Chapter 34
Gerard
Boots struck the wet stone in a steady rhythm; each click bouncing between the narrow walls where sewage fumes mingled with the musty scent of underground soil.
Gerard glanced at his watch. Right on time.
The explosion must’ve ripped through without a snag, smoke and chaos topside, perfect cover.
The ring sat dead on his finger—hadn’t burned since last night, but that didn’t matter now.
Her people had been sloppy, easy to track through the underbelly, leaving trails a blind man could follow.
This was going to pay off sweet. His pet Symond back under heel, that bitch Elora chained where she belonged, and some half-baked uprising gutted before it drew breath. Thorn would be pleased—promotions, maybe, or just the look on his face when Gerard delivered them all trussed up.
Shadows shifted ahead, his men emerging from the gloom.
Two dragged Symond by his bound wrists, the boy’s body limp, scraping along the filth, knocked cold with his pretty blond hair caked in grime.
Malvin hefted Elora over his shoulder like a fresh-fucked corpse, her dark hair dangling, body slack and unconscious.
A hard-on of pure triumph swelled in Gerard’s groin as they dragged the bodies in like roadkill, his tongue sliding across his bottom lip. Fucking finally.
“We heading back to The Institute now, Captain? Got ‘em both,” Malvin asked.
“Not yet.” Gerard stepped closer, eyes dragging down to the body slung over Malvin’s shoulder.
Something was off—the ass on her was too much, hips too wide for the bony little bitch he remembered face-planting into the dirt outside The Institute.
His hand slid down her back and grabbed a fistful of her, and it was wrong.
Too much of it. Soft in the wrong places.
“Put her down.” Gerard’s voice came low, edged.
Malvin eased her to the ground like she was made of fucking crystal. Hair spilled over her face, hiding it in shadow.
Gerard stepped forward, boot connecting hard with her ribs, flipping her onto her back. Hair fell away. Not Elora. Not even close. Black locks, rounder cheeks, skin tone all wrong—some Estana-blooded cunt he couldn’t give two shits about.
The shit-for-brains stood there, shifting his weight like he needed to take a piss, avoiding Gerard’s stare. “You a fucking moron, Malvin?”
Malvin blinked, mouth twisting in a fake shrug, like he’d tripped over his own boots. “Damn, thought that was her in the chaos. Honest mistake, Captain. Guess we’re not done yet.”
Bullshit. Gerard saw it clear—the puppy-dog softness in those eyes, the way he’d carried her like she was his favorite prostitute. Protecting the real one. Elora. The cunt who’d taken his eye, spat in their faces, and this ball-less wonder was still licking her boots. After every fucking thing.
“I suppose not,” Gerard said, voice flat as parchment. “But you are.”
He lunged, dagger whipping from his belt, sinking deep into Malvin’s neck with a wet squelch. Malvin’s eyes bulged, hands pawing uselessly at the hilt while blood gushed out in obscene spurts. He dropped like a whore’s drawers, twitching in a spreading puddle of his own fluids.
Gerard glanced at the other men, their faces pale but steady. “What the fuck are you gawking at?”
They jerked to attention, grabbing Symond’s limp arms and hauling his sorry ass off into the shadows, his boots scraping faint echoes down the shit-stinking tunnel.
One lingered, glancing at the girl on the ground. “Captain, what about her?”
Gerard looked down at the bitch. He’d seen her around The Institute halls, ass-kissing the masters, probably spreading her legs for better assignments. Runaway apprentice. At least she’s not completely useless.
He stepped over her, boots planted on either side of her hips, and bent low, the reek of Malvin’s blood mixing with her cheap perfume. His hand cracked across her face—once, twice, three times—each slap harder than the last, her skin blooming red.
Her eyes fluttered open, a pathetic mewl dribbling from her lips. “What... happened? Where am I?”
“You hit your head in the explosion,” he said, voice honey over gravel. “Do you remember your name?”
She swallowed, face twisting like she was about to puke. “Re.. Renna.”
He snatched her collar in one fist, yanking her head and shoulders off the grit, her weight nothing, neck exposed like an invitation.
His dagger was already out, slicing her throat open in one wet stroke, blood gushing hot as piss over his hand. He dropped her like trash, her skull cracking against stone with a sound that made his cock twitch. Blood spread beneath her, black as sin in the dim light.
Gerard stood, wiping his blade on his pants, staring at the two corpses leaking their guts onto his boots.
He didn’t waste another second. He had a bitch to hunt. And more importantly, a mutt to drag home by the scruff.