Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

“I needed to be relatively close to home,” I say, swiping up my jacket sleeve to check the time on my watch.

“Are you sure we can’t deal with this problem for you? We’re discreet.”

“I have no doubt, but this is personal for us.” There’s a light breeze today, shifting and morphing the scenery, putting me on edge. There could be eyes out here like there were inside the factory.

Smacking his lips together, he jerks his head to one of his guys, giving him the go-ahead signal. A middle-aged guy, muscular in an obvious way, opens the van doors. “This will do what you need it to.”

Lifting the barrel, he places it into our truck and straps it down.

“Don’t spill now.” Roberto laughs, deep and throaty, tipping his hat and walking to his car.

“You’re all set,” the big guy says, tapping the hood of our truck.

That was painless. Getting back in the truck, my phone lights up with Caleb’s name on the screen. Remi, notes the caller ID, watching me for a reaction.

“What’s wrong?” I say, holding my breath.

“Your father’s home.”

Fuck.

“We’ve got to go. Come on,” I snap to Remi, who kicks over the engine. It feels like every traffic light turns red to fuck with us, every cunt deciding to come out at this particular moment to slow us the hell down.

When we finally make it back, I halt Remi’s steps, saying, “Let me do the talking.” Our father isn’t going to be happy about Maddox, but there’s a lot I’m not happy with too.

Time slows as we come through the front door, going straight through to the kitchen. Standing there, frozen, I can’t break down what I’m seeing. A roaring sound in my ears, a war drum preparing me. Puddles of water stained pink with blood lead a trail to the open door across the room.

Freya.

Remi is already moving, almost slipping in the mess as he barrels into the corridor.

“No. No. No.” The voice, a replica of my own, cries out. I don’t want to see what he’s witnessing. My lungs collapse, the air-punching its way out of my chest.

“Freya.” Remi’s pained cry almost floors me. My body pulls me across the room, my brain fighting my limbs.

I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her.

Remi’s voice fades and distorts as I fill the doorway. I can’t move. I need the exit so I can run. I take in the scene before me.

Freya, laid out in the doctor’s chair, her pale skin, damp, bruises purpling the side of her face. A mangled arm pinned next to her. Her shirt ripped open, revealing a puncture wound on her abdomen.

Antonio found out and came to avenge his brother. Blood for blood. Someone he loves for someone I love.

“Pass me a syringe,” Father barks, opening his fridge and selecting a vial. Wet clothes cling to him, fury burning in his eyes as he works.

I move on autopilot, getting him what he needs. “You were reckless last night,” he says gruffly, lines bracketing his face.

The cameras in this corridor. I hadn’t thought about the cameras he keeps in here. He had been alerted by us entering. “You saw us.” It’s a statement, not a question, but he answers me anyway.

“I saw her in here, with you and that…” He nods to the dead Maddox. “Get him out of here while I work on her.”

Fear, like a breathing entity, surrounds Remi, blazing across the room as he asks, “Is she going to live?” His bloodshot eyes train on the small lifts of her chest.

“She was lucky. No internal injuries from what I can see, but her arm may need surgery.”

I wouldn’t call this lucky. This was the result of me starting a war. There won’t be a Mercer soldier left to fight once I get done.

“This doesn’t feel lucky,” Remi speaks my thoughts.

“The stab wound isn’t deep. Her arm will need to be re-set. I need to set up the operating room just in case.”

“Why are you both wet?” Remi asks, our eyes dragging over their forms.

“She was in the pool when I found them.”

“Them?” My back snaps up rigid, rage cracking the bones, the wolf wanting out.

My father turns the weight of his full focus on me, and it takes everything I have not to cower under it. “You gave her the door code!” he says, deathly quiet.

No.

I stumble out the door facing the corridor. It rushes toward me, narrowing. The cell door is open. She found the gate to hell and fucking opened it.

“Where is he?”

“In the pool. Dead.”

Dead. Finally.

“Is this why you came home? Did you know she would do that?” I breathe, my skull squeezing my brain. It wasn’t Antonio. He doesn’t know. This was the man who stole way too fucking much from us already.

“My coming home had nothing to do with Freya and everything to do with you creating a colossal problem with one rash act.” He injects Freya with something else and fiddles with a drip feeding her fluids. “I caught the first flight out of there when I saw you drag Antonio’s younger brother in here.” It's disarming being the focus of his anger. It’s the quiet simmering rage that could combust, obliterating everything in its path at any given second.