Page 132 of Queen of Diamonds

“Time’s up,” I said.

He let out a pitiful whimper through his gag, but I ignored it. The poisoned crown would be doing its job. Ace’s first pack mate was minutes from death.

I got to my feet, stepping before the vile Alpha, who was slowly losing feeling in his whole body.

That wasn’t how he would die, though.

I turned the playing card in my fingers.

Gripping his hair, I dragged his neck back, ripping the gag from him and ignoring the desperate plea.

I was, in that moment, the son my father had raised. Not the Alpha so desperate to pave the way to something better.

I pressed the card into his mouth and raised my gun to his lips, using the tip to drive it deep into his throat. Ignoring his shudders and weak attempts to choke it out, I forced it deeper, shoving it down until, when I pulled the handle back, I could barely see the edge of the crushed card jammed down his throat.

I stepped back, watching as the Alpha seized, eyes bugging out of his head as he fought his bindings.

I cocked my head, watching the whole time, waiting until the Alpha’s last shudder died down and he went still. Just in time for my second alarm. The one marking the death of the first. The poisoned crown now rested upon the head of a corpse. Ace might be hiding out of sight, but he didn’t take nearly as much care of the Alphas he’d bonded. Within minutes of each other, he would feel those deaths. The complete destruction of his pack bonds.

It was agonising, or so I heard.

Agonising, and just the start.

Before I left, I took my knife to his middle finger just like I had with the first. Then held the power button on the Alpha’s phone, watching it flicker to life, traceable once more.

As I stepped from the hotel room, I let a card slip from my hand.

A king of diamonds with a message scrawled across it for his people to find.

“You come for my pack, I’ll come for yours.”

Both fingers lay on the marble kitchen countertop.

Both with a slim rose tattooed between the knuckles. Proof of who they were. These days, most of the Brotherhood had a rose tattooed on their wrist, but these two, they were elites. Ace was the only one, I’d heard, who didn’t have the tattoo. He was arrogant enough to believe himself the representation of the rose, all by himself. Too much about my brother was rumour, though. He kept himself hidden away and protected, far more paranoid than even our father had been.

I stared at the fingers, cycling through the kill once more, I realized how fucking crazy this was.

I should have bought her Swiftie tickets.

Instead, I was giving her… fingers?

She didn't want something like that—something that tied me so definitively to my brother. I reached for them, absolutely sure I needed to bury them in the backyard (and prayed that no one would ever go digging), then froze.

Her scent was here.

Was I imagining it?

I turned, staring around the kitchen, searching for her. My eyes locked in on movement, just the faintest sway of hair between the crack in the kitchen door, as if she were stepping back.

“Glade?”

There was a long moment, then the door creaked open and a pair of chestnut eyes were peering through. My throat went bone dry, and I took a quick step in front of the counter where my trophies—fingers—were on full display.

Shit.

She slipped in, closing the door behind her as if she was worried there might be people listening in. The moment she entered, it was like the whole world vanished.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. From the glimmer in her eyes, to the red of her lips, and the blush climbing up the rich brown of her cheeks as we stared at one another.

---