Page 3 of Judgment Day

But the sudden shift in the atmosphere was unsettling.

Even though it killed me to do so, I lifted Sadie off my waist and righted her panties. Then, I ran my hand over my dick one last time, milking that very last drop, before tucking myself back into my pants. As if on cue, the second I finished with my zipper, a sharp, stinging pain sliced into the bottom of my ankle. And then I was on my knees, face-to-face to face with a blood-red cobra as it spread its hood and spewed venom in my eyes. Out of pure instinct, I snatched him up and threw him as far as I could. Everything was magnified in that moment. Every single fucking thing. I felt the venom burn through my veins, devouring my capillaries at lightning-quick speed. My vision blurred, and my eyes stung as involuntary tears spilled down my cheeks. I swallowed back the need to throw up.

The red cobra was a desert snake. We didn’t have them in Scotland. I damn sure had never seen one in these woods. But I knew. I knew exactly where it came from. My father had told me about The Initiation. The rituals. That fucking snake. It was a symbol of the Obsidian Brotherhood. And it was here, attackingme.

“Oh my God, Grey!”

I dug my palms into my burning eyes, then followed the sound of Sadie’s voice with my gaze. In the distance, I heard the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves under heavy, hurried footsteps.

I closed my eyes, silently cursing the motherfucker who did this—who crippled me so I couldn’t protect her—then let out a roar from the darkest depths of my soul. “Run!”

ONE

age 30

Some said that money was the root of all evil.

I disagreed.

Lucifer didn’t fall from grace because ofmoney.

Wars weren’t waged because ofmoney.

The hunger for authority.

The thirst for control.

That was what drove sane men into the depths of madness.

Evil did exist. And it kneeled at the feet of power.

One thing my father taught me from the moment I was old enough to understand was there was no power without knowledge. Andknowingthings withouttellingthings—that was where real power lay. People let their guard down when they thought no one knew their secrets. Arrogance dominated sensibility when someone believed they were the most powerful person in the room.

This room, my library, held a lifetime of knowledge, and not just because of the shelves of books that lined the walls. This was more than a room full of classic furniture, glass lamps, and wool rugs. It was a vault. A lifetime of secrets had been shared here over aged scotch and fine leather.

I’d called a meeting here to discuss the future of the Brotherhood—a future that would take all of us working together to pull it off. Caspian Donahue and Chandler Carmichael arrived last night. Lincoln Huntington, unsurprisingly, missed his flight and was running late. Liam Radcliffe had royal business to take care of but said he was on his way.

Ceiling-high bookcases lined all the walls except one. That was where my desk and bar cabinet was. Brass lamps cast an amber glow over the rich wood. Two leather sofas faced each other in the middle of the room. Lyric used to fall asleep on one of those sofas almost every night. Right now, Caspian and Chandler sat on them, drinking whiskey and sharing secrets.

I stood behind one sofa, swirling fifty-year-old Balvenie around the bottom of a crystal tumbler and replaying my father’s words in my head.

Know more than they think. Think more than you speak. Speak when it makes a difference. Fear roars, loud and insecure. Intuition whispers. Remember this, and you will be invincible.

My father taught me how to be a man worthy of respect. The books on these shelves taught me history, human nature, and love. Five years in a prison I never belonged in taught me how to be a monster.

The library door opened, and Mrs. McTavish walked in. Lincoln barreled past her, stopping behind the sofa opposite me and locking his gaze on mine.

“This better be important.”

I glanced over at my housekeeper and oldest friend, giving her a brief nod and a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. McTavish. I’ll let you know if we need anything else.” Once the door was closed, I shifted my attention back to my glass, taking a sip of whiskey before looking back at Lincoln.

There was fire in his eyes and ice in mine.

One beat passed.

Then two.

His nostrils flared as he gripped the back of the sofa with his tattooed fingers. I finished my whiskey. His jaw clenched. Chandler and Caspian exchanged tense glances from one sofa to the other. But no one said a word.

---