Ours To Tame

Chapter One

BLACK

“You understand what that means, don’t you, Robbin?” Sylvester murmurs as he straightens his suit, not that it was even wrinkled in the first place. Fucker always dresses like he’s ready to walk a runway. Though the cold calculation in his gaze lets you know he’s not just a pretty face.

I told him once I could scar his face for him, it might make others take him more seriously. I don’t know why he said no.

I, on the other hand, am covered in Robbin's blood, so is Alejandro for that matter. His scarred, tatted up knuckles bleed from the punches he delivered to our unhappy host. Munching on the guy’s crisps, I watch in glee as Alejandro delivers another brutal blow before stepping back. There’s a reason they call him Mad Dog in the ring—you don’t even see the big bastard coming. I’d know, I’ve fought him a couple of times. Those were good times, even if I did break some bones.

Blinking, I look back at the man in the chair opposite Sylvester. Robbin’s eye is ballooned shut, his lip split and cheek already bruising. And those are only the wounds you can see. I know there already are a few blisters forming under his shirt from where Sylvester let me have some fun.

Jake is leaning against the wall opposite me, his dice rolling between his fingers like always. His face, similar to Sylvester’s, is locked in a death stare with the man, waiting for something interesting to happen. It was Jake who brought this man to our attention, after all. But Robbin looks only to Sylvester—good. Let him think Sylvester is the only one in charge, we like to keep it that way. To have him as the face of our…company.

I snort at that, fucking company. We do have a few legit businesses, not that I have anything to do with them. I was deemed too insane to deal with employees after I burned one of their eyes out for calling me scum.

“Robbin, pay attention, I don’t like to repeat myself,” Sylvester snaps, so Alejandro grabs Robbin's greying, short hair and yanks his head back, a blade appearing in his hand, which he presses to the shaking man’s throat. Sweat drips down his face as he cries out, and I wonder if Sylvester will let me kill him.

It’s been a whole two days since I got to kill someone, and I’m getting restless.

“Yes, yes, I understand, take her!” he screams.

What a prick. The loser would sell his own daughter to cover his debt to us. I suppose when you don’t have the money to pay, and the only other option is to take it from your flesh…you become real easy on what you’re willing to do.

This city is ours, he would never escape us. He knows that, it’s written in the defeat in his brown eyes. I wonder if his daughter is better looking than him, either way, she’ll be ours now. We normally don’t deal in flesh, well, not live flesh, but beggars can’t be choosers.

A debt is a debt, and it has to be paid or others will start to think we’re going soft.

Sylvester leans back, a smirk curling up his pretty boy lips. Rolling my eyes, I step forward from the dark, and that’s when Robbin starts to cry. He knows what I am—death. Sylvester might be the face, Alejandro might be the enforcer, the muscle, and Jake the dealer…but me?

I’m the fucking Grim Reaper.

“Have her!” he screams, thrashing in Alejandro's grip, whose face tightens in disgust. Me? I laugh.

Leaning down, I get into his face, letting him see the madness in my gaze. My fingers itch to grab my lighter, to burn his house down with him in it until I hear his screams. Fuck, I can almost taste the fear, feel the flames licking me—my cock hardens in my trousers at the image.

“Tell me, when I burn her, will you care or not?” I laugh.

Alejandro grins, flashing perfectly white teeth. The bastard is almost as crazy as I am, probably from one too many blows to his massive head. I smirk at him. “I wonder if she bleeds as pretty?”

“Enough,” Sylvester snaps, so I move away, doing as I’m told. “Where is she?”