Page 2 of Hook

“Did you think it was funny sending me after those men who had nothing to do with Piero’s operation?”

My voice holds a deadly calmness that makes his entire body tense up. He can’t answer, but I don’t want his answer. This man dared to underestimate me, and that will be his downfall.

My hook glints in the light as I bring the tip closer to his face, sliding it lightly across his cheek and leaving another shallow cut to match the other.

“People that mess me about always die an excruciating death,” I say coldly.

His eyes dart around frantically, looking for a way out, but there’s no escape.

I drag my hook harder across his face, taking pleasure in the way he quivers.

His sobs fill the room and I can see the fear in his eyes; it’s an emotion that I love to witness.

I continue to carve deep gashes across his body, all the while admiring the way he bleeds. He can’t speak because of his broken jaw, but his muffled screams are like a symphony to my ears. If he was able to speak, he’d likely beg me for mercy.

But cowards like him deserve punishment for trying to deceive me. Pressing the sharp point of my hook between two of his ribs, just below his heart, I twist it with vigor as he screams in agony. That dreadful ticking noise still resonating in my head, driving me fucking insane. It may be gone from the room, but the sound never left my mind. I don’t understand how a clock got into my establishment in the first place.

With each stroke of my hook into his skin, more blood oozes out, and he shrieks louder. Finally satisfied with my artwork of carnage, I take a few steps back and grin at my handiwork — a barely conscious man lying in a pool of his own blood.

This is what happens when someone crosses me. They pay the price with their own suffering.

Reaching into my pocket, I carefully wipe off the congealed blood from my hook before unscrewing it and stowing it away.

Then, reaching for my prosthetic arm, I fastened it back on; my limb’s absence still causes a dull throb inside me.

I turn around to find Smyth standing in the doorway. His face is a mask of fear and his mouth is set in a grim line. “Leave him to bleed out and deal with the body later. Make sure you get Frank and Shawn to help, as I don’t trust them. Tell them what happened.”

“Yes, sir,” Smyth says, advancing into the room.

“Let this be a lesson for all the idiots who consider crossing me,” I snarl.

I feel his eyes on me as I pause at the threshold of Neverland’s basement before glancing back. “And Smyth,” I say, my voice low but laced with menace.

He swallows nervously. “Sir?”

“Never leave a clock in the room again... or it might be you sitting there.”

My gaze skims his shaking body before I spin around and climb the steps into my sex club, Neverland.

The darkness still lingers even though it’s morning. My rage feels so vast I can barely contain it. Blindly reaching for a tumbler, I pour myself a large scotch and take a gulp, letting it wash away whatever shred of humanity is left. The only thing that can silence the fury threatening to consume me is alcohol. I guess in that sense I have a similarity to my father, but most similarities stop there.

Piero Panarello deserves to rot in hell for all he’s done to me. He’s the one who stole everything from me and left nothing but a husk of a man, seething with anger at the world.

Losing my hand was the beginning, it made me angry, but Piero’s actions sent me spiraling into hell ten years later.

Our families were rivals in Los Angeles, but uniquely we had a comfortable pact and got along well. In turn, Piero and I were close friends as kids. We both grew to be highly respected members within our families and had a great deal of influence.

For a time, we worked together to strengthen both our organizations. We controlled different parts of the city, split it down the middle so that each family could have a slice of power. Together, we set up clubs, casinos and organized crime schemes to bring in more money for both outfits. It was a lucrative arrangement.

But then Piero betrayed me. He orchestrated an attack on my family’s headquarters while I was away at a meeting out of the city. The moment he betrayed me, I set up again with the funds I had to my name, only this time I was forced out of my city, Los Angeles, to San Diego.

There was less competition and I setup my organization under a new name, The Rogues. No family name. No way to tie it to me. I knew if Piero heard I was so close, he’d come and hunt me down. And now, The Rogues are going to return to Los Angeles to steal back what’s rightfully ours from that slimy son of a bitch.

“Hey, Cillian,” a feminine voice calls from the entrance.

It’s one of the bartenders, Crissy, or is it Kirsty?

Fuck.

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