Kings of Chaos by Eva Ashwood
1
River
Coloredlights flash in time to the beat of the song thumping through the speakers. The patrons of the club I’m in grind on each other or hold drinks over their heads as they push their way through the crowd of tangled bodies, heading from the bar to the dance floor or over to the tables and couches pressed into one corner.
It’s one of the more popular clubs in Detroit, and I can tell why. The drinks keep flowing, the music is good, and the girls dancing in cages along the walls and over the bar are hot. Plenty of dudes lean against the bar, drooling all over themselves at the curvy women gyrating to the pulsing hip hop song blaring through the speakers, and the bartender keeps their drinks full so they don’t have a reason to leave.
In the quiet corners, hands are roaming, and the smell of arousal and sex is in the air. I don’t know what the rules are about getting it on right there on the dance floor, but they’re clearly not stopping people from groping and dry humping each other in the dim light.
I guess as long as the owners have their money, they don’t care too much what else the patrons get up to, as long as it’s not outwardly illegal. Or maybe they don’t care about that either. Who knows?
Sin and Salvation is a pretty fucking apt name for this place, considering that most of the people here are either looking to get fucked up and get into some trouble, or hiding from their real lives and looking for some excitement.
Except me.
Neither of those reasons are why I’m here.
Everyone else seems to be looking for distractions, but I’ve never been more focused. People move around me, and I don’t pay them any attention. They’re no concern of mine. I’m here for one reason—one person. And that person has already fucked me over once. I won’t let it happen again.
I can see my prey through a strobe of purple, on the other side of the dance floor near the lounge area, standing with a drink in his hand. I narrow my eyes, locking onto him, determined not to let him slip away. He’s a weaselly asshole with a pinched face and a slimy gaze. I should have known from the beginning that he was going to be nothing but trouble, but he sounded so sure—and to be honest, at the time I was desperate for any lead I could get.
Just looking at him pisses me off, and I clench one hand into a fist. He’s over there knocking back drinks and laughing as if he’s not a lying piece of shit, but I know better.
He betrayed me. He gave me bad info. And it almost got me killed.
I don’t care much one way or the other about dying in the long run, but I refuse to die before I finish the job I set out to do.
One more name.
One more death.
One more death before the mission I set for myself is complete, and I can finally move on with my life… or die in fucking peace.
“It’s almost done, Hannah,” I mutter under my breath.
There’s not a hope of anyone overhearing me over the loud bass of the hip hop song blaring through the club. I can feel a few eyes on me, but that doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m saying. Probably just because I’m a woman alone in this place, and there are plenty of thirsty people looking to move in. They’re not really paying attention to anything I might say.
But Hannah hears me, wherever she is. Even if she’s gone, this mission of mine binds us together. This quest I’m on to get rid of every motherfucker who took her from me. Her death is almost avenged.
I have this idea in my mind that she can’t really rest in peace until it’s over and done with, and that’s a shitty thought. If anyone deserves peace, it’s my sister, who never did anything to anyone and was a victim of shit that never should have happened.
I’ll get her the peace she deserves by carving my way through every single person who had a hand in her death.
I’m so close now.
So damn close.
But first, I have to deal with this sleazy fucker.
I keep my eyes on the prize and start to make my way through the crowd. Women and men are locked together, grinding and dancing and laughing, the whole mess of bodies writhing like some kind of boozed up monster.
“Hey, baby,” some guy slurs, moving into my personal space. He puts his hands on my hips and tries to drag me in closer to him, thrusting his pelvis in my direction. “You wanna have some fun?”
“No,” I tell him, keeping it short and simple. “Leave me alone.”
“Aww,” he pouts. “Don’t be like that. You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”
“And you’re so fucking drunk. Move before I make you.”
He grins, leering at me. “Feisty. I like that. Love a spicy bitch.”
I roll my eyes and shove him out of the way, pushing past him and his friends who laugh at the rejection. I could have done much worse to someone who doesn’t know how to take no as a complete fucking sentence, but I’m in a hurry, and I don’t want the man I’m after to get away while I’m dealing with handsy idiots.
I’m dressed to blend in at a dance club since I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself, but it has the unfortunate side effect of making these idiots think I’m available, when I’m definitely not. Not for them. Not for anybody.
The outfit I picked out is sexy and low cut, designed to show off my assets. The flashing lights in Sin and Salvation reflect off my silver hair, and I can see when that draws eyes down to my body. My dress is black and short, showing off my legs and the sprawling tattoo that runs down the side of my thigh. My tits are pushed up and out, practically spilling out of the dress, and I can feel hungry eyes tracing over them and the tattoos that wind over my arms.
