Page 47 of The Kings
“Need?” Eliza’s voice rises to match mine, and her eyes flash with defiance. “I don’t need anything from anyone. I make my own way.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it!” I can feel the rage pulsing through me, a relentless tide threatening to sweep away any sense of restraint I have left. “You asked us to have your back. You asked us to align. We agreed; that doesn’t just work when you want it to, Eliza. It doesn’t fucking work that way. You, of all people, should know better than that. Instead, you can barely sit, let alone stand, because you took on the Connor enforcer all on your fucking own! Don’t you get it? Don’t you see how that wasn’t supposed to be the way it went down?”
Raphael steps in, his hand coming down on my shoulder like an anchor. “James, leave it for now, yeah?”
Tarquin moves to Eliza’s side, his expression all calm and controlled. “Eliza, we’re just worried, that’s all this is. No one’s doubting your abilities.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters, but her stance softens ever so slightly under Tarquin’s steady gaze, which just pisses me off.
I shake Raphael’s hand away from my shoulder, his attempt at peacekeeping evidently in vain. Tarquin stands by Eliza, a silent supporter, but even he seems to realise words are failing us now.
“Look, I know that fight was rigged and unfair, okay, but I didn’t ask for backup because I didn’t need it. I’ve been dealing with this kind of shit since before I could walk. I know what I’m doing. Do you think that enforcer was tougher than my dad? Hmm? Let me tell you, he’s a wuss compared.”
“Clearly a fucking wuss,” I snarl, my anger overriding the concern that had started this whole mess.
“Enough, James!” Raphael steps between us, his broad frame a barrier I’m itching to get past. “You’re just going in circles.”
“Because she won’t listen!” I shout, glaring past Raphael at Eliza.
“There’s nothing to hear. I won this fight on my own terms.”
“Damn it, Eliza! It’s not about winning some bloody contest; it’s about keeping you alive!” My hands ball into fists at my sides, knuckles white with the effort to hold back.
Her lips twist into a sneer, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t need your protection, James. I never have.”
“This was reckless bullshit!”
“Well, better dead than weak,” she says with such wretchedness that it hits me hard in the heart, and the room goes still, the gravity of her words pulling us all down into a silent standoff.
“Listen to yourself, Eliza,” I mutter. “You think you’re invincible? Your choices have consequences!”
“My choices are mine to make.”
“Your arrogance could’ve killed you!” The words explode from me, the anger I’ve been holding back now spewing unchecked. “What kind of leader gambles with their life like that?”
Her jaw clenches, and for a moment, I see the flicker of uncertainty she so rarely shows. But then, it’s gone, replaced by that hard, fierce determination that infuriates and ignites me.
“Better to lead with courage than cower behind others,” she challenges, her voice rising to match mine.
“Courage?” I snap, throwing the word back at her like a weapon. “There’s a thin line between courage and stupidity, Eliza! Yesterday, you crossed it!”
She recoils as if I’ve slapped her, her chestnut hair swaying with the movement. For an instant, her composure cracks,revealing the weight she carries on those slender shoulders—expectations, legacy, the burden of command.
“Eliza, look at what you’re doing to us—to yourself!” My frustration peaks raw and scalding. “This isn’t about proving you can go it alone. It’s about survival!”
“Survival...” Her whisper cuts through the tension, and then, unexpectedly, her defences crash down around her. Tears spill over, carving wet paths down her cheeks, and my breath catches at the sight.
“Fuck, Eliza,” I mutter, the fight draining out of me as I witness her veneer of strength dissolve into vulnerability. The sight of her crying is jarring, and she snuffs out the last of my anger, leaving a hollow ache in its place. I close the distance between us, my hurt that she didn’t trust us battling with the need to wrap her up and shield her from the world’s shit.
Her body is rigid, a statue of defiance melting under the heat of her tears. She doesn’t move away when I reach for her, and that’s all the invitation I need. My arms circle around her, pulling her against my chest, and she collapses into me with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Fuck,” she chokes out, her arms clamping around my waist as if I’m the only thing anchoring her to sanity. Her sobs are muffled against my shirt, each one a knife twisting deeper into my gut.
I tighten my hold on her, feeling the tremors racking her small frame. The urge to protect her, to keep her safe, it’s overwhelming—stronger than any anger, any fear of losing her to this cutthroat life we’re entangled in. “You’re not alone, Eliza,” I whisper into her hair, my voice barely above a grunt. “Never alone.”
Eliza’s grip loosens, and she steps back. Her eyes, still fierce despite the redness, meet mine as she takes a shuddering breath.
“Sorry,” she mutters, and it’s like hearing a gunshot at a funeral—unexpected and jarring. “I was out of line.”
