Chapter 45
CADE
The Colosseum - Rome, Italy
Rez’s boots strike the basalt stones as he paces in front of the entrance. “That’s what? At least five shots now?”
“At least,” Roman confirms.
Daniel rakes his hands on the back of his neck. “And my son only has one. That fucker set him up for failure.”
“He’ll be fine,” I whisper, even as my fingers twitch toward the metal biting into my throat.
“No!” Lex’s voice rips through the arches. “No, please!”
“Lex!” I lunge forward.
“Cade, no!”
Rez catches me mid-step, arms locking around my chest to yank me back.
“Let me go,” I choke, twisting in his grip.
His hold tightens. The warm, tatted muscle is a steel trap around my trembling body.
“We can’t go in there.”
“Why not?” I snap, already knowing.
“For one,” Rez mutters against my temple, “the fucking collar.”
I stop fighting.
“And two.” His voice drops. “I made a promise to my cousin a long time ago. That if there was ever a moment he couldn’t protect you, then I would.”
My stomach drops. “W-what?”
“And I don’t break promises.” Rez’s grip loosens enough that I can breathe. “So if I let you go, you don’t do anything stupid. Deal?”
My throat is too tight to speak, so I nod.
He releases me.
I stumble forward, boots slipping against the stone.
BEEP.
We all freeze.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sound slices through the air.
My pulse stutters. “Rez,” I say, my voice cracking as the sound increases. “Rez!”
“Shit.” He grabs the collar, digging his fingers into the metal. “Fuck! I don’t know how this thing…”
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“Get away from me,” I say, backing up.
He closes the distance, his shadow looming over me.
“No,” he says, shaking his head.
The beeping speeds up.
BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—
“You need to get away from me,” I repeat, louder now.
Rez’s eyes snap to mine. “I’m not leaving you. I made a—”
“GO!” My scream cuts him off.
He doesn’t move. None of them do. Rez keeps working on the collar, his hands shaking as he tries to find a way to free me.
The sound is unbearable. High-pitched beeps piercing my ears so hard I fear they’ll bleed. My vision tunnels, black fog curling in the on all sides.
This is it. This is how I die. Just another casualty of the Roman Colosseum.
CLICK.
The lock disengages, followed by silence as the last bit of the beeping dies.
Rez rips the collar free from my throat. He hurls it away and lets out a long sigh as he drags his hands down his face.
I lean forward and brace my hands on my knees just to stay upright. Sweat coats my brow, stinging my eyes until the ground looks like a charcoal smudge. I’m breathing harder than I ever have in my life. Deep and ragged gasps that tear through my lungs.
A gentle hand lays on the curve of my back. “Breathe, son,” Daniel instructs, slowly running his hand up and down my spine. “Just breathe.”
“Lex,” I choke out. “We need to find him.”
“We can’t go in there,” Roman says.
I shake my head, rubbing my throat. “The game is over. Luca said that I’d feel it when a winner is crowned,” I say, forcing my spine to straighten. “Lex is alive in there. He has to be.”
“Then let’s go get him,” Rez says, already moving toward the entrance.
???
I’ve never believed in the supernatural. Ghost stories never really scared me. But being here and treading over the same stones where gladiators once took their final breaths makes that skepticism feel a little naive.
So much violence has soaked into this dirt that you can almost feel it. That chill slipping through the arches and brushing your bare skin. It’s eerie. And every time the moonlight fails to reach a corner, a shadow lunges, sending a fresh prick of goosebumps rising on my skin.
We round a corner and my heart spikes when another shadowed pillar reaches for me, playing tricks on my mind.
“You alright?’ Rez asks, glancing over his shoulder.
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice.
“Fine,” I lie, my voice coming out an octave higher than usual. I step closer to him. “Just… just keep going.”
He nods.
We break into a small opening where the moonlight finally pierces the dark. In the corner of the light, Lex is sitting in front of a cracked pillar. He’s slumped over and rocking someone in a broken, rhythmic trance.
“Is that?” My voice dies in my throat.
“No!” Rez bolts, boots skidding on the dirt and pebbles as he reaches them.
Lex looks up at his cousin. His face is a ruin of red-rimmed eyes and tear streaks. Rez drops to his knees, the sound echoing off the pillar behind them.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, hand flying to my mouth to stifle a sob.
“DeShawn,” Rez mumbles, moving like he’s in a dream. His hand trembles as he brushes the cheek of his fallen Hollow King.
“I-I’m sorry,” Lex sobs as he continues to cradle DeShawn’s cooling weight. “I didn’t know it was—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t know.”
