Prologue: Brothers

  Tristan Clark never had it easy.

  He always felt like the world was out to get him.

  His parents died in a car accident when he was little. His adoptive parents - his uncle and aunt - were abusive. He dropped out of high school. Lived on the streets. Joined a gang. Left the gang. Stole. Ran rackets. Destroyed public property. Had beaten people to half-death. He did it all. And he was only eighteen.

  He had never crossed the line and killed someone, but he felt like life was leading him there anyway.

  At least he had his brother by his side. Kal. His twin.

  From the moment they were born, they were inseparable – always chasing after each other. They even joined the gang together – their only way of surviving the harsh reality they were thrown into.

  Tristan was the leader between the two – the calculating genius. Kal was…a bit of an airhead, but in every good sense of the word.

  Even now, before a robbery that could change their lives for better – or worse – it was Tristan who was meeting with their contact – Jonathan Shaw.

  Tristan walked the street slowly, cars passing by, his brother waiting for him in their car, parked a block away. He pulled the hood of his hoodie up, buried his hands in its pockets, and continued forward. Jonathan waited for him in an alley just ahead.

  ‘He better not be late.’ Tristan thought. He had dealt with Jonathan before. The guy was always late. But he had status, so no one could ever speak against it.

  Taking a sharp turn into a side alley – a shortcut – Tristan reappeared on a different street, making his way toward the meeting spot. He knew this neighborhood well.

  After a minute of silent walking, he reached his destination.

  Surprisingly, Jonathan was already there.

  Jonathan was in his early twenties, his hair slicked back with too much gel. He wore an oversized suit, something Tristan and Kal always laughed about behind his back. The guy was trying to look like a 1980s movie mobster and failing miserably.

  “Oh, look who finally made it.” Jonathan called out, sounding impatient.

  Tristan raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised he was on time. “You’re always late, so I thought – “

  “You shouldn’t think, dog!” Jonathan snapped. “We’re not paying you to think.”

  Tristan wanted nothing more than to beat Jonathan’s face into a bloody pulp, but they needed the money. They needed the protection.

  He forced himself to let the insult slide – more like he tried…and failed. “If you were paying me to be on time, I might already be taking your place.”

  ‘Why the hell did I just say that?’ was the first thought that crossed Tristan’s mind. He was terrible at keeping his emotions in check.

  Jonathan didn’t like that either. His expression darkened as he pulled a butterfly knife from his suit and stepped toward Tristan.

  Tristan kept his hands in his hoodie pockets, trying not to escalate the situation further.

  “Who do you think you’re fucking with, trash?” Jonathan hissed, bringing the knife close to Tristan’s face.

  Tristan knew he wouldn’t use it. It was just a show people like Jonathan put out to save their reputation. But he was ready regardless, his hands curling into fists inside his pockets.

  “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” Tristan apologized, though he didn’t mean it. “Let’s move on.”

  Jonathan eyed him for a minute, his eye twitching in irritation. Then, finally, he nodded and folded the knife back. “You’re lucky we need you for this job.” He shook his head, correcting himself. “Well, not specifically you, but tonight you and your brother are all we have.”

  Tristan didn’t like the way Jonathan referred to Kal, but he fought his inner demons to keep his calm and redirected the conversation. “The job?”

  Jonathan nodded, pulling a paper bag from inside his suit and handing it to Tristan.

  “What’s this?” Tristan asked, grabbing the bag.

  It was light, and whatever was inside felt soft.

  “A teddy bear.” Jonathan replied, grinning like an idiot. When Tristan raised an eyebrow, he continued. “No, seriously. It’s a teddy bear. Just leave it there after you leave so they know it was us.”

  Tristan nodded slowly before losing patience just a little. “Dude, I don’t even know what the job is. Pietro just told me it would get me and Kal a ticket into the family. That’s it.”

  Jonathan’s eyes widened before he smirked. “Oh, so that’s what that idiot told you?” He shook his head. “Anyway, you’re going to head to 147 West Cortland Street. There’s a liquor store there called ‘Miller’s Spirits’. It’s one of the many shops under the Vasallo Family’s protection. Arrive at 1 AM. It should already be closed, and you’ll have no problem stealing everything they have in the safe.”

  “Password?”

  “It’s a combination lock. Go 15-2-17.”

