My father’s declaration echoes ominously through the vault, his ambitions laid bare in the chilling damp of the catacombs. Benjamin glances at me, his eyes wide with a mix of shock, betrayal, and a dawning realization of the depth of deception that has governed his life.
“The Order values balance, not a dictatorship,” Benjamin says quietly, his voice carrying a steely resolve. “Even if you kill me, this won’t end here.”
My father laughs, a haunting sound that reverberates against the stone walls. “With this technology, I'll ensure our dominance for generations. No one will dare challenge us.” He turns to look at me. “Finish your training, son. Kill the McKenzie heir and take your place by side. Or die.”
His cold gaze locks onto mine, his command reverberating in my skull. “Xavier, kill him now.”
I shift slightly, the gun against my back digging deeper. “We’re running out of time. The other crows will be here soon.”
His expression hardens, the lines of his face set in a grim determination. “Do it, or I will.”
“Fine,” I say. “Give me a gun.”
My father jerks his chin at the man pressing the firearm into my spine. “Give it to him.”
Benjamin eyes me cautiously as I take the weapon from the gunman, testing its weight in my hand. For a split second, the tension in the air thickens as I level the gun at Benjamin, my expression neutral.
“Hey, McKenzie, you have some shit on your face,” I say.
Understanding dawns in Benjamin’s eyes, and he lunges at the mercenary nearest to him. The room bursts into chaos as his body slams into the gunman, wrestling fiercely to gain control of his weapon.
Simultaneously, I aim my firearm at the man next to me and shoot. The sound fills the room as he collapses to the ground.
The third mercenary swings his weapon in my direction, and I dive to the ground. A gunshot rings out overhead, and my body tenses, bracing for impact. I lift my head, my gaze darting back and forth.
The gunman stumbles back and falls, and his firearm clatters on the stone floor. Declan, calm and precise, steps into the vault.
Okay, maybe I won’t kill him.
In the midst of the commotion, my father springs into action. He tackles me with the ferocity of a cornered animal, his weight and momentum squeezing the breath from my lungs. He knocks the gun from my hand as I gasp for air and wraps both hands around my neck.
“You fucking traitor,” he hisses, spittle flying as he strangles me. “You’re a disgrace to the Donovan name!”
I twist sharply, breaking free from my father’s deadly grasp, and suck in a lungful of air. His eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly regains his composure, moving in to engage once more.
We grapple, our bodies a combination of violence and exertion. I try to use my speed and strength to my advantage, but my father’s years of training and experience give him the upper hand. With a swift leg sweep, he catches me off balance and I stumble back.
His skill is undeniable. Each time I think I have an opening, he anticipates my next move, countering with precision. Frustration builds inside me, but I push it down, struggling to stay alive. Before I my strike lands, he immobilizes my arm, forcing me to my knees before pinning me to the ground.
He digs his knee into my chest, his grip on my throat firm and unyielding. “You’re good,” he says, slightly out of breath, “but not good enough.”
“Remember that when I kill you,” I rasp.
A burst of movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention. That’s when I see her.
My little raptor.
Fucking Declan. I’ve changed my mind: I’mdefinitelygoing to kill him.
Delilah emerges from the shadows like an avenging angel. With the jeweled dagger in her hand, she moves swiftly, her feet barely touching the stone floor. My gaze sweeps over her, taking in the fierce determination etched across her face.
I need to warn her to stay away, to get the fuck out of here, but I can’t breathe, let alone speak. My father tightens his grip around my neck, and my vision blurs. Desperation claws at me as I struggle against him, but I’m losing consciousness.
In a flash, Delilah is there with her weapon raised. She doesn’t hesitate, her movements precise and deadly. She drags the dagger across my father’s throat. His blood splashes onto me as he swings wildly, his fist connecting with her chest.
Delilah screams in agony. Then she drops to her knees, hanging her head, her hair a golden curtain shielding her face from me.
My father falls backward, his eyes wide with shock and pain before the life inside leaves them completely. I roll over to my hands and knees, gasping for air, my lungs burning.
