Page 57 of Consort of the Crime Queen

He lunges, switchblade swiping at my torso. Agility born of countless fights for my life has me twisting aside, the whisper of the blade slicing past my shirt the only sign of how close it came. I counter, driving an elbow toward his jaw, but Nero just shakes it off.

He comes at me again, and we dance our way around the room. I stick to evasive maneuvers as I judge his style, feinting and dodging the wild slashes of his blade, biding my time. I'm unwilling to grapple when his heavier build could overpower me through sheer force.

We pause for a moment, circling each other like wolves, and I force steadiness into my voice. "I don't know which of your men took out my Syndicate members, but please give them my kudos in the afterlife. Clearly it wasn't one of your usual brainless thugs. There was actual finesse involved for once."

Nero's lip curls in a cruel smile. "Oh, that? That wasn't me. I figured since no one else was going to take credit, I might as well. I guess it must've been Dad, though he kept it quiet. But whoever it was, they did me a favor. Taught you and your band of freaks that you're not as untouchable as you thought." He lashes out with a punch I barely block, following it up with a kick to my ribs that I fail to dodge entirely. The blow makes me stagger back and steals my breath.

He presses the momentary advantage, looming closer. "Or, hell, we both saw how fast your precious Syndicate turned on you when money changed hands. Maybe it was one of your own, thinning the crowd before I attacked tonight."

I tamp down on the red haze threatening my vision. Focus. He wants me furious, unthinking.

"Money won't help the dead. Tony, Ilona, all those turncoats—they're all dead, too, and the Syndicate survives." My smile holds only teeth as Nero falters slightly. Good. "Who's really untouchable here, little brother? Who just lost their entire crew? I wonder what Papa will have to say about that?"

With a roar, Nero charges me. Under normal circumstances, he'd be easy to avoid, but I'm slower than usual tonight after a long fight and several injuries. Nero is fresher. Stronger. He manages to crash into me, his superior weight bearing me to the floor.

I bring my knee up sharply, aiming for his balls, but the blow doesn't land with full force. I'm still able to use the precious seconds it buys to flip our positions. I land a solid strike across his jaw before he recovers, grappling me onto my back again.

He brings his knife down hard, forcing it toward my face. I barely catch his wrists in time, every muscle straining. But Nero has gravity and mass on his side as he bears down, face a rictus of rage. The blade inches closer to my eye by increments, no matter how I resist.

My arms tremble with opposing effort and I try to think, try to find a way out. I should have come in shooting. Should have gone for a killing blow just now instead of trying to dodge him.

But it's too late for should haves.

I twist and buck, but Nero easily keeps me pinned. His grin makes my skin crawl as he pants, "Give it up, bitch. You were never going to win this."

This close, the sickly heat of his breath washes my face, makes me want to retch. My wrist burns with strain, barely holding him off. Biding time. Seeking an opening, a weakness, anything. My mind flashes to Lyssa's eternal advice to me, given fresh just a few months ago, before I made my move and stole Aurora away from her unwanted wedding.

"You think too much, Hades," Lyssa had said bluntly, as we grappled together in the training room. Her hits met the mark more often than not, and I'd always found her the most difficult opponent. She's too unpredictable. "Don't get me wrong," she said between strikes. "That big brain of yours took us to the top. But you need to trust those killer instincts more. Shut your head up and let your gut take the wheel."

And then she'd kicked me hard in the chest, sending me flying to my back, winded. I'd been thankful at the time that there was no one else around to see the great Hades wheezing for air like an overturned turtle.

But she was right, wasn't she? My ever-turning brain meant every move I made was a split-second slower than hers.

As for Nero, he has brute force but no finesse. I have the finesse but find myself with too many possible strategies in the heat of battle.

"I'll look forward to breaking Aurora," he pants into my face.

And it's that vile promise that makes me do what Lyssa always told me to do.

I stop thinking. Just react.

Bring my leg up again between his legs, shove his hands—and the knife—to one side, and crash my forehead into Nero's nose with all my might. Cartilage crunches. As he recoils I use his own force against him, shoving the knife still locked in our hands further sideways across his momentarily slackened grip. It tears a gash along his forearm. The pain startles him just long enough for me to roll away.

My body is moving on its own before my mind can interfere, my hand flashing out to grab the gun from the back of his jeans as I get to my knees. He sits up, grabbing for the gun, but I pistol-whip him as hard as I can, catching his nose again. It gushes crimson and he slams to the floor with a howl as I flick off the safety.

And then I empty the entire clip into his face.

I stagger to my feet slowly. The only sound is my own ragged breathing as I look down at the ruined face of my brother.

I expected to feel triumph. I thought I'd be screaming my victory to the skies, the day I finally killed Nero.

But I feel nothing but relief. Relief that Aurora is safe.

Relief that this is over.

Ah, but it's not over. Not yet. The rabid dog might have been destroyed. But the more dangerous viper remains.

It's time I paid a visit to my father.

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