Chapter 30
COLLINS
Maeve paces her office floor, stopping to check the clock mantle every few minutes. Her dark gaze narrows with every tick like it personally offends her. The clinking of the ice in her glass sounds and we hold our breaths, waiting.
I try not to shuffle or fidget in the drab room. The walls are bare, and the pictures are broken. I’ve never been a fan of Pops’ office, but Maeve has taken to it with an axe, hacking pieces of his life into unrecognizable bits.
He deserved it, no doubt. But this is just depressing. And it does nothing to lessen my anxiety.
“Sit down,” Killian tells her, feet up on the coffee table, a book in his lap. He doesn’t look at her.
“It’s almost sunrise,” she snaps, fingers twitching. “He needs to be back—”
“Relax, Princess.” He licks his thumb, turning a page. “He’ll be here.”
She growls something under her breath, green eyes hard. Killian doesn’t pay her any attention, and I clear my throat.
“Is it bad if he’s not back before sunrise?” Crossing my arms, I try to ward off the cold of the room. It feels as if a spirit haunts us, sucking all the warmth out until it’s as frigid as the grounds outside.
Maeve stops, sipping from her glass, frowning. “The rules state everyone needs to be back before sunrise to stay in the games.”
“So, if he doesn’t come back before then—”
“He’s out,” she interrupts. “Unless he’s been caught. Then he’s dead.” She seems to glare harshly at Killian for that.
“He hasn’t been caught,” Killian singsongs. “Have more faith in the prince.” He turns another page. “Last time I checked, he was the only one who had it.”
Her gaze ices over. “There’s a reason these games aren’t done so often, Linwood.
” She climbs on to her desk, legs swinging.
“Good men are killed for this chance. Taken, captured, it doesn’t matter.
This is as much for us, as it is for our enemies.
Because now they have a reason to come for us.
Do you remember the stories of when Pops took command? ”
At the mentioning of his last name, he glances up, eyes narrowing, but his teasing smile doesn’t leave his face. Winking at me, his feet drop with a sudden noise. “They were just stories, Princess. We have no evidence that Bruno Senior took the top contender and flayed him in the city center.”
She scoffs. “We don’t need evidence when we know it happened.”
My stomach twists. The idea of Hayes being vulnerable, that Roman could hurt his brother… I blink back the sudden urge to find something sharp and stick it into Bruno’s eye. I’ll kill him if he lays one finger on Hayes.
Killian licks his lips. “I don’t remember you being such a worrier.”
“What happens if they get him?” I ask, standing, rubbing my arms. “What happens if Roman gets Hayes?”
Maeve sighs, shoulders dropping. “Hayes can’t step foot on their property. But obviously, this trial is exactly that. If so, the deal voids if he’s caught.”
“Voids, how?” I push up my glasses, anxiety tightening my gut. “What happens?”
“Death.” Maeve’s green eyes darken. “Roman is within his rights to kill him for breaking the agreement.” She glares at Killian. “It took me months to set that up. I fucking had to do so much for it. And if Roman catches him on his turf, again, it’ll be for nothing.”
I ignore the very real, cold fear trying to swirl in my belly. The fear of losing Hayes. Of never telling him how I feel.
I’ve come to terms with it. I could have loved someone worse. He can hate me, never want to see me again when the Games end. But I’ll still tell him how I feel.
“What did you do?” I ask, voice low. “Can it be redone?”
Maeve stays silent. Whatever she did, she’s not telling.
“He’s not safe, is he?”
Maeve shakes her head sadly. “No, Col. Hayes isn’t safe. None of us are safe in this world. But him? Roman has it out for his brother. Because of who he is, and who I am.”
It never occurred to me that Roman has it out for Hayes and Maeve. Both of them have been friends and partners for so long—of course he hates them both. If he can hurt Hayes, he hurts my sister.
Unfortunately, Roman will destroy my heart if he does.
But not before I take his.
She jumps from the desk, mind made up. “I’m asking again.”
Maeve has gone to the guards multiple times in the night for checks on the contestants. The two others came back hours ago, one destroying three storefronts, another four.
All that was left was Hayes.
Chewing on my thumb, I pace the floor, Killian watching me silently.
“Easy, Coli.” He soothes. “Don’t let all of this set you off.”
Set off my anxiety. Trigger a panic attack. How do I explain that I’ve been battling one since coming off clinicals and realizing Hayes still hasn’t returned—over five hours ago?
It’s a damn miracle I’m not in a ball on the floor, crying. The only thing keeping me grounded is the possibility of Hayes’ return and also my vengeance if Roman hurts him.
