Page 4 of When Kings Fall

She bites her lip like she’s fighting back tears, and God, I want to wrap her up and take her away from here.

“Are you going to kill him?” she asks, her voice calm, almost too calm for the situation.

Her question makes me realize that I can’t just take her away; I need to end this with Wolfe. I shake my head, my voice low and resolute. “No. Not me.”

“Can you stand?” I ask, helping her to her feet. She doesn’t sway but holds strong. I don’t release her arms, and her gaze travelsto mine. I lean in and press the briefest kiss to her lips. It’s enough to convince myself that she is okay. She’s alive.

“My car is outside; I’ll be there in a minute.” Selene hesitates, but she walks around Wolfe’s body like she expects him to spring up and grab her, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

Once Selene is out of the barn, I work quickly after that, packing Wolfe’s limp body in some old blankets that once would have covered the horses. Slinging him across my shoulder, I load him into the trunk of the car. The rain has let up, but the night is still thick with the smell of wet earth and the cold bite of late autumn. Before I get into the car, I send a text of our location and explain the package I have before I get in.

We drive in silence; the city lights giving way to the shadowy outlines of trees as we head toward a forested area on the outskirts of town. Every once in a while, I reach across and takeSelene’s hand, careful not to touch her damaged wrists. Her shivers have settled since I turned up the heat in the car.

It’s a desolate place that I finally stop at, a makeshift encampment where the forgotten and the lost gather to survive.

“I’ll only be a moment.” I leave the car running to give Selene plenty of heat as I search through the camp for an empty tent. I find one, the tent is half-collapsed and barely held together, but it will do.

When I open the trunk, Wolfe is still in the moth-eaten blankets, but I grab him and throw him across my shoulder again. This time, Selene gets out of the car and walks around to the driver’s side where she cuts the engine. She wraps her arms around her waist and follows me along the small path to the tent I found.

I set Wolfe up in a battered chair inside. I stand over him, waiting, watching, as Selene keeps a lookout outside.

It takes time, but eventually, he stirs, a low groan escaping his lips as he regains consciousness. His eyes flutter open, taking in the dim, unfamiliar surroundings, and then they land on me.

“What are you going to do to me?” Wolfe’s voice is hoarse, fear dripping from every word.

I lean in, my face inches from his, my voice cold and devoid of emotion. “Oh, I’ve thought of many things that I wanted to do to you, so many different ways to end your life, but I realized that someone has earned that right more than I have.”

I turn and walk to the tent flap, pulling it open. The night air rushes in, and with it, Amira steps inside. Her eyes are hard, filled with a rage that has been simmering for far too long.

Without another word, I leave the tent, letting the flap fall shut behind me. Outside, the night is alive with the crackling of a fire and the quiet murmur of voices. Selene is standing with some of the others, their faces turned away, lost in their own thoughts. We all ignore the sounds of Wolfe’s screams as theybegin to echo from inside the tent, his voice rising in desperation and pain

I stand beside Selene, the warmth of the fire doing little to chase away the cold that has settled in my bones. This is what justice looks like in our world. It’s brutal, it’s unforgiving, and it’s exactly what Wolfe deserves.

CHAPTER THREE

Amira

THEY SAY REVENGE is a viper with two heads—whichever one you use to strike your enemies, the other will inevitably turn back to bite you. But as I step out of the tent, the sharp sting of winter air against my face, I can’t help but close my eyes and savor the glory of this moment. Wolfe is dead, and I was the one who ended him.

It’s the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.

The cold air bites harder, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill that warms me from the inside. A doe-eyed young woman, who introduced herself as Sabre, approaches with washcloths in hand. She looks so delicate, almost out of place in this brutal world. I take the cloths from her, the wet fabric quickly turning red as I wipe the blood from my hands, face, and neck.

Sabre hesitates before speaking, her voice soft and unsure. “What shall we do with him, Miss?”

My gaze drifts back to the tent. The man who tormented me for so long is nothing more than a lifeless corpse now. “Give him to the dogs,” I reply, my voice steady, almost cold. There’s no room for sentiment in this victory.

As I hand the blood-soaked cloths back to Sabre, my eyes catch sight of Diarmuid and Selene standing near a fire. Diarmuid is close to her, in a way that feels almost too intimate, too comforting. A familiar ache stirs in my chest, one I’ve felt too many times before. It’s a cruel reminder of what I’ve never had—what I might never have.

But no, I can’t allow myself to mourn a life that was never mine. That way lies madness, and madness just died in thattent. Wolfe couldn’t accept the disappointments that life threw at him, but I—I learned to exploit them. That’s what set us apart.

I grab a coat from a nearby chair and wrap it around myself, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill in my bones. As I approach Diarmuid and Selene, I can feel countless eyes on me. They’re watching, but not with the same leering pity I used to endure at the brothel. No, their expressions are different now. There’s a respect in their gazes, a recognition that I’m no longer the woman I once was.

I escaped my prison—and I burned it to the ground.

Diarmuid steps away from Selene as I approach, creating a space for me by the fire. The flames flicker and dance, but I don’t really need their warmth. The chill in the air, the breath I can see forming in front of my lips—it all seems distant after the adrenaline of what I’ve just done. Still, I move closer to the fire, more for their sake than mine.

Diarmuid’s eyes meet mine, his expression unreadable. “It’s done?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

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