A low, male Russian accent announces, "The fifty thousand came through. When they return from the honeymoon, we will have twenty-four hours to kill her."
I know that voice.
A sharp, icy tremor slices down the length of my spine. I don't breathe as my pulse stutters, then slams into my ribs. I tilt my head just enough to look up at Brax while trying to figure out where I've heard that voice before.
His pupils tighten, shrinking to sharp pinpoints inside the darkness. The skin around his eyes pulls taut, and his shoulders angle forward as if he's preparing for war.
The second man answers. His voice is American with no hint of an accent. Yet it's smooth with a slightly nasal ring, which is just as familiar. "Where's my deposit?"
"It's coming," the Russian replies with irritation.
"I don't work without it."
Brax steps closer to me, but I push him back against the wall. His fists curl at my waist.
"Don't," I mouth silently.
His jaw flexes with hatred, but he doesn't push past me.
The Russian insists, "Don't worry. It's coming any moment."
The American scoffs. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"It's coming."
A moment of tension mounts.
The American asks, "When do we get the other four-hundred-fifty-thousand?"
"When we send her head to them," the Russian answers without hesitation.
My blood freezes.
Them?
Brax's fury radiates around us.
My own rage rises, pressing hard against my sternum, threatening to burst. Someone inside the Underworld who has enough access to be in the royal hallway is plotting Fiona's execution. The treachery is enough to wipe out entire bloodlines.
A soft electronic ding slices through the room. There's another pause, then the American's tone shifts. In a satisfied voice, he declares, "Money's in my account. I'm in."
The Russian jeers, "No shit. Stop doubting me."
A dark chuckle escapes the American. "Let's go sharpen our knives."
Footsteps scrape across the stone. The chamber door clicks. Silence follows.
I keep still for ten long seconds. Only when I'm certain they're gone do I ease my hand off Brax's mouth and push the wardrobe door open a fraction.
It's empty. Still, I step out cautiously, scanning every inch of the chamber.
Brax storms past me, heading toward the exit.
I grab his arm. "Stop!"
He halts with violent restraint, turning back toward me with a glare that matches the rage vibrating under his skin. "We could have taken them both out by now."
"And gotten killed since we have no weapons."
