Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

His shadow darkens the space between us. I hold a hand up, pleading for him not to touch me. I’ve had enough.

Powerful hands come under my arms, lifting me. I manage to gain some function in my limbs. “Get some water. You’ll be fine,” he says like he didn’t just strangle the life out of me.

“You’re an evil bastard,” I rasp. “I fucking hate you.” A sob catches on my lips. If I didn’t know better, I would swear I catch a glimmer of remorse in his eyes.

Rushing to the door, I fumble up the stairs to my room, seeing Midnight’s glowing eyes peering at me from beneath my bed. I close the door and try swallowing past the stone lodged in my throat.

Bruises already marring my arms, I rub them, trying to alleviate the pain. I walk over to my balcony door, dragging a couple deep gulps of fresh air into my lungs, steadying myself on the frame.

Noah’s never been physical with me. Never violent in that way. Something rooted deep within me shudders. Pain and fear aren’t strangers to me, they’ve just been buried so far within me, I didn’t realize how familiar they were until I wept under Noah’s violent, empty stare.

What happened to me?

To them?

Where did I come from?

“I feel your eyes on me, kid,” Remi calls out.

I don’t have the energy or ability to fake being okay right now, so I close the door, lock it, and cry myself to sleep.

Thirteen

Remi

“What’s eating you?” I ask my brother, sweeping my gaze over him. His hair is disheveled. His usual impeccable attire is missing a jacket and tie. His sleeves are rolled up. And that knee bounce is his tell that something’s on his mind.

“Did you see Freya this morning?” he asks, completely out of character, jarring me back into my seat.

“You feeling okay?” I ask with real concern.

“Just answer the damn question, Remi,” he snaps, cutting his icy stare at me.

“No. What do you care anyway?” I retort, narrowing my eyes on his stressed face.

“Her cat was in my room last night when I came in from the pool.” He drops his gaze from mine, checking something on his phone.

“And?” That cat is always in his damn room. I’ve caught him cuddling with it more than once over the years. With that hard demeanor he wears like a suit of armor, he’ll never admit it.

“And nothing.” His tone is hard, cold. But I get a kick out of pushing his buttons. His rage is always so close to the surface, I enjoy the danger of provoking it.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” I boot his loafer with my foot, smirking at him.

“Just drop it.” He scowls, his hands stretching over his thighs.

Drop what? What the fuck is going on? He hasn’t actually told me anything.

“Dad is due home tonight,” he says, changing the subject. “He’s bringing merchandise and wants us to make sure Freya isn’t around.” The way he says “Freya” has a cool bite to it.

“What kind of merchandise?”

“Does it matter?”

I guess fucking not.

Noah is dad’s number two. He started working on scouting investment opportunities at the age of sixteen. He’s intelligent and has a natural ability with figures. By the time he was eighteen, Dad recognized Noah’s dominance, how he could already command a room, an audience, projected power, that made people fear him so he put him to work meeting clients.

Our dad has a very tightknit trust circle and prefers to keep his business within our family. Noah and I were loyal because we were his.

I don’t have the same drive as Noah when it comes to our family business. I often think about packing a bag and seeing the world. But leaving him would be like leaving part of myself. I’ve never been able to do it. “I thought he wasn’t due back for a few more days?” I run a hand through my hair.

“Things change.” That’s all he says, fiddling with the watch on his wrist.

“You’re a moody bastard. You need me to call Raquel over?”

Raquel is a self-made millionaire who runs her own cupcake business. She’s a freaky girl who likes being tag-teamed once a month. “No, I don’t have the time. And I’m tired of her.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“But you’re not. We balance each other out,” he grunts. “You ready?” Caleb opens the door, and Noah steps out of the car before I can reply

Looking up at the three-story townhouse, I raise a brow. “Did you say he put it on the market?”

A firm nod of his head. “It’s not our concern where the money comes from, just that we get paid,” he reminds me, sounding more like dad every day.

I don’t care about any of it, I just want it over. I only suited up for Noah in case he needed me. I’m his tool to wield.