30. Maeve
MAEVE
Ending the call, I look over the building, bracing against the cold wind. It blows across my cheeks and nose, turning my pale skin cherry red. I don’t feel it, though—my face, my fingers, my toes are frozen.
The moon overhead lights our path as we lean over the edge. Sitting beside Killian, he adjusts the scope on the bolt-action sniper rifle. Though I’m a great shot, Killian is better.
“How is he?” he asks, peering through the hole. He makes a few changes, and I roll my shoulders, easing a knot of tension.
“Same. They think he’s waking up.”
“Good.”
I’ve kept tabs on Nico’s condition. Lex might be in charge of his uncle as next-of-kin, but Nico is my friend. I found him, and I can’t function if I don’t have a status on him every other hour. As we planned this trip, I made sure to check on him one more time.
I’m not sure how this will go. I needed this moment.
“Have a shot?”
He smirks. “Don’t insult me, Princess.” His cockiness makes me smile, rolling my eyes to the starry sky above.
“Think they’ll show?”
I stand, walking along the edge of the roof. This high up, the sounds below are muted, wind rushing past my ears. The lights from the harbor pull my eyes, only drowned out by the neon signs decorating Lex’s club walls.
This was the only place we could control. With Lex’s assistance—not willing—he let us set up this sting. With a few tip-offs placed between his men and mine—ones who made it apparent they thought little of women—I’m sure my activities have gotten back to Ronan.
If he’s half as good as I think he is, he’s already scouting the area out, looking for a way to attack us. He won’t come from above—that’s why we’re here—but he will look for a place to lay low and wait. He prefers shadows and attacking from behind.
Too bad for him, I was forged from that darkness. Shadows don’t scare me—they bow to me.
“Considering I know what the Board pays for a hit,” he muses, clocking the gun. “I’m sure he’s chomping at the bit to attack and collect his payday.”
Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms. “Thanks.”
Tugging me against him, I’m slapped with a blast of heat. He’s always so warm, practically begging me to melt against him.
“He’s not going to get you,” he promises. “I’ve kept you alive all these years. Some fucking dick with a pretty gun isn’t going to take you out. Not with me here.”
Slipping my knife out of my hip, I twist it into the air. “Not with me here, either.”
Pressing a hard kiss to my temple, he laughs. “I always love it when you’re vicious.”
Shifting away from him, I pull down the dress I snagged from the back of my closet. A tight blood red number, I hang off the shoulder, but my leather jacket hides the scars. In a pair of tall boots with spiked heels, I hide my knives between my thighs and by my ankles.
Pulling back to look into my eyes, Killian asks, “You ready?”
Am I?
Scoffing, I nod once. “I’m ready to end this.”
Fear doesn’t saturate my belly, nor does it cause my hands to shake. Facing Ronan is low on my list of priorities. He’s one step closer to finishing this—leading to taking down the Board and their bullshit attempts to own me. To own my family.
With one last lingering kiss, Killian points to the roof. “I’ll be here watching. And for the love of everything fucking holy, do not do anything stupid.”
Crossing my heart, I pretend to throw away the key. “I promise.”
Crossing the busy street, I hunker into the masses, nodding once to the bouncer at Lex’s club. He knows who I am—they all do. I’ve had a standing invite here since Nico ruled, so he doesn’t stop me from entering, unlocking the red rope for me mutely.
Inside the front door, I slide my jacket off, handing it to the girl behind the counter. She doesn’t smile—and I don’t in return. She scans me, seeing the knife under my dress, but she chooses to remain silent. Good choice. I wouldn’t have removed them anyway.
Further inside, the room is a pumping mess of chaotic bodies and loud, beating bass drops. The room surges and falls, a tide to sweep me away, but I continue through. The red lights flicker, blinking overhead, and I duck under arms, between bodies.
Sweat dampens my brow and the back of my neck. I hate these types of environments. I’m not in control—I can’t see the exits. But it makes it more likely to tempt an assassin if I’m out of my comfort zone.
Slinking to the bar, I gesture to the bartender for a drink. Without being told, he takes from the top shelf, pouring a healthy dose of the Scotch I’ve come to love. Why? Because it’s not what my father would enjoy.
