Page 29

“We’re here,” Iris’s voice called out.

If Atlas was king, Iris was queen of our twisted kingdom. Her spine was forged with steel, her soul blackened with the heinous deeds she’d done to expand our power.

“You understand why you are here?” Atlas boomed.

“I do.”

And I would do it again.Hell, I was planning to disobey and go after the bratva princess once more before she walked down the aisle.

Why I hadn’t left the other day, why I hadn’t left any of the days between, well...there were excuses I didn’t care to examine too closely.

“When our ancestors came here, there were twelve men from our village who stood up to corruption. They fought and bled to keep our people safe. We carry on their vision, as our fathers did. Twelve of us co-rule this legacy, each with the same authority and voice as the others. When we decide something as a group, we expect the rest to obey,” Atlas said, voice dripping with command.

“Spare us the lecture,” I grumped. “I disobeyed. I accept my punishment.”

“You lack contrition, as usual,” Indigo snorted. “Typical.”

I pinned her with a look. “I knew the consequences when I acted.”

“And still you chose to do whatever the hell you wanted,” Iris said. If I didn’t know any better, that sounded like admiration in her voice.

She was right. I always did what I wanted. While they were the Twelve, I was the lone wolf in our pack.

They didn’t want to force their way into the East Coast markets. They were content to find a way to negotiate. I was the only one brave enough to force the kings of the East to accept our presence—and solve my own problem in the same swift stroke.

So what if my first attempt failed? I wasn’t done fighting for the future I wanted.

Ajax shifted, nudging Zephyr. “Get him good.”

“Twelve times twelve,” Atlas decreed. Since I couldn’t deliver my share of the punishment, Atlas would dole out the double portion. “As per our rules.”

“As per our rules.” I knelt, fisting my hands at my side. Sailors often were given three hundred strokes in the olden days. A hundred and forty-four was nothing.

The cat o' nine tails whistled through the air. My back shivered under the impact. One lash. I counted silently, teeth clenched against the burning sensation spreading across my back. Age-old scars quivered under the force, and my skin screamed in protest. But nothing done to my body could compare to the pain those scars inflicted on the inside. I was broken, a lost boy, and now, a monster in living, mottled flesh.

Zephyr had always been efficient with the whip. No hesitation, no mercy—just the cold precision our enforcer was known for. Two, three, four. The strikes came rhythmically, each one beating into flesh already mapped with scars from horrors meant to end me. Not that those had been inflicted by my peers.

No...my history was darker. It robbed me of hearth and home, stole my family, and sent me to sail aimlessly into a bleak and hopeless future.

“You should have stayed away from her,” Iosif muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Your plans weren’t worth this.”

So young. He was my cheerleader until the price for my transgressions needed to be paid. Now he questioned his resolve. And if I hadn’t acted....

Then I wouldn’t have accidentally delivered Serena to you, puppy.

I refused to give him the satisfaction of a response. Five, six. The pain blossomed, hot and familiar. I’d been here before—body pushed to the edge by pain. I survived that. I came back stronger, tearing down the enemies.

The eleven faces around me weren’t my foes. I wasn’t sure if that made this punishment harder or easier to bear. Either way, when this was done, I would be stronger for it.

By the time Zephyr finished, sweat dripped from my brow, mingling with the blood running down my spine. I fixed my gaze on the spot where my soup rested. The rest would take their turn.

The key was to detach my mind from the present. Fortunately, that was something I was quite good at. Time lost all meaning. The whistle and crack faded into the distance. My body refused to surrender, my mind shut out any physical protest.

Twelve lashes each—and twenty-four from the king. My back was a canvas of agony, but I remained kneeling, unmoved. The air around me smelled of iron and salt—my blood, my sweat.

“Stand,” Atlas commanded when the final lash had been delivered.

I rose slowly, muscles screaming in protest. My vision blurred momentarily, but I blinked it away. Weakness wasn’t tolerated among the Twelve. I locked my knees and refused to teeter.