Page 45 of When Kings Rise

Niamh's grip on my arm tightens. A wave of nausea washes over me, the room spinning as the reality of what we're suggesting settles in. I clamp a hand over my mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit right there on the coroner's pristine floor.

The assistant mistakes my physical reaction for emotional turmoil, which, in a way, isn't entirely wrong. She quickly offers me a tissue, her eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and concern. “I'm sorry; this must be incredibly hard for you,” she says, her voice gentle.

Gathering my composure, I take the tissue, using it more as a prop to cover my moment of weakness. “I... I can't be sure this is my sister,” I stammer, playing back into our narrative with a thread of truth.

The assistant nods, understanding—or believing she understands—our plight. “We have a composite sketch,” she offers. “An investigator tried to piece together what she might have looked like before... before she ended up here.”

She retrieves the sketch from a folder and hands it over. The drawing depicts a young woman, vibrant and full of life, a stark contrast to the cold, silent form on the table. It's a glimpse into what could have been, a life cut tragically short.

Niamh and I lean in, studying the sketch. It's generic enough to be anyone, and yet, in the lines and shadows, I see the faces of every missing person, every unsolved case.

“Thank you,” I say softly, handing back the sketch. “This... This helps, but I don’t think it’s our sister.”

As we put distance between ourselves and the building that now seems more like a facade for darker truths, the reality of our situation settles in. The coroner's too-quick judgment and the ignored evidence, it all points to something sinister—a network of power and silence, possibly the mafia, a cult, or a terrifying mix of both.

“Are you okay?” I ask Niamh beside me.

“I can’t stop thinking…what if that was Ella.” Her lip wobbles.

I link my arm with hers. “It’s not.” I remind her.

She nods, but the heaviness in her gaze doesn’t lift.

I take out my cell and call Rian. I relay everything we have learned.

“What's next is the most tedious job you'll ever do: figuring out who that is in the sketch,” he says, a heavy sigh punctuating his words.

After ending the call, I turn to Niamh, who looks as if she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “All we have to do,” I begin, my voice steady despite the turmoil within, “is to steadily chip away at this case. We give Diarmuid no reason to suspect what we've been up to.”

Niamh nods, her eyes meeting mine with a renewed spark of determination. “One step at a time,” she agrees, a semblance of a plan forming between us. “We stay under the radar, gather what we can, and build our case. For her,” she adds, a vow to the girl in the sketch and all those like her who have been silenced too soon.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Diarmuid

TONIGHT, I WANT to get to know my Brides on a more personal basis. I’ve ordered them to be waiting for me in the main bedroom. I shake off all the earlier tension, all the secrets I carry, and shed it all like a second skin at the door. Tonight will just be about fun.

As I enter the room, Selene and Niamh are already there. Both are wearing their gowns over the lingerie I selected for tonight, their gazes shielded, and I know they have bonded. I wonder if Selene shared what happened between us the last time, along with the knowledge she had acquired about me being a hitman. I remember her talking to the priest, Isaac, and he may have planted seeds in her head.

I offer a polite smile to try and break some of the tension. Niamh offers one back; Selene doesn’t. She’s still mad. I internally smile. I’d pegged her as a troublemaker from the second I laid eyes on her, and I’m correct. But by taking what I wanted from her the other night, I hoped it showed her she cannot fight this.

Amira walks in, her gaze flitting around the room. It skims past Selene and Niamh in disgust before landing on the table that I had brought in here by the staff. Light refreshments line the table.

“It's wonderful to see you all here,” I say, my voice steady. “Please take a seat.” I pull out each chair for them. Selene and Niamh sit together, and Amira sits beside me. She raises her chin high like she’s seated where she should be.

I've spent time with each of them, and yet tonight, I have the urge for more. “Let's make this evening count,” I propose, raising my glass in a toast.

Each of them picks up their glasses and takes a drink. Amira’s dressing gown is slightly open, showing me a tantalizing flash of her flesh. She places her hand on my thigh with a coy smile on her painted-red lips.

My cock grows instantly, but I don’t just want one tonight. I want to explore all three.

No one has touched the soft pastries, but I’m not interested in them either. They are just a way to relax my Brides.

Amira’s hand trails up my chest until she touches my cheek very boldly. I don’t stop her as she turns my face to hers and presses a kiss to my lips. Her tongue flicks into my mouth, and I suck it, causing a groan to slip from between her lips.

I turn my face away to find Niamh watching me with curiosity. That’s all I need. I rise, not trying to adjust the erection prodding through my navy trousers. I walk to Niamh and hold out a hand. She glances at Selene as if for permission, and that annoys me, but she places her small hand into mine, and I pull her from her seat.

“You're very beautiful,” I say.

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