Once the glass touches my lips, a body brushes past me. The slickness of it makes my skin crawl, and I glare up over my shoulder.
Some drunk peers down at me, smiling.
Fuck. Not tonight.
“What’s a cute thing like you doing here all alone?” he slurs, and I exhale, locking eyes with the bartender.
He looks like he wants to intercede, but the flash of fear in his eyes is refreshing. He knows who I am—most of this bar does. They’d be idiots not to. He won’t interfere or risk my wrath.
I remember what it’s like to be feared—not to be the one being afraid.
Reaching into my boot, I wait for the hand to fall to my shoulder. Twisting the hilt in my palm, I point the sharp tip toward his throat, a hair’s breadth away from slicing his pink flesh.
The creep stalls, blinks once, and whimpers.
“Go.”
Tripping over himself, he flees, barging into other dancers. Swiftly, I recall the knife, sliding it back down into my boot. Glaring at the bartender, he raises his hands.
“What?” I ask, sipping the liquor. The cool burn makes me sigh, shoulders dropping.
“You’re terrifying.”
Obviously. I take pride in that. There was a time when men thought I wouldn’t amount to anything—being terrifying is a compliment.
Smirking, I turn my back to the bartender and scan the crowd. It’s withering bodies, dry humping on the black dance floor, but I try to keep my eyes open. Every face that appears, I search, looking for Ronan’s soft blue eyes and the dirty blonde hair that seems to float around his head.
He looked like an angel, but I always knew a devil hid beneath. A devil that wants to see me fall and is willing to betray me to do it.
“Whenever I suggested a night out,” a voice says to my left, “you always told me you hated clubs. Too suffocating. Too hot.”
I keep my face neutral, keeping my shock and rage inside. Reese moves against me, his tight shirt showing off the muscles I always suspected were underneath. Standing before me, in a pair of jeans and boots, he doesn’t look like an accountant—he looks like a man at home in tactical operations.
A fucking dirty cop.
“They are,” I answer, holding on to that rage with white knuckles. “Or maybe I didn’t want to go out with you.”
He taps his chest. “That hurts, right here.”
Stepping closer, he slides his shoe between my boots. Before he can touch me further, I pull my knife and level it at his crotch.
Laughing, he leans back. “I was told you were the fighting type. Never saw it out on those dates. I figured they had it wrong. That there was no way you could be this underworld kingpin.”
“Queenpin.”
Inclining his head, he smiles widely. “Maybe if I saw more of this side, those dates could’ve gone differently.”
My stomach rolls. “Sorry, you’re not my type.”
“But the Reaper is?” His eyes flash, and I’d almost say it’s jealousy. It’s probably a hurt ego. He seems like the type. “I know all about him. He wasn’t exactly subtle in how he feels about you.”
“He wasn’t trying to be subtle.” I push the blade closer, tip catching on the button of his jeans. “Why are you here, Reese?”
“A boyfriend can’t come visit his girlfriend?”
“By all means,” I drawl, fighting down bile. “Go visit her. I’m not stopping you.”
He tsks. “Cute, Maeve. Or should I say, Ace?”
I hate that fucking nickname—but I don’t let him see it.
“I know who you are,” he whispers. “I know what you do. And I know why you’re here.”
“You know a lot,” I muse. “Too bad I never saw that side of you on our dates, either. Maybe I wouldn’t have this insane urge to chop off your dick and make you eat it.”
Snatching at my throat, I keep my face blank. This? This I know well. Insult a man’s pride, and expect some kind of reaction. I lived through nights of this, attacking Michael in any way I could and accepting my punishment for it. It was my small act of defiance.
Snarling into my face, he says, “Big talk for someone here alone. Where is he?”
Raising an eyebrow, I keep quiet.
He shakes me, throwing me back onto the stool. I don’t lose hold of my knife.
“Where is he?”
Shrugging, I ask, “Who?”
“Murray.”
I let myself smile, a deranged grin, as I think of Murray rotting in the burn pile out in the Berkshires. “We had a chat. I didn’t like what he said.” I shrug. “Oops.”
Rearing back, he slaps me across the face; the sound is lost to the club music. It’s not even a solid hit—something from a man with weak hands and a tiny set of balls.
