Page 1 of Deadly Rival

Prologue

Sebastian

“Take a seat, Sebastian.”

Kendrick barks the order before I’ve even closed the door. His sharp gaze bores into me as I cross the room. This isn’t going to be a casual conversation about a new wine or whiskey he’s discovered. I lower myself into an uncomfortable chair—I swear he picks the damn things as a power play to make his guests ill at ease—and wait.

I know what’s coming.

He steeples his hands on the desk. “Your initiation ceremony is coming up, and you haven’t selected anyone. I hope you’re not planning a repeat of Gabriel’s last-minute approach?”

I bite back a sharp response. Normally, I get on with Kendrick better than my friends, who find him cold and stiff. I can appreciate the aesthetic he’s going for, and the suit of armor is a genius touch. He wants us to see him as untouchable. A duke in his manor or a king on his throne.

Gabriel is in awe of him, and even Jacob gives him a lot of respect. But they don’t know the stress he’s really under or how hard he has to work to keep the Brotherhood together. Inthe world I came from, the Brotherhood is seen as a wounded behemoth. And there’s no shortage of people waiting to make the final kill.

This school-teacher tone, though? It gets right the hell under my skin.

“No, sir. I’ll make my decision soon. There are still a few variables I need to consider.”

More than he can possibly imagine. Like the probability algorithms I run all day long, tumbling possibilities fill my head.

If I do X, then Y.

If she turns left here, I grab her there.

If I fuck this up, I’m dead.

His eyes narrow. “Why the secrecy?”

There’s no reason I can give him that won’t sound false, so I hide behind rules and regulations. Maybe I should have been a lawyer, just like dear old Dad always wanted. “With all due respect, I’m entitled to make this decision in my own time, sir. I don’t need to share my selection process.”

Kendrick’s lips tighten, but he knows I’m right. He probably reads the Brotherhood code every night in bed, cuddled up in fuzzy pajamas with a teddy bear.

Well, there’s an image that will haunt me to my dying day.

Focus, for God’s sake.

Kendrick rubs his temples, then reaches for his whiskey decanter and two glasses. He’s realized Bad Cop isn’t working, so he’s going to give Good Cop a try. Thank Christ for that. At least Good Cop comes with top-notch liquor.

“Glenglassaugh forty-year-old single malt,” Kendrick explains at my questioning glance as he pours the drink. “We’ll see how it stacks up against the Macallan twenty-five.”

He hands me the glass, and I breathe in the heady scent. I love the smell of whiskey. It takes me back to my uncle’s house,the relief of being away from Dad for a few days. The first sip is always the best. I close my eyes as flavor explodes on my tongue and burns a path down my throat.

I should comment on the subtle notes of oak and peat but can’t marshal my thoughts. As the big day looms, everything else fades into the background. Ten years. I’ve waited ten years, and it’s almost here.

The day I fuck the Calders’ lives up for good.

Kendrick clears his throat. Shit. I’ve zoned out. His forehead creases as I take a second sip to gather myself.

“I’m concerned. If you won’t discuss this with me, then please reach out to your friends. Jacob, in particular. He’ll help you work through whatever your issues are. But do it quickly. You’re running out of time.”

As if I don’t have a giant clock in my brain, ringing out every second that passes. I take a breath, smile, and hold the whiskey up to the light. “A beautiful color. On first impression, I’d say I prefer it to the Macallan.” I drain the last of the liquid. “It’ll take me another couple of glasses to decide, though, and I’ve got work to do. Busy day on the markets.”

My mask is back in place, but it doesn’t fool Kendrick. He sets his own glass down. “Remember what I said. You don’t need to face this alone.”

Oh yes, I do. I’m not dragging anyone else into my shit.

One

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