The Rules of Survival (Mercer #1)

RoS Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I expected a wave of grief to hit me at the sight of Justice Montoya.

If anything could propel me into hysterical sobs it would be facing the person I blamed for Kalen's death. The numbness evaporated alright, replaced by a cold rage that embraced me like a long lost friend.

Justice stepped from the shadows and headed towards me, his gait that of a predator stalking its prey. If I was being honest it had the desired effect; I was a mouse caught in a lion's den. Refusing to be intimidated, I adopted a defiant stance, hands clenching into fists.

I had no idea how long he'd been there. The man had a knack for sneaking up on people. Justice was a prized asset to the Chicago Blood Kings. He'd personally trained Kalen in the art of survival and major ass kicking. Unfortunately for Kalen it hadn't been enough. He'd still been shot in the back, succumbing alone in a dirty alley somewhere in Chicago.

With that thought circling my mind, it was all I could do not to launch myself at him and kill him with my bare hands. He should have been there. Justice was supposed to have had Kalen's back. He was supposed to make sure my brother came home. After letting him die, Justice deserved to be lying in a hole beside him.

Justice stopped six feet away. Eyes one shade lighter than black appraised me, framed by a set of lashes so long and thick they cast shadows over his cheeks. The dark trend continued with his inky black hair and clothing that blended into the night. In stark contrast the contours of his face stood out, hard and sculpted.

"Mercer," he addressed me when it was clear I wasn't going to start us off.

He was extremely guarded, unsure of how he'd be received. Once upon a short time ago we'd been friends – the antagonistic kind who lived to drive each other crazy, but friends nevertheless.

I let out a sound of pure hatred. "Murderer," I spat.

The coalescing breeze picked up, whipping through my sopping shirt. It was an effort not to react to the bitter cold, but I'd be damned if I showed any weakness.

Justice arched a brow. "Murderer? Interesting. You'd think I'd remember something as exciting as taking someone's life."

"Don't play dumb. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you're the reason he's dead," I yelled hoarsely, shaking from the sheer force it took me to remain in place.

Justice's eyes flashed dangerously. Before I could blink he had me by the front of my shirt. My shoes barely brushed the ground as he yanked me upwards so we were eye level. At five eleven and impressively muscled, I expected he could kill me outright with minimal effort.

"Your brother was my best friend." I fought his grip to no avail. Justice was eerily calm, and that was infinitely scarier than if he'd been bellowing in my ear.

"I would have done anything to prevent this from happening. So don't you dare stand there and tell me I killed him."

He shook me with his last words, letting go abruptly. Unable to catch my balance, I landed in a heap at his feet. Seething in anger and betrayal, fuelled by a desperate need to lash out, I swung my arm at his legs in reckless abandon. I had no hope in hell of doing much damage, but I didn't much care. An unrepentant rage burned through me, begging to be set free, and who better to unleash it on than the one I held responsible?

My arm made contact behind his knees. Surprise more than any real fighting finesse had him sprawling beside me, hitting the ground with a wet squelching noise. His leather jacket smeared with mud and I wasted no time, picking up a handful and throwing it in his face. He cursed as it splattered across one cheek and swept back through his hair. I lunged at him, catching him with an open hand across his jaw.