Oh, how the kill will be worth it.

Chapter 2Micah

Many were uncomfortable in the dark, even more so amongst the company of the dead. I never understood why. The dead could not speak, could not plot, manipulate or betray. Certainly more trustworthy than the living.

I wove my motorbike through towering tombstones and opulent mausoleums. Nightingale Cemetery was an entire mini metropolis, the most affluent and sought after location for the afterlife in Junction City. One would only find their end here if they had a family plot, which resulted from superior pedigree, significant wealth or notoriety of the highest order.

I screeched to a halt before the intimidating statue of Stern King, stabilising one foot over his sarcophagus at my feet.

Our forebear stood vigil at the entrance of our family crypt, the King Mausoleum looming high over his back, the streaks of approaching dawn reflecting brightly off the glowing white marble. Our sigil stabilised directly centre, the pure 24k gold crown symbolising our leadership of the longstanding crime organisation, the Sovereign.

A familiar ache tore at my conscience, an unrelenting grief ever-present and vicious in its undertaking. The reminder of our losses was acutely overpowering when confronted with our ancestors’ eternal resting place—empty of two main occupants.

Our father, Oliver King, was a difficult death to process. He’d always seemed invincible, an untouchable entity that could never be caught off guard.

However, my three sisters and I were close, completely aligned. Breathing, moving and existing together as one cohesive unit since our births. All four of us were sixteen when the eldest, Chase—our leader, our fucking guiding light—was taken from us. The remnants of her loss still reverberated through our bond, the cavern of despair magnified by the absence of her physical remains.

After her death, I naturally transitioned into the leadership role, being the second-born and next in line. A title I neither revered nor wanted, responsibility forcing me to take command to ensure my younger sisters’ safety.

I shook my head, releasing the useless emotions and past regrets. Grabbing a thin knife from my boot, I nicked a tiny incision at the base of my wrist, red droplets staining the surface of Stern’s engraved name.

The sarcophagus released an audible groan, descending into the labyrinth of the deceased. I hit the throttle, darkness swallowing the illumination of my headlights as I navigated sharp corners from protruding crypts.

There was a whole underground to Junction City, including numerous exits and entries, depending on which service you were searching for. The main bulk were owned by Ludus Maximus, their base directly below the city centre.

The catacombs were secluded within the surrounding mountain range, too far to be considered useful or of any relative importance. It inadvertently became the perfect escape, the ideal safe-house for our return.

I parked in our makeshift garage, hardly able to find a free spot amid the various motorbikes that Emerson had stolen. She’d kill me if I scratched another one of her babies.

Slipping through a dark archway, I ascended steep stairs to push through the cold, iron door, artificial light blinding my entrance into the Temple. Our temporary haven.

We were situated underneath the most influential house of worship in Junction City, Variant Sanctorum, accompanied by the allegiance and support from the Head Saint (not that he had much choice, unless he truly wanted to test his faith and the strength of his god’s will).

Although we were surrounded by ruin and decaying flesh, our abode was refurbished. Basic, simple—much to Spencer’s disgust—but liveable.

The Temple consisted of one large, open area. An exposed kitchen lined the entire left wing, a cheap couch dominated the right and rubber mats lined the floor in the centre: our training grounds. This was our own mausoleum for the living.

After we realised the difficulty of transporting anything into these depths, we quickly forfeited on frivolous pieces, surviving on the bare essentials. We didn’t plan on staying long.

I rubbed a hand over my face as the dreaded church organs for morning worship vibrated through the stone walls, the dull tone ringing in my ears. As I entered, the smell of fresh caffeine aroused my exhausted senses.

“Where have you been all night?” Spencer asked. I was so far gone, I hadn’t noticed she was already in the kitchen. She wore a thin nightgown like mine. Who was I kidding? The flimsy piece of silk was mine.

“Chasing new leads, sourcing informants,” I said, words mumbled and hardly coherent.

“How was your first meeting with the psychopath?”

Straight to it then.

My eyes were slits as I poured a cup of coffee, blatantly ignoring her. She knew full well I was not equipped to dealing with her bright, sunrise enthusiasm.

“Is he as crazy as the rumours say? Or are they all exaggerated?”

I slumped onto a stool at the island bench, gulping down a generous mouthful to awaken me to the land of the living. “You bored? It’s too early for your shit, Spence.”

“What shit?” A soft, melodic voice interrupted from behind. Emerson occupied the stool next to me, swiping Spencer’s coffee and downing half the mug. She was in a rugged, frayed men’s tee that came down to her mid-thighs, her shining blonde lion’s mane sticking out in all directions.

As Spencer was clean cut and immaculate, Emerson was wild and rough around the edges. She was the baby of the family, easily deceiving with her petite stature and angelic face. Sure, she could play the demure innocent when needed—until you pushed through to her core and found a constant, raging fire ignited within, stoked and fed with endless passion.

We all had this, unsure whether it was forged through nature or nurture. Our previous traumas had ultimately altered the way we processed this innate passion.

Mine was skin deep, my ability never letting the blaze be buried further than that. Except I had to be cautious the flames didn’t rage out of control, as other’s emotions were constantly being added alongside my own.

Spencer, the third-born, displayed her fire in plain sight, her nature unpredictable, chaotic and extremely emotional.

Emerson’s, however, was suppressed under layers of organs, bones and sinew—plus anything else she could find to throw on top. Difficult to penetrate and raise to the surface. But when it did, when that invisible barrier snapped, you’d better run for cover while you watched the beautiful catastrophe unfold.

Spencer leant over the island bench, giving us a clear view of her perfect breasts. A silver chain shimmered from her neck, lined with countless clear stones.

“Are those diamonds?” I asked.

She twirled the necklace using a delicate finger, her porcelain teeth shining into a feral smile. My sister was a bombshell, flawlessly proportioned, the epitome of female perfection with a particular predilection for all things expensive.

Emerson huffed into her mug. “Which poor sod did you steal that off?”

“Who said I had to steal it? He gave this to me.”

Emerson and I chuckled as a mischievous gleam flickered in Spencer’s green eyes.

“Don’t change the subject. Micah, we missed you at dinner last night. Tanner isn’t due back for a couple of days and Meek can only provide so much entertainment.” Emerson raised her middle finger in reply. “What were your first impressions of the former undefeated gladiator of the Ludus Maximus?”

“There’s nothing to report. I haven’t met him yet,” I said, keeping my voice levelled with uninterest while my pulse elevated at the mere mention of him.

Emerson gave me a suspicious side-eye. She could hear the blood racing in my veins.

Spencer whined. “What does he look like? Would I be able to take him?”

I spared half a shrug. “He’s tall, muscular…and covered in tattoos.”

Wrong answer.

By deciding to give as little as possible, I’d given Spencer the ammo that her hyperactive brain required.

“Why are you being so taciturn?”

Emerson smirked, her red ‘M’ tattoo winking at me from its high perch on the peak of her cheekbone. “Yeah, Micah, why so coy? Tell us more about the Psycho.” The sound of his name triggered heat to rise on my cheeks.

Spencer’s lips popped open before she jumped around the bench, half-landing in my lap. “You like him.”