He screams.
We tear through the flat, furniture splintering, art shattering. He throws me into the glass coffee table. I flip over it at the last instant and come back swinging. Blood coats my hands, slick and hot, the coppery tang filling my mouth. It fuels me.
“No one messes with Lucian Vale and lives,” I snarl, grabbing him by the throat.
“Is that why you’re here?” he spits back, eyes wild. “Lucian sent you to do his dirty work?”
Laughing again, I kick up, flipping over him tohis back and lock my arms around his neck instead. My knee braces against his spine, and he struggles.
I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear.
“No, not Lucian,” I say softly. “Worse. I sent myself.”
He freezes, just for a second.
“Lucian may not want to waste precious time on you,” I continue, tightening my grip and using my leg for leverage. “But to me? What are a few more seconds when you live forever?”
Squeezing, I twist. Hard. His head tears free at the jaw, blood exploding outward in a red arc that paints the walls and ceiling. His body collapses lifelessly to the floor, twitching once before going still.
Silence rushes in.
I stand there, chest heaving, blood dripping from my hands. Shame. I expected more of a fight from him.
Satisfaction settles deep in my bones. It’s done and Lucian never needs to know.
Santiago will never bother us or VMR again and?—
“A personal record.”
It’s Lucian’s voice, coming from behind me near the bedroom.
Turning slowly, I school my face into something like stone. Lucian stands there, hands behind his back, immaculate as ever. He looks surprised, maybe even a bit impressed. Elliot is beside him, blue eyes bright, taking in the carnage with unsettling interest.
“Well,” I say lightly. “You’re late.”
Lucian arches a brow. “I thought I told you to leave it alone.”
“No, you told me thatyouweren’t going to do anything about Santiago. I never promised anything about me.”
Elliot chuckles. “She has you there, Lucy.”
Lucian glances at Santiago’s mangled body, headless and ruined on the floor. “I see you found Santiago’scard on my desk.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement, and realization hits.
Tilting my head, I study him. “You left it there.”
He nods.
“You wanted me to find it.”
“I suspected you would.”
This is almost laughable. He never intended to stop me. He knew I’d go looking for Santiago.
He simply made it easier for me.
“I know I can never stop you when you have your mind set on something,” Lucian says.
