Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

A black blob whizzes past my head and leaps. “Fuck!” the monster roars through rotten teeth.

The bed dips, his weight releasing me. It takes a second for my mind to catch up to my body. Scrambling to my feet, hissing through the pain, I stumble to the wall, bracing against it, wishing it would grow around me, protect me. Through my peripheral, I witness Midnight attacking the enemy, slaying the beast.

Grabbing a handful of fur, the beast launches my savior across the room. “I fucking hate cats,” he spits out, rubbing a palm down his face at the scratches there, bloody and oozing. I’m fading, my body giving up. Shaking all over, I take a step toward the door but he moves with me, like a mirror mimicking my movements, blocking my way.

“Does Daddy know you’ve been fucking your brothers?” His verbal lashings are just as impactful as his physical strikes.

No.

He’s lying.

Could life be that cruel?

Midnight stalks across the carpet. My heart beats uneven, slowing heavy in my ears. I move sideways across the room, feeling the cool glass at my back from the balcony door. Midnight strikes again, clawing up the enemy's legs, hissing and stabbing his talons into the leathery flesh. I throw the door open and fumble onto the balcony, slamming the door closed, the panes of glass shuddering in displeasure.

Grappling for air, my chest wheezes with the effort. I sob. My furry friend is in danger, sacrificing himself to protect me. My thoughts manifest. “Midnight!” I scream as the silver of the knife cuts toward him. Black fur spills through the fingers of the monster as he grabs my innocent friend, launching his soft body across the room.

Dark brown death holes for eyes zap to mine through the glass separating us. Moving toward the door, taking slow, deliberate steps, he prowls to our battlefield. I retreat, climbing the concrete wall that was supposed to keep me from falling to my death.

The wind kisses my back as the door slides open, a bloodied hand creeping around the edge. My feet falter. My legs are made of Jell-O. Blood drips down my stomach, pitter-pattering at my feet. Memories, so many memories on this balcony… Remi. Allowing myself one more moment with him, I conjure his form swimming in the pool, his cheeky face smiling up at me asking what I’m doing.

“You ready for that kiss now?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Could you love me, Freya?”

“Nowhere left to run,” the cruel, evil boogey man croons, reaching out as I turn and jump.

Air streams over my body, lungs burning, stomach twisting…

Splash!

Water engulfs me, swallowing me into its cold embrace. I imagine it’s Noah’s arms.

Seconds pass. My life ticks away in my ears as my heart decelerates. And then, the solid ground beneath my feet encourages me to kick off the bottom of the pool.

Gasping for air, crimson ink spills into the water from my wounds. Invisible binds prevent me from moving. I try to flex my good arm to keep my head above the waterline. My breathing comes in small, wheezing puffs. I see him looking down at me, a snarling shadow, his face contorting in anger, and then he’s gone.

The trees whisper to each other as a gentle breeze ripples over the water surface. The silence all around gives a false sense of security.

I need to get out, I need to get out. I need to…

He’s there. Oh god, he’s there. Like something from a horror movie, naked and covered in scrapes, the caveman stands at the edge of the pool. “Look at you dying.” Pleasure. My suffering is giving him gratification.

It’s kind of poetic if I die in this pool. I love this pool. My thoughts form, words slipping from my tongue. “I’m dying.”

Closing my eyes, I allow the water to claim me, drag me under. His figure blurs as the water covers my face. A sharp pop distorts and shatters the air. His body rushes toward me as I scream out. Water gushes, bubbling around me. He hits the pool with a sploosh, those wide brown pits open, staring down at me as cherry red patterns expand around him.

Another splash. A dark figure moving through the water effortlessly. Arms surround me, lifting. Air kisses my face, chasing into my lungs. Strong, powerful arms cradle me. The scent…not Remi, or Noah, but him—the man who saved me eleven years ago. The man who is really my father.

“You’re safe.” The words are distant. The darkness spreads into my eyes until there’s nothing.

Thirty-Five

Noah

Roberto is waiting by a van when we pull up at the meat factory. The place looks worse in daylight, if that’s possible. Overgrown shrubbery claims what was once a loading bay.

“I was surprised you wanted to meet here. After the last fiasco…” Roberto chimes in light amusement. Kicking something off his shoe, he turns slightly, hands in his pockets, looking over at the factory where Mateo and Tony called our last meeting.