“They’re not for me. They’re just. . .”
I stop her midsentence by slicing my hand through the air. She flinches like all good women do. “I don’t give a fuck who they’re for. I just need to know how many you need.”
Although I’m not interested in developing a relationship with this vampire groupie, some of the best contacts I’ve developed are ones who have come to me. For all I know, she could be holding a swipe key to Claudia’s room in her hand, so the least I can do is play along with her ruse by feigning interest.
The stranger licks her dry lips before murmuring, “I need enough to take down a grown man.”
Her reply piques my suspicion, but not enough for me to act on it. “Alright. I’ve got the funds; I’ll get you what you need.” She stops peering at me like a god when I add on, “But first, you need to give me something in good faith. Prove you’ve got the goods to deliver your side of the deal.”
I expect her to balk at the insinuation in my tone, but she does no such thing. She just hands me a slip of glossy paper, like one document is the answer to her prayers.
The manic tick of my jaw increases when my eyes drop to the folded up magazine article. I am thrust into a spiraling tunnel. It is a dark and lonely place, derailing my train straight off the tracks.
When I pin the unnamed emo to the wall by her throat, the guards shout my name in the same manner the bailiff did during my trial. Her airways are cut in an instant, her eyes bulging just as fast.
“Who gave you this?! Was it the guards? Was it Lee?”
She doesn’t speak. She can’t. I’m clutching her throat so firmly, she is seconds away from collapse.
Ignoring the pleasurable sting of her fingernails shredding my hand and the whacks of batons on my back, I assess the article more diligently, seeking clues to its origin.
The more I read, the hotter the blood in my veins boils.
Marcus is in multiple photos in a two-page feature, smiling like he has the world at his feet. He somewhat does, considering Cleo is standing at his side, wearing a white wedding dress and a bright smile.
Her smile angers me more, meaning my clutch on the sun-hater’s throat tightens. I’m still suffering the consequences of Cleo’s betrayal, so shouldn’t she still be mourning the death of her unborn child?
The reason for her lack of bereavement comes to light when a pair of bright hazel eyes capture my attention. The little girl in the picture, who would only be a few months old, has the eyes of both her mother and father—Cleo’s dirty chocolate eyes mixed with Marcus’s barren green ones.
They have a child.
A daughter.
A bastard who was born before they wed.
I pledged to save Cleo’s future children from turning out like him: the master—the taunter—the man who stole her away from me. I will keep my promise.
I just need to work through the drugs numbing my arms and legs. To push through the pain of the guards’ batons battering my skull hard enough to crack it, and the blackness attempting to swallow me whole. I need to remember that no one is higher than the king. I am a god. Everyone else is merely a pawn on the board I call life. They are cowards.
When the sting of a needle hits my neck for the second time, my knees collapse beneath me. My limbs suddenly become heavy, the guards’ shouting nothing but a buzz of noise. The unnamed emo’s bones stop squeaking when I remove my hand from her throat to yank the sedative dangling from mine. I slot the lengthy needle between my fingers before swinging my hand wildly through the air. If they try to sedate me again, they won’t do it without injury.
As the world spins around me, the magazine article on Rise Up’s latest wedding slips from my grasp. It floats across the stark white floor, only stopping when it reaches a pair of ankle boots.
Impassive to the ruckus occurring around her, Claudia bobs down to collect the thin slip of glossy paper. When her eyes lock on the article, they widen like mine did when I speed-read the document. She looks both angry and aroused, which is an odd combination, but it matches mine to a T. Seeing Cleo for the first time in years thickened my cock, but the circumstances behind the featured spread not only pissed me off, they resurrected a devil years of counseling couldn’t control.
Feeding off a surge of inhuman strength, I stand to my feet with a roar. After knocking off three guards as if they are weightless, I head in Claudia’s direction. She is to blame for the hate thickening my veins, so shouldn’t she pay the penance for it?
My steps halt midstride when Claudia’s eyes lift to mine. They are carrying as much violence as mine; her quest for revenge is just as strong. I take a step back, stunned by the sheer hate in her slit gaze. I didn’t think a demure mouse could pull off such a horrendous look.
Before I can work out the cause of her repulsed expression, the third prick of a needle drops my legs out from beneath me and has me seeing black.
