Page 175 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

I shoot my last round.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Why aren’t you shooting?”

Throwing the rifle to the side, I stare at her.

“It’s finished.”

“So what do we do now?”

I shrug my shoulder, and she hands me the handgun.

“It’s for closer range.”

The distant hum of a helicopter vibrates through the vastness of the landscape. I strain my ears to catch the sound. Watching the rhythmic thumping of rotor blades slice through the dry air as it approaches, I silently curse.

“Probably more of the demented asshole’s soldiers,” Brit says, and I know this time, we’re fucked.

“That means he’s still alive,” I say, looking down towards where I had shot.

“Of course, I’m fucking alive,little mouse,” I spin around to find Victor standing with his gun aimed at us and one of his masked men standing next to him. The side of his neck is covered with bandages.

“This time, there isn’t going to be any fun and games. You killed my men. You will pay for that in hell, and mark my words when I tell you the throne belongs to me.”

My gaze meets the cold steel of the gun in his hands.

Time seems to stammer. Each heartbeat thumps louder in my chest than the last. Fear, swift and suffocating, wraps its icy fingers around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. Dread morphs into a chilling cocktail of terror and disbelief as I grapple with the surrealness of the situation.

“Drop the gun, Eden Rivers. Your story ends here,” he says, raising his gun at me.

Yet amid all this horror, a flicker of defiance sparks within me. I feel the heavy steel weapon in my tight hand grip, and with the flick of my thumb, I let the safety down.

“Fuck you, VictorDarkspire.”

Chapter 45

Hours earlier

My maggot of a brother thinks I’m a liability and had some whopping diva tantrum about how I shouldn’t go up with him to investigate Brittney’s flat. Instead of being forced to deal with his nonsense, I decided to remain in the vehicle, and Asher – bless his heart – said it would be a good idea if just two of us went and avoided raising any suspicion with the concierge at the entrance of her building.

It's obvious Asher is trying to maintain his neutrality with the ongoing feud between me and Haze. Back in London, before we left for America, I had to get tested under the orders of Sir Snootington, and that blasted conservatorship he made me sign, but Asher announced that he thought it was a good idea to get tested. Then Jagger joined in on the fun.

Asher is a good guy with a heart of gold. I can understand why if Eden’s not around, he’ll be the first person Storm will greet. Animals can sense the good in people.

I’m glad the dog occasionally growls at my brother.

Bastard deserves the occasional snarl from someone other than myself.

He never even apologized for the yacht incident, and if it weren’t for Ash and my siren’s support in getting my tobacco tested, the bastard would have fired my arse from the band and shipped me back to England.

My gaze is fixed on the street opposite me, my brow furrowed in deep thought as I idly twirl the metal hoop of my lip ring between my teeth and tongue.

Personally, I don’t need an apology from him. I’m not as weak as he is and require confirmation from my older bruv about my worth as his sibling.

Hazey-Pazey can fuck off….all the way off a fucking cliff, and I wouldn’t shed a tear. I’d be relieved to see his self-acclaimed royal arse out of my face forever.

“Have you ever tried meditation?”

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