Page 8 of Broken Queen
My father grabbed my wrist and every hair on my body stood on end.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret, Zira,” he said in a clipped tone, tightening his grasp. “If you want that seat on the board, you must behave.”
He dangled the seat in front of me like a treat in front of a dog, promising the greatest rewards. Was it simply a way to keep me in line?
Even if it was, I couldn’t let go of the chance. My blood boiled, veins throbbing all over my chest like a poisonous spider web. Desperate thoughts rang in my ears.
No one had ever been on my side. Not the Syndicate. Not my husband. Not even my father.
I stormed out of the banquet hall, letting the night air cool my face. The breeze whipped my dress to the sides of my legs. I needed to reapply my makeup; most of it had come off during the sacrifice. The supplies shed—which was actually a two-story building used for maintenance and other staff—glowed in the distance, the new pool gleaming to the side of it. Not a soul was out here. Everyone was in the banquet hall, enjoying the Masquerade.
And here I was, staring out into my family’s property. A grandchild was probably the only reason my father kept me around. But I wasn’t going to give him that. It was my way of dangling a treat in front of him.
I kicked off my heels, letting the wet grass tickle my feet. Underneath the lawn was an underground tomb of the Marked Blooms Syndicate’s victims. Over the more recent years, many of the victims had been exterminated by other means, but when it came to the contract killings my father ordered, or a sacrifice who had died during the Masquerades, they came here to rest. Almost as if my family needed proof to show the world how much destruction we were capable of.
Sometimes, it felt like the corpses in the ground were the only ones who would get it. People who had died for this stupid organization. You give your life to a secret society, hoping that one day, you’d have that power you’d always wanted. Life would be easier. Simpler.
Instead, you end up in the ground, silent and useless.
My eyes burned as I gazed back at the banquet hall. I should have given up. Should have known that my father and Logan were never going to take me seriously. But I knew what my mother would say: I know you like to have fun, you little puppet master, but you need to play by the rules. Still, as the debauchery unfolded behind those windows like a parade of sin, I was empty. All I could think about was going back to that guillotine.
In the window, the sharp, angular blade reflected the red lights, but the room itself was lifeless. How many clicks would it take for the blade to fall again?
I could count and see.
I walked toward the building, determination in my step. If not me, then I’d find someone else and have my own fun. I didn’t care who died; I just wanted to see it happen.
“The view is better out here,” a raspy male voice said. I swung around; a man with red hair and bright brown eyes stood to the side, leaning against a tree. His pale shoulders glowed under the moonlight, a faded white scar crossing his forehead. His white shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his hard pectorals and tight muscles. “Trust me. You’re better off without those assholes anyway.”
I raised a brow. “And what makes you any better?”
He smirked, then moved his chin to the side. “We both know there’s nothing interesting going on in there. You were the only one, and now, you’re out here.”
I slid my lips together, focusing on him. His flattery was oiling me up, but I was smart enough to know that every compliment had a hidden intention ruminating behind it. His masculine musk traveled through the fragrance of the magnolia trees, reminding me of eucalyptus and sweat. The bright red hair on his head was dulled by the darkness, but it was wavy and thick, just long enough to run your fingers through it. He cracked his thumb knuckles by pressing them together, then opened his jaw wide, a loud pop echoing between us, like he was double-jointed. Or perhaps he was a snake, widening his mouth to swallow his prey whole.
I recognized him. He had been working in my father’s quarters for a while now. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
“You’re the new contractor,” I said. “Doing the remodeling for my father.”
“And you’re the queen,” he said.
My upper lip twitched. Facial hair lined his jaw, cut short enough to be stubble, nothing more. His bottom lip was slightly thicker than his top, and his brown eyes glimmered with the reflection of the buildings. He kept buttering me up, like he knew I had something he wanted. I narrowed my eyes.
“My father had my business coach killed for getting too close to me,” I said. “Be careful about where you put your nose.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” he said, taking a step closer, “but your father doesn’t know I’m here right now.”
A few silent moments passed between us, filling the open air with a dense tension, making it hard to breathe. He was a contractor, hired by my father, which meant that he had to pass a rigorous background check. But instinct told me that those rules didn’t apply to this man. Everyone could be bought or sold, and I knew that he must have done just that.
He clicked his thumb’s knuckle together again, like he couldn’t stay still. He snapped his jaw open, the pop ripping through me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Hazard,” he said, grabbing my hand. He bent down and kissed it, like he was literally addressing royalty. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Queen Zira.”
I rolled my eyes. “What do you want?”
“How nice of you to ask,” he said. He gestured around. “You know what my motto is?”
