Page 87 of Brutal King

“Do what?” I frown.

“Take me out,” he says. “Is this where you kill me?”

I look at him with mock horror. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood stains out of marble flooring? Impossible.”

He tilts his head, partly annoyed, partly curious. “Why have you brought me here if not to kill me?”

I pull out a chair and spin it so that it’s fully facing him. Sitting, I say, “I don’t intend to kill you at all.”

“Do I know you?” He observes me with narrowed eyes. “We’ve met before.”

Nodding, I lean forward andwillhim to remember me. “Think, Rowan. Where do you know me from?”

“You’re awfully close to me, man. My sight’s not that bad.”

I laugh and move back. “I didn’t know you were funny.”

“I’m not. Now fucking tell me what I’m doing here, or let me go.”

“You won’t believe me if I tell you,” I say.

“Try me.”

It would be better if he figured this out on his own. He’ll trust his own memory before he trusts a word I say. Tapping afinger against my glass, I think about how to broach the delicate subject without him shutting me completely out. “First, I want to know how much your uncles told you about my father.”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Everything I know about Stephen has been through the Sinacores. He was a traitor and died like one.”

My jaw tightens. “It sounds like you need some reeducation.”

“I don’t need anything from you, except to turn you over to Luca so you can pay for your sins.”

It pisses me off that I’ve gone through all the trouble of saving his ass, and all he wants is to toss me in front of Luca. Quick as I can, I’m out of my chair and standing behind him. I grab a fistful of his hair and pull his head back. The knife I keep holstered on my leg is in my hand and against his throat, just to show him I can.

“What are you waiting for, Ferryman. Kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Rowan.” I shove him, truly wanting to smack him across the head, but cut his ties instead.

Moving away, I peer at the knife and turn it back and forth. Then, I lift my gaze from my reflection in the mirror-like finish and stare into eyes that are so similar to mine, it’s eerie. He stares back, and suddenly, something like recognition filters across his face.

“What is this?” he demands. “Who are you?”

“Me?” I grin. “Why, I’m just your big brother.”

“How?” He knows it’s true.

“You’re the son of Stephen Black and Shannon McKenzie,” I say.

“Impossible.”

“Finnegan Kane was not your biological father,” I inform him. “He wasn’t even in the picture.”

“Of course he was.”

I shake my head. “Tell me what you remember of him.”

“He worked at a brewery when he and my mother left Boston. Then he?—”

I raise a hand to stop him. “Not what you were told. What do you actually remember about your father? Think hard.”

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