Page 52 of The Price Of Possession

I stride with purpose through the hallways, pure ire written on my face. The plan had been to kill Mortensen, leave and let my girl live out her days to get the education in fashion she’s worked so hard for, but I fucking can’t. Getting lost in her arms last night was the last of my resolve. I wipe my sweaty palms along my jeans. I still haven't formulated a plan at all. It's a curse at times to be an impulsive fuck.

Val and Grey erupt from the shadows falling in step beside me. The fuckers haven't seen much of me. They know exactly why. Her. Both of them look perplexed as to what the hell is happening within Grimshaw. I've been absent, so they must think I'm out of the loop, too. Though I'm still pissed at Val, now isn't the time to bring old shit up. I know I started a chain reaction with the Void and my actions. As always Mortensen will try to find a way to somehow make his fuck ups my fault. I'm the perfect scapegoat. “Yo, man, shit is intense. The Elder Elites are livid at Mortensen's lack of clarity. Mortensen knows the rules are absolute. If he isn't gonna uphold them, why should they? Ya know?” Val urges.

I square my shoulders as we round the corner. “Handling it,” I grumble under my breath. How? I don't fucking know. Val raises a brow. “We got your back, you know.” He assures me. Despite him fucking my girl, I know he would serve me until his dying breath. My boys are loyal to me.

Grey opens his mouth. “Everyone is divided. Half the Junior Elites are using his indiscretions as an excuse to fuck whoever, without repercussions . . . with force. No more offering, just open season on the impure.” I snap my neck around. My nostrils flair. Grey only speaks when he's got something to say, so his words seep into my pores.

“And the pure females?” I ask, curious. If their purity is being plucked from them like flower petals on a rose, we're truly fucked. Some of the pure females don't give a shit about purity, but when it's not their choice it's a different story. They'll fuck the other Elites openly. It's unspoken. But the ones who do uphold their duty, if their fathers found out chaos would ensue. Grey's reluctance says enough.

“Got a plan?” Val presses.

“Nope.”

“Fuck.” He scrubs his hands over his face. My boots thud against

the flagstone floor.

My father’s French doors come into view. It's the only thing that separates me from him. Grey's hand settles on my shoulder. “Whatever you decide. We got you. Lead. Don't lead. Just know your actions will have catastrophic reactions. The junior and senior Elites are divided. Off him—someone will want you dead. Spare him—someone will want you dead.”

His words ring true. I can't win. Where does that leave Clara? Can I really offer her immunity and protection against being used and abused? At what cost? I'm losing my mind over this shit.

The boys wait outside the door. I shuck my jacket off, tossing it at Val. I've waited for this moment all my life. The hurt does not dissipate, it grows, festering into an open wound. Now that I've got a reason, it's time to patch it up and supersede his authority with the upper hand. I let the confidence radiate from my pours. My boot connects to the door. It slams against the mahogany bookcase with a crash. Mortensen's eyes fall on me. A sneer overtakes his face the moment he sees it's me.

“Hi, Father.” I grin wickedly. His eyes flash a dark cunning green like a dark, angry maelstrom. Seated in leather seats are two Senior Elites. The Andersons. Fuck it all. It's time to take the torch, just to light him on fire with it. I turn to Jax's parents. “You're welcome,” I supply. All three of them look at me mystified. My father crosses his arms over his twill vest. “For?”

I laugh, cold and psychotic. Zain has rubbed off on me over the years. What can I say? “For offing that piece of shit.”

Gasps fill the quiet room. I know good and well Zain is owed the credit, but I am feeling invincible. Plus, this way Zain never has to worry about the threat of Mortensen looming over his shoulder. As if it will be long. What's the worst Mortensen can do to me?

Nothing. I've had enough. Oh, how I love toying with my food before I swallow it whole. Mortensen's face flashes with fury. His ship is sinking, and I'm here to watch it fall under in a crashing, fiery heap.

