Page 50 of Kneeling for Daddy
“They’re gonna regret every second they ever thought they could cross the Kings,” Enzo mutters, almost to himself, as we climb from my Range Rover. His voice is rough, a low growl that makes Alek smirk. I feel a thrill run through me.
We move like ghosts—heads low, hands ready, and eyes scanning every shadow. The little bar we are heading toward is tucked toward the end of a quiet block.
Alek steps forward first, his breathing slightly labored, but he has enough strength to proceed. As the one they tried to leave for dead, he deserves this moment more than any of us. I fall in beside him—enjoying the familiar surge of adrenaline that only war can bring—ready to protect him if he falters.
We burst through the doors of the bar, finding the four men who left Alek bleeding out on the floor of his own club. They don’t see us coming until we are on top of them. Cillian fires fast, taking out two of the men immediately.
The third man barely has time to reach for his gun before I slam my crowbar across the side of his head. The crunch is satisfying, like breaking a stick over your knee, but wetter.And much more final.Enzo punches the other in the stomach, making him double over. My knife drags across his arm as he raises it to defend himself, cutting a line across his forearm. He screams—high and panicked—only to find himself silenced when Alek’s boot drives into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.
Enzo leans down, gripping one by the collar. “Names. Now. Or it’s gonna get worse.” His voice is quiet and eerily calm, but I know the darkness behind it.
The man I hit in the head groans, spit flying from his mouth and blood trickling down his face. “I—I don’t know! I swear! Please—” He gasps as Alek’s knife slices across the side of his leg, just enough to make him realize we’re serious. Pain makes everyone talk.
“Fucking speak,” I growl, pressing my knee into his chest and leaning in hard enough to make it hard for him to draw in a breath. His fear is tangible. He smells like desperation.And it’s exactly what I want.
Alek’s face is a mask of controlled fury, and his eyes are growing darker by the second. He leans in and angrily whispers, “Who else is in on this? Who else wanted me fucking dead?” His gun rests dead center in the man’s forehead, a constant reminder that Alek could end him in a heartbeat.
The other man, shaking violently, finally cracks. “Vartan… He… He’s the one pulling the strings. He wants Brighton back. Back the way it was. He’s got men everywhere. They… they’re ready to move.” He chokes on his own words, terror strangling his throat.
“Where do we find him?” I snarl. Loyalty falling by the wayside, the man gives us everything we came here for. More than we were expecting. Names. Plans. Locations. I give Alek a nod, and he doesn’t hesitate. The echo of his gunshot reverberates around the room as blood splatters over my boots.
We take our time with the last man.I take my time. I drag my knife over his skin, meticulously and surgically filleting him inches at a time. Every scream that tears from his lungs is followed by a confession that we have earned. Satisfied he has nothing more to share, I drag my blade along his neck, severing so deeply I nearly decapitate him.
I step back, taking in the scene. Blood slicks the floor, and the air is thick with copper. My hands are stained red, but I don’t feel guilt. I feel righteous.
Enzo wipes his hands clean on a towel from behind the bar. “We should probably get the fuck out of here,” he insists quietly.
I glance at Alek. He’s panting, body trembling from both pain and the surge of adrenaline. But there’s a look in his eyes I’ve never seen before—vindication. He’s alive because of his family. Tonight, he earned his place beside us and the right to call himself a King.
We drag the bodies outside. The rain washes some of the gore away, but not the message. With the dead men loaded in the back of my SUV, we drive across Brighton Beach. The ride is short and quiet, with the street being nearly empty at this hour. When we reach the boardwalk, I open the hatch and the four of us work in pairs to haul the bodies toward the beach.
As we drop them on the boardwalk, sand sticks to the blood still wet on their clothes. Their torture and the very public and prominent location we are dumping their bodies in already makes a statement.But it’s not big enough. The entire city needs to know what happens when you cross The Kings.
I shove two fingers into the gaping neck wound of the man I killed, thoroughly coating them in his sticky blood. Draggingthem over the weathered wood, I leave behind a warning in the shape of a poorly drawn crown. Hopefully, the rain will hold off long enough for the right people to see it.
Stepping back, I take in my handiwork and watching the waves lap against the shore behind the moonlight illuminated bodies. There’s a brutal poetry to it, satisfying some dark part of me in ways I can’t quite describe.
Alek leans against me, and the tightness in his body starts to ebb. Tonight was probably too soon for him, and he is exhausted.
Back at the apartment, each of us showers, thoroughly cleaning the evidence from all of our weapons, and burning our clothes in the fire pit on the terrace. When we’re finished, Enzo pours us a round of drinks, the glasses clinking together and cutting through the quiet of the apartment.
“To The Kings,” I boast, glancing at Alek. “All of them.”
“To The Kings,” Alek, Cillian, and Enzo echo.
The night stretches on, and exhaustion finally starts to sink in. My body aches, and my muscles are tight from tension and the adrenaline subsiding.
Brighton Beach is still quiet, but it will speak for us soon. The bodies will tell the story. The city will know. But more importantly, the men who thought they could cross The Kings—and lived to tell about it—will know.
We are coming.
The Kingswillreign.
Nik is gone again. Every night this week, he has gone out with his brothers and mine to wage war on this city, leaving me in this quiet apartment listening to the far too loud thump of my anxious heart. Knowing he’s out there, walking the streets, leaving chaos and fear in his wake, I can’t stop imagining the worst possible scenarios.
My phone buzzes across the bathroom vanity, and my heart leaps into my throat. I scramble to grab it and swipe it open with urgency before letting out a heavy sigh of relief.
NIK
