CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SAINT
Inever thought I’d run into Cyrus again.
The last time I saw him was about twenty years ago, after the death of his only child.
He was a part of the family although not blood related.
Cyrus and my father formed strong bonds while growing up together and working side by side, and he loved our family.
But his love for us couldn’t withstand the weight of my father’s atrocities.
It was Cyrus’ son I had kissed.
My first kiss.
My first kill.
My first haunted nightmare.
Seeing him show up after all these years has ripped open the memories of our past. A past I filed away a long time ago. A past that haunted me for months.
I still recall everything that happened.
It was just a misplacement of our cargo.
I hid it from my father, but he eventually found out.
And what had broken him wasn’t that I was protecting another soldier.
I was protecting a lover. My father hates that feeling.
Love was the one thing that brought him and my mother together.
The same feeling tore them to irreparable pieces.
It almost drove him insane. Almost made him lose sight of his priorities.
When he saw me, hands firmly wrapped around Cyrus’ son, lips touching in a velvet, consuming kiss.
Something had broken in him.
My father learned that day that I was protecting him from his wrath because he was my lover. The first boy I had kissed. The first man who had touched me.
I had never seen my father so wrathful. So infuriated that he kept me locked up in the Red Vault. For weeks. Day after day. Night after night. Sunrise to sundown. Long enough that it broke my spirit. When he visited, he asked me one simple question. “Who is he to you?”
At first, my answer had been inconsistent with my pleas for mercy. Not just for myself. But for him.
I begged like a madman. I begged like a dying man.
But he never listened to me. He didn’t even look at me.
When he saw that he couldn’t break me, he stopped showing up at the Red Vault.
He left me all alone in the darkness. Day after day.
I was alone. Lost track of time. Until the day he showed up again, asking the same question. “Who is he to you?”
“Nobody. Nothing!” The words fractured out of me, driven by the intolerance of the hours of loneliness. “He means nothing to me. Nothing.” My chest aches through the confession. I tried to touch his shoes, but he removed his gun and slid it over to me.
“Prove to me, son. Prove to me that nothing comes before our family.” He squats to my eye level and lifts his hand to my head, cupping the base of my skull.
I had picked up the gun and killed him. I remember the bullet hole in his head. The pool of blood beneath his statuesque body. But it didn’t end there. He made me write those horrible words. Said it was to build my character. To make me ruthless. To make me strong enough to be his successor.
Because I was a fucking coward.
And I have regretted that single action since that very day. The persistent nightmares were a testament to my frustration. Seeing Cyrus point a gun at me with the men he hired to find me ripped the old wound open.
I have to face the consequences of what I did.
And Cyrus wasn’t the type of man who gave death so easily. My father didn’t name him the Gravedigger for no reason.
I’m not making it out of this place alive. I’m not sure if we both are. And Mason wouldn’t be here if I’d left him at Kingston City. If I wasn’t worried about someone else hurting him. If I didn’t want him close.
Emotions. Emotions. Fucking emotions.
Over the years, I realized emotions make men weak. The less you’re attached to something or someone, the more likely you’ll survive in this world.
I wasn’t raised to be anything other than my father’s ruthless successor.
The next King of the Black Viper Syndicate. Nothing less.
And if Tobias King found out that I was disregarding his teachings. That I was being reckless or entertaining what I felt for Mason. He’s as good as dead. And I’m kissing the steel walls of the Red Vault again. Probably for years.
A grunt breaks through the humid air, pulling me out of my thoughts.
The bars of the prison cell cast shadows over his dark brown skin.
I had been awake for at least an hour while I observed unconscious Mason bound to the chair opposite me.
His face wrinkles with lines of irritation as he tries to move, only to realize he’s held by chains.
“Don’t struggle. We are both fucked royally.” I smile.
He groans, eyes flickering open as his gaze finds mine.
“What happened?” He drags his breath through clenched teeth.
“Where are we?” He asks and takes in our surroundings.
