Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Cease or I’ll kill her,” Harrington said.
“You won’t kill her,” Beckham said. He was breathless. The fighting was intense. He and Roland were nearly evenly matched. “You need her.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t need her. I found one other. A little old lady who has gone her entire life without ever having to get her blood drawn. No children. No surgeries. Truly miraculous. Thank Visage for the Blood Census.”
Beckham paled.
“But I don’t want to kill her, Beckham. Don’t make me the bad guy here.”
Reyna laughed a short, hysterical breath.
Harrington ignored her, gesturing to the dead body lying between them. “Why don’t we act civilized, hmm? Let’s forgo our baser qualities for the moment. Look what we’re going to have to clean up.”
Harrington might actually kill her. Her hands trembled from the cold and terror as they moved into the folds of her gown. She could take a gun out now. She could turn around and shoot Harrington. She wasn’t faster than him, but she might be able to catch him by surprise.
Beckham’s eyes moved to hers, and he shook his head marginally. Just enough for her to see that he was telling her no. Don’t do it.
She knew she could get herself killed trying it, but she had to try.
“Fine,” Beckham said.
He prowled away from Roland. Roland straightened his suit and narrowed his eyes at Beckham’s back.
“There we are. Back to manners,” Harrington said. He released Reyna with ease and assessed her with cold calculation. “You are freezing.”
Yes. She was actually trembling now. Cold was creeping into her bones.
Beckham slipped his coat off his shoulders.
He stepped forward, eyeing both Harrington and Roland carefully before slipping it onto her small frame.
It enveloped her, dropping down nearly to her knees.
Blood soaked the expensive material, and a trail from the collar smudged onto her collarbone. She could smell the tangy rust.
Harrington patted Beckham affectionately on the shoulder. It was as if all was well in the world. As if Beckham hadn’t just killed someone.
“That’s better.”
Beckham brushed Harrington’s hand off of his shoulder. “Hardly. You kidnapped my sister and kept her hidden from me for years. You kidnapped Reyna and tortured her. You treated me like a son, and yet you never trusted me.”
“Trust,” Harrington scoffed. “You had it. You’re my prodigy, Beckham. You are a son to me.”
“If you believed that, then you would not need Bronwyn as a bargaining chip. Or Reyna, for that matter. I should have followed my instincts all those years ago and killed you the second you stepped foot in my city.”
Harrington waved his hand dismissively. “More of this ‘my city’ business. If it was truly yours, then you wouldn’t have handed it over to me so readily. I didn’t even have to kill you like you killed your predecessor.”
“You were offering us a utopia. I was a fool to have ever believed in it. Now I won’t stop until I see it ended.”
Harrington sighed. “Oh, Beckham, I do wish you hadn’t said that.”
“I was wrong about you. About all of you and all of this.” His eyes moved from Harrington to Roland and back. “I will burn you to the ground.”
“That’s where you are wrong,” Harrington said. “I am already burning you down. Your little bunker. Your little rebellion. All of Elle.”
Reyna’s hand flew to her mouth. She took a step forward without knowing she’d done it, as if she could somehow get him to take it back.
What about everyone inside? What about her brother and Laura?
What about Sydney and Washington and Tye?
Even Everett. All those people working toward this moment of triumph.
And now they were burning. Her throat closed up.
She could almost smell the smoke from where she stood in horror.
“You burned down Elle?” Beckham asked, his voice as sharp as a razor blade.
“I’d thought you’d at least deny your involvement. Show me you are still the person I recruited so many years ago. It’s a shame. I wanted it to be you.” Harrington did look moved. But not repentant.
“I won’t deny anything.” Beckham seized Roland by the neck and then threw him backward. Roland collided with the building and crumpled, cracking the facade and taking a few bricks with him. He coughed and tried to rise, then collapsed again. “And now all of your guard dogs are down for the count.”
Harrington laughed. Actually laughed. “I always loved your enthusiasm, Beckham.”
Beckham reached out to grasp Harrington, to end this whole thing, but Harrington was fast. Much faster than Beckham had been anticipating. He moved out of the way and gracefully stood back with his hands in his pockets.
“You’re missing something, Beckham,” Harrington said. “You haven’t quite realized that you’ve lost. If you fight against me, I’ll kill Reyna. If you fight against me, I’ll kill Bronwyn. If you fight against me, I’ll crush your little rebellion. Oh, wait, I already did that, for your insolence.”
