Worst still, they’re supposed to be oath-sworn brothers.
The pound of flesh they extracted reinforces my purpose for these backstabbers. They need taking down. Dismantling from the ground up.
“We do this, Wynter, together.”
And we’re the women for the job.
Her eyes catch mine. “You sure?”
“Are you?”
“I want change, Victoria.”
“Me too. But are you willing to kill to make it happen?”
“If you asked me before… no.” She grits her teeth. “But now, yes.”
“Before?” I whisper.
Her lips part. “I didn’t tell you everything about the auction, Victoria.”
I glance at the crowd, sense the growing agitation at our stillness. “What about it?”
“They were selling…” She flinches. “…little girls.”
I suck in a sharp breath. Catch her eye. Watch her nod. Release the exhale.
Rather than answer because I mostly want to know why the fuck she kept that from me until now, I tip my chin at her and hold out my hand for hers. Our fingers slot together again. Then, I slip the knife’s pommel between our palms.
“Let’s put the dog down.”
Her mouth trembles at my growl.
Together, we lift the knife.
Together, we take a step.
She falters, just for a second, and I snatch the lead, clinging to her still so that the men watching us can’t misread her distress for cowardice.
It’s gross. I know. And Wynter’s soft moan only confirms it.
But I grab his hair with my free hand and drag his head back in a move that’s becoming my signature.
The stitches will haunt my nightmares for an eternity.
But that’s tonight’s problem.
Shoving those thoughts aside, I push the knife into his nostril, well aware that Maxim isn’t here to protect us, isn’t here to cover us up, that we can’t get any blood on us…
That we have to make this memorable.
Thatwehave to do this.
I shove the blade higher.
Higher.
Meet resistance.
