The Bratva's Heir (Underworld Kings)

“Kill them both,” old Cian Maguire croaks, over by the window. “Make this whole problem disappear once and for all.”

One of the Irish goons speaks up, breaking the brittle silence. I recognize him from Yama—he’s still got a bruise in the shape of my fist down the right side of his face. “He might be telling the truth. He barely tried to defend himself at Petrov’s.”

Connor snorts like this means nothing, but I can tell from his frown that it bothers him—he’s noted my behavior every step of the way. He knows I never used lethal force against his men, even when they were trying to kill me. He knows I interrogated his son with only a fraction of the cruelty I’d usually employ.

“The alliance could still be salvaged,” I say, quietly.

“Not a chance!” Connor howls. “Not after what happened to Roxy! You didn’t protect her!”

And now, for the first time, I see the truth; Maguire knows I didn’t kill his daughter.

He’s angry anyway. Because she died right next to me, a foot from my face, while I failed to stop it.

“You’re right,” I say, quietly. “And for that I’m deeply, deeply sorry.”

Connor hears my sincerity. He looks at me, frowning slightly.

I never loved Roxy. Still, the greatest shame of my life is that I agreed to watch over her, and I failed to do it.

I woke to her wide-open eyes staring back at me, horrified, reproachful, drained of life. Begging me to help her, while gone to a place where no help is possible.

I will never let that happen again.

Especially not to Clare.

“Help me find who did this,” I say to Maguire. “Work with me, not against me. We can both have our revenge.”

“What about her?” Connor asks, nodding his head toward Clare without looking at her. “Your priorities are divided, Constantine.”

“No, they aren’t,” I say, flatly. “I have one purpose only: to kill every last person who had a hand in this conspiracy.”

In my peripheral vision, I see Clare flinch.

She knows I believe that includes her father.

“What do you want from us?” Niall demands.

He’s quick on the uptake—much like his father.

“I want you to get the police file on the case,” I say. “The full fucking file, not the bullshit Valencia brought to trial. I know you can get it—half the cops on the force are Irish. And I want access to your security footage before and after her death, particularly involving any possible intrusion on your property.”

“The police may be Irish but they’re not Maguires,” Connor says, folding his beefy red forearms across his chest.

“They’re still fuckin’ Irish. You can get it,” I say, forcefully.

Connor doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t argue, either.

“I’ll be in touch,” I say, taking Clare’s arm and backing toward the door once more.

None of the Irish move, watching us leave with their pale, distrustful gazes fixed on our faces. Only Chopper bids me farewell with a soft whine.

As soon as we’re outside, Clare wheels on me.

“You used me!” she cries.

“Quiet,” I say, dragging her back toward the bike. “They’ll hear you.”

“I don’t care if they do!” she shouts, sorely tempting me to clamp a hand over her mouth. Or maybe turn her over my knee again.

“You’re gonna fucking care,” I snarl. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking they’re on your side.”

“Oh, I understand exactly what happened,” Clare hisses at me. “You were gambling on the fact that they wouldn’t want to kill you in front of me—that’s why you brought me along. While knowing damn well they’d be happy to shoot me too, if they shared your opinion about my father.”

“Well they don’t just yet,” I snarl back at her, “and I’d like to keep it that way, so keep your fucking voice down.”

“I’m not going to stand by and watch you murder him,” Clare says. “He’s still my father, no matter what he’s done.”

“Oh yeah?” I sneer. “And what do you think should happen? You want me to turn the evidence over to the police? They’re in on it, remember? Even if there was such a thing as justice, and they threw him in DesMax, he wouldn’t last a fucking week. The outcome is the same either way.”

Clare stares at me, really thinking this through for the first time.

She said she wanted the truth—but she doesn’t want what follows.

She doesn’t want the consequences.

Chapter 16

Clare

I should’ve known better than to trust him. I should’ve known that he’d use me, that there was a reason that he broke me out of that prison.

I know he’s capable of unspeakable violence. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I know he’s planning even more. And yet…

When he looks at me that way… with that glint in his eyes that tells me I’m special, I started to believe that it was true.

When he holds me that way… with that fierce possessiveness that only he has ever shown around me, I started to believe he meant it.