Page 15 of Vicious Hearts

But leading and guiding the Kildare empire is only one such avenue; just one of the several ways I keep the savagery inside of me in check. There are other methods I use—chemicals, like alcohol or nicotine. Channeled brutality, like the underground fights I sometimes indulge in.

Or, like tonight, giving in to my more depraved, carnal needs. Hence, Club Venom. And the blonde with the fucking knife.

And yet, all of these are merely stopgaps. They’re all…lesseralternatives to the one true avenue by which I can control the devil within.

Blood.

True violence.

Killing.

The rumors that surround me claiming I’m a crazy, unhinged psycho aren’t overblown. If anything, they pale next to the reality.

I am fullytwicethe monster they all say I am.

But the problem with being an abso-fucking-lutely confirmed psychopath is that life for me has become a delicate balancing act between giving into the base desires that at times almost overwhelm me, and understanding with blazing clarity that giving in to those base desires will almost certainly—eventually—mean prison. Or death.

Because giving in is a slippery slope.

So there are rules. And that’s how I’ve survived to the age of forty-one. By letting that violence out in channeled, controlled ways.

Or, if I’m going to kill—and believe me, Ido—it’s not wanton mayhem. It’s not like I go out and throttle coeds like I’m in some low budget 90s teen horror movie, or walk down a sidewalk spraying bullets like a maniac.

When I kill, it’s precise.

Warranted.

Needed.

Necessary.

My vision blurs as the pain intensifies. I needed the release tonight worse than usual. I needed to bleed out the darkness within me. One, because I alwayseventually need to, andwillalways eventually need to. But more importantly two, because Rome is fucking burning.

My empire is cracking and might collapse entirely.

Two months ago, a man—thedevil incarnate—that I’d once helped to put in a hole for life, escaped that hole. He came after one of my nieces, Neve, seeking retribution.

Seamus fucking O’Conor.

A true monster—and coming from me, that’s saying something. A former top hitman for the Irish mob who crossed too many lines with his barbaric brutality and wound up in prison.

The short version is, my late half-brother Declan—Neve’s father—cut a deal with the FBI to put Seamus away in exchange for the Bureau essentially turning a blind eye to Kildare family criminal activity in New York City.

Technically speaking, this made Declan a rat, even if the whole thing was sanctioned by the Irish Council of Clans. So to keep things smooth within the other major families, not to mention the Kildare tributary and vassal families, this little tidbit was buried.

Except two months ago, after he managed to escape prison, Seamus was put down by Neve’s husband, Ares Drakos, head of the Drakos Greek Mafia family.

Officially, of course, Ares wasn’t there at all, with credit for the kill going to our contact within the FBI. But needless to say, Seamus O’Conor—The Executioner, as he was known—escaping prison and then being killed has been top of the news cycle loop formonths. And with that much limelight shining on the whole thing, dirty little family secrets have gotten out.

Specifically, the one where my late and perhaps not so lamented half-brother colluded with the fucking FBI.

Suffice to say, this isn’t going over well with some of the Kildare vassal families.

At all.

So, yes, damn straight I needed to fucking get rid of some steam, or blow up, or do fuckingsomethingtonight. And in hindsight, given the fucking blade between my ribs currently causing an alarming amount of my blood to seep into the passenger seat of Castle’s Range Rover…

Murder would have beenfarsimpler than attempting to subdue my demons carnally tonight.

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