I sit at the mahogany desk, fingers steepled, staring at the blueprints spread before me like a map to a war I never wanted. The architect’s signature is scrawled at the bottom, as well as the title: Strong Manor. The blueprints were part of the bargain, the reason I’d upheld the contract long after my son chose another path. It was worth it, I told myself.
But now? I feel nothing but exhaustion and regret.
Arianette.
My jaw tightens. I haven’t looked at her since I had her dragged to my room and locked in the iron cage in the armoire across from my bed. Haven’t spoken. Haven’tneededto. The isolation is punishmentenough–or it should be. She betrayed us and put the entire organization at risk with her reckless tantrum.
The library is dim, and I push the blueprints spread across the desk under the lamp. In front of me is another section of Forsyth’s arteries, laid out in hard lines indicating concrete and steel. I know the storm drain system by memory. I’m familiar with the old service tunnels that run beneath the riverfront warehouses. My finger stops on the narrow corridor that passes under the Hexley family crypt. Owen’s name etched on the newest plaque. It’s a reminder of how I didn’t control what belongs to me.
Again.
One bullet. One shallow grave in the pines. The girl disappears, the threat she poses disappears, and the people still breathing under my protection stay that way. Except Barons aren’t killers and Arianette has information we need locked away somewhere inside. No, I’ve done what I’ve always done. Locked the problem away. Removed them from being a threat. It’s worked before. It’ll work again.
I lean back in the chair, the old leather sighing like it’s tired of holding me together. Somewhere in the back of my skull Amber’s voice drifts in, childlike and disjointed.Try harder,I’d told her.Fight the demons, control your mind.I told Remington the same thing when he was twelve and the walls started talking back to him.
Lock it down, son. Control it. Be stronger than the noise.
He wasn’t.
Neither was she.
I’d lost them both.
The blueprints swim for a second. I blink hard, drag a palm across my eyes, and pretend the sting is just fatigue. Arianette is a liability–wild and furious, half-broken in ways that make my skin crawl because I recognize the fracture lines. I swore I’d never let another person I’m responsible for slip through those cracks.
I thought having her close would provide relief. I sure as hell didn’t trust her out of my sight, not after what happened the last time I left her alone. But having Arianette so close adds its own layer ofstress. I fall asleep thinking of our wedding night. The tight way her pussy squeezed around me, and how her soft body felt in my hands. I wake knowing she’s within arm’s reach, and it’d be so easy to unlock the cage and claim her the way a man should claim his wife.
A knock sounds at the door–soft. Hesitant.
“Enter,” I call, grateful for the interruption.
Graves steps in, closing the heavy oak door behind him with a click that echoes against the stone walls. My assistant. My shadow. A year younger than me, lean as a blade, eyes cautious as he takes everything in. He’s been with me since the beginning, before I ascended into this role. He doesn’t flinch from blood or secrets, but this afternoon, his shoulders are tight.
“Sir,” he starts, then stops, before he clears his throat.
I lean back in the chair, the leather creaking. “Spit it out, Graves.”
He shifts, gaze flicking to the blueprints, then the cup of tea I haven’t touched. “I think it’s time to discuss the next steps of the Baroness' punishment.”
I don’t answer that. I don’t have to, I’m the goddamn king, after all. But I wait.
“The frat’s... unsettled. Arianette’s betrayal—it hit hard. The Baroness is here to support the frat, and right now, there are rumors spreading through the dormitory. The Shadows are being asked questions when they’re on campus.”
“Since when do we care about rumors or questions?” I ask.
“Fair.” He holds my gaze. “But it goes beyond that. The other Kings are watching.”
“You think I give a shit about the children running Forsyth? They’ve got their own damn houses to worry about.” I snort, bitter. “Payne has Agent Knight living and fucking in his whorehouse while he pretends to figure out who’s snatching women off the streets. Perilini has to wrangle a Luciaanda Maddox, and the Ashbys are knee deep in shit-stained diapers and midnight feedings.” Graves looks like he’s fighting an eyeroll, so I do it for him. “Look, I’ve locked her up like the liability she is and used my resources to cover up her actions. What else do you want me to do?”
His lips press thin. He’s holding back. I can taste it.
“Say it,” I snap. “I don’t have time for your bullshit today, Gibson.”
Graves meets my eyes, steady. “The group can’t splinter over this. Leadership is required.”
“That’s what Hunter and Damon are for.”
“They’re green,” he says, echoing my own thoughts like a damn mirror. “And as angry and pissed off as you are. Maybe more.”
