“Yeah.” The word caught in my throat, and Ryker’s brows shot up. “One more year of Volkov, and then you’ll be the most senior player on the team,” I reminded him, recovering as smoothly as I could. Just one academic year to get through, and then I’d have peace. I wouldn’t have to see Volkov roaming the halls, taunting me with everything I could never have.
“I fucking hope we get a decent goalie to replace him when he leaves. We’re at a disadvantage with our small pool of students. Maybe we need to recruit from further afield. Sell it as a unique English university experience.” I snorted, and he grinned at me. Spearing a green bean on his fork, he brought it to his mouth, chewing slowly. “It’s weird to think we’ve been at Cranham a whole year already.”
“Yeah, and you haven’t even had anyone to terrorise to pass the time. Remember Ghost?”
His jaw clenched. “It’s not like I could forget him. Did you know he doesn’t even have any social media?”
Here we go again. “Maybe he does, and it’s just private. Or maybe he doesn’t. Who cares?”
“Not me.” He stated the words flatly, but I knew he was lying. Whatever. It was none of my business. Aleksi Sullivan was far away from here, and we had much more important things to think about. Like?—
Silver connected with crystal as Thorpe Senior tapped his glass. The table fell silent. “Before we get started on dessert, I’d like to make an announcement. Nova and Anton’s engagement party will take place at Thorpe Manor, a month from now, in conjunction with the twentieth-birthday celebrations for Nova and Ryker. My wife will take care of the formal invitations, but I wanted you to hear the news first.”
Murmurs of congratulations came from the guests.Gritting my teeth, I forced my gaze away from Volkov, whose large hand was resting on top of Nova’s much smaller one.
“Me and Nov get to combine our twentieth-birthday celebrations with the engagement party. Can’t wait,” Ryker said under his breath, rolling his eyes.
I temporarily forgot about my Volkov issues. Was thathurtin his tone? Shit. He’d been sidelined on his eighteenth birthday when his dad had announced that Nova would be getting engaged to Volkov too, hadn’t he? At the time, it hadn’t seemed like he cared one way or another, but had I missed something?
“Ry—”
“Don’t,” he ground out, his eyes flashing with warning.
We both fell silent, finishing up the rest of our food as quickly as we could.
When dessert was finally finished, Thorpe Senior addressed the room again. “Gents, if you’ll join me in the smoking room, I have a special treat in store.”
Ryker and I exchanged glances. Whatever it was, it didn’t bode well. We all rose to our feet, and I turned away as Volkov leaned down to kiss Nova’s cheek, murmuring something in her ear that made her smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. I’d give anything for her to look at me like that.
But she never would. She hated me. I’d ensured it. And now she was betrothed to the future Pakhan of one of the most powerful criminal families in our world.
“What do we do with traitors?” Thorpe Senior paced up and down. At times like this, I could see why he’d earned the nickname Guillotine Graham. Most of the time, he had aperfect, unreadable mask, with a politician’s smile. But when he let it slip and the demon inside peeked out, it was frankly terrifying.
I was rarely involved in these events because my dad had always tried to keep his family separate from his side business, despite the fact that my two best friends were heavily entrenched in the criminal underworld. But Thorpe Senior had given me a direct invitation tonight, and you didn’t turn down a direct invitation from Guillotine Graham.
I wondered if I’d been invited because he expected me to follow in my dad’s footsteps. If so, he’d be disappointed, because a career as a surgeon wasn’t in my future.
“King!” Thorpe Senior snapped his fingers, and Ry flinched imperceptibly. He recovered quickly, though, his gaze sliding to the bound, gagged man seated in the centre of the room. One arm was tied behind his back, and the other was tied to what Guillotine Graham referred to as the “chopping block.”
“We teach them a lesson,” he said in a bored tone.
“Correct. Would you like to do the honours, son?”
The man flailed in his chair, his cheeks bulging with the effort of attempting to speak from behind his gag, but his efforts were in vain. Ryker reached into his pocket, pulling out a knife I recognised—his dad had given it to him for his eighteenth birthday. Pressing down on the catch to release the blade, he strode into the centre of the room, stopping in front of the man. He tapped on the hand that was tied to the chopping block.
“It’ll hurt less if you stay still.”
Tears were running down the man’s face, but Ryker remained impassive. Cold. The wickedly sharp blade camedown, and I gritted my teeth against the sound of metal going through flesh.
When it was over, the man was down a finger, and Ry turned his back to the mess of blood and flesh decorating the chopping block, wiping the blade on his suit trousers. There was a tiny shake in his hand, but I was the only one who saw it from my vantage point.
I wanted to ask if he was okay, but now was not the time or the place. I glanced over at Volkov, who was watching the whole thing with the air of someone who had seen this kind of thing countless times before and had become completely desensitised.
My dad appeared with his medical bag, and as he began the clean-up process and Thorpe Senior pulled some of his senior associates aside, I took the chance to speak to Ryker.
“Mate. Are you okay?”
“Fine. It’s nothing new.”
