Danger City has been ruled by the bloody iron fists of the Winters crime family for decades.
When the Summers family waged war on the Winters in an attempt to take their power, violence reigned, taking no mercy on both sides of the conflict. The Summers were eventually defeated and as a result Max Summers lost everything.
Flash forward sixteen years, Max is a new man, no longer a gangster, but a simple primary school teacher still grieving the loss of his first love and trying his best to raise his children as a single father.
Cue his old rival Sam Winters re-entering his life when their oldest sons meet at school and become best friends.
During their time apart, Sam continued on the path laid out for him, climbing the organisation's ranks right to the top. He has become every inch the mighty and lethal crime boss he was born to be.
After their unplanned reunification, both men are forced to confront the nightmares of their joint past and the burgeoning desire developing between them.
I never asked for this life.
Can Max allow himself to fall in love with anyone again, let alone the man who was once his greatest enemy
Summers Power
BL Jones © 2024
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
I never asked for this life.
In all honesty, if someone had told me when I was a child that one day I would be working as a primary school teacher, then I would have been horrified. I would have said my father—my father—wouldn’t allow that to happen.
When I was a boy, I thought my father was the strongest, bravest, most important man in the world. I don’t think that’s particularly odd within itself; many sons look to their fathers.
It was just unfortunate for me that mine was a violent criminal. Worse, he was a violent criminal who failed to be the best violent criminal in Danger City. When he tried to take down the behemoth that is the Winters family, they ground out my father’s rebellion like King Arthur and his knights ferociously beat down the Saxons.
I often used to wonder what would have been different if I’d just tried harder to fight my fate. At the time it had seemed inescapable. But now I look back on my choices and realise all the times when I could have been stronger, taken more control of my own life. I have to tell myself over and over again that I was young and scared, and I just wanted to please my father. To please him and survive him, a task many before me had failed to accomplish.
I’ve learned the hard way that people can do strange and terrible things out of desperation. I don’t believe anyone who hasn’t grown up as I did could understand what it’s like to live a life surrounded by different doors, yet still know you’ll only ever have the key to one of them.
My father trapped me with his choices, his mistakes. I felt like I couldn’t be anyone other than who he wanted me to be. Of course, now I know that wasn’t true. But hindsight is, as ever, mostly useless.
I’ve tried very hard not to trap my children in the same way. I want them to have every choice. I want them to feel free to be themselves, even if the world disagrees. I want them to fight back when someone tries to force them into a corner.
My son, Rory, started secondary school this year, and he’s made some interesting new friends. A best friend in particular who has caused me a great deal of anxiety.
When Rory asked if he could go over to his new best friend’s house after school on the last day of term before the Christmas holidays, I couldn’t think of a reason to say no. Not that I would particularly want to. But the thought of facing the father of my son’s new best mate is somewhat daunting.
When Rory first told me he’d made a friend named Elijah Winters, I was only mildly alarmed. I told myself that Danger is a large city. There could be plenty of people running around with that surname. It didn’t mean anything. Elijah could very well not be his son.
But another part of me knew. As soon as Rory said that name. Part of me knew there was no chance he could be anyone else’s son. I’d already accepted the fact, had let the sense of inevitability take over and the resignation sink in.
It made sense to me in a strange way that another one of the changes in my life had been invaded or influenced by Sam Winters.
I saw Sam at the school when I dropped Rory off last week. It was the first time I’d clapped eyes on the bastard in years.
It seemed mad to me that so much time had passed, yet I still felt a rush of defensive anger hit me when I looked at him. Sam always pissed me off simply by existing. I don’t know how he does it, and I probably never will. Being angry at Sam felt easy, like slipping on an old, well-worn coat. I was genuinely tempted to start hating him all over again, on principle.
But then I remembered I’m supposed to be an adult, and adults aren’t supposed to hate their childhood rivals.
Intellectually, I know I shouldn’t still let him get to me. I should have moved beyond the point where he was capable of it. But it would be a lie to say I felt nothing at the sight of him. Something about him just sets me on edge, and always has. I can’t explain it rationally. He affects me like no one else I’ve met in my life.
Growing up, my father worked for the Winters. Our families had been tied together for generations.
Then my father tried to take over, dragging me and my mother along with him. He started a war he was ill-equipped to finish.
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