Chapter 26 Long Live the King #2
No one argues with me. How can they? They’ve all seen it. Heard about it… all the things I’ve done for the Order over the years. All of the bodies I buried because Jack told me I had to.
“I’m a killer,” I repeat simply, “but Lucy made me something else. She made me a protector. And you don’t want to know how far I’ll go to keep that woman safe. And this,” I say, showing off the blood oath again, “says that, in the eyes of the Order, I have every right to do so.”
Oliver steps closer, peering at the piece of paper. “It’s not valid. I can’t be. You’re the King. You can’t notarize your own oath. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Hey, Oliver? You know what the best thing about being beaten as a kid every time you got some fucking stupid little thing about the Order’s charter wrong?
” I ask conversationally. Like Stephen, he was rubbing elbows with Jack until the day Adrian killed him.
Unlike Stephen, though, he suspects that that’s what happened and, since then, he’d been careful to err on the side of caution and stay on our good side.
That can very easily change, though.
I wait for him to answer. When he gapes at me like a fish, I smile.
“I’ll tell you. See, my old man said he was just making sure I’d be ready to be King.
That was his excuse. I get a fact wrong, it don’t matter that I’m six and the charter was written by old guys who died more than a century ago.
I was gonna be King. He’d beat the answers into me if that’s what it took.
Well, guess what? Some of it stuck because I can tell you you’re abso-fucking-lutely right.
I can’t notarize a blood oath. You know what I can notarize? This.”
I reach into the desk drawer again, reaching for the second piece of cardstock that I had placed right under the first one.
Holding it up, I ask, “Know what this is? Here. I’ll read it.
‘I, Dallas Collins, have abdicated my position as King of the Order of the Owed. In accordance to the Order’s charter, I am bequeathing my position to my next of kin, Adrian Heller.
’ And, look, there’s my signature. See it?
And you see what’s under that? Adrian’s. ”
I swap the second piece of cardstock for the blood oath. “Now look at this. Oliver. Everyone… see that signature right here? That’s Adrian’s, too. As his first official act as King, he notarized my blood oath. So, yeah. It’s valid, fuckers. Remember that.”
Okay. Maybe I do have a bit of a dramatic streak like my cousin’s accused me of. Because hell if I don’t enjoy the looks on their faces as they realize the real reason that we’ve called this meet.
Surprise, assholes! This isn’t just about the blood oath, though that part was important to me. Oh, no. We’re here to make sure that they understand Adrian is now the King of the Order, and there isn’t anything they can do about it.
One tries. Emerson McGill. A mid-level Owed who works as a banker downtown. He earned his position in the old guard because, in his late fifties, he’s been a solid member for a long time.
Hearing the news, he looks down his long nose and scoffs. “The Heller boy?” Boy, when Adrian is thirty years old and has been running the Order’s finances since he was a boy. “You think we’ll let him lead us?”
I glance to my left, peering up where Adrian is standing. His expression never changes, but it doesn’t need to. He doesn’t have to say a word, either. I know exactly what order he would give if had to vocalize it.
Finally.
Grabbing my Ruger from my lap, I stand up. There isn’t enough time for them to react before the sound of the single shot explodes through the office.
Emerson screams as the bullet slams into his shoulder, sending him crashing backward to the floor below.
Chaos erupts instantly. The few Owed who managed to snag a visitor’s chair scrape them in their hurry to get away from the writhing man.
Others break out into a cacophony of noise.
Bas peers down at Emerson, flashing my a thumbs up when he sees that I did exactly what we three had planned: if anyone gave Adrian shit, I’d make an example of them.
That way they know better than to start themselves, plus I’ve positioned myself as his enforcer/bodyguard/bulldog and it only cost me a single bullet.
As I lower the gun, I meet the eyes of every man in the room.
“Look. You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to respect him, either, until he earns it. But you will obey him. Because if you don’t? You’ll answer to me. I did what I had to for Jack because he made me.”
I pause, giving them a moment for that to sink in.
The murders. The threats. The blood…
“But for Adrian?” My mouth curves slightly. “It’ll be a pleasure to have his back and do whatever I have to to guard it. Long live the King—and, for all your sakes, it better be a long fucking time.”
Then, as they all watch, I step aside as Adrian moves to take the seat I just vacated.
And, just like that, Dallas Collins is no longer the King of the Order of the Owed.
Thank fucking God.