Page 2 of Madness

With the proximity to Canada and the waterfront, we were able to traffic whatever we wanted through here with ease. There was none of the heightened security that the larger cities had. It helped that we had members of law enforcement in our pockets.

We weren’t the only Mafia family in Sayton City, but we were the most powerful. A power my father had earned years ago with blood. No one had dared to challenge our hold in the city since then.

I glanced at my now clean hands, missing the feel of the blood between my fingers. I already felt the disturbed energy building inside me again. The thrill I’d gotten from the torture was being replaced. It wouldn’t be long before I needed another release. But I would control it until the next time it could be used to my full advantage.

“Leif has been informed?” I asked Sebastian as he drove us away from the alley. Sebastian was the son of one of my father’s guards. We’d been raised together, and now he served under me in the family.

He nodded. “He called a meeting at the club.”

As expected. We needed to handle this threat before it grew. That wasn’t why the anger was building quickly.

“Where the fuck is Tristan?” He should have been there to intercept the cockroach before he infiltrated. Tristan was my uncle’s son. He was destined to take over a position as one of the capos, but someone needed to retire… or be eliminated first. Until then, he served with Sebastian.

Sebastian’s expression darkened. He didn’t like being a babysitter, and neither did I. “I’m not sure.”

“Find out. And if he doesn’t have a good reason, remind him of his place.”

It wasn’t an accident that I was born into this life. Born without a heart. Without a soul. Without the ability to feel guilt. To feel anything. I was made for it. Specifically created a little fucked up to survive it.

To thrive.

Rule.

Maybe I should hate it. But I didn’t. Not when my body craved the violent release. I couldn’t help how I felt. And I long ago stopped trying to figure it out or fix it.

This was the only way to live in the world of criminals. I loved the raw reality of it. Bringing humanity down to its most basic instincts. Survival.

Kill or be killed.

2

Kincaid

The crushing weight on my chest was too much. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to claw inside my body and rip it away. Stop it from choking me. I wanted to fight. To scream.

But it lived in me.

It wasn’t another person I could shove away. Or an object that was easily removed.

It was the weight of being born into a life I couldn’t escape. A life that only led to bad choices. Because they were no good ones.

Sometimes I wondered if it would be better to slit my wrists. To lie in the red. To watch my life drain from my body.

At least the weight would be gone. There would be no more decisions to make. No more pressing forward.

What was the point of this life anyways? We lived for brief, fleeting moments of happiness. Leaving us craving the next one. We walked around like junkies looking for a hit.

For some, it was drugs. Or sex. The lucky ones actually had other people that made them happy. I wasn’t one of the lucky few. Not anymore.

I had books. Stories I could get lost in. They gave me a reprieve from this life I didn’t ask for—the one I sometimes wanted to end.

But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’d made a promise.

So instead, I did what I did every time the pain became too much. I wiped the tears as I pushed off the bathroom floor. I stumbled to my bed and grabbed the book I’d left there.

It was an old paperback I’d picked out of the garbage at the library. People didn’t realize how many books were thrown away. Libraries and stores didn’t have enough space for them and often cleared out the old ones. Good for me because I couldn’t afford to fund my addiction.

I inhaled the unique scent. Something I would never be able to describe. But if you loved books, you knew the smell. It brought back the only happy memories I had. Memories of my mother reading to me. Nights snuggled in bed, before I realized our place in this world.

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