Page 1 of Monstrosity
PROLOGUE
Rio
The abandoned Tyson meat processing plant squats in the industrial wasteland like a tomb, all broken windows and rusted metal bleeding into the Florida night.
It’s the perfect place for what needs doing.
My phone buzzes as Tor kills the engine.
Doran's name lights up the screen, along with a simple message:
Gift delivered as promised. Enjoy.
I pocket the phone without responding. The Bratva prince keeps his word—I'll give him that.
Three hours ago, he texted intel about Miguel Santos making a late-night pickup at this exact location.
Personal favor, he said.
But this isn't about favors or alliances.
This is about Flora.
"Place gives me the fucking creeps," Bodul mutters from the passenger seat, eyeing the plant's skeletal frame.
Kid's barely twenty-six, still thinks prospect work is about riding bikes and looking tough.
He'll learn tonight that our world runs on different fuel.
Blood fuel.
"Good," I say, checking my Glock before sliding it back into its holster. "Creepy means isolated. Isolated means no witnesses."
Tor kills the headlights, plunging us into darkness thick enough to taste.
He's been with the Raiders longer, knows the drill.
Knows what I am when the leash comes off.
"Target secured?" I ask.
"Zip-tied to a chair in the main floor kill room," Tor confirms. "Been there twenty minutes, probably pissed himself twice by now."
"Good." I step out into air that smells like decay and old death. "Bodul, you're observing tonight. This is where you learn, not participate."
"What am I supposed to learn?"
I look at him across the roof of the car—this kid who thinks violence is about anger and passion.
Who hasn't learned that the most effective monsters are the ones who never lose control.
"How to make someone tell you everything they know before they die," I say simply. "And how to enjoy the work."
The plant's main entrance hangs open like a screaming mouth.
Inside, our footsteps echo against concrete that's seen too much blood over the decades.
Some of it animal.
