Strung (Seaside) (21 page)

Prologue

Tex

Rage consumed me as I looked around the building. A sea of familiar faces stared right through me. It was as if the past twenty-five years of my life meant nothing at all.

Had I been nothing to them?

Nothing but a joke.

The reality of my situation hit me full force as I fought to suck in even long breaths of the stale dusty air.

“It is your choice,” the voice said in an even steady tone, piercing the air with its finality.

“Wrong.” I stared at the cement floor, the muted color of grey was stained with spots of blood, “If I’d had a choice, I would have chosen to die in the womb. I would have drowned myself when I was three. I would have shot myself when I had the chance. You’ve given me no damn choice, and you know it.”

“You do not fear death?” the voice mocked.

Slowly, my head rose, I locked eyes with Mo and whispered, “It’s life. Life scares the hell out of me.”

A single tear fell from her chin and in that moment I knew what I had to do. After all, life was about choices. And I was about to make mine. Without hesitation. I grabbed the gun from my back pocket, pointed it at Mo and pulled the trigger.

With a gasp she fell to the ground. A bullet grazed my shoulder as I knelt taking time to reach for my semi-automatic from underneath my pant leg. When I stood, I let loose a string of ammo, the sound of it hitting cement, brick, bodies, chairs, filled me with more peace than I’d had in a lifetime of war.

I stalked toward him, the man I was going to kill, the man who had made me feel like my existence meant nothing. I held the gun to his chest and squeezed the trigger, and when he collapsed in front of me, it was with a smile on his face, his eyes still open in amusement.

Chaos reigned around me and then suddenly, everything stopped.

When I turned it was to see at least twenty dead, and Nixon staring at me like he didn’t know me at all — but maybe he never had. And wasn’t that a bitch.

He took a step forward his hand in the air, “Tex—”

“No.” I smirked. “Not Tex. To you?” I pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. “I’m the Capo.”

Part One: A Rise To Power

Chapter One

Two weeks before the incident…

Tex

“No! No! Stop!” Mo tossed and turned in her sleep, her arms flying around the bed as if she was trying to punch someone — though really she was only landing blows to the air.

With a sigh I grabbed her fists as gently as I could and woke her up. “Mo, you were dreaming.”

Her long lashes blinked against her skin a few times, possibly clearing out the images that had just haunted her rest. “Sorry.” Her glance fell to my hands as they held her wrists midair. Mo jerked away from me and moved to the side of the bed. “It was just a bad dream.”

My touch used to comfort her. She used to crave it. At least I thought she did. It had always been about me and Mo. We were a team, a dysfunctional one, but a team’s a team right?

“It’s okay,” I lied; it was absolutely not okay that she wanted nothing to do with me, that she was scared of me, that she was pregnant and I’d done everything within my power to make it easy on her — even when every day it was harder on me. “Just go back to sleep, things will look better in the morning.”

But they wouldn’t. She knew it. I knew it. Hell, everyone who knew us and our family knew it. Things never looked better in the morning.

Actually, I preferred night. Not because I actually enjoyed sleeping — hell, if I didn’t need sleep I wouldn’t do it. Too many images ran through my mind, pictures of death, blood, more death. But the real messed up part? I wasn’t haunted by the dreams like Mo was — no, I was the exact opposite. It inspired me, it drove me, it motivated me. Hell, I was the one you’d least expect. Chase even had problems doing some of the dirty work.

But me?

I was the worst type of person.

Because I craved it like a drug.

I craved death. I craved war. I craved it like an addict. And I loathed the days of peace because they reminded me that I was basically an orphan. Unwanted, unloved, and now? Unloved by the girl I’d sworn to love for the rest of my life.

So sugarplums? Santa? Unicorns? Sheep? Nah, that shit didn’t fit in my dreams.

It never did.

Mo moved next to me pulling the covers up around her frail body. She’d been losing so much weight it was ridiculous. Weren’t you supposed to gain weight when you were pregnant? It stung that she didn’t want me to go to her doctor’s appointment with her. Apparently he’d said she was stressed. Right, like I could do anything to help that. I was doing everything within my power to fix things — to fix us — to fix her — to fix the family. Nothing worked.

Being with Mo wasn’t just my peace, it was like I’d finally found someone that got me, someone who understood who I was, even when I chose not to reveal my whole self to her, one look, and I knew she knew. All the shit that went on in my head, but she didn’t pester me, didn’t make me explain anything, just loved me as I was. And now, it was gone. I was gone. There was literally nothing left.

My role was no longer fulfilling its purpose. I’d known it for a while now, but I hadn’t wanted to admit it. But the signs were clear.

It was time to take my place. Time to bring the nightmare to life, to wake the beast, to be what I was born to be.

Vito Campisi’s son.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Van Dyken is the
New York Times
,
Wall Street Journal
, and
USA Today
bestselling author of over 28 books. She is obsessed with all things Starbucks and makes her home in Idaho with her husband and two snoring boxers.