“What you need to understand, heathen,” I bite out, leaning closer, so he can hear me. I feel the crowd that gathers, their eyes on me as I make a spectacle of an asshole who decided to disrespect me in the middle of the street. It wasn’t my plan, but this piece of garbage forced my hand, and now, I’ll take his. “I don’t take kindly to having someone like you disrespect me. I work hard to give you what you need. And I certainly am a good boss to you. You, on the other hand,” I smirk, shoving the metal harder into his flesh, breaking it and causing blood to seep from under my shoe, making the red sand turn a dark brown. “You don’t deserve my mercy.”
I reach for the blade that Javier hands me, and I slowly toy with the sharp tip of metal right at the inner wrist of the man who’s still pleading with me. The deep crimson liquid seeps from the small cut. I twist the blade around and around, watching as the knife inches deeper into the wound.
It doesn’t take long for the gash to widen, the metallic fluid to shoot from the veins that have severed. Thankfully, with the razor-sharp serrated edge, I can slice evenly into the bone, listening to it crack. Flesh spews from the open wound, his hand lies an inch from his arm and his face is contorted in pure anguish.
He writhes in agony, and his cries are music to my ears as I rise. Pulling the handkerchief from my pocket, I wipe the blade clean and throw the small scrap of material on the asshole clutching his handless arm.
Turning, I meet the eyes of the people who live in the city I rule and tip my head in greeting before I turn away. I don’t need to tell them what or why I did that, all they need to feel is fear.
For me.
Because I’m the King.
And everyone knows my name.
1
Victor
My thirty-seven years have been filled with nothing but destruction and violence. Learning from a young age that weakness is death, I’ve ensured that everyone near me, each person who I come into contact with, knows that I’m far from a pushover.
“Sir?” The tentative voice of one of my men comes from the doorway of my office. The space is lit by the sun streaming through the windows. My father built this house, or rather, monstrosity of a castle, to ensure it steals all the natural light in the day. But under the cloak of darkness, it looks like a fucking medieval fortress.
When I was a child, I likened it to Dracula’s castle; it looked evil, menacing, and that’s what always made me smile. It’s perched up on a hill, overlooking the ocean. There aren’t any other houses around for miles, and I always enjoyed the feeling of being a king, which in the end, I found out my father was. Most children would be afraid of living in solitude, but I wasn’t. As I got older, it was the calling card for the girls I brought back here.
They wanted to see inside the mansion that was whispered about throughout the city, and I played on those rumors. It was a drug—addictive and dangerous—and it offered a high like nothing else ever had. When I saw the wariness in their innocent gazes, my cock hardened, and I got them to suck me off, while telling them about the horrors I’d seen within these walls. Fucking needy bitches, all of them.
They wanted to survive me in order to tell their friends. But when they saw my dick, they fell to their knees without me asking. With every year that passed, I got worse, giving them something to talk about by spreading rumors, or by offering up stories about what I had witnessed happen in the dungeon beneath the house. I brought girls home, taking them into the darkest hallways and sending fear racing through them. The sex was always better like that.
I’d ensure they all believed me, and soon, the city knew we would never fall. Our strength was in the name, Cordero, and my father ruled with an iron fist. When he died, I took over and became as ruthless as he was, giving them even more to gossip about.
“What is it?” I glance at the young man.
“There’s evidence of product being sold in your territory,” he informs me. I beckon him into the office with a crook of my finger. When he nears the desk, he sets down the folder he’s been clutching.
Opening it, I glance at its contents — photos. As I flip through them, I note the seller’s face is hidden by a baseball cap. The peak of it covers his identity, but what he doesn’t realize is that I have ways and means of finding him.