A tiny, bloodthirsty part of me wants to see their head on a pike in my front yard. My neighbors likely won’t appreciate my yard ornaments like I do. Michail would though. Hell, he’d string up tiki lights just to draw more attention to it.

Emmanuelle gives my hand one last squeeze as his men rush forward and charge the chamber doors. They open inward, startling those around us into silence.

I reach behind me, untie the mask, and let it fall away. But I don’t get the satisfying revelation I am expecting.

The chamber is the same as it ever was. Each chair set off the floor like a throne. Several men sit, bored expressions on their faces, but when I get to the center chair, my heart threatens to crawl out of my mouth.

Margery is sitting there, back perfectly straight, one hand on the arm of the chair, the other entwined in Michail’s curls. He’s kneeling at her feet, slightly drooping to the side. His hands are tied behind his back, and his face is pressed against her knee like a dog.

What the fuck is happening here? I have to stare, my brain skipping the details as if it’s trying to protect me.

The world tilts under my feet. Not at my friend’s betrayal. I learned a long time ago not to trust anyone. But since I’ve been stuck with Michail, he’s shown me there are some people I can trust.

And right now, this bitch has him tied at her feet like a dog. A white-hot flash of heat, of anger, makes my ears burn, and I clench my fists so no one can see them tremble. I’m not fucking scared, and I don’t want anyone to assume I am, because I’m about to cut this bitch and make her watch me measure her fucking entrails.

Margery waves her hand regally. “Please, join us. We have much to discuss.”

29

MICHAIL

The very distinct metallic snick of multiple guns being cocked in tandem catches my attention. Except, I’m not even sure where I am or what’s happening. I remember dancing with Selena, and then everything goes hazy.

I sit up straight, a headache pounding between my eyes. At the same time, I register several things. Margery has her fingers in my hair, digging the sharp points into my scalp. There are men surrounding the room, all armed, all pointing weapons at the little crowd just inside the doorway.

Selena.

She’s staring at me, her eyes hooded, her beautiful jaw set. I try to keep my eyes open so I can see her, blinking to clear some of the haze in my mind.

The bitch drugged me. It must have been in the champagne she offered me as we exited toward the council chambers. My knees ache faintly, and the cold marble under me isn’t doing me any favors.

I cut my gaze to Selena again who is talking to Margery, I presume, but I can’t catch the words, each one slipping away as I try to focus.

The only reason I’m awake for this is because Margery underestimated how much drug she should have slipped me. Small mercies.

I try to work the knots at my wrist, the thin rope easy to manipulate for someone with a lot of practice with being tied up. Not to mention she favored the same knots as she did when I was a teenager. Convenient.

There’s some loud shouting, and I resettle my shoulders, still feigning the drug is hitting me harder than it actually is.

Margery caresses my scalp and whispers an endearment in a baby voice like one might address a dog.

I can’t wait to stab this bitch. My fingers are itching for it. I want to see the light leave her eyes and revel in the satisfaction that I took one more asshole off the streets.

I have to play this perfectly. The drugs are already in my system, and I know my reflexes are slower than usual. I can’t risk attacking one of these goons. It’s likely they’ll shoot me before I can take a weapon.

But it’s not the guards I need to fool. It’s the psychopath on the throne.

I continue loosening the knots and let out a low moan, leaning farther against her. She gives me another proprietary pat, her attention fully focused on Selena.

Selena’s voice filters into the haze, slowly, like a overlaid audio file just barely off track with a movie scene. “What’s going on here?”

I keep my eye on Selena, through the fall of my curls. That tone. She’s pissed as fuck and about to rain hell down on everyone here. I keep hiding and watching.

Waiting to see her in her pissed off glory.

She takes a few steps forward, Emmanuelle joining her despite the wary eye he keeps on all the guns in the room.

The numerous guards wear the typical uniform here: black cargos, black turtleneck, black ski mask. Not sure who thought that was a good idea, especially in summer, but who am I to complain? A couple of them accent their uniform with a small pin, but I can’t make out the symbol in the drug haze. Not that it matters anyway.

Tags: J.L. Beck Romance
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