Laden stone walls, unevenly plastered with dried blood, bracket us.
We are not the first men Cyrus brought here.
There’s a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
We’re in an abandoned Greyhouse. Greyhouses were built during my father’s time.
There’s only a few of them left, and they were used for torturing traitors in the past.
I never thought I’d see one in my lifetime.
I expect Mason to go into a full-blown panic now, but he remains oddly still.
He inhales, chest expanding and contracting as his gaze rests on me.
His gaze tracks the fissured walls around us.
I wait, counting down numbers in my head, but he remains so relaxed it’s unnerving.
It makes me wonder if he’s ever been in this kind of situation before.
“Oh, my God, Saint.” He says, eyes wide, when he notices the bruises and blood on my face. “Are you okay?” Cyrus had taken his time to play with me before Mason returned to consciousness.
“I ask the questions, Mason.” I respond nonchalantly. “Did they hurt you, little devil?”
“Don’t call me that, jackass!” He frowns, curling his toes. “I’m not your devil.” He drawls.
I observe him lazily. No matter how much he tries to deny it. I see him. The way he remains calm. Any normal human being would go into panic mode, asking so many questions. Worst of all, I remember the way he flipped on Kurt that night.
He opens his mouth and presses it into a thin line, thinking better of his words.
I smirk at him. “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of here. Cyrus’s here for me. Not you.” I reassure him. He breaks eye contact and inhales sharply, shoulders relaxing.
Outside the holding cell, footsteps skitter from the hall, drawing closer and getting louder.
Long shadows cast on the dark wall as Cyrus appears in his suit.
He inserts the key into the cell and opens the barrier, stepping into the charged space quietly.
The hard line of his jaw sets, and his dark, unforgiving gaze cuts over my skin.
His nostrils flare. He plants his feet wide apart. “It’s good to see you, son.”
“Cyrus. It’s been over twenty years.” I jest with a smile as if he hadn’t almost disfigured my face merely hours ago.
“You still remember.” He hums under his breath and crosses his arms.
“Like it was yesterday.”
“Good. Cause I wanted to make sure before I make you scream.” He says, his words cutting like a blade. Blood pounds in my ears as I stare at him. My throat works as my tormented eyes flickers up to him.
“Make sure it’s a memorable death, Gravedigger.” I grin at him.
He doesn’t utter another word. He turns on his heel and leaves us in the charged, awkward silence of the cell.
Mason glances at me indifferently, but he doesn’t say a word.
He has questions. He’s too smart not to ask questions.
And I can’t give him answers. One, because he’s not of King’s blood.
He doesn’t have family that’s a part of the syndicate.
Two. He’s not made for my world. And I can’t exactly tell my secrets to an outsider.
“You’ll just sit here and let him kill you. You won’t even bargain.”
“I don’t think we should speak about this.”
He scoffs, shaking his head in utter disappointment. “Typical Saint King.”
“I’d appreciate the silence.” I mutter, irritation sharpening my words.
“Because you’re a fucking coward.” He blurts out. His words hit me so hard and my eyes slacken with terrifying shock. A sick, crawling dread spikes down my spine.
“I’d choose my next words wisely.”
“Or what? You’d shove me against the wall again. We are both tied up, Saint.” He lets out, frustration bleeding through his words.
A thick and visceral silence falls over us.
We don’t move. We don’t even look at each other.
Does he truly want to know what happened?
I have never told a single soul. I have never mentioned to anyone that I spent the night in my room writing those horrifying words in his blood, my sweat, and my tears.
I have never told anyone that it felt like I was dying.
Like I was breathing shredded nails into my lungs.
“I killed his son. He’s right to kill me.” Breath stuttering, the words break loose from my lips. My cheeks burn with immense shame and regret. For one nightmarish second, everything inside me goes completely still. I wait for the sharp, judgmental look in the depth of his irises.
“You killed his son?” He lifts his brows. “Why? Did he attack you?”
