Page 33 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

*The way my heart somehow expanded, making room for Ares and Matteo without diminishing what I felt for Zander. The four of us creating something beautiful from our collective brokenness, each shard fitting perfectly with the others.*

"How am I supposed to do this without you?" My fist hits the wall, the pain barely registering through my grief. "How do I pretend you didn't reshape every piece of me? That you didn't make me better, stronger, more alive?"

***"Channel it. Use it. Destroy them all."***

But for the first time since the voices became my constant companions, they bring no comfort. What's the point of vengeance if I can't share the victory with him? What's the point of becoming a Queen if my most devoted King isn't here to see me reign?

A presence behind me – subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. My body reacts on instinct, grief transforming into lethal precision. I spin, dropping low to sweep their legs. They're skilled, but I'm riding the wave of emotion into perfect clarity of violence.

We grapple in the darkness, a dance of deadly intent. I manage to flip them, using their momentum against them as Zander taught me. They hit the ground hard, and I'm on them instantly, Knifey pressed against their throat.

"Easy there, Moonflower."

The nickname stops my hand mid-strike. Only one person has ever called me that – a reminder of another life, another time, when I was still learning to embrace the darkness within me.

"Ren?"

A low chuckle beneath me, familiar yet strange after so long. "Long time no see."

The blade of Knifey presses harder against his throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't paint these walls with your blood."

"Because," his voice remains infuriatingly calm, "I think we both know there are bigger games being played tonight. Andyou're going to want to hear what I have to say about who really ordered the hit on your King."

I stay perched on his chest, tears still wet on my cheeks but my hand steady on my weapon. Everything about this night has spiraled far beyond my careful plans, and now another ghost from my past has emerged from the shadows.

*Zander would tell me to listen, to gather information before deciding who lives or dies.*

The thought brings fresh pain, but also clarity. I'm not just fighting for vengeance anymore – I'm fighting to uncover the truth about who's really pulling the strings in this deadly game.

"Start talking," I growl, not moving Knifey from his throat. "And if I sense even a hint of deception, they'll be finding pieces of you for weeks."

Behind us, explosions rock the warehouse, but neither of us flinches.

We're locked in this moment, past and present colliding in the darkness, while somewhere above us, a much bigger game continues to unfold.

*I'll find the truth, my love. I'll burn this whole world down if I have to. And when I'm done, they'll know why they should have feared the Ruthless Queen you helped create.*

Dangerous Liaisons Of The Past

***~REN~***

One moment I'm silently stalking through the warehouse darkness, the next I'm slammed onto my back with practiced precision, the cold bite of steel against my throat and the most lethal woman I've ever known straddling my chest. The tactical vest doesn't diminish the deadly grace of her body – a predator's form perfected through years of training and survival.

The emergency lights cast everything in shadowy blues, illuminating the fresh bruises blooming across her delicate features, the split in her lower lip that's still bleeding slightly, the wild silver of her hair falling around her face like captured moonlight. She's even more beautiful than I remember, especially like this – savage and untamed, tears still glistening on her cheeks while her hands remain perfectly steady on her blade.

The position awakens something primal in me, triggering a flood of memories so vivid they threaten to overwhelm my senses:

*Three years ago. The Bass Drop nightclub in downtown Chicago. The first time I saw her, moving through the writhing crowd like smoke – ethereal and untouchable. My carefully maintained teal and green hair with its precise black highlights drew the usual appreciative glances, the sleeve of intricate tattoos visible beneath my rolled-up dress shirt catching eyes as always, but she didn't spare me a second glance.*

*The contrast always worked in my favor – the sophisticated cut of my clothes against the punk aesthetic, the way my multiple piercings caught the light while I discussed economics with CEOs' daughters. But she saw right through it all, those haunting blue eyes dismissing me as just another trust fund rebel playing at danger.*

*"Can I buy you a drink?" I'd asked, approaching the bar where she stood alone. The strobes caught the industrial piercing in my ear, the small hoop in my eyebrow, making them shimmer like warnings.*

*She'd given me a slow once-over, taking in my tall frame, broad shoulders, the deliberate clash between my perfectly tailored shirt and the tattoos crawling up my neck. Most women found the contradiction irresistible – the hint of danger wrapped in sophistication. But she just looked... amused.*

*"No." One word, delivered with a smile that should have been my first warning.*

*"Your loss," I'd shrugged, adopting my usual casual confidence. "Can I at least get your number?"*

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