Page 63 of To Catch A Rook

I wasn’t aimless. Years of honing my body into a sculpted weapon would not be wasted as I fought for my life in the ring of my choosing. I did not hold the untamed ego of a man who believed himself to be invincible.

Practicality weighed into the equation, however. I was not a mafia-trained soldier; I was the ruthless son ofColombian guerillas, nothing more. I was under no illusions I would walk away from this match unscathed.

Holding my naked queen in the confines of my office had done nothing to quell my resignation, but it had given me purpose. I wasn’t fighting for the satisfaction of beating a man who’d done nothing to me, or for the honor of parents who’d dishonored me. Lesser men could maintain my empire of companies.

I hadn’t recognized my lack of direction until Kellan presented the ultimatum. I had been living for nothing, working toward nothing more than more money; more power. Neither of these things could satisfy the soul or bring joy to my heart. Yet, they had fueled me for the better part of thirty-five years.

I could not escape Antonio Carlos’s sentence any more than I could escape the sadistic intentions of the people who held my name, but I could give them the purest force of my abilities before I bared my neck in submission.

Carefully unfolding the tarp on the still unfinished floor, I taped all along the edges as I waited for my opponent to arrive. The plastic would capture the blood spilled so all evidence of my demise could be melted away instead of trapped beneath floorboards awaiting discovery.

I’d left my last will and testament in a time-locked safe in my office, with written instructions to Spencer, my lawyer, should I not return. I did not name Kellan in its confession, but the document would set enough wheels in motion to lead any uncorrupted authority to my parents’ dealings, particularly regarding their recent alliance with Alvarez.

It would be far more convenient had I any evidence of participation in the flesh markets they were so eager to get a cut of the profits from. There was nothing notable yet, but the deal had only been struck for a few weeks, and moving human collateral took time.

Mystomach soured in disgust. Men and women chose their lives as best they could in their own circumstances. People choosing to use their bodies was akin to choosing to use intellect or skills to make a living. All humanity had that right.

But to remove choice; to force another being into a life of sexual submission–it was reprehensible beyond words.

I had given Spencer a tattered rope; I could only hope Veronica and Vicente would hang themselves with it.

I paced the squeaky floor as I waited for Kellan to arrive, my thoughts rabid wolves and soothing doves, interchangeably flitting between selfish fear and meditative peace.

Finally, the resounding crack of the metal door echoed through the open space. I’d disabled the security system, not interested in welcoming my guest through the threshold myself. I was resigned to this fate, but unwilling to be its inviting host.

I scrutinized the man walking toward me. He moved on surprisingly silent feet given his considerable size. He’d dressed down in simple black athletic pants and a fitted black undershirt, leaving nothing about his strength or lethal nature to the imagination.

In another life, I would find Kellan attractive; his domineering presence was a soothing balm to my inherent need for an equal partner. Tonight, he was simply the figment of a grim reaper; an obstacle to beat to remain on this side of the soil.

His cheerless nod greeted me when we stood six feet apart on my plastic landscape. I was relieved to note he didn’t want to be here anymore than I did—we both took no pleasure in harming those who hadn’t harmed us.

We were products of circumstances we’d been gifted at birth; men who tiptoed on lace terraces to maintain the delicate balance of our lives.

“How do you want to deliver your punishment?”

“Antonio’s punishment.” Kellan was quick to correct me and the rich rumble of his voice rolled over me in the cavernous room. “I’ll let you make the first punch.”

“No.” My tone was sharper than I’d intended, but ‘giving’ me the advantage was not what this reckoning would be. “First opportunity for a punch will be the first punch. I will not be coddled as you try to kill me, Kellan.”

He cocked his shaggy mane in consideration and a respect burned in his eyes I had never seen before.

I’d known Kellan for five years, but I knew nothing about him. He had people collecting the take from our brothels. I’d only seen him at a select few parties when he visited our part of the world. Most his work for the Carlos Cartel was in California, or so the rumors suggested. He was of no consequence to my everyday operations, so I hadn’t needed to expend effort on his whereabouts.

He'd captured Hillary’s eye when she and Logan were going through their divorce, and it was then that he’d captured my attention too. I’d known it was never our fortune to solely have each other, but I had never considered another woman to permanently take her place.

I had never viewed Kellan as competition, but I had paid attention to how he took care ofMi Reina; how he brought out the very best and worst of her, depending on the visit. I watched how he couldn’t keep himself out of her orbit when we were all in the same room, but he also would never allow her too close.

If I were removed from this room in a body bag, would she turn him away for good for his crime? Would she mourn my loss?

I shuttered away those thoughts—they would not serve me or stave off my fate.

“Alright.” Kellan stepped off the tarp to remove a slew of hidden weapons on his body.

Myeyebrows shot up as two guns, a knife, and what looked to be a dart were removed from subtle straps across his calves, waist, and ankle.

He stood and held up his large palms up facing toward me. “No weapons.” He resumed his place on the tarp.

When he lowered his shoulders into a fighting stance, I mirrored his image, allowing the waves of acceptance to flow freely into the air between us.

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