Page 25 of When Kings Rise

Wolf's reaction is swift, his pain translating into anger. "I don’t want to hear another fucking person say that to me. Look, we made a deal, right? With those cult motherfuckers?"

Lorcan glances around nervously. "Wolf, keep your voice down," he hisses, the tension in his voice betraying his concern for our secrecy.

I lean back casually. "The door is closed, Lorcan. This room is soundproof." My reassurance is meant to ease the tension but also to assert control over the situation. Wolf needs to calm down.

Wolf snaps at Lorcan, "Yeah, shut the fuck up, Lorcan." His dismissiveness sparks a snort of amusement from Ronan.

Wolf continues. "We made a deal with those cult motherfuckers that we would do what they say as long as they help us with our shit. Well, we need help. We need every secret asshole they have to get in on this."

I exchange a glance with Lorcan, unable to resist a jab. "Did you hear that, Lorcan? Secret assholes." My words are laced with sarcasm, a light jab in the otherwise tense atmosphere.

Lorcan, unamused, fires back dryly. "I don’t play for that team."

Wolf's eyes, burning with a mix of grief and determination, lock onto each of us in turn. "I’m serious, guys. Look, we are family. The four of us in this room. Fuck Victor. Fuck the Kings. Fuck all of them. We need to take care of our own. Whatever we need to do to get to the guy who did this, we will do it."

Ronan's voice is steady, and his decision is immediate. "I’m in."

Lorcan's shock is palpable. "What?"

Ronan doesn't falter. "I know that you are nervous about your upcoming election, dear brother, but Wolf is right. An O’Sullivan has been maimed and murdered. If we don’t make an example of the person who did this, it can happen to any of us. I’ll do most of the dirty work, but can you pull some strings if I need it?"

Lorcan, after a moment's hesitation, nods. "Yeah. I can do that."

All eyes turn to me, the final piece of this precarious puzzle. The weight of their stares is a tangible thing, pressing down with the gravity of the situation laid bare before us. Wolf's sex trade, Ronan's legal enterprises, Lorcan's government ties—each plays a critical role in the fabric of our syndicate. But I’m the assassin who will be expected to kill the person who took Andrew’s life. Funny how this is all coming full circle, and being part of this circle gives me full control.

"I’m in," I say, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil churning within.

As we sit in the dim light of our secluded meeting place, a pact is forged. The waitress arrives at our table with fresh brandy for everyone. I hadn’t even noticed anyone ordering the drinks. But Lorcan sits beside the small buzzer that goes directly to the bar. He must have been the one.

He doesn’t appear happy but raises his glass. When the door closes, we all do the same. “To justice,” he declares.

“To killing the motherfucker who killed my father,” Wolf chimes in.

We all click glasses, and I have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Selene

THE SOFT GLOW of the evening light filters across my vanity mirror, casting a warm hue on the array of makeup and hair products scattered in front of me. I'm seated comfortably, the chair's plush cushion a small comfort as I unroll the curlers from my hair, each lock falling into place with a gentle bounce. My reflection stares back at me, a mix of anticipation and nerves for tonight's work event. It's not every day you get to represent your department at such a prestigious gathering.

Just as I secure the last curl into place, a knock at the door has me pausing, glancing at the clock. Who could it be at this hour? I stand, smoothing out my dress before making my way across the main room of my apartment. The hardwood floor feels cool under my bare feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room heated by the late afternoon sun.

Opening the door, I'm greeted by the familiar face of my grandfather, his eyes carrying a mix of apology and concern.

"I’m so sorry, a chroí," he starts, his voice carrying the soft lilt. "I know you are getting ready for your work event, but you have a visitor."

I tilt my head, puzzled. "Who is it?"

He steps aside, revealing a figure. Niamh stands there, her teeth chattering, eyes wide with what appears to be fear or shock, and a tight grip on something in her hand.

"Selene! I need to talk to you!" Her voice is urgent.

I nod to my grandfather, mouthing a silent thank you for bringing Niamh here. "I'll take it from here," I assure him, my voice steady despite the flurry of questions swirling in my mind.

Gently, I place my hands on Niamh's shoulders, guiding her into the warmth of my apartment. The door shuts with a soft click behind us. The contrast between the cozy interior and the crisp air outside makes me aware of the tremble in Niamh's frame.

"What's going on?" I ask, leading her toward the sofa. My heart races, not just from the disruption, but from concern for my friend standing before me, who is visibly distressed.

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