Ruthless Knights (The Dark Elite 2)

My calm is fading as memories pour through my mind. Damian isn’t sloppy, which means he already knows every detail of what happened in that church. He’s questioning me like this, forcing me to relive it all, because he wants to watch me break.

He’s hoping some hidden truth will spill out when I do.

I feel Hale’s fingertips brush my shoulder, both a warning and a reassurance. His father’s eyes narrow on his son, hardening with suspicio

n, and I brush Hale’s hand away. I need to deal with this on my own. If he goes up against his father, I don’t know how it will end, but I’m scared to find out.

“Perhaps you wanted to kill your own father.” Damian focuses his attention on me again, a hard gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps the wedding was a setup for him all along.”

“No! I wouldn’t do that. I loved my father. I told you, I don’t know any—”

“It’s all right, Grace.” Damian shakes his head. “He’s dead now. You can tell me what you know.”

My heartbeat stutters.

I register the words a few seconds after he says them, my mind not wanting to wrap itself around the cruelty. I see a flash of red at the same moment Hale growls and strides forward, his body coming between me and Damian again as if to protect me. I thought the wound of my father’s death and the secrets that’ve been unearthed since then was starting to heal—but in the space of a few minutes, Damian has left me raw and bleeding. Exposed.

“She doesn’t know anything. I’ve asked her all of this already, and I’m satisfied with her answers.” Hale’s body seems to swell with anger. “So back the fuck off.”

I can only see part of Damian’s face with his son standing between us. A flare of his nostrils is the only betrayal of emotion on his face. Whether he’s feeling anger, shock, or regret, I have no idea.

As his words settle into my mind, I have a vivid memory of Hale once saying something eerily similar.

“It’s okay, Grace, he’s dead now. You can talk.”

Hale once questioned me with the same casual cruelty his father is demonstrating now. Deliberately poking at tender places in my heart, trying to unearth the information he wanted. But his posture now is angry and defensive, and I don’t know what to do with that. He stepped in front of me without hesitation, shielding me with his own body to protect me from his father’s words, as if he would take a bullet for me.

“I’ve questioned her on multiple occasions,” Hale continues, “and I would be absolutely fucking shocked if she had something to do with this.” He leans on the desk and lowers his face to eye-level with his father’s. “If I were you, I would be more concerned about finding the mole in your own syndicate.”

Damian’s jaw twitches as he glances from his son to me. His eyes are hard, and it feels like his gaze penetrates right through my skin—all the way down to my heart as the poor organ thrashes against my ribs.

I do my best to stay still and calm, even as nerves prickle through me. I don’t know what he sees in my expression, or in Hale’s. Does he know what’s happened between us? Has he guessed?

And if he does know, will it mean my salvation? Or my death?

4

Zaid

Ciro switches between clenching his fingers nervously and rapping his knuckles against his thighs as he stares into space. The tattoos on his hands flex with the movement, and I stare at them to distract myself from wondering what the hell is going on behind that door.

My friend started with tattoos when he was young. I’d see him one day, and the next, he’d show up with a whole new piece on his arm or his shoulder. Most of them are from before he was taken captive for several months, but he’s gotten a few since then. It’s one of the only times he’s let someone touch him. Ciro is twitchy about things like that, but weirdly, the pain of a tattoo must override whatever other discomfort he feels when a person gets too close to him.

Tearing my gaze from Ciro, I glance over at Lucas, who sits across from me. He immediately looks up, and I swear I can practically hear his fucking thoughts.

Is she gonna be okay?

Fuck, I wish I knew the answer to that. Damian is a reasonable man, but he’s not a sentimental one. There’s no fucking way he’ll cut Grace slack just because her father was once an important player in the Novak Syndicate.

Especially not since Samuel Weston betrayed Damian’s brother.

Lucas lets out a long breath. I do the same without thinking, as if we’re mirror images of each other. We sit in complete silence, straining to hear anything from the other side of the door and waiting for the meeting to end. None of us says a word—not just out of respect for the people on the other side of the door, but also because none of us can think of anything to say.

It stung like a bitch to be kicked out, slighted like that by Damian. He trusts his son, which means he trusts us, but apparently not as much as I thought. I’m glad as fuck that Hale stayed behind with her, but I wanted to be there by Grace’s side, ready to protect her. To defend her.

I know that Hale cares for Grace, no matter how fucked up in the head he is about all of this. He’ll keep her safe. But with every second that ticks by, my body grows more stiff.

Shit, I hate waiting.