Page 72 of Deadly Rival

I push my hair back from my clammy forehead, and my blood pounds. If I survive this, Jacob will kill me himself, but at least he’ll make it quick.

The front door is a bad idea. From my brief drive-by, the house has a big back veranda and what I think is a side door. Maybe the overgrown bushes in the back will give me some cover. I edge toward the—

“Drop it.”

Fuck.

Where the hell did he come from? Metal presses against the back of my neck. A hand decorated with spider tattoos grips my arm. “I’ve got orders to kill you if you don’t.”

Fight or comply? Dice roll, lightning fast, calculating the odds. Will he really shoot? Are there others here?

Yes and yes.

I drop the gun. Harrison won’t want to look like a coward in front of his men—maybe I can goad him into a fight. Then what? Nothing good. Nothing fucking good.

I’m an idiot.

“Move it.”

The man urges me forward. I shrug off his hand and walk toward the house. “No need for that. I’m here to talk to your boss.”

He grips my arm tighter and bangs the gun into the back of my skull, a sharp tap. “You’ll do what you’re fucking told.”

A flash of white-hot rage sears me, but I keep it in check. Save it for Harrison. Don’t get shot on his doorstep and tossed into some river before I get a chance to turn his stupid face into mush.

I hate this. Hate the loss of control, the sense of being dragged along on someone else’s string.

Imagine how Ophelia feels.

No. Don’t go there. I don’t need my head clouded any more than it already is.

The door opens as we reach it, confirming my guess that other guys were waiting to jump in if I made trouble. It creaks, and a musty smell drifts out. A damp, moldy reek. Definitely abandoned. Peeling wallpaper in ugly 1970s cream and brown lines the entryway, and nicotine stains add to the depressing appearance.

My feet crunch on the carpet. I don’t want to know what I’m stepping in.

Spider tat guy and another man built like a linebacker usher me into a dingy living room. It holds some rotten soft furniture, a few random chairs, and a filthy stained old mattress. There's a pile of beer and liquor bottles in the corner and graffiti on the walls. A spot for teenagers to get wasted.

Harrison Calder sits on one of the chairs, in a pose that's trying too hard to look relaxed. I'm pushed toward him but don't need the encouragement. I want to look him in the eyes. I stare down at him, gun still pressed to the back of my head.

“One wrong move,” spider tat hisses.

“Relax. Harrison assured me we'd settle this like men. He's not going to go back on his promise. Are you?”

I raise a brow at Harrison. He looks even worse in the flesh than he did over the phone. Soft and paunchy, sweaty face, and pallid skin. I study him up and down. “My God. Weren't you a track star? What happened?”

He studies me lazily. “You’ve changed too, Sebastian. Where did the grungy eco-warrior go? High school was a long time ago.”

His voice hasn’t changed. Still the same braying, superior tone that used to make me cringe in the cafeteria. My dad always urged me to befriend Harrison and hated that I refused. Did he know Harrison was the one who got Maggie pregnant? Did he even care?

I make a show of checking my watch, and Harrson’s greedy little eyes lock on to it. He knows how much it’s worth. I’m sure he’ll enjoy taking it from my dead body and wearing it like a trophy. “Can we get on with this? I left Ophelia chained up in her little pet bed, fast asleep. I wore her out. I’d hate for her to wake up alone.”

He smirks. “You think you can hurt me with that shit? A sister for a sister? Let me tell you a secret.” He drops his voice to a stage whisper. “I don’t give a fuck.She’s soiled goods. Your Brotherhood can keep her. Pass her on to whoever they want once you’re dead.”

I must have failed to mask my shock, as his smirk grows nastier. “We’d planned to marry her off to an important associate. Ispent months on the deal, but he got wind of what’s happened. He doesn’t want her now—who would?—and neither will any other real man. She’s worthless.”

Worthless. Ophelia’s sad words from the previous night come back to haunt me.I was nowhere near smart enough. My dad said it wasn’t worth it.All these years, I thought Ophelia was a pampered princess, the precious jewel of her family. Loved.

The truth makes me sick.

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