Page 50 of The Kings
“You’re making it difficult to want to kill you.”
He snorts. “Same.”
“You know if you touch her, you will die.”
“I know, Carver.”
I let him go with a narrow-eyed glare. “You know I mean that, right?”
“Everyone knows.”
“You want to earn double what Grenville is paying you?”
He raises an eyebrow as he slides his thumb down the cut on his cheek. “I’m listening.”
“Classic double cross. You now work for me, but keep your job with Grenville. When the time comes, you’re on my side. How does that sound?”
“Depends. What are you paying?”
“Fifty grand sound good? Half now, half when Grenville is taken out. No one touches him but Eliza. You’re there to ensure both of those things happen. Got it?”
“Yeah.” He shoves his hand in his jacket pocket, and I tense, shoving my blade under his chin.
With a smirk, he draws his phone out. “Bank details.”
Nodding slightly for him to continue, he brings them up as I pull my own phone out. He doesn’t move an inch while I take his details and wire him twenty-five grand. “I’ll be wanting that back if you so much as sniff in Eliza’s direction.”
“No interest in her now. She’s not worth twenty-five kay.”
I laugh, putting my phone away. “That right there shows me everything I need to know about you. I’ll be in touch, Viktor.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
I turn away, feeling the chill of the bar’s grim atmosphere on my skin. So David wants a war? He’ll get one. It’s going to be quite the spectacle.
Silently, I slide into the night, the darkness embracing me like an old friend. My thoughts race—strategies, contingencies, ways to shield her from the coming storm, but at the end of the day, I’ve just ensured her win in this. All she has to do is fire the gun.
I stride out of the bar, the cool night air sobering my thoughts. We’re about to unleash hell, and heaven help anyone caught in the crossfire.
25
ELIZA
My whole bodyis aching like fuck, but I wasn’t missing class today and putting rumours out there that Eliza Hughes got her ass beaten. No fucking way.
The classroom feels like a cage, the walls closing in on me as I sit there, trying to concentrate on the lecturer’s monotonous drone. But it’s no use; my skin prickles with the certainty that someone is watching me. My still-swollen eyes flicker around, quick and sharp, hunting for the source. No one seems out of place, but the sensation digs its claws in deeper, unsettling me.
At the end of the lecture, I rise stiffly and sling my bag over my shoulder with a grimace. Imogen is in my face as soon as I set foot outside the door.
“Eliza, hey.” She’s dressed to kill, all sleek lines and designer labels—a mafia princess down to her Jimmy Choos. Her approach sets off alarms in my head; after all, she was the bait in David’s trap.
“Imogen,” I murmur, keeping my voice even. I straighten up, making sure my stature doesn’t betray the pain coursing through every cell.
“You are fucking badass, you know that? Your guys were shouting at you to ask for their help, but you didn’t need it. It was seriously impressive.”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, about the other night, I had no idea it was an ambush. I hope you know that I wouldn’t betray you.”
