Page 19 of Envy

“I tried, man, but he’s transporting a large batch of bitches. Says he can’t make it sooner.”

My grip on the phone tightens as I tap into the simmering pool of anger always churning beneath the surface. The monster inside me stirs, perking up as if readying for a massacre.

“Robert Price. Thirty-four-year-old heroin addict with two children under the age ofthree.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, but I keep going.

“Listen up, Bobby. Can I call you Bobby?”

“No.”

“Because, you see, Bobby, this is the part where I’d normally threaten your family or girlfriend. But since you’ve abandoned the mothers of your children, refused to pay child support, or even apply for visitation, I’m going to threaten the one thing in your miserable existence youdocare about—your drugs.”

“Don’t do that, man, come on,” Bobby pleads, his voice rising. “Shane gets here when he gets here. I don’t have anything to do with it.”

“Tsk, tsk,” I say in a falsely cheery voice. “Don’t sell yourself short. You can accomplish anything with the right motivation. Lucky for you, I’m here to provide it.”

“Fuck you,” he snaps, and my demon smiles.

“Ah-ah. Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.”

I enunciate each word, letting the haunting chill of my voice bleed through the line until I can practically taste the fear thickening the air around him.

“I don’t give a fuck about Shane’s current shipment or prior commitments. I expect a meeting with the head of the southern circuit by the end of the week.”

“And if I don’t?” he asks.

A deep chuckle rumbles from Erik as Mavros cracks his knuckles. Dominic, Adrian, and Bane stay close, their eyes gleaming with anticipation, listening, waiting for the green light.

I grin. I fuckinggrinlike the maniac I am, because Bobby just made a fatal error—he questioned my ruthlessness.

I let the silence stretch. Long enough to hear Bobby’s breath hitch and thecrunchof gravel beneath his boots.

“I’m holdingyouresponsible, Bobby. If Shane doesn’t show, I’ll come find you. Understood?”

“… Yes,” he mutters, the bravado from moments ago long gone.

“Yeswhat?” I snap.

“Yes fucking sir,” he barks. “But Shane’s not gonna like?—”

I end the call. My gaze shifts to Noctis. “Monitor him. Trace his calls. Once contact is confirmed for Shane?—”

Mavros’s grin spreads wide, looking every bit like the snarling red bear tattooed across his back. “I’ll handle it.”

I nod once, letting my gaze sweep over my brothers. Not for the first time, I wish we could move faster. Every second these trafficking circuits operate, someone is taken. Their bodies used over and over again until their minds break, their spirits shatter, and the drugs they’re force-fed finally claim them.

If wetrulywere Princes of Hell, I’d craft a special place for men like that. I’d savor every method of punishment. Delight in the infinite ways I could bring their souls to the brink of insanity. Make them bleed. Make themfeelevery moment of terror they’ve inflicted. And when they think it’s over—when death comes like a mercy—I’d heal them just to start again.

I’ve painted fantasies like that. Captured the blackness they leave behind. But the canvas I finished this afternoon is something else. Something unleashing the dangerous path my thoughts have taken. It’s another slash of color across a black void. It started with the same routine strokes, the same dull tones I always reach for. Painting is supposed to be a release, a way to reflect the hollowness inside me.

But lately…

God, lately it’s beenher.

In each caress of my brush. In the pounding beat of my withered heart. In every thought—every fucking breath—Evie’s there. She’s slithered beneath my skin and taken up residence in my marrow. I feel her everywhere, always. Taunting. Tempting.Fucking consuming.

And the thought of one of these bastardstakingher, stealing her light, and throwing her into that darkness?—