Page 48 of The Kings
I reach over to the box of tissues on the side table, pulling one out and handing it to her. She snatches it away, dabbing gently at her bruised eyes.
“Listen to me,” I say, my tone softer but no less firm. “You’re forgiven. But fuck, Eliza, you’ve got to start letting us have your back. This isn’t some game—it’s life or death out there. These advanced tests, like round fucking four, are meant for crews, not solo players. They’re meant to test leadership and teamwork, and I’m telling you, if you try to go it alone, you’re going to end up dead.”
Her jaw sets, and I know she’s holding back a retort. But then, slowly, she nods. “I know,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “I know that now. I also know it was rigged. There is no fucking way Connor’s enforcer would’ve been given to anyone else to fight with one player or more. That was for me and me alone. But that is why I had to do it myself. To show these fuckers they can mess with me all they like, but they can’t take me down. Do you understand that? Do you understand that Damon Hughes has enemies, and I’m the bitch walking around with a target on my back?”
“All our families have enemies, Eliza,” I murmur. “So yeah, we get it. All of us.”
“But you are four big, strong guys.” She draws out the last four words to hit home that sheisdifferent, and we need to start fucking acting like it. “And I’m just a girl.”
“Just a girl,” I scoff as Raphael snorts with disapproval. “You are a fierce fucking woman, Eliza.”
“Maybe, but to them…” She gestures with her head to the outside world. “They see a girl with Daddy’s big name. I know there are other women here in my shoes, but they aren’t the Hughes heiress. I am. I have to deal with that shit the way I dealwith it. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. Until then, you have my back, I have yours, but if I’m put through these dumbass tests to prove my place here, I’ll do it alone until I can’t.”
I stare at her, her green eyes dark with the weight of what she’s just said. Silence stretches, heavy and thick like fog over a graveyard. She’s always been a fortress of solitude, untouchable, but now I truly see why.
In the silence, Tarquin steps forward, brows knitted. “So wait, back up a minute, you’re saying they set you up to fail? To take you out of the game?”
She nods, fierce determination replacing her earlier defiance. “Exactly that.”
“Then we play them at their own game,” I state. “Don’t give them the fucking opportunity to smash you off the board, Eliza. Even you have to see that is inevitable if you play into their hands.”
Her split lips pull into a grim line, the fire reigniting in those emerald eyes. “I always play to win, James. But you’re right, it’s time we change the fucking rules.”
I have to admire her, even when I’m scared shitless for her safety. The room buzzes with silent agreement from the others. We’ve all got a stake in this game, and Eliza is our queen on this bloody, savage chessboard.
“We’ll make them regret switching up the rules,” Oliver growls, his deep voice rolling like thunder as he moves into my line of view. I didn’t even know he’d joined us.
Eliza takes a deep breath, letting the support of her men bolster her. “We’re going to send a message loud and clear,” she states firmly. “But after I die, curled up in a corner, okay?”
Snickering, I take her arm as she gives me as sassy a smile as her bashed-in face will let her.
“Count on it.”
24
RAPHAEL
I slipthrough the shadows of Castle University, my eyes scanning the swarm of students like they’re prey. The chill in the air doesn’t faze me; I’m on the hunt, every nerve-ending tingling with anticipation. My target isn’t some wide-eyed kid loaded with books; it’s a mercenary, one who’s been cosying up to David Grenville, the bastard with a vendetta against my woman.
I’m a ghost, unseen, unheard. I’ve got contacts in every corner of this town and beyond, and they’re all too eager to spill what they know for a wad of cash or a promise of protection—cheap currency in a world where loyalty can be bought and sold.
“Hey, Raph,” grunts a voice from the shadows, its owner a hulking figure known to me as Tank.
“Talk.”
“Your guy’s been seen around,” Tank replies, his eyes darting around, making sure we’re alone. “A dive bar by the river, The Rusty Anchor. Can’t miss it.”
My lips curl into a smirk. The Rusty Anchor is a cesspool, perfect for the kind of scum I’m after. I toss Tank a nod and a few bills—he’s done his job.
As the sky darkens, I make my way toward the bar, the scent of spilt beer and broken dreams growing stronger with every step. I can almost taste the fear that I’ll soon strike into the heart of the man who dares cross Eliza and the Kings.
The door swings open with a creak that’s seen too many late nights; the stench of stale beer and desperation hits me like a punch. The Rusty Anchor is a shithole, but it’s the kind I’m familiar with. My eyes flick over the sorry assortment of patrons before they lock on my target.
This was too easy, but there again, looking at him, he doesn’t need to hide in shadows. Too bad he messed with the wrong crew.
He’s hunkered down in the corner, a hulking mass of muscle with a face that’s seen more fists than a boxing glove. I move through the meagre crowd, every step deliberate, silent—a predator closing in on unsuspecting prey. No one pays me any mind; here, everyone’s got their own demons to wrestle with.
Before he knows I’m even there, I slam Drago’s face down onto the hard wooden table, his grunt lost in the sticky residue of spilt beer. “You know who I am?” I ask, my voice slicing through the sudden silence of the bar like a shard of ice.
