Page 39 of Revenge of a Queen

He nods processing what I said as Lincoln speaks up, “This is far from over brother, this doesn’t just start and end with Greg.”

“What do you mean?” Marcus asks.

“He means there are a lot more people on my list of sorry fucks who need to die,” we all swing our heads as Elle steps into the room, her voice calm and collected, as always when talking about this. I honestly don’t know how she does it.

Marcus gets up and she crosses the room to him immediately, “I’m gonna need that promise again, Riv,” she says softly, and he looks confused, “the one where you promise not to retaliate.”

He looks at us and grinds his teeth and cricks his neck before looking back to her, “I’m still here, aren’t I? Not bathing in that sick fuck’s blood.”

She smiles, “I know,” she pats his chest and looks to the two of us, “All of you, come with me,” she says, before turning away from us and making her way to the door in the corner of the room.

We enter behind her and it looks just like an old, unused storage room filled with boxes and some stuff covered in dust sheets. She moves until she is on the other side of the room, and then shifts back some tarp hanging from the wall that reveals another door. It’s not like the one we came through; this is steel and there is an electrical keypad next to it and Elle taps it a few times until it beeps, and she opens it.

She turns to us and gestures us inside; I look at the guys before we all move at once to enter. Fuck, this is not what I expected.

“Fuck,” Marcus hisses under his breath coming in behind me.

The door closes behind us and I hear the click and beep of the electrical lock going back in place. The room isn’t big, but it has enough room to fit a large table with six chairs around it. The back wall has a large screen above multiple smaller ones all connected to what seems to be one computer. There is a chair in front of the desk under the wall and multiple programs running on the screens. On the left of the room is a large whiteboard with photos stuck to it that have names underneath, few of them have red crosses across the face.

“What is this?” Marcus asks, breaking the silent tension of the room.

“This is my revenge,” Elle replies simply.

“What do the red crosses mean?” I ask, a little warily because there are at least eight of them.

“Eliminated,” she says mindlessly, as she taps away on the computer before she sits in the chair and spins it towards us and gestures for us to sit at the table.

We all take a seat.

“You are all here because I trust you,” she says, “with my life, with my daughter's life and with my secrets.”

I take in the faces on the board. There are the obvious ones who I recognize; Greg and Elliot Donovan, Sarah and Jonathan King, that low life The Octopus, hell even the fucking Captain of Police is up there. What the fuck?

“All the details of everything are irrelevant, so I will only tell you what you need to know,” she exhales, looking between us all as we nod.

“You know the obvious. Greg raped me,” I feel Marcus flinch beside me when she tosses that statement out casually. “What you don’t know is, it was payback for something my parents did. They knew all about the Donovan’s sick little sex ring and went against him anyway, he paid them back by taking me,” she shrugs again like it’s nothing and I grind my teeth.

“Elliot only used to take the girls no one gives a fuck about, the ones forgotten or left behind on the South Side,” she locks eyes with me and grimaces apologetically knowing she is referring to Rachel and others like her. “Well after they took me, they realized they could keep all the other North Breds in line by threatening their children to keep them on their side.”

She stands and gestures to the board, “As you can see, he has a lot of people on his payroll willing to help keep his crimes on the down low. Police, lawyers, even a politician, no one is willing to go against him,” she adds, before turning back to us and that’s when I see it.

Marcus speaks first, “What happened to Nate Maxwell?” he asks, and I think back to the day Elle had a black eye and little Donovan kicked our door clean off thinking Marcus had done it. Their whispered words revealed the Octopus had done that to her.

“I went after him,” Elle says carefully, “I --” she starts again but Lincoln cuts her off.

“I killed him,” he says calmly and both Marcus and I swing our heads to look at him.

Lincoln isn’t bold or brash, he doesn’t allow his actions to get the better of him. He always thinks through every scenario before doing something, assesses every threat and goes through every backup possible before doing anything. That is what makes him so ruthless. He isn’t unpredictable and reckless like Marcus and I, so this shocks the both of us.

When he sees us staring, he snaps losing some of his cool, “What? It was him or her,” he says, gesturing to Elle.

“Lincoln’s right, he saved my life,” she adds, and he smiles.

“Sorry, what was that King? I didn’t quite catch that,” he teases her, and it lightens the mood of this fucked up room.

“Don’t fucking push it, Superman,” she responds.

“I never asked what happened in the warehouse. Whose blood were you covered in?” I voice my inner thoughts.

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