Page 70 of To Curse A Knight

“Yeah, you’re no longer the prettiest, Lucky.” She tsked, as if this revelation was a joke to her. “Guess you should have fessed up to Kellan before now.”

“Me?” Lauchlan exclaimed, his voice a little less muffled as he pinched his nose to stop the bleeding. “Yourf a fecking double agent. Did youf tell this lot that?” He swung a hand up toward Aaron and Hillary.

“We knew this, Irishman,” Aaron stoically announced. “You are the last to know.”

“Well, I guess we’reallin the know now.” His slitted green eyes fell on Hillary. “Am I actually a part of the club now, or is Conan going to punch me again?”

“I’m going to punch you again,” I answered with a sucker punch to the diaphragm, knocking the breath from his lungs. He wheezed and clutched his stomach, causing more blood to rush down his face and soak into his shirt.

I uncurled my fists and crossed my arms against my chest in satisfaction. I wasn’t done with the fucker, not nearly. But knowing he hadn’t actually hurt my Killer and she’d been aware of his motives this entire time made me hate him a little less.

Rodriguez left the room and returned with a warm cloth, handing it to the bleeding sap, who accepted it with a grateful grimace. I got comfortable on the opposite couch and turned the television on; we all settled in for the news.

Hillary sat next to me, with Aaron on her opposite side. Lauchlan stayed as far away from me as possible on the far side of the room, nursing his wounds as if he was near death.

Good fucking riddance.

Rodriguez caught my eye over Hillary’s nestled head as we waited in stilted silence for the broadcast, his expression one of quiet solidarity.

The threesome we’d shared the other evening had caught me by surprise; Rodriguez wasn’t a man I’d ever pictured myself with, let alone with Killer writhing between us, and yet, the chemistry had been fucking explosive. With everything else on our plate, I hadn’t stopped to consider what it actually meant, but the heated, appraising stare he was shooting at me told me it was a moment that might bear repeating.

“Breaking news,” the Channel 9 announcer declared, forcing me to face the screen. “Marco Alvarez, President and CEO of Alvarez International, a subsidiary of Predrolas Oil & Gas, is being taken into custody for a series of leaked photos and incriminating messages that appear to show Alvarez involved in some kind of sexual exploitation ring. Investigations are ongoing, and we’ll continue to report on this as they come in.”

Video footage of a frazzled Alvarez with flyaway hair and a rumpled shirt being carted away outside his office building by a few of my colleagues was satisfying to watch; I’d have preferred a takedown by bloody force, but this was the best we’d get given the circumstances.

Squeezing Hillary’s shoulder, I turned to look at my cohorts in the room—even the fucker with the Rudolf nose. “This isn’t even close to being over. We need to be prepared for any retaliation.”

“We’ll be ready,” my Killer assured me, a grim smile and steely resolve creeping across her features. “Alvarez is tumbling down.”

Her blue eyes shone at me, a cocktail of determination and malice.

“Next stop, Antonio.”

Content warning: This chapter includes descriptions of sexual violence.

I was restless.

The caged tiger within me had prowled its cell long enough; my skin crawled from the monotony of security. I wasn’t used to such a mundane life.

Mi Reina’s basement apartment suited me well when it had only been a few weeks. Her condo was a vast improvement, with natural light and breathable mountain air, but a glass cage was still a cage.

Possibly, I had been a fool to believe in this arrangement. I trusted my beautiful cage master with my life; Kellan as well, but the execution of this plan was taking much longer than I’d given credit. Yet, I was a patient man.

I’d been born into a life of luxury and excess; despite not choosing my path in this world, I’d wanted for nothing. I’d endured the pain of torture, the guilt of disappointment, and the tormented fear of failure; Vicente had scarred my flesh while Veronica had scarred my mind—yet this feeling of helpless entrapment was its own form of mediocre agony.

The twitchyRojoIrishman and I weren’t so different after all.

Or perhaps, it was the encrypted message I’d received on my private dark web server. I was not an expert in such things; I only knew how to use the underground internet to reach out to our many associates in underground industries.

Someone had found me.

Veronica is hiring underage girls. Vicente is raping girls. If you’re out there, please save us.

I had received the message four days ago, but the last four days could have been four years.

I hadn’t had time to review withMi Reina, nor was it the most appropriate use of time. Alvarez’s tear down would inevitably bring down my parents with him, and I would bask in their demise long before I put them into coffins.

Veronica and Vicente would oversee the damage from their iron thrones, desperate to claim their power back. They had hitched their wagon to Alejandro, not Marco, but the media had not been kind to their associations. My parents did not entertain such human emotions as regret; they’d retreat into their anger before unleashing it into the most convenient outlet.

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