I never wanted that responsibility. All because I was born into the wrong family… I’m done, and it’s the smallest weight off of my shoulder to announce that, then start to leave.
Matthew moves to stand in front of me. Like Jack, he went to great lengths to take care of himself. In his early fifties, he carries himself more like a man half his age. His hair is a uniformed brown, his face unnaturally flawless, and his eyes show that he’s as broken inside as I am.
This is fanaticism. He believes in the Order of the Owed like it’s his own personal religion. He’s not fighting back against me because he wants to be King. Oh, no. He’s doing this because he can’t understand why I wouldn’t want to keep the title.
“You can’t just walk away from the Order.”
I meet his gaze.
“Watch me.”
All around me, the old guard exchange looks. I push past Matthew, thinking it’s the end of it, when he says coldly, “Grab him.”
It doesn’t matter that they’re older than me or that I spend hours every week in my private gym. There are four, maybe five of them… too many of them… reaching for me, grabbing me, overpowering me. Yeah, I fight back hard, but I’m not invincible.
As one, they slam me down onto the top of the desk, facedown. Before I can buck them off of me, there’s weight on both of my arms, pinning me down.
A pair of hands go through my pockets. I don’t know whose until someone grabs the pocketknife I carry with me religiously in the front one, Matthew’s smug voice saying, “Ah. Thought so.”
He moves around to the other side of the desk so I can’t miss the way he opens my blade, the overhead lights glinting against the metal.
“Joey. His hand.”
“What are you doing?” I growl.
“You want to walk out of there? Fine. But you don’t leave the Order with the brand of the Owed on your skin.” He twirls the knife. “Hope this is sharp enough. You used to be an enforcer, Dallas. Tell me. Did you cut the skin clean off to remove the brand? Or did you just take the whole damn hand?”
Youfucker. “You know as well as I do that we don’t bother removing the brand,” I spit out, cheek smashed to the desk as he presses one hand to the side of my head. “The only ex-Owed is a dead Owed.”
Matthew laughs, and at least one of them other men pinning me down echoes the harsh sound. He’s not the only one, either, but it’s Matthew I’m glaring up at as he says, “That’s right. In that case, I’ll guess I’ll have to use this knife to take care of you permanently.”
Fine.
“Go ahead, asshole.”
Matthew pauses, unable to hide his surprise that I’m not begging for my life. I’d bet he’d really get a hard-on if I did.
“Are you sure? You don’t want to reconsider?”
In answer, I do my best to spit at him.
He just manages to dodge it. “Tough guy, huh? You always thought you were, especially when daddy was around to keep you on a tight leash. What? You’re not scared of what I’ll do?”
I think back to the not-so-long ago day when I sat there with the Ruger against my skull, checking to see if I was afraid.
My answer is the same now.
“No.”
Because if Lucy is gone… what’s the point?
Matthew lifts the knife with both hands, freeing my head. Doesn’t matter. I lay there, a lamb to the slaughter. I don’t close my eyes, either, because, well,fuck it. If I’m going to die, I might as well watch it happen.
Only the knife never lands. Before he can figure out where he wants to slice first, the door behind us opens. I hear it, and when the two men pinning me down loosen their hold enough that I can jerk up in time to see who’s joined us.
It’s my cousin, and he looks… not pissed, but annoyed.
Adrian stalks through the open door. He takes one look at the scene in front of him, sighs, and says to no one in particular (but is definitely me), “Why doesn’t anyone follow the plan?”
