Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

Roman waves from the security house, opening the front gate for me. We got Roman and Caleb in the move, Father got Dominque. Remi wasn’t happy having to learn to cook for himself and us. Freya could make a mean sandwich or bagel, but that’s where her skills in the kitchen ended.

Speaking of the devil, I grin, answering my brother’s call.

“Brother?”

“I just had a call to attend a Ruin meet,” he says, no humor in his voice. An icy hand coils around my spine.

We hadn’t heard anything from Antonio about his brother. Whispers circulated that he’d gone into hiding, police protective custody. A rat. It rocked an already unsteady foundation within the Mercer family.

“Who with?” The Ruin was all top families. It could be for someone else—

“Antonio,” he cuts off my train of thought. “Do I go?” he asks.

“You wait for me and we go together. If we don’t, it makes us look guilty of something.”

“Aren’t we?” he breathes down the line.

“He doesn’t know that.”

“You hope.”

“Where are you?” I ask, slowing the car.

“Dad’s. He’s not happy.”

“I’ll pick you up in ten.”

If Antonio knows what I did, he wouldn’t be as bold as to call Remi in for a meet. He would take revenge first on the sly, then call a meet to discuss his actions.

Still, I’ll be going in armed to the teeth. If we go to war, I’ll be ready.

Parking the car a mile away from the meat factory, Remi jumps out and pops the trunk, a giddy energy rippling from him.

“You’re too hyped up,” I state.

“You will be too when you see this baby in action.”

He made us return home to collect one of his new gadgets and a change of clothes. Remi is laid back as fuck, funny, and easy to be around, but he’s also smart, vigilant, and trained for surveillance. There’s a reason he preferred to be with me when I did our father’s business. He’s a protector.

Lifting the drone from the trunk, he fiddles about with it, then steps back, opening a laptop. The drone comes to life, the cameras feed showing on the laptop screen. “I’m going in from the back where the trees are. You’ve seen how shit their patrols are. They won’t even know it’s there.”

The drone takes to the sky with Remi guiding it to the factory. There are two cars parked outside, one man at the entrance on guard duty. “We can’t see inside.”

“Au contraire, brother.” He smirks smugly. He clicks a button, and the picture turns thermal, showing three men inside.

“Only three,” I think aloud. If he does know and plans to attack, he’s either stupid or doesn’t find me to be a threat.

“Maybe it’s just for another job?” Remi shrugs.

“Why call you, though?” It’s not an insult. Remi doesn’t deal with any part of our business. He would never be called to represent our family.

“Let’s go find out.” He guides the drone back to us and puts everything back in the trunk.

We pull up behind one of Antonio’s cars. The man at the door asks our name. He’s different from the last fools who were here. Speaking into his earpiece, he looks back at us and says, “Two of them.” Antonio can’t be foolish enough to think I wouldn’t come with my brother. No, he anticipated it. This is all a game.

“Go through,” the guard tells us.

Remi looks at me with amusement. We could have entered from any point in this building, killed everyone in it, and yet they have a man on the door like he could prevent it from happening.

What an embarrassment.

The smell hasn’t improved in here. Decay and shit cling to the air, the rusting beams creaking in disapproval of the wind battering the outside walls. Antonio stands by the cabin stairs, flanked by Little Tony and Mateo. There’s a duffle bag at his feet, oozing a crimson liquid.

The tension is stifling as we approach, my chest barely containing the thudding of my heart, a dark mist swirling in my head.

Shit’s bad. I feel it in my gut. I’m not going to like who’s in that bag.

Fighting my killer haze, the wolf stirring beneath my skin, I run through everyone I know, care about. Who’s in that fucking bag?

“Aww, Noah. Predictable I see.” Antonio stands, legs shoulder-width apart, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“I’m offended my brother got your call and I didn’t. I thought we had a rapport. Didn’t I provide a good enough service for you and your client?”

Little Tony looks like he’s constipated. Sweat pouring from him, a gun in hand. I’d come back as a ghost and phantom rape this cunt if I end up dying by his fat sausage fingered hand.

“I tried calling your father. Appears he’s out of town.”

“Is that how it appears?” I smirk. Our father is good at keeping off the radar. He doesn’t like anyone knowing his whereabouts. If you don’t have information on him, you can’t share it.