“You want me to give you a reason. I killed someone. Isn’t that enough for you to see me as a monster?” I demand, but he doesn’t look at me. Yet I see the way his features slacken with an emotion I can’t name. Sympathy? Guilt? Shame? Irritation? What is it? I’m not sure.
“You’re not the only monster.” He sighs, voice barely above a whisper.
Telling him everything means I have to reveal the truth about my family, and I’m not prepared for the consequences of sharing that information.
Not when I’m aware that loving me would get him brutally executed by my father.
It would kill me if I have to take away the life of someone else just because I can’t control my sickness.
“What’s your story?”
“Me? I don’t have a story.” He shifts uncomfortably.
“Hmm.” I shake my head. “I find that very hard to believe.”
“Well, my parents died when I was really young, and I lived with my uncle until I was twenty. It wasn’t fun.”
“He put his hands on you?” I demand for an answer, face sharpening lethally.
“Will you kill him?” His eyes meet my cold, steel gaze.
“Depends. If you want me to.” My words are impassive. Too cold for him, perhaps.
“Are you okay? I mean, you’re claustrophobic?”
“It’s easier to handle it when someone else is with me,” I murmur. “When I’m with you, I don’t feel trapped.” I admit, eyes gilded with emotion as I glance at him. My words puncture his lungs, and a gravelly breath escapes him.
“How did it happen to you?”
“My father put me in the Red Vault,” I states, and his brows arch with curiosity. An ominous feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. “He built it for prisoners who defied him, but unfortunately for me, kissing a guy was part of that defiance.”
“A prison? What kind of man could do that to his child?”
"My father, apparently." I sigh. Disgust appears on his features briefly as his jaw hardens. Who wouldn't hate Tobias King when they learn what he subjects his own blood to?
He exhales sharply. “Can we talk about something else?” He asks quietly, eyes shining with pain. “Like how we can escape here.”
“If you have a plan, then please by all means do tell.” I shrug.
“Whatever, jackass.” He rolls his eyes, and I scoff with a slight chuckle.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here.” I promise, hoping it’s enough to keep him calm. I got him into this mess because I couldn’t control myself. I’ll make sure he makes it out of here alive.
Boots thunder through the crooked hallway.
My gaze snaps to the exit, heart jumping into my throat.
I swallow hard, jaw setting as I prepare for my move.
Three men in all black outfits appear at the entrance.
Hands firmly held around their guns. The metal bars of the cell creaks as a soldier opens the door and floods in.
One moves beside Mason with the keys, and the other two stand beside me.
My pulse rampages, quick breaths sawing out of my lungs. My eyes track the room unevenly as the soldier unchains Mason.
“What are you doing?” I choke out, a sudden panic shattering my voice.
“Cyrus wants him. What Cyrus wants, Cyrus gets.” The soldier beside me smirk.
“No, don’t take him.” I snap at them, and the chains rattle against the weight of my struggle. A red haze settles over my vision. My jaw clench so hard my bones crack. I’ll fucking kill them all if they laid a hand on him. “Don’t take him!” My voice thunders with terror.
As the chains slips free around Mason’s arms, he dives the soldier. They get into a brawl, rolling around the concrete floor. Mason manages to snatch his pistol and hold it to his head. The soldier panics and puts his hands up in surrender.
Color me fucking surprised.
Before I can revel in my pride for him, the grip of the gun slams into my temple. Pain explodes at the side of my head. My vision blurs with red as my head snaps to the side.
“Put the gun down, or I’ll kill him.” The soldier says and slams his gun into my head again. My cloudy gaze drops to Mason. He points the gun from one soldier to another, panic flashing in his brown eyes.
The soldier he tackled earlier takes advantage of the distraction and snatches the gun around, knocking him out with a punch. With my head hanging low, I look up through bruised and unfocused eyes, I watch as the soldiers drag Mason out of the cell, hand wrapped around his ankle.