Page 124 of Brutal Reign
“Funny thing to notice, right? Some things are burned into my brain forever.”
She pauses, shaking her head slowly. “That doesn’t make sense. My father was right-handed. Always used to joke he couldn’t even brush his teeth with his left.”
The hair on my arms stands on end. No one kills themselves with their non-dominant hand. “Do you know what kind of weapon your father typically carried?”
“A Glock 19. Always engraved with his initials and a small dragon. I never saw him carry any other weapon. Why?”
“Shit.” I drag a hand through my hair, my mind racing through possibilities.
“What is it?”
“The gun by your father’s hand was a small caliber .22.”
Hope’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly, her eyes going wide. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Ice floods my veins as the pieces start clicking together.
“Hope, when Maxim entered the office, there was no one else inside, and the door was locked from within.” She stares at me, not yet understanding. “You escaped using the secret passageways, right? Did those passages connect to every room in the house?”
“Not every room, but there was access to a passageway in my father’s office.” Her face pales as the implication hits her. “Oh God. You think Simon...”
“Wrong hand. Wrong gun. Wiped computer.” A chill drips down my spine. “Simon knew we’d capture and interrogate Lai King. By killing your father and making it look like a suicide, he comes out looking like the hero. He tells everyone this brave story of how he fought to the very end, only escaping to fulfill your father’s dying wish to protect you. And since everyone died that night, there’s no one left to poke holes in his story or challenge him taking over the triad.” I pause as another detail surfaces. “You know, someone on the dark web tipped us off to the location of the villa. We never discovered who that person was, but now I’d bet my life it was Simon.”
She nods slowly, her face crumbling as the truth becomes undeniable. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
HOPE
The compound’sconference room feels charged with energy as Pavel and I step inside for the meeting that will finalize tomorrow night’s operation.
Around the table, everyone is already in mission mode: Maxim and Roman pore over building schematics, Niko and Vadim examine satellite images, and in the corner, Dinara hunches over her laptop, purple-streaked hair falling across her face, with Eva beside her.
When Pavel first presented the plan to capture Chen, I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. He left the decision entirely to me, never pushed. If anything, he seemed torn about asking me.
Ultimately, I decided to go through with it, not only for myself but for Kin, my father, and the Syndicate. Chen and Simon need to be stopped, and they need to pay for what they’ve done.
When I think of the trust I placed in Chen, believing he had my best interests at heart, nausea rolls through me. But to learn that Simon—the boy my father raised and called his right hand—could turn around and murder him, that’s beyond sickening.
Pavel suspects Simon pulled the trigger, staging Baba’s death as a suicide, then escaped through the tunnels just before the Syndicate torched the place.
The irony is that Simon must have believed he’d inherit everything after my father died—the money, the power, the organization. It must have been a shock to discover the Black Company’s assets were frozen.
Pavel’s hand finds my elbow, and heads lift as we approach. Subdued hellos and nods ripple around the table, and I see a newfound respect in their expressions.
When we take our seats, everyone goes quiet. The weight of what we’re about to discuss settles over the room. Soon, I’ll meet with Chen, pretending to trust the man who betrayed me in the worst possible way.
Maxim stands, his authoritative presence commanding attention. “Hope, we all appreciate what you’re willing to do. I know the last few days have been difficult, but you made a brave choice, and I promise we’ll keep you safe.”
I nod, trying to project confidence I don’t entirely feel. Under the table, Pavel reaches for my hand, his fingers warm and reassuring against mine.
“Thank you,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “I’m ready for this.”
And I am, as much as anyone can be. These past few days have been a whirlwind of preparation. Pavel has been relentless in his training, teaching me basic self-defense, weapon handling, and tactical awareness. He’s obsessed with ensuring my safety, that nothing could go wrong. We’ve run through scenarios until I could navigate them in my sleep. I know exactly where the exits are, where Pavel will be positioned, and what signals to watch for.
He’s prepared me for every possibility he can think of, but there’s no such thing as risk free, and I’ve made peace with that uncertainty.
