Page 42 of The Kings
“Just business,” I grunt, keeping my gaze fixed on the file in my lap instead of meeting her piercing green eyes. I can feel the heat of her annoyance without looking; it’s a tangible thing in the tight space between us.
“Care to share with the class?” she snaps, her frustration mounting.
“Not here, and no, it wasn’t about the other night.” My words are clipped, final, even as I catch Tarquin’s gaze in the rearview mirror. His jaw is set, muscles working beneath the skin, as he knows he’s out of the loop on whatever went down. His grip on the steering wheel tells me he’s got questions—questions I’ll answer when we’re alone.
“Fine,” Eliza huffs, crossing her arms in annoyance.
“Let’s just get out of here,” I say, my impatience a match for hers.
“Way ahead of you,” Tarquin replies, slamming the car into reverse to practically skid out of the driveway, his recklessness telling me all I need to know about his mood.
Asshole.
Eliza is still burning, but right now, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
Tarquin floors the accelerator, pushing the sleek black car away from the city. He takes a sharp turn, the tyres screeching a protest against the asphalt. The Kings of Castle don’t flinch; this is just another day, another ride through the gauntlet. We’re no strangers to the game, the constant play of power and survival.
“Tarq, ease up,” I say, but my voice lacks any real command. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows it’s not the car I’m worried about—it’s the cargo it carries.
“Relax,” Tarquin grumbles, but the tension eases from his shoulders, a silent promise that he’s got this handled.
We barrel through the streets, leaving Eliza’s city home far behind. The city fades into nothingness, replaced by the open road, the hum of the engine a lullaby for the violence to come.
As the miles disappear, I can’t shake the thrill, the adrenaline rush of impending conflict, and the certainty that when push comes to shove, we’ll bleed for each other without hesitation.
The car races on, and so do we, hurtling towards destiny or destruction—only time will tell which.
22
ELIZA
Pissed offthat Raphael won’t spill the beans on what my dad wanted with him, at least it wasn’t about the night we fucked. That would be bad. If that had been the case, Raph probably wouldn’t have walked out of there, so I have to let it go until he decides to tell me.
As we push open the front door back at the townhouse, the envelope on the inside doormat catches my attention. The crest of Castle University is stamped across the front. Bending to pick it up, with a flick of my thumb, I open it, and a single sentence burns into my vision: ‘You are cordially invited to participate in the Castle University next gen hand-to-hand combat contest.’
Trial by fire.
“Ooh,” Tarq murmurs, reading it over my shoulder. “Nice.”
“Nice? That’s one word for it,” Raph comments as he also reads it. “You ready for this, little killer?”
“Born ready.”
“Of course,” he chuckles. “Let’s go.”
“What now?” I baulk at the short notice.
“Yeah, now. Problem?” His gaze is challenging but not in a demeaning way. He needs to know I’m ready.
“No problem,” I murmur. “Hand-to-hand? I guess Flick stays here.”
“I’ll look after her,” Tarq says as I pull the knife out of my holster.
“Thanks,” I say, giving him a beam. “She likes you.”
He snorts. “I’m honoured.”
As James and Oliver pile into the house behind us, I clap my hands and gesture them back out. “Combat time.”
