Chapter 37
MINE
Poppy
Blood drips in bright red strings from Scull’s split lips to the library floor.
“A little more to the left, mon ange.”
Bronte cracks his bloody knuckles, a gleeful gleam in his eyes as his arm winds back and slams the detective’s jaw with a savage right hook.
“No.” I shake my head as Scull spits a red wad onto the growing puddle beneath the chair he’s secured to with his own handcuffs. “My left, not yours.”
Bronte mercilessly hammers his rage into Scull’s face. Heat pulses between my legs, but I force myself to focus.
My parents are in here, for fuck’s sake.
“I like him, Poppyseed.” Papa wears a manic grin as he turns to Mama. “Koibito?”
Mama sips her wine. “Reminds me of you. Handsome, violent. What’s not to like?”
I tune them out as my gaze rakes over the man being beaten to a pulp. We found his Leviathan brand easily once he drank enough drugged wine to pass out drooling. Since waking, Scull has been dodging questions, willingly subjecting himself to Bronte’s unbridled fury like it’s his nightly routine.
“Stop, mon roi.”
Bronte backs off, wiping blood splattered on his sweaty brow and giving me a curt nod. “Ma reine.”
“Take a break and comb through his phone.” He does what I say as I return my attention to Scull. “You’re one of Leviathan’s nine Masters.”
It’s a statement, not a question. He’s not going to talk.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t give us answers.
Scull glares, bloody drool dripping down his chin as he pants against the pain. He’s a single solid blow away from a broken jaw, yet he hasn’t once screamed. He’s been trained to tolerate agony.
“Each Master leads a specific operational guild,” I drone, picking my nails. “Their names—and those of their guilds—are unknown. However, the Volkovs were once the beating heart of Leviathan’s assassin guild. You recruited them first, so I can only assume that’s your bread and butter.”
Scull spits blood at my boots. It’s the only confirmation I need.
“Leviathan was once friends with my family. Did you know that your founder, Felix Aurelius, recruited my ancestor, Octavia? That she was a member of Leviathan, too?”
He sneers, unimpressed. “Your point?”
“You were issued the kill order because I killed a Leviathan legacy. My point: I am also a legacy. Should that not grant me a hearing with your council to plead my case?”
Scull scoffs, his facade slipping an inch. “You’re a Morgenstern. The Crown cannot also be the Church.”
“Interesting. You didn’t deny the fact that you were given orders.” I smirk at his agitated lour. “I was under the impression Leviathan’s Masters operated as a unit, though it appears you have a ringleader calling the shots. Who is it?”
Scull bares his teeth but doesn’t reply.
Bronte steps forward. I snag his arm, not letting my attention stray from Scull.
“Is it someone we know?”
Silence.
“Quinn?”
Crickets.
“I respect your tenacity, but I’m very impatient. Perhaps some incentive will help speed this up.”
I nod to Papa, who downs his drink and disappears into the stacks. A moment later, he drags a chair from the shadows. Scull visibly blanches when he sees who’s in it.
I wasn’t sure before, but I am now; the lion truly has fallen for the lamb.
“Don’t worry, Casanova,” I croon, brandishing my butterfly knife and lightly skimming the blade up and down Quinn’s unmoving arm. “Your Henriette is fine. She took the chloroform like a champ.”
I feel Bronte tensing behind me. This is the second part he didn’t agree with, the first being when I stripped Quinn down and searched for a Leviathan brand that wasn’t there.
Unlike him, I don’t take people at their word.
Aside from waking up in her lab with a headache and no memory of getting a rag shoved over her face while she’d been working on reports, though, I’ve promised him no harm will come to her.
“Who’s dishing out orders?”
Scull’s bruised and bloody mouth remains shut.
“Let me rephrase.” My knife edges Quinn’s pulse. “Give me a name, or the next case to go cold in this city is a tragic murder-suicide of a corrupt cop and his whore.”
“Don’t,” he snarls, amber eyes blackening. “Don’t call her that.”
I grip Quinn’s curls and tug her head back, exposing her jugular to my blade—
“I don’t know! All right? I don’t fucking know who the orders come from. We’re as blind to each other as you are to us.”
“That’s literally impossible.”
“It’s not,” Bronte says, handing me Scull’s phone. “He’s been sending and receiving encrypted texts from several different numbers.”
“Burners?”
“Could be. Or fake numbers to conceal the real sender.”
“We’ll ping Emi. She’ll know what to do.”
Scull’s chuckle slashes through our whispers. “Good luck with that. I already tried tracking the source. You’re going to find nothing but a steel wall.”
“Forgive me for not trusting a word you say.” I adjust my grip on Quinn, scraping the blade over each delicate ridge of her throat. His glare tracks it the whole way down. “Next order of business: drop the hunt.”
“That’s not up to me.”
“How is it not? You're a Master. You command an entire guild of Acolytes and Magi.”
“They receive their own orders. I merely provide oversight to ensure proper execution.”
“Who are they, then?”
“I told you: I don’t know.”
I dig the knife deeper, breaking the skin as Scull roars—
Bronte grabs my wrist, ignoring my glower. “You invited the Volkovs back to Leviathan. I presume you were also invited to join their ranks at some point. How does that work, exactly? How does one become a member?”
Scull licks his split lip, his unhinged stare stitched to the bead of blood slipping down Quinn’s neck. “Candidates are selected at the discretion of each Master. Invitations must first be approved before sending.”
“Magnifique.” Bronte flashes Scull’s phone. “Guess I’ll just send in my own application to your boss.”
“You’re on the hit list, too, Bourbon.”
“Yet here I stand.”
“Patience.” Scull grins, sharp and bloody. “Your turn is coming.”
Bronte grins back, twice as savage. “Tease.”
“I’ve heard enough,” I say, retracting my blade. “Mama? Papa?”
My parents share a glance and nod in unison. Papa gathers Quinn into his arms and carries her out as Mama says, “We have what we need.”
I draw my Glock and train it between Scull’s lion eyes. This is the man who oversaw the murders of Jett and Fiona and every single Morgenstern. The man who manipulated an innocent woman into doing his dirty work. The man who betrayed my family while sitting in our home and drinking our wine.
Bronte’s hand falls on my shoulder. “Mine.”
“Are you sure?”
“He could know something about Margot.”
“Fair enough.” I lower my gun and rise to the tips of my toes, pecking his cheek. “Make it slow.”
“I intend to.” He fingers my knife from my grip and flattens the blade beneath my chin, stealing my lips in a fierce, deep kiss. Then he nudges me toward Mama, who interlocks our arms as she leads me out the doors.
We’re halfway down the hall when the screams begin.