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Piece of shit.
Only once I know every threat has been eliminated and my brothers have secured the property do I go back for Avery. Seth helps her from the car and I see his fingers are white in her grip. He mouths “fuck” at the discomfort she’s causing by cutting off his blood supply.
Chuckling, I stalk over to her.
“Baby, Seth needs his fingers back.” She doesn’t register my words, but runs to me and hooks her arms around my neck, burrowing her face under my jaw as I holster my gun.
“Are you hit?” she demands.
“No.”
“How?” she chokes out, still shaken up by the shootout she watched from the confines of the limo.
I shake my head.
“Come on.” Lowering her, I walk us with purpose through the house. Avery averts her gaze, focusing on me alone to avoid looking at the array of dead bodies.
My mother, Vivien Thayer, storms towards me, her thin face tired and gaunt. My father has done that to her.
“What is the meaning of this? Jamieson, this isn’t you!” she cries.
“This is exactly who I am, Mother,” I drawl and walk past her, keeping Avery’s hand in mine until we reach the drawing room. My brothers flank me as we enter, our fathers each standing and looking at us in despair.
“So it’s come to this?” my father spits. “For that. Her? You would disrespect our calling for some fucking tail,” he seethes.
I could torture him for hours and detail every reason he deserves to die with each cut or break, but instead I reach into my suit to retrieve my knife and throw it at him. It glides through the air and hits him in the shoulder, knocking him backwards.
He grunts, his legs wobble, and the sheer force of the knife connecting with him brings him to his knees.
“Traitor!” my father roars.
“Jamieson!” my mother’s shrill voice splinters through the room.
“Get her out of here,” I snap at Rubin.
“You’ve lost your damn mind, boy!” Cyrus, Ryan’s father, gapes, gripping the back of the leather chair as I near them. I pass Avery’s hand to Seth and he silently pleads for her to go to someone else, his sore hand still being worked back to life. I tut and eventually he takes it as I pull my weapon free, raising it to my father’s head. My brothers keep their weapons up as I challenge my father’s defiant gaze. I really fucking hate him.
“You’re more like me than you know, son.” His comment alone would be enough for me to end his life. I cross the space and press it against his skin.
We are nothing alike.
His eyes flash with the first sign of fear. He knows I’m not here with idle threats.
“I killed him,” my father states, an evil smirk playing around his mouth. I frown, unsure what he is talking about. “Your grandfather,” he elaborates. I press the gun into his skull, growling loudly as I push him backwards into the fireplace. He knocks over a vase and it clatters against the stone floor. “Poison,” he admits, and the room silences. Shock vibrates throughout the space, and I hear the elders murmur in fury. My grandfather was worshipped by these men. There was no one like him and my father hated him for it. My father grips the handle of the knife. He can try and use that on me, but I will shove it down his throat quicker than he can fucking blink!
He is scum. Not worthy of being the head leader.
“This makes my decision all the easier. Traitor.” I shrug and pull the trigger, bringing the end of an era about. Blood splatters over my face and I stare down at his lifeless body, my gun dangling at my side.
Cyrus looks to me, my now second-in-command.
“I had no idea, boy.”
“It doesn’t matter. Either pledge your allegiance to me, or renounce your claim to The Panel and get the fuck out.”
Cyrus, Vincent, and Trevon struggle to their knees. They’re old now and my actions here today have brought everything they know to an end. Nothing will be the same from here on out.
“Live by The Panel. Die by The Panel,” they vow.
