Page 137 of Bloodstained Wings

I only wish I could be there to see his reaction in person.

But I know I can’t risk something like that, not when I need everyone else to think I’ve been seriously injured. Lulled into a false sense of security, my enemies are going to start growing lax and careless, and it’s exactly what I need to find their Achilles’ heel.

And drive the stake right through their heart.

I can almost taste the victory now.

Ernesto gets out of the car, his hand flying to the gun at his waist. “How long do you think they’ll buy it for?”

“If the hospital does its fucking job right, long enough for me to end this war,” I reply with a quick glance around the empty street. Slowly, Ernesto and I walk across the front lawn with overgrown weeds and dead grass. At the front door, Ernesto stops to pull the key from his pocket.

I close my fingers around my gun and peer into the darkness. “With the exception of you and Paul, everyone else needs to lay low.”

Ernesto doesn’t say anything and follows me inside.

In the semi-darkness, I creep forward. The only sound other than my own breathing is Ernesto’s. He is somewhere to my right, and I can feel his fear and uncertainty. When I reach the window, I rip the curtain open and stop, allowing moonlight to pour in and cast tiny particles of light on the hardwood floors.

In silence, Ernesto opens the rest of the curtains, giving the entire place a soft and eerie glow.

Without looking at him, I set up the security system using facial recognition and a biometric scan. Then I flick on the main light and slam the door shut. Once the system is up and running, I clap my hands together and give the place a once-over. With two rooms, an old couch with a large sheet draped over it, and a small fireplace covered in dust, this is one of the older Blackthorne safe houses.

It’s not the one I want to be in. Not with Isabella in the Blackthorne’s manor.

I miss her more than I want to. More than I care to admit it.

My fingers itch to reach for the phone, but I know I can’t contact her. Not with my enemies on high alert. They are going to be circling everyone I know or care about in search of the truth.

And they need to think I’m down for the count.

As far as the Natoris and the Philipses are concerned, I’ve been shot by one of their men and am currently being treated at the hospital. While a part of me knows it’s a little risky to let them think they have the upper hand, another part of me knows what happens next.

They’re going to go after me at the hospital. Which is why I need to lay low and plot the next phase of my plan.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Blackthornes need to play the part of the grieving and shocked family; otherwise, we don’t stand a chance in hell.

After doing a thorough sweep of the safe house, Ernesto returns, some of the tension draining from his face. He sets his gun down on the kitchen counter and runs a hand over his face. “They’re going to figure out it’s not you once they get close enough.”

“By then, this should all be over.” I fish my phone out of my pocket and send Tristan an encrypted message, something only he can decipher in case he’s looking at the news online. The last thing I need is Tristan or Isabella to buy into the report that I’ve been injured.

The rest of the world, on the other hand, should be eating out of the palm of my hands.

Ernesto takes his other phone out, a secure line he keeps for emergencies, and boots it up. Once it starts, he raises an eyebrow and twists the screen in my direction. “You’re trending, boss.”

“And that’s how you fucking strike.” I give him a grim smile and sit down on one of the stools. “Hughes is going to be pissed he didn’t think of it.”

Now that I’ve drummed up sympathy on a political scale, I know Hughes is going to be screwed.

How can he explain allowing this to happen on his watch?

He’s meant to be a gracious winner. Instead, my press conference casts him in the worst light—as someone who can’t handle competition and will do anything to eliminate the enemy.

Fucking Hughes had it coming.

“What about Donahue? Tell me there’s news about the son of a bitch.” I put my phone down on the counter and keep my gun next to it. As my eyes dart around the room, I try to keep my mind from racing, knowing I need to focus on my next problem.

Rich needs to be eliminated.

While waiting for the Natoris and Philipses to turn their backs, I finally have some time to go after Donahue myself, and I’m buzzing with impatience.

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