Page 80 of Vengeful King

It takes me two seconds too long to force my feet to move, but I do. I chase after both of them, something rising in me as I move. There’s a feral anger gnawing at my heart, rising up to drown the pain.

I can’t believe he was so fucking bold to still be here, to linger around while I found my mother. I can’t believe the bastard did this instead of sending a goon. He came himself. He made it personal to him. Despite all the times he refused to be involved, he did this now.

I follow Lachlan, but we’re both too late. I can’t see Yuri anymore; I don’t know if he was picked up or just hid somewhere. I just know he’s gone.

The anger fades as fast as it came. I don’t have the energy to hold it up. I can’t scream or rail at him. I can’t curse.

The grief is too strong. It sits in my chest like a lump, poisoning everything, making me want to curl up and feel nothing.

I turn away from Lachlan and move mechanically, walking back to my mother’s room. There’s nothing for me anymore, but I can’t help holding on to the fragments of what I lost. I have to see her again, as if she’ll magically wake up perfectly fine.

The nurses are in the room by now. I don’t know if they realized what happened or if they heard the commotion we made when we ran. But they’re trying to resuscitate my mother, attempting something that will never work. I know it won’t work.

It’s too late. I was too late.

That crushing burden of responsibility sits squarely on my shoulders. It overwhelms me, filling me up inside with regret and guilt. I can barely breathe.

I know when a nurse comes to me with a grim face that it’s over.

There are arrangements to make. The practicalities of dealing with someone’s death. I move on autopilot—I tell them about the plan I made, about what she wanted. When she was alive, my mother was practical enough to figure out what happens now. She was good enough to realize that I needed to know, so I would have time to grieve.

Time. This wasn’t even a proper death. She didn’t just succumb to the disease; someone killed her. But I can’t tell the nurses that. All I can tell them is which funeral home will pick her up and when I’ll make arrangements to pay for the final balance on the room.

I don’t notice much around me except for Lachlan. He’s at my side, ever present as I work on figuring out how to handle the reality of death.

And even if everything else is a nightmare, I’m grateful that he’s with me.

CHAPTER29

Lachlan

It happens all so fast, in so little time—but it seems like hours.

I watch Katrina in the aftermath of finding her mother; she’s strong, but I can see the cracks beneath the surface. She wasn’t prepared for this.

How could she have been?

It takes me a while to come down from the simmering anger I feel. Part of me wants to go after Yuri right now, but I know I have to be smart. Yuri is cunning, and he’s shown his skill. If he’s been building up his power to try to make a comeback in Boston, I’ll need to work with my brothers to take him down.

And Katrina needs me right now.

I can see the loss in every move she makes. She keeps her chin up and eyes dry, but her hand shakes when she signs the papers. She’s ground down, trampled by the experience. I can’t blame her.

I remember my experiences with death. They weren’t pretty.

I know Katrina is mourning the death more than others would. After all, most deaths like this aren’t murder. She was prepared to be at her mother’s side until everything was gone, all memories erased—not until some man who blackmailed her came in to kill her mother.

I wish she’d never become involved in this, if only so this would never have happened.

But it’s done now, and Katrina takes it seriously as she goes about the business that needs to be done with the facility. She talks to people about arrangements and payments, and she talks to people about belongings.

She handles it all, and then it’s over and she’s left standing in the hallway. There’s nothing more to do. Nothing more to distract her.

I move to her immediately. “Let’s go.”

I know she can’t stay here. The death is lingering, present like a third person. I get her out the door as fast as I can, and then I take my time driving home. Every time I glance at her, I’m waiting for her to break down.

She looks broken. There’s an emptiness in her eyes, a deep sadness that permeates everything. Every muscle in her face is slack. She’s barely hanging on, barely using any energy to justexist.

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