Page 78 of Nash

“I’ve killed for you. I’ve killed for my brothers. Don’t lecture me about loyalty.”

“Loyalty isn’t love,” I rage. “Youchooseto kill for loyalty. Love gives youno choice.”

“So you love her?” Axel softens. “You love Vale.”

“I do, and I can’t.”

He nods slowly. “Alena.”

“Yes, my other love, the other woman I’ll kill for.” I stand, staring down at Axel. I love him, but over this, I’ll kill him. He knows. “You willneverhave her. Alena will never be a queen like the others.”

“Then, at least make Vale your queen. You know she is! Make her our queen so the kings will protect her.”

Red rage threatens to veil my eyes again. When I get this mad, I fight to control it. I fight to remember what I said or did. Often, I don’t. It’s all instinct. It’s all animal. The man in me falls away, and the beast inside kills.

“No. One. Touches. Vale.”

“That’snotthe custom. That’snotthe bond.” Axel stands. We’re nose-to-nose. “That’s not how we escaped. How we’ve survived. How we’ve lived this long and will live to see another day. I will NOT be my father’s son! We will make our queens and our heirs, and we will protect them. We will serve them as much as they serve us.”

“You’re NOT your father’s son, so you can change,” I argue calmly. “Wecan change.”

“If you want change,” he raises a brow, “talk to The Queen.”

“He’s on the move.” The radio behind Axel is barely audible, advising that our target is on the way.

“In honor of Vale, I’ll give you this one,” Axel says. “Have some fun with him, but don’t break him. I need him to have teeth so he can talk.” He sees the look on my face. “And a tongue and ears, too.”

“You’re no fun.”

“You’re in love, and I’m not aiming your loaded fist at an asset we need. I’ll already have to make Jace clean up your mess.”

Blood rushes through my veins. “You didn’t say anything about eyes.”

Axel shrugs. “They are an inconvenience in a lineup.” Long pause. “Leave him one. I want him to see it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

VALE

“Why do you do that?”

Jace watches me surgically extract a tomato slice from my club sandwich.

“These things,” I dangle it over my plate, “are gross. They’ve got seedy jelly in it and are not fit for human consumption.”

“But you’ll bury your face in a bowl of salsa?” He laughs. “Don’t lie. I’ve seen you do it.”

“One time, and it was super fresh, and I had too many margaritas.”

I scarf down a big bite of my sandwich, then burp my compliments to the chef.

“Manners much?” Jace deadpans.

“I’m starving,” I answer. “Whooping a man’s ass builds an appetite.”

Sitting on the stainless-steel table of the service area for the kitchen, I swing my legs while Jace leans, propped beside me, arms folded over his chest.

He’s not in his usual dark suit. So, it’s hard hiding all that muscle stuffed into grey golf pants and a white golf shirt. Like a tube of biscuits, I’m waiting for his biceps to explode.

---