?"Hesaid as he kicked the head into the corner of the room, not blinking an eye at the blood that was pooling all over the documents on the table.

"No... no, sir."Themen stuttered, collecting their thoughts.Theybegan to speak, and all of their plans and plots sounded foreign to me.Ilistened in relative confusion.

Hunter'sabsence was a void, but it was also an opportunity—an opening to prove my worth, to claim my place.Ifnothing else, my father had taught me to be shrewd.Itwas the part of meIhated the most.Beingable to manipulate people and sway them according to the outcomeIdesired.Now...Iwas grateful.Asmuch asI'dwanted to stay away from this world... it had found me and would consume me ifIdidn't teach it how to submit to me first.

So, here in this meeting that pulsed with the heartbeat of the underworld,Ibegan to mold myself into the queenHunterDesmondrequired, the ruler thatNewMexicowould come to revere—or fear.

MARCO

Iremember the first timeIsaw her,RosalindThorn, all grit and fire, in a dress that pulled at her curves, standing up to her brother like she was ready to brawl.Theair in the room had crackled with her fury, and every muscle in my body had tensed watching her.Shedidn't give a damn about the danger or the fact that her brother could crush her without breaking a sweat.Hereyes had blazed, dark and daring, and something in me had stirred.

"Backoff,Tony," she'd spat, fierce as any soldierI’dever fought beside.

I'dbeen atTony'sside then, his shadow, his right hand.We'dbeen through hell together, dodging bullets and swinging fists, our loyalty forged in blood and violence.TonyandIwere brothers in all but blood.Thickas thieves, they used tosay, and it wasn’t far from the truth.Sure, they were fromTheBlackHands, but it didn't matter.Tony,Hunter, andIgrew up together.We'dhad hopes of merging the clans, making one giant one.

Welived large, fast, dangerous—roaring through life on engines of pure adrenaline.Buteven asIstood there, memories of those wild days flashing through my mind, it was her courage that day that had seared itself into my memory, how she'd faced downTony, her own flesh and blood, for what she believed was right.Ithad been a sight to behold, wrapped in a giant neon sign flashing "no."

"Fuck,"Imuttered under my breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at my lips despite the darkness that usually clung to my thoughts.Thatgirl had guts.Andthat same spirit had captivated me, had me fantasizing now about her in waysIhad no right to do.

Tonynever knew how close he came to losing everything that day—not just his sister’s respect but my loyalty, too.Henever spotted the hunger in my gaze every timeRosalindwalked into the room or the way my fists clenched when he barked orders at her like she was a dog.Heknew she wanted nothing to do with that life, yet he tried using her to gain the loyalty of men who were far too old to be into the likes of her.Rosewas a year younger than we were.At18, we figured we had the world sorted out, but thatbeautiful little spitfire... she almost crushed it single-handedly because if any of those men had laid a finger on her,Iwould have killed them on the spot.

"Damnit,"Islammed my fist into the wall, turning away from my bedroom window.Icouldn't afford distractions, not with the world we lived in.Notwith the stakes so damn high.NotwithHunteras her husband.Hewas a wild card, if there was ever one.

ButRosalind... she was a distractionIcouldn't shake.Everycurve of her body, every defiant tilt of her chin—it was like a drug.Myhands itched to touch her, to claim her—and that desire was a betrayal of everythingIstood for.Loyalty.Family.TheCrew.

Iwas torn, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.Loyaltyto my brother-in-arms or the pull of a woman who could very well be my downfall.Fearechoed in my mind asIdebated on grabbing her and running, making a life for us somewhere up north,Canada, maybe.Justget lost in the wilderness.Awhisper in the wind.ButIknew better.Hunterwould track us.Killus both, just to say he could.Hewas the best trackerIknew.

Ipaced the room, each step a dull thud against the floor, each breath a battle against the image of her in my head.Thememory of her laughter, the sound of it more intoxicating than the finest whiskey, had me clenching my jawtight enough to ache.Whowould have thought thatI'dsee her here?Marriedto the likes of him?He'dnever bothered me as much as he did that day at the altar.Notrealizing the fucking gift in front of him.Thetreasure.

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