1 Prologue

Mary Jones P.O.V.

I knew it was the begining of the end.

Change was heavy in the air, for good or bad, time will tell. Though time was the one thing I did not have. All I needed now was a match. For there was already fuel. I knew this. Just as surely as I knew the man pacing below me. He had been pacing now for sixteen minutes. The musty glow from the lamplights glimmering of his gold crown brooch. The thud of his footsteps against the cobbles, echoing through the abandoned street.

In the distance you could hear the laughs and shouts of drunk revelers, the wail of sirens the murmurs of deals. But they seemed muted. Urine and graffiri smothered the street, the filthy stench of it filling every space there was. However, the finely dressed man below did not seem to notice. He must come here often then.

Someone else was coming, I could not see them yet, for the dirty, cracked, glass of the window did not stretch that far. But I could hear their footsteps through the slightly parted gap. Now I could make out their figure, they were slight, and the mans well-built shoulders and stocky build towered over the new comer. But I noticed their slight swagger, only a good actor/actress would have, or someone confident that they could protect themselves. And around here, that says a lot. And if the symbol on the back of their jacket was any indication, they could handle themselves. And that was a near impossible feat around here.

The symbol was a snake twisted around a dagger. There were also jewels of blood, that twinkled when they caught the light. On their left arm, there would be a snake stretching up to their hand. The symbol was either a message or a warning, depends on who you are. For me it was a memory.

A memory of my youthful mistakes, decades later, and still I pay the consequences. I pay consequences through guilt, the cancer running in my veins, through my daughters suffering and stress.

My thoughts were cut short when the man spoke "Is it done?"

"Money first."

The man growled, towering over the newcomer. Yet still they did not flinch. Foolishness, or confidence. The streets were no place for bravery.

They stared at each other for a bit, neither one willing to back down.

But the latecomer was gifted with time and patience when the scenario called for it. And the man let out an impatient sigh before handing over an envelope. The latecomer opened the envelop and flicked through the wads of cash. It was risky holding out that much cash in the streets. Only an idiot would cross the symbol on the back of their jacket but money made people stupid. And that looked like a whole load of money. The figure put the money away hiding it. Although the street was empty we can sense money, it was an inbuilt sixth sense that only the desperate have. And if you live here you're going to be desperate.

The small figure got out their phone and made a call. The man tensed but did not do anything. Clever man. The figure simply said two words. And only two words were needed. "Kill her."

You could hear a small female gasp and, if you listened closely the sickening tear as a knife slid into flesh.

The figure looked back up to the man. And although their features were hidden by a mask you could almost sense the empty smile as they said, "It's done."

The man nodded and strode on his heel out of the street. The figure did not move they stood still watching an empty street. "You okay Scarlett?" a mans voice came through from the other end of the line. Making the figure, Scarlett, stiffen.

But she only said "Don't call me that."

Before turning on her heel and stalking down the street. I smiled. Interesting. I had never seen the leader of The Serpents, personally check up on someone. And I knew I found my match. Scarlett Arbia, had no idea what she just got herself into. For the man who was probably getting into his Mercedes was none other than Jack Lou. The man running for Mayor of Rousville, the man who killed his wife and the unknowing father of Scarlett Arbia.