“Was it the smartest move to send Hayes back to Bruno’s territory?” I ask. “Given the agreement and the issues between them?”
Killian shrugs. “It was all done for a reason.”
I snort. “Right. Maeve’s reasons. For the clan.” Always for the clan. Did she even think before agreeing to send Hayes into that trial? Or did she ignore the trauma he endured?
He leans forward, hands hanging over his knees, the dull ink of his knuckles catching the low lighting. “It was actually his idea.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure it was done in desperation.” No one would be willing to go back to that.
Killian nods. “In a way.”
“And Maeve just agreed?” I huff. “Typical. If it betters the clan, then there’s no point in wondering how it hurts anyone else.”
Just like Pops.
He clicks his tongue. “Careful, Coli. You don’t know the pressure she’s under.”
“Pressure,” I mock. “She’s Pops. Just in woman-form. She’d rather turn everyone against anyone, use them, bend people to her will. Just to fucking help the clan.”
Forget our talk in the kitchen, she’s putting the man I love into danger all for this silly little trial.
When is it enough? When do good people stop being used?
Killian’s eyes go blank—stone cold and unflinching. “Your sister is half the man your father ever was. Everything she does—everything she did—is for you. For all of you. Watch it.”
Slowly, I look away, winging my hands. “You’ve always defended her.” They were rivals as kids, and yet, he never let anyone disrespect her behind her back.
“Someone had to,” he mutters, looking to the door.
Maeve rushes back in, grabbing her keys.
“Maeve…” Killian warns, seeing her train of thought before I can follow. “If you interfere—”
“Fuck off, Killian. What if Roman has him?”
There’s a raw panic to her eyes, something I don’t usually see in my stoic big sister. It’s reflected in my own.
What if he has him?
The primal fear—and rage—curls in my gut along with my anxiety. I need to act—to do something. But as I’m looking at the clock again, the front doors crash open, a brutal wind whipping around us like a force of divinity. Maeve runs out the door and I’m on her heels, Killian thundering behind us.
Hayes is here—kneeling on the floor. In the distance, a shade of pink rests above the tall trees and I exhale. He was close to losing, but he’s here.
Dropping before him, I wrap my arms around his neck and tug him close.
He’s alive. Not caught. Not with Bruno. He’s safe with me. Fucking Christ, my heart soars even as my body shakes and I fight the urge to cry.
“He’s bleeding,” Maeve mutters, looking him over. She doesn’t move closer, crossing her arms over her chest, knuckles white, as if to barricade herself.
Glancing down, I watch the puddle grow as it soaks my knees. Smears stain my sweatshirt and immediately, my mind clicks into action, pushing away the worry and relief, moving into crisis mode.
I can fix this.
Releasing him, I take in his stuttered breathing, his damp brow. His eyes are closed against the pain and my hands follow the trail of blood along his side until I find the bullet hole.
“Jesus,” I breathe, the wound giving under my touch. “You’re shot.”
Hayes nods, grabbing me close again. “Just a little one. I’m better now.”
My stomach clenches, warmth spreading out from my heart. This relationship was supposed to be fake, but it’s not now.
Because Hayes is my home, my soul anchored with hope.
“See? I told you, he’d be fine.”
“He was shot, Killian,” Maeve retorts, turning toward the reaper.
“Mostly fine.”
Pressing a chaste kiss to Hayes’ forehead, I grab his shoulders.
“Come on. Let me clean you up.”
Killian lifts his arm over his shoulder with such ease, my mouth drops open. They hate each other—what is happening?
“Don’t pass out on me now, Prince.”
Grunting, Hayes shuffles down the hall to the med lab. “Like I’d give you the pleasure.”
Maeve retreats to her office without another word as I follow.
It doesn’t occur to me where we’re going until my hand is wrapped in Hayes’ larger one and the elevator doors reveal the basement.
In the distance, I see the medical room—med lab—with its steel doors, bullet proof glass port holes and the flickering light overhead that screams of old horror movies.
A ball of dread drops into my gut and it gets hard to move, practically being dragged down the corridor.
Those steel doors can be locked from the outside and the noise haunts my dreams. Breath hitching, I stop at the door as Killian moves a limping Hayes to the metal table.
He’s gentle as he lowers him, but like the true reaper that he is, he slips and elbows the wound.
Hayes groans, swatting at him. I can’t enjoy their antics—my breath comes in rapid puffs and my heart is ready to explode. Blood rushes through my ears, muting everything. All I see is the room.
The room, made for corpses and quick life-saving surgeries, is sterile, with white cabinets full of stolen medical grade equipment and gleaming silver fixtures. Nothing about it is comforting or friendly—it’s all removed, emotionless.