“Give me a name, Murray.” I’m cheerful, twirling my last knife between my fingers. “I’ll only stop if I get a name.”
“Ronan,” he croaks, head rolling back. “Ronan.”
My blood runs cold. Killian freezes to my side, paralyzed.
“Mysoldier,Ronan?”
It’s not a common name—but I have a cousin, Ronan, who excels in quick hits. Pops never trained him to be a Reaper—not like he did Killian—but he would’ve been one of the best.
Murray starts laughing, a maniacal sound that irritates my eardrums.
“He’s finally snapped,” Killian quips, eyebrow raised. I shake my head, dread growing in my gut.
“No. It’s something else.”
“You’re not going to survive,” he coos, face damp. “You think this clan respects you? That you have their loyalty. They all knowyou did something to get the throne—they will never follow a woman.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t move. I don’t react. I wait—I listen.
“It was only a matter of time before finding someone willing to take you out. And it came from the inside! A man who wants to see the clan returned to its former glory.”
“Former glory?” I hiss. “What glory? Stained jeans and bad breath? Bitches for men in suits, who sit behind their ivory towers, taking a bigger cut every month on some fucked-up contract that was signed by an illiterate teen running from home? How is that glory?”
He wheezes, breathing harshly as he fights the effects of losing too much blood. I can’t wait to watch him die.
“Your father knew what he was doing?—”
“Myfather,” I begin, “was a fucking useless piece of shit who sold me to his best friend to break me and for more power. He never cared about anything other than status—he was letting you bleed this clan into ruin just to appear like he knew what the fuck he was doing.”
I run the blade over his finger, enjoying how his skin shies away. “I built this clan. I gave it a purpose. I became what it needed to survive.”
He glares at me, spit falling from his lips. “It doesn’t matter. You’re a woman. Women can’t lead. Your men know that. And they want you out. It’s only a matter of time before Ronan kills you.”
Smiling, I hold the blade to his neck. “Too bad for you, death can’t have me.” The Reaper at my side will make sure of it. “But it’ll take you.”
Raising my knife, he quickly mutters, “He’s a cop!”
High in the air, I pause. Something tickles my brain, and I wait.
“Who?” I growl.
Killian stalks behind him, dark eyes lifeless as they stare down at the bound man. It doesn’t matter what he says—he’s going to die. But something tells me to listen.
His eyes flash. “You think we only had assassins after you?” My breath halts. “We needed to keep an eye on you. Your brother keeps your phone untraceable.”
I can’t get a deep enough breath—anger suffocates me. “You planted a cop on me?”
“A dirty one,” he amends. “Andyoulet us. So desperate for attention, you never guessed why a nice man would be interested in something as broken as?—”
The knife sails through his throat, swift and brutal. I don’t feel it—just watch my hand turn red, the hot liquid spreading down his throat. It covers me, paints me, and I let it wash away this insufferable frustration.
He gargles, chokes, but I twist and push harder. In moments, he stops moving, eyes wide, and the light fades away. I don’t release the hilt, though, panting against the rage coloring my vision.
He planted a cop on me. They used myweaknessagainst me.
I gave them my location every time I called him, looking for a moment to be normal. Every time we went out, and I wanted to silence the voices. They followed me, used him as a tracking device, when all I wanted was to hide.I let them do it.
Whipping me around, Killian’s hot hands grab my face, forcing it upward. Searching my eyes, I find comfort in the rage that reflects back to me.
