I glance at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I gave everything to the Sovereign,” he continues. “Before that…I wasn’t the kind of man who got second chances.” A faint scoff leaves his mouth. “Wasn’t the kind who deserved them.”
He doesn’t talk about the years before the Sovereign beyond the basics, FSB and Russian Black ops. But I’ve seen enough.
“That’s why you want me to lead? Because you’re scared?—”
“No. Because it’s already rotting. And if you don’t take it, someone worse will. Someone who didn’t bleed on that fucking marble.”
I want to argue. Tell him he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. But I don’t. Because deep down, there’s a small, fucked part of me that wants it. Not for glory. Not even for revenge. But for control. For the chance to build something out of the wreckage.
“Alistair survived,” he mutters, checking his phone. “He’ll serve as one of your Commanders. Make sure you don’t lose your shit too fast.”
Before I can tell him to fuck off, his phone vibrates again.
“I need to take this.”
He turns and slips out the door, and for a moment, I’m left in silence?—
“Prince Charming better be awake in there, because I did not drag my half-dead ass through three wings of this goddamn hospital just to be ignored.”
The door pushes open and he stumbles in, barely standing, leaning on a cane, one arm in a sling, face stitched up like some Frankenstein shit.
“Arsen said you cried like a little pussy when you thought I was dead.”
“You—You fucking motherfucker.” I smile, an actual fucking smile. “If I cried, it was because I was happy to be rid of you.”
Raze snorts, lowering himself into the chair Arsen just vacated with a pained groan.
“How in the fuck are you still alive?”
“I could ask your sorry ass the same.” He points the cane at me. “Look at you. Hooked up to every machine in existence. Pathetic. Knew you were going soft.”
He leans back, shifting with a grimace.
“After I fell through that goddamn floor, Axe’s team hauled my bleeding ass out of the fire. I was unconscious for a bit, but, you know—” He taps his chest. “Too stubborn to die. Though I gotta say, I’m pissed I missed your big theatrical moment. Heard you made quite the spectacle. All chained up, bleeding out. Even got the girl to throw herself on top of you.” He smirks. “Never pegged you as a romantic, Priest.”
I look down at Arlo, her small body curled against mine, fingers still fisted in my gown. Raze notices before he clears his throat.
“Oh—by the way.” He points to his arm, where a thick bandage wraps around the crook of his elbow. “Our blood types match. They took three pints off me to keep your dramatic ass from dying. Guess that makes us blood bitches now.”
My head falls back into the pillow, a rough exhale leaving me.
“I owe you one.”
His usual smirk drops.
“You don’t owe me shit. I’d do it again. Even if it means I gotta listen to your emotional bullshit love confessions for the rest of my life.”
He jerks his chin toward Arlo.
“You told her, huh?”
Heat crawls up my neck. Pain, probably.
“Yeah.”
He blows out a long breath. “Fuck. Never thought I’d see the day.”