Rez leans into Lex, wrapping a steady arm around his shoulders and drawing both Lex and DeShawn closer.
“I know,” Rez whispers, pressing his forehead into Lex’s damp hair. “I know.”
The crunch of gravel announces Roman and Daniel before they appear. Their shadows stretch over the three of them. Daniel’s eyes meet Rez’s for a split second before moving toward Lex.
“We need to move him, son,” Daniel says, his voice a low anchor in the storm of Lex’s sobbing.
He kneels down, his large hands moving with heartbreaking tenderness as he eases DeShawn’s weight from his son’s grip. He rises with a quiet grunt, cradling the limp body against his chest.
Daniel glances down at the small, broken circle of Hollow Kings and nods toward the exit.
“Let’s get him home.”
???
St. Patrick’s Cathedral - New York City
70 days since Bella’s kidnapping.
The massive bronze doors of the cathedral groan as they swing open, letting a sudden shaft of daylight cut through the dim, incense-heavy air.
Ellie hooks her arm through mine as we stand with the rest of the congregation.
My eyes lock on the silhouette framed in the doorway.
The priest meets them at the entrance, draped in white vestments.
He sprinkles holy water over the mahogany box, the droplets looking like falling diamonds against the dark wood.
Then the walk begins.
Lex and Rez refused professional pallbearers. They wanted to do it themselves. And since DeShawn’s father was a Hollow King back in the day, he agreed. He intended to be the sixth man. But when the moment came, the weight of the wood was nothing compared to the weight of the loss.
He couldn’t do it. So Khoza silently stepped in.
The priest leads them, the gold of his crucifix glinting in the candlelight like a flickering star.
But my gaze stays on them. The Hollow Kings.
Six men of varying heights forced into a synchronized gait by the sheer weight of their fallen brother.
All of them dressed in the same black suits with a red band over their left bicep.
The Hollow Kings’ crest embroidered on it in black and gold thread.
As they pass our row, I hear the faint thud of their boots on the marble floor and the slight creak of the casket’s handles.
Lex is on the front left. His knuckles bone-white as he grips the silver bar. Jaw set so tight I’m afraid his teeth are going to crack. They look like a moving fortress, a solid block of grief carving a path through the center of the cathedral until they reach the altar.
When they finally set him down, the sound of the wood settling on the stand echoes through the vaulted ceilings like a gavel.
The Kings peel away to their seats on the front row, collapsing into the space next to DeShawn’s parents. They leave him there, alone in the center aisle, covered in a white pall. A blank canvas in a room full of shadows.
“Please be seated.”
A heavy, collective rustle fills the room as we all sink into the pews.
“The Lord is my shepherd…” the priest begins. His voice is smooth but begins to blur as I narrow my focus on the back of Lex’s head. At the way the light from the altar candles catch the stray, messy strands of his hair.
The way I can see more than grief rippling off of him. Off of all of them.
“He maketh me lie down in green pastures.”
I scoff.
“Cade,” Ellie hisses as her elbow digs deep into my rib.
“Sorry,” I whisper, though I don’t really mean it. Those words feel like a cruel irony. There are no green pastures here, not anymore. Only cold icy marble under our feet, the smell of burning wax, and the heat of rage rolling off of each and every one of The Hollow Kings’ shoulders.
The service drags on in a cycle of standing and sitting that feels like we’re in slow motion.
We rise for the Gospel, then sink back down as the priest moves through the ancient liturgy.
The incense swirling in lazy, gray ghosts around the casket, blurring the lines of the white pall until my eyes burn from the strain of watching.
Finally, the priest steps toward the edge of the altar.
“Anthony DeShawn Reyes was a son of this city. And he was taken from us far too soon…”
The rest fades into the background. I can’t focus on theology when all I can see is Lex cradling DeShawn’s body. All I can feel is the vibrations of Rez’s scream as it filled the arena.
I hate that they’re up there on that front row exposed and broken. I hate that nothing I can say or do will fix this jagged hole in their hearts.
“…until we all meet again in the light of the eternal Kingdom. Amen.”
Before we all file out, the Hollow Kings move as one toward the side altar.
Ellie and I follow, our footsteps hush on the marble.
Lex reaches for a wooden taper. He pauses, steadying his hand as it catches a flame from the center candle. For a fleeting second, his face illuminates in a golden glow as he leans over the blue glass to light a new wick for DeShawn. Rez stands behind him, a heavy hand on his cousin’s shoulder.
One by one, the rest of us follow. Sparks of orange catching the wicks until a small constellation of lights flicker against the stone-cold alcove above.
I walk up behind Lex and lace our fingers together. We stand there in silence, just watching the flames dance.