“You can’t kill them if you’re dead,” Beckham said.
“I have a kill order on Bronwyn if anything happens to me. Both will be dead before you can do to me what you just did to Cassandra.”
Beckham snarled, but Reyna could see the moment Harrington’s words sank in. He had the upper hand. Somehow, Harrington had managed to outmaneuver them.
“I have all the players on the board. I even have your little Penelope. What a treat that girl is. You know what they say about crossing a scorned woman.”
Reyna’s stomach sank even further. Penelope. Hell hath no fury. Of course, she hadn’t just turned…she’d turned coat, too.
Harrington smiled at their shocked silence. “Checkmate.”
Beckham’s fury simmered, but this was a no-win scenario, which meant that they had no options left.
Harrington won. He fucking won.
All of this for nothing. Losing Brian for nothing. Putting her life on the line for nothing. Elle burning for nothing.
Her eyes snagged on Beckham. There was love. Endless, eternal love in those eyes. And an apology. For fucking up. For walking her into this. For not being able to fix all of it.
She’d made this plan. She’d walked them all into it. It was her fault, not Beckham’s. He hadn’t wanted to risk it, and she’d been so headstrong she hadn’t stopped to consider the real possibility that Harrington could win.
Their rebellion was just and righteous. They had to win.
And yet…there was no hope that they could escape this. If Beckham moved against Harrington, he’d destroy everything he loved. And Harrington had another match. She was no longer one of a kind to him.
But her mind snagged on that.
A little old lady. He’d said that. No…sneered that.
He must be drinking from her to be so healthy, but she couldn’t be providing everything he needed.
He wouldn’t have tried to negotiate with Reyna if he truly didn’t need her.
In fact, he wouldn’t have bothered with any of these charades if he hadn’t needed Reyna.
She thought around that fact, looking it over from every angle, assessing its worth, and then made her decision. Her hand slipped into the pocket of her dress, and she removed the gun hidden against her thigh. Harrington’s eyes snapped to the cool metal clutched in her hand.
“What are you doing?” he demanded furiously.
Then she chambered a bullet and put the gun to her temple. “You’re bluffing.”
His eyes widened. His hands fluttered at his side as if he wanted to snatch the gun from her hand.
“Just try,” she dared him. “See if you can get to me before I pull the trigger.”
“I already said that I don’t need you,” he said angrily.
“You do need me. You would never be so incredibly wasteful when a perfectly good blood type match is available.”
“You know nothing.”
“You exposed your queen.” She spat back at him the words he’d said to her in Visage all those weeks ago. “You should never leave your queen unguarded. The game isn’t finished.”
Harrington’s smug expression evaporated. She didn’t dare look at Beckham. She couldn’t look him in the eye for her next gamble.
“You let Beckham walk out of here alive and promise never to search for him, and I’ll come with you now,” Reyna finally said.
“No,” Beckham cried.
“You think you can bargain with me?”
“It’s the only deal I have to offer. My life for his.”
“Reyna, don’t do this,” Beckham begged. “Your life is worth more than mine.”
“We can agree on that at least,” Harrington said.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Beckham. She kept her eyes on Harrington. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“I watched you for weeks, my little queen,” Harrington said. “I know you are a survivor. You value self-preservation above all else. You won’t pull that trigger, and you will come with me regardless.”
“I’ll do it,” she said, her hand shaking where it held the gun in place. “I care more for him than I ever will for my own life.”
“Reyna,” Beckham pleaded.
Harrington raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is this love? How quaint.”
“You could never understand love,” Reyna spat.
“Love is a weakness. I have no need for weaknesses, as I have no need for a traitor.”
A blue dress appeared at the door, snagging everyone’s attention. Penelope’s shocked face took in the scene around her—Cassandra’s dead body, Roland slowly getting to his feet, and Reyna with a gun to her head, standing between the two most powerful men in the world.
“What is going on?” Penelope gasped.
The distraction was all Harrington needed.
He moved so fast no one could even see what he was doing.
No one could move to stop him. It wasn’t until the dust settled that Reyna saw he had Beckham’s head between his hands, that Beckham’s head was wrenched to the side with his eyes turned away from her, and then finally… Harrington’s triumphant smile.
She saw Harrington release him.
She watched Beckham’s body slump to the ground.
Then she screamed.
And screamed.