Page 72 of The Kings
“Which means what exactly? You didn’t teach it to him?”
“In a few weeks? No, and I wouldn’t. You are my legacy, Elizabeth. You always have been. This man appearing in my life doesn’t suddenly make him family. Especially when he has a vendetta and tries to kill the only thing I have left that makes all of this shit worth it.”
Taken aback by the intensity of his statement, I gulp. He is pissed off and questioning shit he shouldn’t be questioning.
“You said he’s been stalking you? How do you know that?”
“He’s been watching me on campus. Well, I knowsomeonehas been watching. I assume now it’s him. He’s sent threatening texts, gory gifts, but the worst thing is a photo of me asleep in my bed at home. That’s why we went there, to see if we could get some kind of lead on who this asshole is.”
“He has been watching you. Studying you.”
I gulp, a massive case of the creeps descending like a cloud around me.
He nods slowly, his eyes like ice. “I’ll make this right.”
“This is fucked-up.”
“I know.”
The rage that’s been boiling in my veins simmers down a notch as I look at him—really look at him. He’s not just my father; he’s a man who’s had to navigate the shark-infested waters of our world since he was born—a man who’s carried the weight of our legacy on his shoulders.
One day, this will be me, and I need it to be soon so I can take that burden from him. It’s time to stop being a little bitch and step the fuck up. Felix wants what I have. A loving dad who will walk through hell for me and bring me my enemies, bound and gagged as gifts, an empire that will tremble under the wrath of the Hughes Queen.
Yeah. Felix isn’t even a blip on my fucking radar now. He can get fucked in the worst way possible. Maybe with a ghost pepper soaked in wasabi up his ass for good measure.
“Thanks for Grenville.”
He smirks, knowing the storm is over and that I’m letting him take care of his business, as long as his business doesn’t come at me again, Felix is all his.
“Anytime, Lizzie.” He steps forward and kisses me on the top of my head. “Shit’s coming, princess. Be careful out there.”
Before I have a chance to ask, he is gone, sweeping out of the townhouse majestically like a fucking king exuding power from every pore.
That’swhat I want, what I crave.
Turning away from the door my father just exited through, somewhat wiser but a whole hell of a lot more fired up about shit, I stalk down the hallway to the door under the stairs that I stare at for a moment, wondering if this is where the guys went. I had no idea there was a ‘downstairs’, so I sure as shit don’t know how to get there.
Grasping the handle, I yank it open and step into the understairs cupboard. A narrow staircase spirals down in plain sight, dimly lit intermittently as I take them slowly, my bootshitting the wooden stairs with an ominous thump that echoes all around.
At the bottom, I’m greeted with a basement area with a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, giving off the only light.
Grenville is tied to a wooden chair next to a simple wooden table, looking every bit like a rat caught in a trap. The Kings are all here, their eyes lighting up when they see me.
“About time, little killer,” Raphael grins, pushing off the wall. “Shit okay with the old man?”
“Yeah, long story. I’ll tell you later.” My gaze drifts back to Grenville. His eyes widen as I approach him, and I can almost smell the fear rolling off him in waves. “Not such a big man now, are you?” I murmur, stroking my hand over his hair before I grip a chunk and tug hard, just like he did to me.
He grunts, and with a vicious smirk, I let him go, shoving his head back hard.
“Cosy little gathering we have here,” I murmur, circling Grenville like a Great White scenting blood. “David Grenville, you have no idea how fucked you are, do you?”
“Eliza, listen,” he starts, his voice hoarse, but I’m not interested in his excuses.
“Shut it.” I silence him by drawing Flick out of her holster and pressing the cold steel against his cheek just enough to draw a bead of blood.
As I step back, contemplating my next move, Raphael has a wicked gleam in his eye. He strides over to the chair and slices through the zip tie, keeping his right arm in place. Placing Grenville’s arm carefully on the table with his hand splayed out, Raphael grips his blade—a cruel piece of steel that glints menacingly under the spotlight and with a savage grin, he raises the knife and slams it down hard. The blade skewers Grenville’s hand, nailing it to the wooden surface. The sound of flesh tearingis sickeningly satisfying. Grenville screams a strangled, guttural sound that echoes off the bare walls.
“Shut it, David, before I cut your tongue out and give it to her as a gift,” Raphael snarls, leaning in close to our captive’s face and returning to his usual controlled self. He is fascinating to watch. “Now. This is what you get for touching what’s mine.”
