Page 134 of Princess of Vengeance

My men look bruised and battered and deadly as fuck. Even after being tortured and beaten, they’re still ready to fight. Ready to kill.

In other circumstances, it might be enough to make me feel a pang of compassion for Malcolm—knowing that he has to go up against the four of us together.

But underthesecircumstances? Here, on this yacht that was bought and paid for by untold suffering that he caused?

Fuck him and everything he stands for. I’m looking forward to sending this bastard straight to hell.

Atlas reaches Malcolm first, grabbing him by his uninjured arm and hauling him to his knees. Malcolm tries to struggle, but Atlas twists his arm behind his back at an angle that makes him howl.

“Don’t fucking move,” Atlas growls.

Nico crouches beside me. One of his eyes is swollen almost all the way shut, but the other one is scanning my face, my neck, mybody, taking in every injury and silently promising to make that son of a bitch pay for each one.

“You came.” I offer a faint smile that makes my whole face hurt, but it’s worth it.

“Of course we did.” He reaches out to dab at my bloodied lip with his thumb. “You needed us.”

It’s such a simple statement, but I can feel it in my heart. As if there was never any possibility that they wouldn’t come, wouldn’t follow me, wouldn’t fight through hell itself to reach me.

Killian walks over to give me his hand. “Can you stand?”

I nod, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. I’m not sure if the whole world is swaying beneath me or if it’s just the yacht, drifting aimlessly on the dark water without its engines.

“How did you find me?” I ask, leaning into Killian’s solid warmth as my legs threaten to give out.

“Willow helped us find the exit,” Nico says, looking over and locking onto Malcolm with murderous intensity. “We saw this big-ass yacht pulling away from the dock. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who the captain was.”

“So you swam.” I shake my head in disbelief, looking at their soaked clothes and the open wounds that are going to need a thorough cleaning after their dip in the river.

“I told you before,” Killian shrugs with a casual nonchalance that’s at odds with everything I know about him. “I’d burn down the world for you. A little swim is nothing.”

Across the deck, Malcolm makes another attempt to break free from Atlas’s hold. Atlas responds by shoving his thumb into the bullet hole in Malcolm’s shoulder, making him scream as fresh blood sprays across the polished deck.

“Oops,” Atlas deadpans. “I guess you’d better not try that bullshit again.”

Malcolm’s expensive suit is torn and bloody, and his slicked-back hair is sticking up in every direction. But when he raises his face to look at me, his eyes are still full of that same cold hatred.

“If it had just been me and you,” he snarls with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, “I would’ve fucking killed you. I would’ve put you in the ground right next to your whore mother.”

Nico tenses beside me, taking a half-step forward before I place a hand on his chest, stopping him. Killian’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I can feel the tremor of rage running through him.

I could let them at him. Could watch as they tear Malcolm apart piece by piece, exacting payment for every bruise on my skin, every second of fear, every nightmare he’s given me.

But that would be too easy for him. Too quick.

I step forward, feeling steadier now with my men at my back.

“You know what your mistake was, Malcolm?” I ask, stepping closer to where he kneels in Atlas’s grip. “All this time, you thought you could control her. You thought you could live out some kind of old, sick fantasy by controlling me. But my mother was never your whore, and you were never strong enough to break me.”

I stop just out of his reach, looking down at the pathetic creature he’s been reduced to.

“I’m like my father,” I continue. “And I learned from the best how to lead, how to fight, and how to surround myself with the right people.” I smile, feeling Killian and Nico flanking me without even having to look. “That’s why you’ll always lose. Because I’m never alone.”

Malcolm’s face contorts with impotent rage as he looks from me to my men.

“You think these thugs will save you?” He’s doing his best to keep up the smug, condescending bullshit, but his owndesperation is making his voice crack. “How many times have they put you in harm’s way? How many times have you almost died because of them?”

“These ‘thugs’ are my Princes. And we’re all still alive. We’re all still standing together.”

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