Page 54 of The Kings
I pick up Flick and slice through the tape with practised ease. The men close in around me, protective instincts heightened. My heart is hammering in my chest because it’s not every day that someone manages to get this close without us noticing.
Lifting the lid, I find a single black rose on top of a piece of folded white paper. The elegance of the presentation does little to soothe the chill that runs down my spine. I pluck the rose out, its petals soft and silky against my fingers, an ominous beauty. Unfolding the paper, I scan the words written in a script so meticulous it could’ve been printed.
“Dear Eliza,” I read, “Consider this a token of admiration and a warning. Your family’s reign has been unchallenged for too long. It’s time for new blood to rise. Be careful who you trust.”
The room goes deathly silent. A warning and a threat all wrapped up in one. I crush the paper in my hand, fury radiating off me like heat from a flame.
“Who the fuck is this?” Tarquin growls.
“I don’t know,” I admit through gritted teeth, “but they’ve made one massive mistake today; they made it fucking personal.”
Throwing the rose back in the box, I slam the tip of Flick into the petals, beyond pissed off. “This is absurd,” I mutter.
“It’s also not Grenville,” James insists. “We now have two assholes to look out for.”
“Maybe more,” Oliver says grimly.
“You know what?” I ask, picking up the box and throwing it in the bin. “Let them come. Give me today to fucking eat and sleep and fuck, and then tomorrow, we can get back to it.”
“Fuck?” Oliver asks, a hopeful note in his voice.
I smile seductively at him. “We aren’t there yet, tiger. I like the slow burn we’ve got going on.”
He snorts. “Yeah, a man loves a slow burn.”
“Patience,” I murmur, catching James’s eyes as his stare simmers into mine. “Patience.”
“That leaves us then,” Raphael says with a sexy smirk.
“Well, it leaves Tarquin. I’m still not sure you are out of the doghouse.”
“Why was I in it in the first place?” he protests.
“For keeping shit from me that involves me that came from my father. If it had been Carver business, I wouldn’t give that much of a shit. You get where I’m coming from?”
“Yeah,” he says steadily. “It won’t happen again.”
“Better not. Now, this apple is not hitting the spot. Anyone know how to cook a decent breakfast around here?”
Oliver raises his hand, which doesn’t surprise me. “Me.”
“You’re it then, chef.”
Oliver, to my amusement, pulls out an apron and puts it on before he goes around the kitchen gathering all the fixings fora cooked breakfast, shooing us over to the table in the corner where I sit and watch him, lost in thought.
The kitchen fills with the aroma of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs as Oliver operates the stove like he’s born to it. Bacon isn’t exactly my usual breakfast choice, but right now, I need comfort food.
The sound of the toaster snaps me back to reality, and Tarquin’s voice breaks through my haze. “So, we’re just going to let this slide until tomorrow?” he asks, his eyes serious as they flick between us.
“Today we recharge,” I say firmly, reaching over for the stack of golden-brown toast that Oliver places on the table. “We need all cylinders firing if we’re going to deal with this shitstorm. Plus, dealing with anything on an empty stomach is a bad idea.”
Oliver slides a plate in front of each of us. We sit around the table like we aren’t the next generation of badasses in our families. As we dig into our breakfast, I can tell we’re all on edge, but there’s a silent agreement that we’re going to enjoy this momentary peace before the shit hits the fan, Kings’ style.
And yeah, make no mistake, I include myself in that one hundred per cent.
27
ELIZA
