Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

“Why you killed my mother.” There’s danger in his eyes, pits of evil hoping to drag me to hell with him.

“Deal.” He holds his hand out for the bottle, the damaged flesh reaching through the small space toward me. The skin sags over the bone, muscle wasted away.

Picking up the bottle, I shakily hold it out to him. “Closer, Freya,” he heckles. The white walls of the corridor close in around me.

Just breathe.

I step closer, tension twisting my muscles. His hand grips the bottle, but loosens it too soon, slipping it through his fingers. Quick like a cat, he stretches out, the palm of his rubbery hand finding purchase on my wrist. The water bottle clangs to the floor, reverberating.

“No,” I call out in terror when he yanks me toward him, pulling my entire arm through the small open square. Too fast. Too strong. He twists a horrific crunch. Pain, white-hot and vomit-inducing, fires up my shoulder and throbs through my body.

“I killed that whore because she was a fucking slut. Fucking that bastard while married to me.” Rotten teeth sneer.

“Let go.” I sob, trying to pry myself free. Hot, disgusting breath snaps at me. My face digs into the metal of the door with the force of him pulling on my broken limb.

“Cutting her throat was the highlight of our marriage. She begged for your life. She knew he would come for you if she bought time.”

Please stop. Let me go. The words scream in my head, but all that leaves my mouth is gurgled wails. It hurts so much, black spots flicker in my vision. “He came for his daughter,” he snarls, and my mind disintegrates.

“No,” I bellow, finding my words. “Liar.”

“Why do you think he kept you? You’re his kid. He didn’t just take my wife, my life, but my kid.”

The pain is unbearable. He adds pressure. Another crunch as he twists, dislocating the elbow this time. Vomit burns up my gullet and flings from my lips, splattering the door.

“Open the door,” he orders.

No. No way. What have I done?

“Open the door.”

“No!” I scream, pushing my free hand against the metal, trying and failing to get free. Teeth sink into the flesh of my finger, boring through the skin, veins, until they meet the bone.

“I’ll eat you alive, bitch. Open the fucking door,” he roars.

I hold out, sobbing, trying to block out the pain, block out the visual of what he’s doing. His other hand pushes through the space my neck and shoulder obstruct, forcing it through until he finds my throat, his fingers squeezing.

“I’ll choke the fucking life out of you if you don’t open the door.” Black leaks from the corners of my eyes. I’m dying.

“Open the door and I’ll let you live.” A promise from a thief, a murderer.

My thoughts go to Remi, Noah. If they come home and find me dead, this man taking another person from them…

Is he lying?

Do I have a choice?

“Do it.” He shakes me like a rag doll. How is he this strong? My fingers shudder over the keypad, tears blurring my vision. I punch the number in. The light turns green, then it clinks open.

Releasing me, I fall backward, hitting the hard wall as the door pushes open.

RUN!

Finding strength somehow, I cradle my broken, mangled arm and take off. My body hits the exit door with a heavy thud, the handle giving away, opening. I spill into the kitchen, colliding with the tiled floor. Pain is everywhere.

My body is destroyed, but I need to live. The monster is coming, hunting. He’s the worst kind of evil. Soulless. Merciless.

Getting to my feet just as the door re-opens, I run through the kitchen doors and crash into the banister of the stairs, my knees hitting the first step and screaming in pain. I climb them, sobbing.

He gives chase, a knife from the counter in his grip, blunt, the butter knife. “Are you alone here, Freya?” he mocks, wild, crazed eyes darting everywhere. I round the first banister and head up the second. Pushing my door open, I slam it shut behind me, searching for a weapon. There’s nothing. I’m going to die in this room. Why didn’t I go out the front?

The door crashes open, the monster filling the space, projecting his darkness into the room, shadowing every square inch. Inescapable dread leaks into every part of my being. Stroking the door frame as if it’s a lover’s arm, he closes his eyes, sucking in a deep inhale. “Fate has a funny sense of humor, don’t you think?” He’s toying with me, lips curling in excitement.

Voice laced with malice, I push through clenched teeth, “Don’t touch me.”

Creeping into the room, starving the air of oxygen, he prowls, feeding on my terror. The thing worse than any nightmare launches for me. I dart across my bed, my feet sinking into the duvet. He grips my hair, heaving me backward. The room tips, my back colliding with the mattress. Thrashing, I kick and flay my good arm, screaming when blows rain down, pellets of pain firing into me with every punch. An overwhelming stench of rot and filth fills my nose. His thighs are a vise beside my head. Kneeling over me, the beast bears down on me, his thin, crusted lips curling up in pleasure. “This is going to hurt.” Air whooshes from my lungs as he plunges the knife into my stomach, the sound of my skin tearing around the blunt silver of the knife almost worse than the pain of its entry.