Page 11 of Royal Deception (Royals of the Underworld #2)

RORY

T he moment the words leave her lips, I’m taken aback, stunned into silence.

I never expected to hear that—especially not from Clary, of all people.

Most of my past partners were one-night stands, people I used and who used me in return, both of us just scratching an invisible itch. By the time we were done, that was it. Game over. No lingering attachments. No second rounds.

They didn’t look me in the eye and ask if we could make it a weekly occurrence.

But Clary’s different.

Of course she is. I should know that by now.

She stays quiet in my lap, warm and pliant, humming softly as if she knows I need space to process. She’s waiting for an answer, but she’s calm, not pushing for an answer. Not yet.

I run a hand down her back, grounding myself as I think. Do I want this? Can I let myself have more?

I’m used to being the one in control—setting the tone, deciding the pace, keeping things simple. Saying yes to Clary doesn’t feel simple. It feels like stepping over a line I can’t uncross. And yet, the idea of saying no leaves me restless, aching for something I can’t name.

Finally, I draw in a breath. “I need to think it over,” I say.

It’s not a no, but from the way her body tenses just slightly, lips pressed together like she’s holding back words, I know it’s not the yes she wanted.

Fuck . This thing between us is already rewriting the rules, whether I like it or not.

The next day, I’ve got a lunch meeting with Kellan. Even though we have important matters to discuss, my situation with Clary is still on my mind.

I meet Kellan at a quiet little Italian place. We’ve used this place for business meetings so often that the host takes us to our usual table in the back, already setting Kellan up with a glass of red and me with a whiskey, neat.

“You look like hell,” he says by way of greeting as we sit down.

“Same to you,” I say, taking a slug of my drink.

His mouth twitches in amusement. “How’s everything going with Veridex? I know Lucky was on your case about it, but I know we can handle any shit that comes our way.”

Exhaling through my nose, I grab the menu even though I get the same thing every time. “It’s fine. Everything is under control for now. But if the Russians decide they want to kick up a fuss, we’ll have a problem.”

Kellan nods, though he seems a little distracted. “You can handle it.” It’s not a question, and I appreciate that he doesn’t pussyfoot around, second-guessing my decisions.

As soon as we’ve put in our orders, we’re still making small talk about work but my mind drifts, still thinking about Clary and the events of the night before. “How do you do it?” I ask, the words coming out of nowhere before I can swallow them back down.

Kellan tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. “Do what, Rory?”

I chuckle, as though it’s not a question that’s been weighing on my mind but a casual observation. “Balance it all,” I answer with a vague gesture. “Darcy. The kids. This life. Our work.”

He leans back, watching me with a calculated look in his eyes.

“It takes work. Some days, it’s damn hard.

But I love Darcy and the kids. They make the hard days worth it.

” He smirks, as though getting a read on me, as though he’s figured out my angle.

“But I won’t lie to you, Rory. This life doesn’t make relationships easy.

You have to want it enough to fight for it. ”

Doubt creeps up on me as I think about the idea of fighting for this fragile little… thing between us, Clary and me. I nod, but the frustration lingers. Kellan says it’s hard, but looking at him, you’d never know it.

Kellan tilts his head slightly, studying me for a moment. “Is this about Clary?”

My shoulders lock up and my grip tightens on the glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, ignoring him to take another sip of my drink.

A chuckle escapes him and he shakes his head. “Sure, you don’t.”

I’m saved from answering when the waitress brings our food. Kellan still watches me but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod. He knows better than to poke at me.

But even as we shift back to business, our conversation lingers in my mind—just like Clary’s soft voice asking for more.

As I head back to the office, I try to clear my mind of everything to do with Clary, but it doesn’t seem to be working. At least, until I get a phone call and when I see Lucky’s name flash across the screen, my brain is wiped clean.

I grimace and press the phone to my ear, expecting bad news.

“Yeah?”

“Someone took a shot at Mark Veridan,” Lucky says flatly, tone clipped. My stomach sinks.

“And?”

“He’s alive,” Lucky informs me. “But we had a bodyguard on him. Danny. He didn’t… Fuck. He didn’t make it, Rory.”

Fuck.

Danny? Something tightens in my chest. Danny was one of my most trusted men. Always solid. Always loyal. He’d have taken a bullet for me, no question.

And now he’s gone because of a decision I made.

The thought sits heavy, pressing against my chest.

“Veridan safe now?” I ask, my voice even despite the storm brewing inside me.

“Yeah. Shaken up, but still alive. He knows what this means, though.”

“We all do,” I mutter.

A beat of silence, then Lucky’s voice drops lower. “What are we doing about this?”