I look like any other hot bitch here to get some, but the men I push past are wrong if they think that’s all I am. I’m not here to dance. The first guy who approached me isn’t the only one to think he can make a move, but I’m not breaking my focus, and I don’t stop walking. I keep shoving them away as I slip through the crowd like a ghost, finally coming out of the throng of bodies to a more open area where I find my mark.
He’s standing in a cocky pose, one hand on the waist of a blonde woman while he leers at her friends.
I can’t make out what he’s saying over the beat of the music, but he’s grinning like he thinks he’s smooth, and all the women look uncomfortable. The one he’s touching moves out of his grip, shaking her head and stepping back over to her friends. They close ranks around her but don’t leave just yet. Maybe they’re waiting for him to sweeten the pot or something. I don’t care either way.
I close some of the distance between us, stalking him like a predator.
Something in my direction catches his eye, and he looks over. For a second, his gaze slides past me, but then he locks on, the same way I’m locked onto him, and his eyes widen. Surprise flashes across his face, making it clear he wasn’t expecting to see me here. Then something shifty slides through his expression, as if he’s trying to think of a way to get away from me.
He steps closer to the women, like he thinks that’ll save him.
Now I’m even more pissed. My blood boils at the fucking nerve of this idiot, thinking he can get away with what he did to me. Thinking he can scam me with bad info and just go on with his life like it’s no big fucking deal.
I grab my gun from the thigh holster that’s barely hidden under my short dress and raise it enough that this fucker can see it, but not so high that it causes a panic in the club. Keeping it pointed at him, I close the remaining distance between us.
The women he was sliming on scatter, maybe assuming from my pissed off expression that I’m a jilted lover or something. I want to puke at the thought of that, but at least it gets them out of the way.
“Outside,” I tell him, pressing the gun against his side when I’m close enough.
He opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, or more likely lie again to try to save his own skin, but I jab him hard with the barrel of the gun, and that shuts him up. I watch him swallow hard, and he starts moving toward an exit at the back, not making any sudden moves.
I’m holding onto the slim hope that I can still get something out of this asshole, so I want him alive, but if he tries to run for it, I won’t hesitate to kill him right here and now. It would be complicated and messy, but that’s sort of been the theme of my life for the past several years.
Stepping outside is a relief after being inside the club. The air is cool and it’s quieter, for one thing, although the thump thump thump of the music is still audible through the heavy brick wall and the smooth metal exit door.
As soon as the door shuts behind us, I shove my mark deeper into the alley behind the building. It’s lit only by a streetlight on the corner near the alley’s entrance, and as long as no one comes down this way, there’ll be nothing to see.
He backs away from me like he wants to run, but he ends up with his back to the wall and nowhere to go. His eyes are wild for a second, darting this way and that, looking for an escape or someone to help him. He’s not going to find either.
I train the gun on him, aiming right for his fucking head.
“You sold me out,” I hiss, letting the rage I feel show plainly on my face. “Why? I needed info on how to get to Ivan St. James, and you fucking lied to me.”
“Of course I lied. He’s the head of the Five Blades Syndicate,” the man whines. “He’s highly protected. He’s one of the most powerful men in all of Detroit. It’s your fault if you thought you could just waltz in and get to him. What were you going to do, take down all of his body guards? Do you know how many layers of security that man has?”
I narrow my eyes and grip the gun harder. This dickhead is seriously pissing me off, and shooting him in the face is sounding better and better.
“That’s why I needed the goddamn information, you fucking rat. Info you claimed you had.”
I’m not a damn idiot. I know Ivan is one of the most protected men in Detroit. As head of a powerful mafia syndicate, he’s got the resources and manpower to keep himself safe. Even if I could get to him, he’d have people waiting to take me out, and I wouldn’t stand a chance. Which is why I didn’t just go barging into his territory to try to take his fucking head off. I tried to play it the smart way, reaching out through the criminal underground to try to see if anyone had anything that would help.
But the best I could find was this fucking lowlife. I don’t even remember this asshole’s name, but he promised me he had insider info on when Ivan would be alone. A way I could get to him while he was unprotected.
My lip curls in disgust. Liar.
“You think someone like you could take out Ivan St. James?” the guy adds, scoffing. He’s shaking a little, clearly worried about the gun I’ve got pointed at his goddamn head, but not worried enough that it keeps him from being a dick.
“Someone like me?” I fire back, taking a step closer. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He just gestures vaguely toward me with one hand, as if that’s supposed to explain it all.
