Page 45 of Wrathful King
I looked at my brother,reallylooked at him, noting the clammy skin. The haunted look in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in a while had returned and stared me back in the face. It resembled the look I saw in Reina’s when I found her.
“Are you okay?” I asked, watching him warily.
“Yes, of course.” He wasn’t, but I knew my brother well enough to know pushing for an answer would have the opposite effect. “What are you fuming about?”
“Who says I’m fuming?” I asked, tone cold.
Dante’s eyes flicked to Reina. “My little sister’s alive, so it can’t be related to her.”
It had everything to do with her. This world started and ended with her. It was built for the two of us, and whoever stood in our way would be eliminated.
Even my own mother.
17
AMON
Some of the women we rescued had asked to stay behind in Colombia under Raphael’s protection, others wanted to go back home. Wherever home was.
We worked out the logistics to ensure no woman was left unaccounted or uncared for, thanks to the men Raphael supplied. These women had gone through hell, and the evidence was in their skittish movements, their trembling hands. Not one woman had yet to utter a single word directly to us, although they spoke to the doctors and nurses.
The Santos compound was home for three days. The doctors treated the wounds on Reina’s body and pumped her with fluids. I stayed with her through it all, letting it feed my rage. Soon I’d shred the rest of the culprits with my bare fucking teeth.
The first twenty-four hours, I stayed with her every second, unable to let myself believe she was really here, that she was safe.
The door to the hospital room opened and Dante appeared. He looked harsher, and he seemed to be fighting to keep that smug grin fastened on his face—his trusty mask. But it was all wrong.
“You should get some rest, Dante,” I told him, turning back to look at my wife.
He entered the room, and an eerie sense of déjà vu washed over me. Three years ago, we were in a similar situation: Reina fighting for her life and the two of us fighting our own demons.
“You need rest more than me, Amon,” Dante reasoned.
“I’m fine,” I grumbled, resisting the need for sleep.
“No, you’re not.” Dante glanced over his shoulder. “Besides, if you want to make Perez pay, you’re going to need your strength, because Raphael and Kian are planning some majorly fucked-up shit.” His eyes lit up. “It’s going to be awesome.”
He worried me. His usually volatile persona had been cranked up a notch, magnified, and was simmering under the surface and waiting to explode.
“What exactly are they planning?”
“They’re setting up some kind ofHunger Gamesshit so they can torture him and extract answers, fast.”
I sighed, pulling out my phone. I couldn’t deal with batshit crazy right now, yet it seemed I was being forced to. As if he heard my thoughts, Kian and Raphael appeared at the doorway.
“Your brother’s such a tattletale,” Kian grumbled. “I know not to give him any ofmysecrets.”
I smiled wryly, not bothering to correct him. Dante had never betrayed a single secret in his life. If I wanted to keep a secret, I could always count on him.
“So, aHunger Games–themed party?” I asked, changing subjects.
“He’s got to pay,” Kian gritted. “It’s the only way to regain the power his operation has taken from us. It’s a stain on the organization, and we will not be seen to stand for it. Let the fuckers find out what happens to those who dare to even consider trading flesh in our territories.”
Cold fury leached from his voice. It was the same one I felt burning through my veins.
“You won’t hear me arguing. When and where?”
“First thing in the morning,” Kian answered, and my eyes darted to the wall clock. That was in two hours. “Meet me in the courtyard.”