I exhale, my grip tightening on the phone. I’ll be damned before I let Danny’s death be in vain. But I can’t rush this. Shit just got real.

“No one makes a move yet,” I warn, my voice steady despite the churning in my gut. “Not until we know exactly what their goal is. We can’t afford to pull the trigger prematurely.”

Too much is at stake. I close my eyes for a second as the pieces snap into place, making me realize that this wasn’t just retaliation. It was a warning.

We stepped into Russian affairs. Now, we’re the target. And Danny might not have just been collateral damage.

He was the message.

“Get me a secure location and bring Veridan. We need to have a little chat,” I say through clenched teeth.

An hour later, I walk up to one of our safehouses—a discreet spot where we store high-risk targets. Mark Veridan looks on edge as I walk into the sparse apartment. He’s seated on a couch but jumps up when I walk in.

I take my time surveying him. His suit is wrinkled, his tie loosened. Sweat beads along his temple. He looks like a man who’s just seen his life flash before his eyes.

“Glad to see you’re still breathing,” I remark, settling into the seat across from him.

Mark exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Daniel was a good man.”

A muscle in my jaw tics. “I know.”

He looks down before taking a deep breath and looking back up at me. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Didn’t you?” I counter, my voice even. “You hired us for protection, knowing damn well who you were running from.”

Mark flinches but doesn’t respond.

“Start talking, Veridan. No more half-truths, no more vague bullshit. Why are the Russians so eager to put a bullet in you?”

He hesitates, his gaze flickering toward the door like he’s weighing his options.

I let the silence stretch, let him stew in it. Then I sit back, exhaling sharply. “You keep wasting my time, and I’ll walk you out of here myself. Straight to Anatoly Volkov.”

That gets him. He snaps his head up, eyes wide with panic.

“You don’t understand,” he says, voice low. “I didn’t have a choice. When Veridex was still small, we needed funding. The banks wouldn’t touch us and investors weren’t biting. Then the Russians came along.”

My brows lift slightly. “You got in bed with Volkov?”

Mark shakes his head quickly. “Not him directly. At least, not at first. We thought we were dealing with some mid-tier backers, people who wanted a cut but would stay out of our business. But once we started turning a profit, the demands got bigger. More money, more favors. When I tried to cut ties…” He swallows hard. “They didn’t take it well.”

No surprise there. The Russians aren’t the type to take a loss gracefully.

“And you didn’t think this was something I should have known?” My voice is sharp now, cutting through whatever pitiful excuse he might offer.

Mark shakes his head, looking paler by the second. “I didn’t… I swear, I thought it was over. They went quiet for a while, and I thought they’d moved on.”

“The Russians never move on,” I say, getting into his face.

“Listen to me carefully. I don’t work with liars.

If you ever keep anything else from me from now on, if I find out you’re still hiding information that could get more of my men killed, let’s just say I’ll have no qualms about personally delivering you to Volkov myself. ”

Mark’s throat bobs as he swallows, his face as pale as a sheet. “Understood.”

I hold his gaze for a long moment, making sure he knows I’m not bluffing. Then I straighten.

“Good. I’m glad we can come to an understanding,” I say, giving him a jerking nod.

As I leave the secure safehouse, the night air feels thick and heavy, a reflection of all the shit we’ve been caught in lately.

Mark was a target. Our whole operation is a target now.

Danny is gone.

Dead because of me.

I should have handled this differently. I knew the whispers about Veridex, knew Mark had shady allies.

I should have dug deeper before getting into bed with him, but I let the promise of control cloud my judgment.

And now Danny’s dead because I didn’t ask the right questions.

Because I didn’t see the fucking noose tightening around us.

I slam the car door shut harder than necessary, gripping the wheel as I pull onto the road.

My mind churns, dissecting every choice, every misstep.

I wanted to blame Clary for not doing her job, but the truth is, I’ve stifled her at every turn, pushed her into a neat little box of what I deemed acceptable.

And when she didn’t step outside it, I lost my shit at her.

But she offered me control. That’s what she wanted—clear lines, clear rules. No emotions. No mess. Maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.

The thought settles, sinking deep into my bones. She could be an outlet, a way to siphon off some of the tension coiling tight in my chest. I exhale slowly, flexing my grip on the wheel. Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong.

This could work.

Having Clary as a tool at my disposal—one that benefits both of us—looks damn tempting from where I’m standing. And maybe it’s what she needs too. She’s got potential, but I’ve kept her under my thumb. Maybe this will push her, force her to grow in a way she wouldn’t otherwise.

By the time I get home, the decision is made. I bypass the kitchen, ignoring the urge to pour myself a drink, and head straight for my office.

I sit down, fingers hovering over the keyboard, letting the weight of it all sink in.

Then I start typing.