I grin at him, letting the curve of my lips turn ugly and feral. I might look like some club bunny right now, but he doesn’t know what I’ve done. He doesn’t know about the list I keep, and how many names have been crossed off that list. He doesn’t know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to avenge my sister’s death.
I’ve got blood on my hands already, and when your skin is already slick with it, your soul already darkened by death, adding one more body to the total doesn’t seem like that big of a deal anymore.
“Maybe I did you a favor in the long run,” he says, speaking a little faster. “I kept you alive. You should think about that.”
He uses that tone of voice that I fucking hate. The one that’s all condescension and him talking down to me like he thinks he knows what’s best. Like he must know more than me because he’s a big strong man and I’m just a girl.
“You think he would have killed me?” I ask, cocking my head as if I’m considering his words.
Something sparks in his slightly bloodshot eyes, as if he thinks he’s just found his way out of this. “If not him, then one of his goons would have. You might think you’re big and bad with your gun, honey, but to work for Ivan, you have to really know your shit. You wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
“So you think I should be thanking you. For saving my poor, weak little ass from getting in over my head?”
He nods quickly, not even noticing how savage my tone has gotten. “Yeah. Yeah, I do think so. So maybe we just let this go? Pretend it never happened. Water under the bridge. We can move on… hell, maybe even get a drink.”
Jesus. He’s already pivoted from trying to save his ass to trying to get laid. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be this stupid.
“Oh, you want me to let it go?” I snap back, dropping any hint of the helpless little girl act. “You want to walk away from this alive? Maybe I’ll think about letting you live if you can actually help me. Give me the info I want.”
“I don’t have it,” he says quickly, his eyes widening. He’s got sallow skin and deeply set eyes, and it gives him an almost rat-like appearance—which is fitting, I guess. “I already told you. I don’t know how to get close to him. How the hell would I know that? Nobody knows that. If people knew how to get through Ivan St. James’s defenses, someone would have done it already. You’re not the only crazy bitch who wants to see him burn, I bet.”
“No, I’m just the only crazy bitch who matters right now,” I tell him. I shake my head, and the grin on my face gets even more savage. “Either way, that was the wrong answer. You didn’t help me, and I can’t let you warn Ivan that I’m after him.”
Maybe it’s the grin, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s finally realized I’m serious with the gun pointed at his face, but real fear shows in the guy’s eyes now. He’s finally catching onto the fact that I’m not fucking around, and that whatever he thinks about me being weak or a woman or whatever, I’m definitely not too weak to kill him.
He lifts his hands, eyes bugged out and frantic.
“W-wait. You don’t have to do this. I can—I can pay you. I can get you information. Good information this time. I promise.”
“You were already supposed to give me information,” I tell him coolly. “And you fucked that up and lied to me about it. You just said you don’t know how to get to Ivan, and I don’t need anything else from you. Besides, why would I give you another chance to fuck me over? I know how men like you operate, and the world will be a better place without you in it.”
I pull the silencer from my holster and screw it onto my gun, eyes locked with his.
“Wait! Please,” he begs, sounding like he’s a second away from bursting into tears. “Please. Just. Give me another chance. I-I can… I can…”
He keeps babbling half sentences and broken pleas, and I tune them out, not giving a shit about his whining now. There’s nothing he can do for me. Anything he says now is just the gibberish of someone trying to save his own life.
All the attitude he had when he was talking to me before is gone, and there’s a satisfaction in knowing that he’s finally realized I mean business. He also knows he doesn’t have anything I want, but he’s begging all the same. Trying anything he can to change my mind, even though there’s no chance of that happening.
“What happened to all that confidence from earlier?” I ask him in a drawl. “When you were talking down to me like a big man who needed to help a weak, stupid woman? Where’d all that go?”
“Please. I-I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to say—”
“You were just trying to talk your way out of this. But it’s too late for that. You already said you can’t give me what I want. So we’re done here.”
The pleading continues, and I just stand like a statue in front of him, unmoved. I don’t know if it’s the look on my face or the coldness in my eyes, but I know he can tell I mean business. I spare a second to think that I bet he didn’t expect his night to go like this. He probably thought he’d be able to talk some woman into going home with him for the night. Or at the very least into going into one of the bathrooms to suck his dick or something.
At worst, he’d end up going home alone, a little drunk and lonely, but not any worse for wear. Maybe his pride would have been bruised if all the other women he approached seemed as uninterested in him as the women he was trying to feel up when I found him.
Now the real worst-case scenario—dying in this fucking alley—is about to become his reality.
He stood between me and the last name on my list. And I don’t forgive shit like that.