Devil's Angel
by Julie Capulet
Chapter One
~ Knox ~
Through the scope of my .300 Winchester Magnum, I take aim. My finger rests lightly on the trigger. I scan along the line of the craggy hill, scouting for signs.
This weapon could comfortably hit a target up to 1500 yards away. Which is a long fucking way. I don’t really expect them to make a move on a clear sunny day in eighty degree heat, but you never know. They’ll strike when we’re least expecting it.
My family owns almost a hundred square miles of tropical paradise in Kauai, Hawaii. Our great great great grandfather, whose name was Nathaniel Ramsey, had to make a quick getaway from post-gold rush San Francisco because a bounty had been placed on his head, so the story goes. So he, along with three other men in the same boat, sailed to Hawaii in the early 1900s and settled here. Over time, the four of them bought as much land as they could get their hands on.
The other three travelers settled in Oahu. One of them lost all his money—its own story—and the other two families now own half of Honolulu.
But it was Kauai that lured Nathaniel.
Now, four generations later, most of my extended family lives in a small town that, somewhere along the way, was named Paradise. There are around a hundred or so houses, a main street and every state-of-the-art amenity you could ever want. A fortified wall surrounds most of the property. Cliffs provide a natural barrier along the northeastern ridge.
It's me, my two brothers and my two sisters who are the direct line. I guess you could call the five of us the royalty of this place. Which I wouldn’t mind except for one glaring detail that’s about to ruin my life.
We all got sent away to school in California, to experience life off the island. To get an education, play football, make friends with the wider world and so on. Some people thrive on that shit and end up staying longer, but for me it might as well have been a four-year prison sentence. I came back with a new appreciation for ocean views and uninterrupted solitude.
Kauai often gets called a nirvana and to me that’s exactly what it is. My blood and bones are made of this place, or at least that’s how it feels.
My hair is too long, windblown and bleached from the sun. My eyes are the exact same color as the water, my skin deeply tanned, gritty with salt and sand.
My gaze follows the horizon line, searching for movement.
Something catches my eye.
I zoom in but it’s just the waving fronds of a palm tree.
I scan further and it’s clear. No threats as far as the eye can see.
Taking one last look, I click the safety on and strap the rifle over my head and across my bare chest. I hardly ever wear a shirt. My life is one long, hot summer of hunting, fishing and overseeing the workings of our ranch. I’m built as fuck from all the physical activity, along with the non-stop training we do.
I’m tempted to strip down, grab my speargun and dive into the clear blue water. But my phone pings in my pocket.
I’m late.
I lock up my speargun, which is still propped against the railing from last night’s dive, and a few of my other weapons. With the help of a couple of our builders, who happen to be my cousins, I built this house myself, here in the sheltered, hidden bay behind the rugged green hills of my family’s land. It’s my retreat and my favorite place on earth.
The house is rustic, with a huge deck that extends over the water. The top floor is a bedroom loft, the ground floor an open living area with a wall of glass doors that slide all the way open.
Here, I can be alone. It’s the one place I can almost forget that my future is already cast in stone. It’s a future I didn’t choose and one I don’t want. But it was never going to be my choice. Which is fucked up, but there it is.
My phone buzzes again.
I ignore it, for now.
I know what they want from me and I’m prepared to give it. But not easily. Not fucking happily. If they want me to commit to ruining my life then they can chill the fuck out.
We have a meeting.
My doom needs to be discussed. Again.
My time is running out ...
