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“Scipione.”
She shrugs elegantly. “They made a deal. Hold the bounty, but also be the ones to claim they put the hit out. They got the notoriety, and Ferguson owed them a favor.” She rolls her eyes, looking away. “It was supposed to be the eldest, but her reaper killed that plan when he slaughtered the soldier we had planned for her to marry. But it’s fine.” Her smile glints with glee. “We have you instead.”
Her hand rises as if to pull me closer. I turn away at the last second, whipping my hand away, and slash out.
The tip of the glass punctures her throat, right under her ear. Blood spills out, and she drops, gurgling on her spit. Stepping back, one hand to my mouth, I watch her fumble and dig at her neck.
When she pulls the piece out, blood spurts from the open wound. It sprays the floor, the armchair, and the dull duvet. She claws at the carpet, trying to get to me, and as her hands grip my ankle, I kick her off.
She falls onto her back, choking on her blood.
Leaning over her, I don’t feel sympathy. Nothing enters my chest other than the cold fury of her interference in my life and her hand in Briar’s death. I crouch by her head, careful of the blood, and wait for the light in her eyes to drift away.
Before she goes, I whisper, “I’ll never be a Scipione. Never.”
35
BRIAR
Am I dead?
Not yet.
Well, technically, I’m supposed to be.
I don’t really feel dead. My body does, sure. My lungs expand enough to allow fresh oxygen to rush through and all my heart to pound, but it’s tough. I’m wading through thick mud, looking for a root to pull myself out.
Is Valentina safe?
By now, she would’ve received her mother’s notes. God, I hope she flipped the house off as she left—maybe even burned it down. That’d be swell.
“Briar,” Maeve says over me. “I know you can hear me. We’ve killed quite a few guys, but we’re getting close to the limit. And a car just pulled up.”
“Easy, Princess,” Killian murmurs. “If you’re this anxious, they’ll know something is up.”
“You think I can’t play this off?”
“I think you’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t breathe.”
“Listen, pup—”
“Quiet,” Lex whispers harshly. “They’re coming.”
There are pounding footsteps walking closer to my prone form. I can’t feel the cement in my back, or the coolness of my cheeks. All I can focus on are the sounds—a buzzing insect in the late summer night, the rushing water of the ocean somewhere in the distance, and the breathing of the people protecting my body.
The footsteps stop, scuffing slightly.
“Holy shit, you got him.” Surprise jolts through me. Freddie. It’s fucking Freddie!
Nothing moves. No twitch, no inhale. I’m frozen in time, stuck down here like a damn corpse. But, fuck, I want to kill that insufferable dickhead.
“And you are?” Maeve drawls.
“A friend.”
“Well, friend,” Killian says, teasing, “what happened to your hand?”
Oh thank fuck, Killian and his ability to know every little detail. I’ve never been so happy to know a deranged psycho as much as I do right now.
