Page 58 of Christmas Mafia Prince
“You’re telling me Bree did this too? And Victor?” Damen sneers and points to his brother as Titus hauls the man to his knees in the middle of the room. His brown gaze skitters over every person surrounding him but while he doesn’t even try to run, his eyes beg me for mercy.
Karl stretches his shoulders. “Bree did not. She’s a woman, and not my daughter at that,” he gives Alexandra a gentle nod, as if that’s supposed to justify the sexism of the ritual to come. “So Bree will never carry all the Van der Horn secrets. But Victor?Yes, he did. I would not allow a man who can’t kill when it’s necessary to father my grandchildren.”
I can’t say I didn’t already know what’s expected of me, but when he offers me a large handgun, there’s no more room for doubt. “Go on. Shoot this man, Killian, he is our enemy. He might seem like a sorry maggot now, but I assure you he would slit Damen’s throat given half the chance.”
It’s as if I’m not even in my own body when the weight of the weapon settles in my hand. I’ve seen the prison, I’ve seen the skulls, I saw Damen snap Happy’s neck, yet none of those situations felt as real as this moment.
My mouth goes dry, sweat pools under the Christmas sweater that now feels far too hot, and the room is too bright. Nothing can hide here. Not a person, not a single micro-expression passing over my face.
Damen steps in front of me, a solid wall between myself and the world, and makes a point of turning his back on his Father when he speaks to me softly. Still, this room is too quiet, it can hold no secrets. “It’s okay, Kill. Let’s go.”
Karl speaks up. “It is in no way‘okay’, Damen. If you turn away now, he will forever be your liability, we will not acknowledge him, we will not share secrets with him, and you will never join the hunt!”
Damen won’t look back at him, swallowing as he touches my shoulder. “You are more important to me than the hunt. I will take care of you either way. There is no need for you to do this. I love you.”
Those three words resonate in my skull, and I see him so clearly while the rest of the people become a blur. Only his hazel eyes matter, so soft for me even now.
Damen loves me. This hunt means so much to him. He wants to be part of the Van der Horn family, truly acknowledged as a man, and yet he’d give up on all that for me. His love is so muchmore precious than any Christmas present he could have ever bought me.
I can be the one to give it to him, the man at his side, even though I had no idea I had that in me until now.
For a moment, I want to ask what the prisoner did to deserve this fate but decide it doesn’t matter. I am not going to change my mind, because this is for Damen. This stranger is the enemy of my family. Damen already assured me yesterday that the people in these cells deserve to be here, and Itrusthim.
Titus sniggers to his sister. “Told you he wouldn’t—”
I step from behind Damen, put the gun against the man’s head, because I can’t afford to miss, and pull the trigger.
My ears ring with a metallic buzz, and I have to lick sweat off my lip as the man in front of me falls to the side with a red-hot hole in his head, brains splattered so far they reach Karl’s shoes.
So this is what crossing a line feels like.
How am I not vomiting yet? I’ve got no idea. Maybe I’m more messed up than I thought, but does that mean I belong with Damen now? With his family?
I’m limp when warm arms slide around me from behind and Damen pulls me into an embrace that shouldn’t feel so good after what I’ve done.
My heart slams against my ribcage, reminding me that I’m alive, but under Damen’s palm, it calms almost instantly.
The deafening silence is cut by Karl’s whistle, and I raise my eyes to… my father-in-law?
“I didn’t think you had it in you. Victor needed a blindfold.” He then turns to Uncle Roger. “Get Corvus in here. Everyone else joining the hunt, we will be meeting at noon sharp.”
Damen slides the gun out of my hand and puts it on the floor. “Come with me,” he says and guides me forward by holding my waist. Despite feeling faint, I’m glad he’s not picking me up,because I’ve just killed a man, and it would feel strange to let everyone see how much support I need following the deed.
The skull displays and portraits are a blur as I struggle to keep myself together, and when my body sinks into a plush surface, I could be fooled I’m fainting. But no, I’m on one of the couches in the trophy room, and Damen’s pulling me almost too close. I can’t breathe and tap his shoulder to stop him.
When he looks at me, his gaze is dark, as if it’s reflecting his innermost thoughts. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m so sorry. You must believe that I had no idea,” he whispers, stroking my cheek with that same worried expression.
He’s so… concerned. Do I look sick?
I try to speak, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out, and he can see that. I try to catch my breath several times, but it takes Damen patiently stroking my arms for a little wheeze to leave my lips.
“I believe you,” I utter, and he sinks closer with a deep exhale. Our foreheads touch, and he resumes stroking my back with gentle hands.
“I promise you will never need to dirty your hands again. You have a spark, and I don’t want you to lose it.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, needing all his sweet comfort. “I did good though, right?” Is it needy? Of course. That’s my damn middle name.
I hear him swallow.
