Page 66 of The Kings
My stomach roils with disgust, but there’s no time for the shock to settle in. His hands come up, but I’m like a deer in headlights.
He shoves against my chest, and I stumble back, the image of his face—so much like a younger version of my dad—blurring as he makes his move. He ducks low, a viper slithering out of reach, while I sit there, frozen, my knife hanging limply in my grip. The sounds of the struggle around us fade into a distant roar as he darts out of sight.
“Eliza!” Raphael’s voice cuts through my shock, anger lacing his tone. “Why the hell did you let him go?”
I blink, trying to process what just happened, but before I can form a coherent response, the sound of an engine revving pierces the night. He’s escaping, and it’s my fault.
My hands shake, betraying the cool exterior I’m desperately clinging to.
“Eliza,” Oliver’s voice is softer, a contrast to Raphael’s fury. I look up to meet his eyes, finding concern etched in his brow. “Are you hurt?” he asks, crouching down and scanning me for injuries.
“No, I’m fine,” I manage to say, though my voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s hollow, distant. “Just... didn’t expect…. this is fucked up.”
“Who the fuck was that guy?” James demands, stepping over one of the many dead intruders scattered around my father’s living room, his usual playfulness gone, replaced by a hard edge.
“Not sure,” I murmur because it’s true; I have no idea.
“No time for that now. We need to move before the cops swarm this place.” Raphael’s words are clipped, and though he’s pissed, I know it’s the situation he’s angry at, not me.
“Right.” I nod, pushing past the lingering shock and allowing my training to take over. We have a new enemy, and I swear to myself, as we step over the remnants of our fight, that I will find out who he is and what game he’s playing because nobody threatens the Hughes family and lives to gloat about it. Nobody.
“Move, Eliza,” Raphael growls low in my ear, urgency threading through his command. My feet shuffle forward mechanically, the adrenaline from the fight ebbing away, leaving me numb.
“Fuck, the sirens are close,” Tarquin mutters, glancing over his shoulder as we spill out onto the driveway, where the SUV is noticeably missing. I can hear them, too, a distant wail growing steadily louder, an ominous soundtrack to our rapid retreat.
“Eliza, in the car.” James’s hand is firm on my back, propelling me towards the Merc. It’s all happening too fast, yet time feels like it’s grinding to a halt with every beat of my heart—a strange dichotomy that has my mind reeling.
“Got you,” Oliver murmurs as he opens the door and practically lifts me inside. His touch is gentle but insistent, reminding me there’s no room for hesitation. There is no space for shock to take root when danger is snapping at our heels.
The car’s interior engulfs me, and the scent of leather is a familiar comfort. But nothing can soothe the tremor in myhands or quiet the chaos storming inside my head. That face—the spitting image of my father—haunts me, taunting me with questions I can’t answer.
“Drive, Raph!” James barks from the passenger seat, and the engine roars to life beneath us. The tyres squeal against red brick, filling the silence as we reverse at breakneck speed.
“The gates…”
“On it,” James hauls the glove compartment down, but the gates are already wide open.
“Eliza?” Oliver’s voice cuts through the fog in my brain, his eyes searching mine. “Talk to me.”
I open my mouth, but words fail me. What can I say? That some younger version of my dad just tried to kill me?
“Shit.” Raphael’s curse slices the air as he slams his palm against the dashboard, frustration radiating off him in waves.
“Easy, Raph,” Tarquin soothes from beside me.
“Sorry,” I whisper, the only word I can muster amidst the storm raging inside me.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Oliver replies softly, his hand finding mine, squeezing it with silent reassurance.
The sirens fade behind us, but their echo lingers, a reminder that we’re running on borrowed time. As the city lights blur past, I realise that whoever is orchestrating this nightmare is still out there, waiting and watching with my father’s face.
31
ELIZA
Blood roars in my ears,the echo of that horrific truth I can’t unsee—the guy with the cruel sneer and venomous words is my brother. He has to be. There is no other explanation. My mind reels, anger and confusion knotting inside me like barbed wire. I wish it were a sick joke. But deep down, where lies don’t find shadows to hide in, I know it’s not.
I snatch up my phone from the bedside table, fingers trembling with urgency. The screen lights up, and I punch in the familiar number, each digit etched into my memory. My father, the man with all the answers locked behind his stern frown, must explain this madness.
