Page 26 of Royal Deception
My shoulders lock up and my grip tightens on the glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, ignoring him to take another sip of my drink.
A chuckle escapes him and he shakes his head. “Sure, you don’t.”
I’m saved from answering when the waitress brings our food. Kellan still watches me but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod. He knows better than to poke at me.
But even as we shift back to business, our conversation lingers in my mind—just like Clary’s soft voice asking for more.
As I head back to the office, I try to clear my mind of everything to do with Clary, but it doesn’t seem to be working. At least, until I get a phone call and when I see Lucky’s name flash across the screen, my brain is wiped clean.
I grimace and press the phone to my ear, expecting bad news.
“Yeah?”
“Someone took a shot at Mark Veridan,” Lucky says flatly, tone clipped. My stomach sinks.
“And?”
“He’s alive,” Lucky informs me. “But we had a bodyguard on him. Danny. He didn’t… Fuck. He didn’t make it, Rory.”
Fuck.
Danny? Something tightens in my chest. Danny was one of my most trusted men. Always solid. Always loyal. He’d have taken a bullet for me, no question.
And now he’s gone because of a decision I made.
The thought sits heavy, pressing against my chest.
“Veridan safe now?” I ask, my voice even despite the storm brewing inside me.
“Yeah. Shaken up, but still alive. He knows what this means, though.”
“We all do,” I mutter.
A beat of silence, then Lucky’s voice drops lower. “What are we doing about this?”
I exhale, my grip tightening on the phone. I’ll be damned before I let Danny’s death be in vain. But I can’t rush this. Shit just got real.
“No one makes a move yet,” I warn, my voice steady despite the churning in my gut. “Not until we know exactly what their goal is. We can’t afford to pull the trigger prematurely.”
Too much is at stake. I close my eyes for a second as the pieces snap into place, making me realize that this wasn’t just retaliation. It was a warning.
We stepped into Russian affairs. Now, we’re the target. And Danny might not have just been collateral damage.
He was the message.
“Get me a secure location and bring Veridan. We need to have a little chat,” I say through clenched teeth.
An hour later, I walk up to one of our safehouses—a discreet spot where we store high-risk targets. Mark Veridan looks on edge as I walk into the sparse apartment. He’s seated on a couch but jumps up when I walk in.
I take my time surveying him. His suit is wrinkled, his tie loosened. Sweat beads along his temple. He looks like a man who’s just seen his life flash before his eyes.
“Glad to see you’re still breathing,” I remark, settling into the seat across from him.
Mark exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Daniel was a good man.”
A muscle in my jaw tics. “I know.”
He looks down before taking a deep breath and looking back up at me. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