My father’s face reddens. He explodes. “You lying shit!” He knows I'm full of it, but the Andersons don’t. Guess this will shake whatever trust they have in either of us. Worth it. I slam the French doors closed behind me.

“Kieran? Tell me this is a joke?” Jax's father shakes out. I shrug, unbothered, refusing to respond. Mortensen tries his hardest to smooth it over. “Please excuse my son, he is unwell.” He stalks over to me. His clammy hand clasps my shoulder. I shrug him off. “Unwell? Yeah, guess I am. Wonder whose fault that is?” I challenge.

A sharp rap on the door has my father on edge. The room goes silent. He shuffles back over to the Andersons. “Please, let us reconvene this evening,” he pleads. His careful facade is slowly cracking, eroding away. I fucking love it. The Andersons glare at me from their armchairs. Mr. Anderson huffs. “Very well, but this is not over.”

The door bursts open. Zain stands in the doorway, Vesper shadowed behind him, along with Val, Grey, and Silas. Zain's eyes hold a visceral edge. He's out for blood. His madness has reached a breaking point. He promised payment would come due for messing with Vesper. I won't stand in the way of his retribution; we're in this together.

“Think you can do it without me?” Zain looks at me with a darkened smirk. My head falls back as I suppress a laugh. Before anyone can utter a word, Zain pulls a handgun from behind his back. The same gun Mortensen passed down to me, also the same one he offed Jax with. He fires it straight at Mr. Anderson. Mr. Anderson jumps up from the beaded leather seat. Crimson fluid expels from the front of his suit.

He makes it a single step before he collapses to the floor with a thud. Blood spills from his mouth and chest cavity, painting a crimson pool. Mrs. Anderson lets out an ear-piercing shriek. Blood splatter dots her pink beaded gown. Zain rolls his eyes and squeezes the trigger again, this time at her. Her body sinks backward into the chair, limp and lifeless.

Zain blows the end of the barrel before tossing it to me. I catch it effortlessly. “Loud ass bitch,” I mutter. Mortensen stands speechless. He shuffles backward until his body settles against his oversized desk. Zain strolls over to the other open chair next to Mrs. Anderson's corpse.

He sinks into the cool leather. “Inside, now,” he instructs our guys. I keep my eyes trained on Mortensen. Never have I seen my father so shook up. Guess who's finally come around? This is what he wanted. Clara appears in the doorway. I beckon her inside. I had a feeling she wouldn't follow directions and stay in class.

“Close the door,” I command Grey. I twirl the gun on my finger around the trigger, ensuring the safety is set. “Come, Nightshade,” I purr, resisting the urge to soothe her from the duo of corpses lining the office. When I kill him, I want my girl by my side where she belongs. I want my father to seethe while he is forced to watch his son choose someone he despises. His entire legacy was brought down by one impure angel. Mortensen's eyes practically bug out of his head, disgust prevalent on his face. The fact he looks down on her pisses me off more. She's mine. The perfectly destroyed riven queen.

We are two broken halves that make a fucked up whole. He will never understand. Clara nestles by my side in silence. I steal a glance at her pretty heart shaped face. Her face is a mask of indifference. Better than a broken shell of a woman. She may never be okay, but I will be by her side one way or another.

“You fathered more bastard children than we probably know. You want to spout off purity as you rearrange the guts of all these women, pure or not,” I growl.

He blanches. “I can fuck who I wish. I admit I got carried away,” he grits through his teeth. His justification is laughable. “You breed with anything that moves. How many more are there?” I cock my head, interrogating him.

His beady eyes fall to Clara. “I don't know.” The way he looks at her like a bug that needs squashed rubs me wrong.

“Don't look at her, look at me. You don't deserve to breathe the same air as her.” He drags his eyes back to me. They're full of hatred and disdain. I decide it’s the perfect moment to fuck with his entire world. "Guess what?” I say smoothly.