I freeze and lick my lips as my heart starts to pound, always a bad thing since any time my blood pressure rises, the medicine goes, in Nikolai’s words, haywire. “I’m aware.”
“And yet…” His blue eyes flash. “Here you are.”
“Had homework.” I try, then lean back. “Plus, I’m the science guy; she’s the math girl.”
He barks out a laugh. “It’s fucking adorable that you’d still try to use that excuse when you smell like…” He leans in. “…her, you smell like her.”
“Her room, her smell.” I shrug with a smile. “You’re more than welcome to go searching for condoms, though, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
I might get murdered tonight by the look he’s giving me.
“Watch the attitude, Maksim. Even though it doesn’t seem like it, this is how I treat people I actually like.”
Well shit.
“I haven’t touched her since…” I swallow and look down at my hands. They’re trembling, and I swear I can still see blood there even though they’re clean. “Not for lack of trying, though, on her part, just so you’re aware she’s a little tigress with—”
He kicks his chair back, reaches across the table, grabbing me by the collar and pulling me toward him over the smooth surface until I’m inches from his face looking into his eyes, waiting for my inevitable punishment for having a big mouth and zero censor most days.
“You’re a bold little shit.”
I grin, because hey, I’m going to die anyway, right? “Part of my charm. Hey, you gonna drink that whiskey or—”
“Shut up.”
I smile again. “If you aren’t going to share, can I go?”
“No.” His nostrils flare, and then his body seems to relax, which frankly terrifies me more than the anger. “Actually… I have another job for you.”
Here we fucking go…
“You got your passport on you?”
“Yeah.”
He still wasn’t letting me go.
His eyes were crazed.
He shoves me away. I quickly move to my feet and wait for his instructions. Funny how this was how it started six months ago, with me sneaking out of Izzy’s room and him saying I had to prove my loyalty.
He single-handedly drove me toward insanity without realizing it.
“Brazil.” He doesn’t look up. “I’ll text you the address. Prove to me you have what it takes to exist in my daughter’s universe, and I won’t kill you for going against the rules—again.”
I feel the shakes then.
They spread up my hands and into my shoulders, forcing me to clench my teeth and close my eyes.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I exhale.
“Is it getting worse?” he asks, finally meeting my gaze.
“It can’t get much worse than death, Chase.” My voice sounds different now, with a raspier quality that reminds me I need to grab more medicine from my house before I leave for Brazil.
“What does Nikolai say?” he presses.
I shrug. “He’s a great doctor, but that doesn’t mean he can find a way to cheat death.”
If only.
“How long?” Chase asks the one question I’ve been avoiding.
I shrug again.
He stands and holds out his hand. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate what you’ve done for the Family—for Ash.” His voice cracks. “I could have never asked him…”
I shake his hand quickly and offer a sad smile. “I’d do anything for my family—and I needed to get used to killing before my dad tosses that heavy crown onto my head.”
Chase looks through me. “And if you’re no longer able to take over?”
It pains me to say this out loud.
It pains me to think about leaving everyone and everything I love.
But this is business.
I’m only twenty-one, and I’m talking about my successor. Fuck, I need a drink.
“Then, I guess you better let me marry your daughter,” I say, watching his eyes go wide with shock. “So, when it’s time to pass the crown, I can make her a giant-ass tiara.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I stare him down. “Every kingdom needs a leader. And every fallen royal… deserves to leave behind a Queen.”
He’s quiet. “I’ve underestimated you.”
“Perhaps.” I nod. “But that’s another part of my charm.” I grin as warmth courses through me. I start to see double and feel myself slipping as I whisper, “It’s why I’m the most lethal assassin you will ever have. It’s always the quiet ones. Now…” I’m almost gone, completely out of it. “Let me play.”
I barely remember leaving his house.
I stumble against the driver’s side of my black BMW M3 and claw at the door.
Once I’m in, I open the console and grab the vial and a clean syringe. I watch my reflection in the rearview mirror; my eyes are nearly black, swallowing up the blue whole.
A sting erupts in my arm, and the cold spreads down my veins.
I hate being cold.
Always cold.
Teeth chattering, I wait for the heat to leave and toss the medicine onto the seat.
Brazil it is.
Days later, I sit in my room and stare at my hands.
I crumple to the floor, exhausted, disgusted, shaking.