John takes one involuntary step back, hands raised. “I’m next in line without them,” he snaps, but the smugness wavers for the first time.
I sob louder, ugly, broken sounds that claw up my throat.
Kaden moves like a storm. He shoves John hard in the chest. “Not here. Not now. Get the fuck out. All of you.”
Kaden scoops Viviana from Christian, cradling her limp weight against his blood-stained shirt. Tiernan’s jaw is granite, eyes glittering with murder; he hasn’t decided where to aim yet. They leave, footsteps heavy on the stairs.
John pauses on the threshold, glances back at me with one last measuring look, and the corner of his mouth twitches in that sick little victory smile before he disappears.
The door slams, and two of Flynn’s guards take position outside; I hear their low murmurs through the wood.
Kaden exhales like a man who’s been holding his breath for hours. He climbs the stairs two at a time, Viviana still draped over his arms. I trail behind, legs shaky.
He kicks Declan’s bedroom door open with one boot, strides in, and gently lays Viviana on the duvet.
I swipe the last tears from my cheeks, sniffling.
Viviana’s eyes pop open. One perfectly arched brow lifts.
“Soooo?” she chirps, bright as sunshine. “How good was I?”
A laugh bursts out of me. I shake my head, chest still hitching.
“Strangely believable,” Kaden says, lips curling into a tired, crooked grin. He points at me, eyes soft for the first time all night. “And you,” he points at me, “you deserve a fucking Oscar.”
I flip him off with a trembling hand, still giggling through the leftover tears.
“How are they?” I ask finally, and Kaden’s voice turns darker, edged with exhaustion and something close to anger.
“Hidden,” he says. “Only five of our most trusted men know. They’re safe.” He sinks back into the chair in the corner of Declan’s bedroom, shoulders heavy.
“They didn’t notice they were breathing?” That part still confuses me, gnawing at the back of my mind.
Viviana sits up on the bed, pushing her long black hair over one shoulder. “Remember what I told you about getting Alek?” she says gently. “Flynn took that poison, the one that makes your breathing and heartbeat almost undetectable. They need an antidote to wake up, but until then they look dead. To the naked eye… they are.”
Kaden exhales, rubbing his jaw. “Flynn’s plans always end with him taking something.”
I try to laugh, but my eyes fall to the blood on his clothes. He notices immediately and points at it. “Real blood,” he says, “just not theirs. We got it from Declan’s clinic.” He gestures toward one of Declan’s ruined suits lying on the side table. “They had dozens of little bags taped inside. Once the fake bullets hit, it exploded like a damn paintball. Blood everywhere.”
“You guys are very theatrical,” I mutter, lowering myself onto the mattress and trying to calm my breathing.
“Says the woman who gave the performance of the century, grieving at the window.” He grins at me, and I find myself smiling back despite the ache still gnawing through my chest.
“Now what?” I whisper.
“Now we wait,” Kaden says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His voice drops into something deep, almost feral. “Because the wolves think the kings are dead… but in reality, they’re sharpening their knives.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Flynn
“Fecking hell…” Kian rasps, voice like gravel dragged across concrete. He forces himself upright on the thin mattress, broad shoulders hunching as a shudder rips through him.
I’m still flat on my back, concrete biting into my spine through the mattress someone threw down like an afterthought. My black T-shirt is glued to my chest and back, cold and stiff with the burst blood bags we all wore. The metallic stink of it clings to my skin, my hair, the back of my throat. My arms feel like lead, veins sluggish from whatever cocktail the doc pumped into us to slow our pulses to corpse-level.
Connor groans low beside me, dragging one tattooed forearm across his face. “Flynn, I’m never letting you talk me into this shite again. Feels like the worst hangover of my fucking life.”
The poison lingers even after the antidote, thick in my blood, making my heartbeat lazy and my thoughts swimmy. I hate it. Hate feeling slow. Hate the way my muscles twitch like they forgot how to answer, but someone is too quiet.