  Tristan nodded. “Will it get us into the family?”

  That was the real goal here. He just wanted him and his brother to have that layer of protection going forward.

  Jonathan smirked. “Don’t fuck up and who knows?”

  Tristan knew it meant nothing, but he had no leverage here. He’d just have to do the job and hope for the best, even when the best was something that never happened to him.

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  He turned and left. He didn’t want to spend more time than necessary in Jonathan’s company.

  “Terry will be joining you.” Jonathan called after him.

  Tristan quickly stopped and turned around. “Not that guy.” He shook his head. “Anyone but him, Jonathan.”

  Terry was crazy. Literally. With him, things were bound to go south.

  “It wasn’t a suggestion,” Jonathan said. “I trust him, and I don’t trust you. Pick him up from ‘The Clover’. You know where that is. Then, after all is done, meet me with the money beneath Blackwell Bridge. I’ll be waiting there.”

  Then, Jonathan turned and left.

  ***

  Kalvin Clark was sitting in the driver’s seat of their 1995 Cadillac Seville, blasting some ‘80s rock on the cassette player.

  He adjusted his seat backward, practically lying down, his eyes closed, completely immersed in the music. It was his favorite song, and he couldn’t stop moving his fingers, playing an air guitar.

  “Oh, this part…” he whispered to himself a second before the guitar solo hit, causing him to move his fingers even faster, mimicking the motions as if he were playing it.

  Well, he could play it. He had spent most of his childhood with a guitar in his hands – until he and Tristan ran away from their aunt and uncle’s house. Since then, he had only managed to play in stolen moments, sneaking into music shops and pretending to be a potential buyer, just to strum a few notes before the store workers caught on and kicked him out.

  The passenger door opened, and his brother slid into the seat beside him.

  Tristan eyed him, narrowing his gaze. “’Winds of Ruin’ again?”

  Kal raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘again’? You know I need to listen to it at least thirty times a day or I go berserk.”

  “Which time is it today?”

  “Twenty-seventh.”

  Tristan nodded. “My bad. Carry on.”

  Kal continued playing the solo on his air guitar. Then, out of nowhere Tristan playfully punched him in the ribs.

  He jumped in place, and the seat adjustment mechanism snapped his seat fully upward. If Kal hadn’t raised his hands to stop his ascension, his chest would’ve hit the driving wheel.

  Kal burst out laughing and Tristan joined him.

  “God, I hate this piece of junk.” Tristan said, hitting the dashboard lightly.

  “Hey, don’t talk about Mary like that.” Kal responded, noticing the paper bag his brother was holding in his hands for the first time. “What’s that?”

  He feared the worst. He never wanted them to become full-fledged criminals. Petty thieves? Fine. Hired muscle? Okay. It was better than getting constantly beaten by their uncle and aunt. But he felt like his brother was leading them toward a line he didn’t want them to cross. And the worst part? Tristan was pushing him away. Taking the burden of danger solely on himself.

  He knew everything Tristan did was with their best interests in my mind. He was the protective type of big brother, despite only being a few seconds older.

  He had even put his body on the line for him in the past. One time, when they were kids and Uncle Rob wanted to punish Kal for “misbehaving”, Tristan jumped in front of the belt aimed at Kal and took the hit of the belt buckle across his back. He ended up needing seven stitches and carrying a nasty scar.

  But from that point on, Kal couldn’t help but admire his brother – and he wanted to protect him as well. So, he let Tristan lead them, following behind and supporting him at everything.

  “A teddy bear.” Tristan replied, pulling Kal out of his thoughts and tossing the bag to him.

  “Huh?” Kal raised an eyebrow, his face twisting in confusion. He opened the bag. Inside was an actual teddy bear. A pink one.

  “What the fuck?” Kal muttered.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Tristan shook his head. “We need to pick up Terry in about an hour.”

  “Scary Terry?”

  “No. The other one.”

  “Hothead Terry?”

  “That’s the one.” Tristan confirmed. “You want to grab something to eat first?”

  Kal’s stomach rumbled. “God, I want a cheeseburger so badly.” Then, he sighed, recalling their financial situation for the month. “On second thought, forget about it. We don’t have the money.”

  “Take us there.”

  “Where?”

  “Your favorite burger joint. The one you told me about.”

  Kal’s eyes widened. For him, Tristan was the best brother anyone could ever wish for.

