And apparently, this asshole wants me to spell it out.
"I need someone eliminated."
"Eliminated." He draws out the word like he's tasting it. "That's a very clinical way to say murder, sweetheart."
The condescension in his voice, even through the modulator, makes my teeth grind. But I force myself to stay calm and not tell him to shove it for repeating everything I fucking say. "The target is high-profile. Security detail, public figure. It won't be easy."
"We don't do easy." This from the chair on the far left. A rougher, colder voice. "Easy doesn't pay our rates."
"I have thirty thousand. Cash and crypto."
Silence. Then laughter from the first guy, rich and mocking. "Thirty grand? You think we're some corner boys who'll pop someone for pocket change?"
I clench my jaw tighter. "The person I talked to on the secure channel said?—"
"Thirty grand is the price ofentrance," he cuts me off, dragging out his words like he's talking to an idiot. "Thirty grand might buy intimidation or a security detail. Elimination?" All I see is him having his hand dismissively. "Please."
My feet stay rooted to the floor. There's not much space between the glass and those thrones, and I know these guys are packing heat. So is the armed guard standing silently but not so subtly by the door, watching me.
It feels like walking to an executioner's block, but I make myself move, circling around the row of thrones toward the glass wall so I can face them. I try to give the far throne on the right, the one belonging to the only King who hasn't mocked me yet, a wide berth as I pass. But I can feel him staring. Even in the shadows, Ican make out how fucking huge he is. Huge and clad in jet black clothes.
I stop in the narrow space between them and the one-way glass, my back to the oblivious dancers who have no idea what's happening on this side of the mirror.
And I get my first look at the Kings of Ruin.
They're all wearing masks, because of course they fucking are. But it's the details that make my blood run cold.
The one who spoke first—King, if the ego is anything to go off of—wears a pristine white mask that covers the top half of his face, leaving his mouth exposed. Full lips set into a malicious smirk and a jawline that could cut diamond. His dark hair is slicked back, and there's something about the way he holds himself, the casual arrogance, the fingers drumming against the armrest in a rhythm I know like my own heartbeat.
To his far left sits a tall, lean man who's still plenty imposing even if he isn't as solidly built as King. A solid white, featureless mask covers his entire face except the eyeholes, but even in the pulsing light, I can make out the glint of the piercing green eyes behind it. Eyes as intense as they are cold. For some reason, they widen with shock, as ifI'mnot whathewas expecting.
The man next to him wears an ornate Venetian mask of sharp white angles and metallic gold paint. Blond hair falls past his shoulders in a golden cascade, and he's lounging in his throne like he owns the world, long legs crossed in front of him. Those long fingers adorned with rings that catch the light and letters tattooed across his knuckles that read…
Nope. I have to be seeing wrong. There's no way he's got the word Jinx tattooed across his fist. That would be a fuckinginsanecoincidence.
But it's the fourth one that makes me freeze.
The silent giant dressed all in black, his dark hair swept partially back from a face covered entirely by a leather gas mask.
And not just any gas mask, either. This is a gas mask I recognize because I bought it years ago.
I'd saved for months to get it because Tank was obsessed with this cheesy post-apocalyptic video game where the main character always wore a gas mask. Tank liked him because even though he was scarred and looked terrifying beneath the mask, he was one of the good guys. Hesavedpeople.
The perfect costume for the one night of the year Tank didn't have to feel so different from everyone else.
"The one night everyone looks like a monster," Kade had pointed out so eloquently, earning an elbow to the ribs from yours truly. We all knew he would die for his brother without a second thought, but sensitivity was never really his thing.
The memory of Tank squeezing the life out of me when I gave it to him hits me like a fucking train. I barely even hear King over the roaring in my ears.
"Alright. Let's have a look at you, Prin?—"
King breaks off abruptly, his jaw slightly slack. Even through the masks, I can feel the weight of their collective shock matching mine. His voice rasps in disbelief as he finishes on an exhale.
"—cess."
No.
No.