Slowly, I turn back, cheek red. “You know the last man to hit me ended up stabbed to death in his bed.” Sliding off my stool, I plant my feet, glaring up into his face.
He might tower over me, but my rage makes me dangerous.
“Don’t think I won’t do the same to you, surrounded by onlookers.
I could fucking obliterate you, and not a word would leave this bar. ”
The first trace of fear shines in his brown eyes. Lackluster orbs, how did I ever think they were kind? Because I saw something I wanted to see—projecting my needs onto an available body. Fucking stupid.
“Ronan is going to kill you,” he mutters, hands shaking. “You won’t be able to touch me.”
“No?” Consequences be damned, I slam my pearl-inlaid knife into his thigh, smiling wide as the pain overtakes his warm face. He screams, but the music swallows it whole. “I really hate being told what to do.”
Ripping the knife out, I glare down into his face. Pinching his chin, I make sure he sees my words. “Where is he?”
Gasping, he holds his leg. He doesn’t say anything other than whimpers.
Christ. It’s a little knife wound.
“This is what I know,” I begin, “You’re a cop.
A dirty one. You’re working for the Board, but you’re on Bruno’s payroll.
I assume because you like to get your dick wet by women who can’t say no to you.
You seem like the type.” Tapping his cheek, I make him look at me.
“No, no. Don’t pass out on me now, Reese. We still have things to discuss.
“You’re the link,” I explain. “My personal tracking device because my genius baby brother keeps me off the grid. Smart idea, using my vulnerability against me. Devious even, I can appreciate that.” At his glare, I smirk.
“Murray gave you up. He also gave up Ronan. What I can’t figure out is how you got involved in this. Money, status? What?”
Smugly, I watch his blood soak his pant leg. I got him good.
“Money,” he bites out. “Bruno pays me, and the Board pays Bruno. In other things.”
“Like, what?”
“He wants to break you,” he says, smiling.
“The Board promised to give you to him once you’re dethroned.
None of the assassins were supposed to kill you—incapacitate you, bring you in.
Then you forfeit your throne. Bruno gets his turn.
” He coughs, the bass growing heavier with each passing second.
“He picked out a room for you and everything.”
Cold fury settles into my belly, a rising demon that will smite everyone to Hell.
“It’s going to stay vacant,” I murmur, tossing him back to the stool. Snapping my fingers, I say to the bartender, “You take him to Lex’s office. He doesn’t leave. He stays. No medical attention. He’s mine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before I leave, Reese laughs, a wicked noise that grates on my nerves.
“If you expected him here, fat chance, Ace.” He smiles wider, dripping blood onto the floor. “He knows what you were planning. He’s enlisted others.”
Others.
That means there is more than one leak in my organization. More men who would usurp me.
Slowly, spinning, I slip my phone from my top, dialing Killian’s number.
My eyes coast over the crowd, snagging on different bodies in the far corner.
Runners—my runners—stare back at me. Tag, Brian, Cilly, and more.
Hiding in the shadows, from above, on the dancefloor, they watch me. Waiting. Wishing for my fall.
It was never one leak. There was a group of them who wanted me out.
A woman can never lead.
“Princess.”
“It’s everyone,” I snap. “Get in here.”
The line goes dead. Two of Lex’s guards come over, unaware of the danger I see, and I pull on one’s wrist. Locking eyes with him, I warn, “Call Lex. Get ready.” Then I say the one phrase that Nico gave me years ago. The sentence all his men were supposed to know, react to, if we were discovered.
“The rest is silence.”
His eyes widen, but he nods, grabbing Reese’s shoulder. Without another word, the guards disappear into the crowd. Searching the room, I follow the word as it’s passed, men pulling their weapons.
In the center of the dance floor, the gleam of a silver Glock shines, and I exhale. Death was never frightening, and I’ve met it head-on in previous fights. Alone, in a crowd, it makes no difference. I’m not afraid of what waits for me.
When a warm hand slides along my waist, and the scent of mint hits my nose, I smile. I might not be afraid to die, but with the Reaper at my side, I know it won’t happen.
He’ll keep death from me. I know this in my bones as assuredly as I know of his devotion to me.
A bullet fires over the room, somehow louder than all the other music, and time stops.