The Cunning (Dark Romance 18+)

Prologue

"You know why you're here, don't ya?"

Karl's voice echoed through the maze of dripping pipes. The sour smell of stale beer, built up over years of spillages, curled into Dylan's nostrils. A choppy wind whistled through the pub's box cellar.

Dylan's brows knitted together, confusion and unease tightening his expression. He wasn't supposed to be alone. Mitch was meant to be there with him.

"I don't think your little friend's gonna show up, so we'll get started," Karl said, as though reading Dylan's mind. His old East End accent bled through every word.

Karl rose from the steel keg he'd been sitting on and reached into the silk-lined pocket of his suit jacket. From the depths of the expensive fabric, he drew a small handgun as casually as one might retrieve a biro.

Dylan's eyes widened, transfixed with fear as gooseflesh prickled across his skin. It took him a moment to register Karl's voice again.

"Most boys your age make mistakes." Karl cleared his throat and shrugged one shoulder. "Most boys your age learn from 'em."

The room seemed to shrink around Dylan, suffocating him along with any desperate survival plan that might have made a last-minute appearance. He found himself unable to move, even as every part of him trembled.

Karl continued. "You won't get the chance. Your dad's done some greasy stuff in his time. And believe me, son, you don't even wanna know half the shit he's been up to. He can overlook almost anything. But not when it involves Her."

Karl paused.

"And you knew that, Dylan. Why did you do it?"

The question almost sounded apologetic, strangely detached from the silencer he was screwing onto the barrel of his weapon. The click of the safety being released was deafening, drowning out the muffled chatter of the punters at the bar above.

Dylan knew Karl wasn't really looking for an answer. He also knew he wouldn't be leaving the room.

He steeled himself, tipping his chin up and staring at Karl down the bridge of his nose. Though his hands quivered, and no amount of arrogance could strip the fear from his voice, he spat his final words with venom.

"He's not my fucking dad."