Page 38 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"Hey." Ren's voice is unusually gentle as he tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "The Moonflower I knew never let anyone take anything from her. She took it back with interest."

A laugh that's more sob escapes me. "The Moonflower you knew didn't have a heart to break."

"No," he agrees, studying my face with those too-observant eyes. "She was wild and free and untouchable. But this version of you? The one who learned to love despite everything? She's stronger."

"I don't feel strong," I whisper, and it's the most honest I've been in years. "I feel hollow. Like he took the best parts of me with him."

"Then take them back," Ren says simply. "Channel that pain into power. Show them why a Queen is more dangerous than a King could ever be."

Another explosion rocks the warehouse, reminding us we're not safe yet. But for just a moment longer, I let myself be held by this man who once knew every inch of my body but never really knew my heart.

"I miss him so much," I breathe, the words barely audible.

Ren presses a kiss to my forehead – comforting rather than romantic. "I know, Moonflower. I know."

The voices in my head have gone quiet, replaced by memories of Zander's laugh, his touch, his unwavering belief in me. And maybe that's what I needed – this moment toacknowledge the loss before transforming it into something deadly.

Because Ren's right about one thing – a Queen is more dangerous than a King.

And I'm going to make them all remember why.

Dangerous Games

~GEMINI~

The sound of slow, deliberate applause shatters our moment of vulnerability, each clap echoing through the warehouse like gunshots.

Ren and I snap apart instantly, muscle memory transforming grief into lethal readiness. The emergency lights cast everything in an eerie red glow, making the shadows dance and writhe along the walls like living things.

My eyes scan our surroundings, cataloging possible threats and escape routes with practiced precision. The warehouse seems different now, warped somehow – the familiar layout I'd memorized becoming treacherous with new shadows and uncertain depths.

A soft whistle cuts through the air, followed immediately by Ren's sharp intake of breath. I turn to see him yanking a small dart from his neck, his normally steady hands already showing signs of whatever drug was in the projectile. His pupils are dilating rapidly, and coordination failing.

"Eva..." he slurs, legs buckling beneath him. "Run..."

I catch him before he hits the ground, years of training letting me control his descent while simultaneously reaching for his gun. The weapon feels wrong in my hand – I prefer Knifey's intimate brutality to the cold efficiency of firearms – but beggars can't be choosers.

My aim find the spot where I'm certain our attacker lurks, finger squeezing the trigger with absolute certainty. But instead of the satisfying bark of gunfire, there's only the hollow, mocking click of an empty chamber.

Rich, cultured laughter echoes through the space, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Now that's rather unfortunate, isn't it?"

"Show yourself," I demand, already calculating angles and distances. Knifey is sheathed at my hip, but reaching for it means leaving Ren exposed. The tactical vest I stripped earlier feels heavier by the second, weighted down with blood and sweat and the growing certainty that we're outmatched.

"Let's discuss a deal first, Ruthless Queen." The voice carries an aristocratic lilt that sets my teeth on edge. Something about its cultured pleasantness makes it more threatening than any growled threat.

"I don't even know who you are," I snap, fingers tightening on the useless gun. "Why would I make deals with shadows?"

"A fair point, my dear." Amusement colors his tone now. "But I know the exact location of your soon-to-be husband. And I could certainly... redirect the squad car currently transporting your childhood friend and that devastatingly handsome model."

Ice floods my veins. Marcus and Ares. The implications send my mind racing – how does he know about them? Who is he working with? What's his real angle?

"Test me if you'd like," he continues, clearly reading the thoughts racing across my face. "Though I wouldn't recommend it. Not if you want them to survive the night."

With deliberate contempt, I toss the empty gun aside. The clatter echoes through the warehouse, a hollow sound that matches the growing void in my chest. Ren's unconscious form lies too still at my feet – another person I've failed to protect.

"What do you want?" My voice carries all the ice I've learned to wield like a weapon.

He steps partially from the shadows then, movement liquid and precise. His tactical gear is pure black, making him seem like a piece of darkness come to life. But it's the blindfold that catches and holds my attention – sleek material that seems to absorb light rather than reflect it. No matter how hard I search my memory, I can't place him in any of the criminal circles I've infiltrated.

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