Chapter 1

I pulled Evan Wolfe out of the gutter with my own hands. I taught him how to carry himself, how to kill, and how to smile as he sent his enemies straight to hell.

He knelt before me and called me "Mr Blackwell," but his eyes burned like a rabid dog's, ready to tear me apart.

It took me far too long to realize he was never my pawn.

He was a disaster I had raised with my own hands.

And the disaster only knew one way to love someone—destroy him, possess him, and never let him go.

He leaned close and whispered with a low laugh, "Victor, you taught me how to play the whole world. But you forgot to teach me how to stop loving you."

*****

On a rainy night, Neon Harbour stretched out like a rotting serpent, coiled beneath the glow of flickering lights and reeking of something foul.

Victor Blackwell stood by the floor-to-ceiling window with a glass of whisky in his hand. His fingertips were cold as ice.

The glass caught his reflection, tall and sharp, his black shirt buttoned all the way to the top. He looked like a blade, controlled and dangerous.

His assistant, Samuel Wells, pushed the door open and kept his voice low. "He's here."

Victor didn't turn around. He said coldly, "Send him in."

The door swung open.

The boy was dragged in, soaking wet. His shoulder blades jutted out as if they could cut through skin, and blood trailed from the corner of his mouth. But his eyes burned bright and terrifying, like a wild animal, like a wolf.

The moment he looked up, Victor didn't see a plea for mercy. He saw killing intent.

They forced him to his knees, but he never lowered his head.

He let out a short, mocking laugh. "Mr Blackwell? Neon Harbour's top dealmaker? I heard you can bankrupt a man and send him off a rooftop with a single word."

Victor walked over, bent down, and gripped his chin. "What's your name?"

The boy spat blood onto Victor's leather shoes like a challenge. "Evan Wolfe."

Victor's eyes narrowed. "Who sent you?"

Evan answered softly. "No one. I came on my own."

Victor sneered, "You came here to die?"

Evan stared back at him, and the fire in his eyes only burned hotter. "I came here for you."

Victor's fingertips stilled for a fraction of a second. "For me? Why?"

Evan leaned in close, his voice low and raw, dripping with venom. "I wanted to see if the man they call the greatest manipulator alive could actually outplay me."

The air went still.

Samuel stepped forward, his face tight with anger. "How dare you!"

But Victor raised a hand to stop him.

He slowly released Evan's chin and looked down at him. "Interesting."

Victor turned and walked back to the sofa. He sat down, crossed his legs, and settled in like he had all the time in the world. "Evan, starting today, you're with me."

Evan's eyes went wide. "You're not going to kill me?"

Victor looked up, his gaze cold as the deep ocean. "Killing you would be too easy."

He leaned in slowly and pressed a fingertip to Evan's forehead. "I'm going to sharpen you into the deadliest blade. And then I'll let you drive it through the hearts of the people who deserve it."

Evan swallowed hard. His eyes had the look of an animal pushed past its limit.

Then he smiled, sweet and dangerous all at once. "Sounds like a deal, Mr Blackwell."

He bowed his head and pressed his forehead gently against Victor's fingertip, somewhere between surrender and a kiss.

For the first time, Victor's fingertip trembled.

*****

Evan was brought to Victor's private manor. The place felt like a prison, so clean it was cold.

On the first night, Evan was thrown into a guest room, and the door was locked behind him.

He lay on the bed, listening to the guards patrol outside, and suddenly started laughing so hard he shook.

He hadn't been rescued. He'd been caged.

The next morning, Victor came to his door himself. "Get up."

Evan opened the door in a white shirt, buttons half undone, his collarbone on full display, like he wanted to be looked at.

Victor's gaze swept over him and lingered for one second. "Button up."

Evan smiled lazily, "Worried I'll catch a cold, Mr Blackwell?"

Victor smirked, "Worried you'll get yourself killed too soon."

Evan stepped closer. He smelled faintly of mint, like he'd just stepped out of the shower.

He looked up at Victor with wide, impossibly innocent eyes.

Evan leaned against the doorframe, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a sliver of collarbone. Everything about him screamed trouble, and he knew it.

He blinked slowly and kept his voice light, almost taunting. "Mr Blackwell, would you like to straighten my collar yourself?"

Victor's gaze lingered for just a second too long, his eyes cutting sharp enough to leave a mark.

He reached out and grabbed Evan by the collar, pulling him close. His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper, threaded with warning and restraint. "Evan, don't test me like that."

Evan just smiled, equal parts sweet and unhinged. "What's the matter, Mr Blackwell? Scared?"

Victor's eyes darkened, and his throat bobbed once.

He leaned in until they were nearly nose to nose, his breath hot against Evan's skin. "I'm not scared. I just don't want you to find out how dangerous I get when I lose control."

Evan's gaze flickered for a split second.

Then his grin stretched wider, reckless, like he was daring the blade to fall. "Now I want to find out even more."

Victor didn't answer. He let go, turned on his heel, and walked away. Only one cold, lethal command hung in the air behind him. "Keep up."

Evan stood in the doorway, watching Victor's retreating figure. He ran his tongue across the corner of his lip, eyes locked on like a predator sizing up its prey.

He murmured under his breath, "Victor, sooner or later, you're going to be mine."

Fear was the last thing on Evan's mind. If anything, his smile only grew wilder.