  He smiled, cranked up the volume on Winds of Ruin, and started the car.

  “Oh, turn it off, please!” Tristan pleaded, but Kal wasn’t having any of it.

  Together, they drove to get a cheeseburger, singing Kal’s favorite song along the way.

  Eventually, and reluctantly, Tristan even joined in.

  ***

  The Vassallos were waiting for them.

  Tristan had ditched Hothead Terry the second he realized what was up. The crazy guy immediately reached for his gun and started shooting.

  Tristan, on the other hand, jumped out of the second-floor window of Miller’s Spirits.

  He rolled to mitigate the damage, but it wasn’t enough – the landing was hard, and it hurt like hell.

  A sharp pain shot up his leg, and he screamed. His ankle burned. Broken.

  Still, it was better than getting shot to death.

  'At least Kal was safe.' He thought, glad he had him wait in the car.

  Tristan tried to scramble to his feet, but he couldn’t.

  Above, Vasallo’s men rushed to the shattered window, guns in hand. The moment they spotted him on the ground, they started shooting.

  Tristan threw himself behind a car, barely dodging the bullets raining down on him.

  Out of nowhere, Kal appeared, crouching behind another vehicle. “I’m coming, Tristan. Hold on!”

  “No!” Tristan called out. “Don’t come here. It’s too dangerous!”

  But Kal wasn’t listening. He waited for their attackers to reload, then sprinted forward, making his way from one car to another until he reached his brother’s side. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Tristan, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and dragged him to the backseat of their car before diving into the driver’s seat and flooring it.

  But of course, Vasallo’s men weren’t about to let them go. Riding in their Lincoln Town Car, they gave chase.

  Kal gritted his teeth, gripping the wheel as their pursuers closed in. He wasn’t a getaway driver, but he was damn good under pressure.

  Tristan fought through his pain and to Kal’s surprise pulled out a pistol. He leaned out the window and fired at their pursuers.

  A bullet shattered the windshield of the Lincoln. The driver swerved, but they kept coming.

  Kal yanked the wheel hard, skidding onto a side street. Tires screeched. The Lincoln followed, the passengers shooting back at them.

  Tristan peeked through the opposite window this time and fired again.

  This time, he hit a tire.

  The Lincoln swerved wildly. Kal saw it in the rearview mirror – but before he could react, their Cadillac hit a pothole. The wheel jerked in his hands. The car spun.

  Then, everything flipped.

  Glass shattered. Metal crunched. The car slammed into a storefront window.

  When Tristan came to, everything hurt. His body felt broken everywhere. He groaned, shifting slightly, feeling broken glass digging into his skin. The car was tilted on its side, its frame twisted and broken from the crash.

  The store’s security system was ringing.

  “Kal…” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. He coughed, wincing as pain flared through his entire body. “Kal!”

  No response.

  His pulse spiked as he twisted his head forward, his heart racing in fear of the worse.

  Then he saw him.

  Kal wasn’t in the car anymore.

  His brother lay outside, face down, sprawled across the shattered glass and shop shelves. He had been thrown through the windshield when they crashed.

  “No…no, no, no.”

  Ignoring the pain, Tristan forced himself to move. He clawed his way toward the car’s broken windshield, barely hauling himself out, biting back screams.

  He dragged his body across the wreckage, collapsing next to Kal, hands shaking as he reached out to him. “Kal…please, wake up.”

  Kal didn’t move.

  Tristan’s breath hitched. He placed a trembling hand against his brother’s neck, searching for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  A sob wracked through him. His fingers dug into Kal’s jacket, his whole body trembling. “No. No, you can’t die! This is my fault! My fault! It shouldn’t be you!”

  Tears streamed from his eyes.

  He blamed himself. For dragging Kal into this life. For half-assing things and never having a solid plan for them. For running away from their abusive stepparents too soon.

  ‘So what if they beat us – it was better than this!’

  Then, footsteps echoed behind him. The gunshots rang before he could even face them.

  Pain erupted in his chest. He gasped, falling forward, his blood pooling underneath him.

  As his vision darkened, all he saw was Kal’s lifeless face. He wished he had done things differently.

  If only he had another chance…

  ‘And what price are you willing to pay for another chance?’ A mysterious voice rang in the back of his dying mind, and then everything turned black.