Chapter 33

But my father dragged them in. He put us in this position. If I could, I’d raise his spirit, if only to kill him again. Slowly. Painfully.Vindictively.

A gnawing guilt consumes me whenever I think of what he did—his physical abuse of Sloane I couldn’t prevent, or hispsychological torture of Collins while I was on runs. I had my own shit to deal with, but I should’ve been here, protecting them.

It’s all your fault.

“We have a situation.”

“Such as?”

“Roman,” Collins sighs tiredly. She grasps her mug to her chest, her blue pajamas cute and fresh. Not a hair out of place, she’s gorgeous in the light.

“What about Roman?”

“He’s making trouble,” Hayes explains. “He’s smarting after the last fight and taking it out on us.”

Three months ago, Roman used one of my men against me and kidnapped Hayes during the last trial. Killian had been the interrogator and had put Hayes through all kinds of pain to break him, but he held firm. While distracted, Finn, the fucking traitor and another contestant, subdued Hayes and brought him to Bruno Junior.

When Roman called, requesting a trade, I agreed to give him Collins so I could get the location on Hayes.

Never in my life would I give Roman Bruno Junior my sister. He’s vile and in serious need of my blade in his throat. But I need the world to see me as heartless. I need them to think I’m as bad as any man, and I will sell out my family for the end goal.

“What’s he doing?” I drop the mug onto the table, feeling Killian’s eyes on me.

“He’s at the Wharf. Meg can handle him,” he assures me. “But I’m making you aware.”

Meg is our cousin and our first line of defense. Of course, she can handle him.

It’s the fucking principle of it. He’s attacking my storehouse, where my men relax after runs or grab food before leaving. That won’t do. I have to make a stand—Pops would. As much as Idon’t want to be him, there are times when his type of brutality is necessary. This world only understands pain.

“I’ll go.” Standing, the chair screeches over the tile. “You’re up to lead while I’m off the grounds.”

“Maeve—”

“Princess.” Killian grabs my wrist, perched over the table as if to climb. “Maybe you don’t remember, but assassins are tracking you. Leaving the grounds gives them the opportunity to kill you.”

Shaking him off, I glare and say, “No assassins have touched me yet. It could be a bluff.”

“Maeve, listen—” I push through the door and into the hallway, effectively ending the conversation. I don’t need to listen to their concerns—this is my clan. I need to protect it.

The plush red carpet hides my steps as I hurry to the stairs. Guards are parked by the front door, with their eyes trained overhead. A demand from my second and the Reaper, I’ve obliged. It means I’m constantly surveilled—but never quite a part of anything. Always surrounded, but always alone.

It’s fine. That’s what it takes to lead.

A hand whips me around, slamming me into the wall, forearm pressed to my chest. Coughing, I clip him in the chin before he grabs my hand, linking our fingers together and pinning them both to the side.

Killian’s furious eyes peer down at me, and I’m sure he’s thinking of ways to murder me.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“By Bruno?” I snort. “He can’t kill a fucking spider. I’ll befine.”

I push against him, but the bastard shoves me back, banging my head into the wood paneling. Lights explode over my eyes, and I blink the pain away.

The guards don’t interfere—no one is stupid enough to pick a fight with Killian Linwood. What fucking good is it to have them around?

“Assassins are out there.”

“No, they’re not?—”