Page 10 of Silent Schemes (Broken Blood)

He moves faster than I expect, closing the distance, and slamming his shoulder into the booth.

It cracks, then gives.

I go down, lose the gun.

Sienna is still on her knees, but he ignores her, comes for me.

He grabs me by the collar, hauls me upright, slams my head against the wall. “A life for a life,” he growls.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I spit blood in his face and knee him between the legs, but he doesn’t go down.

He headbutts me, and I see stars.

The next part is slow-motion.

Matteo draws a knife—curved, ugly, designed for gutting more than stabbing.

He presses it to my cheek, opening a thin line of blood.

Behind him, Sienna rises.

Her eyes are on the gun at my feet, but her hands are empty.

Matteo digs the blade in deeper. “You think you can just take from me?”

I let my body go slack, dead weight, and knee his shin.

It’s enough to make him stumble.

He turns, ready to finish me, but Sienna is already in motion.

She moves like a viper.

Her hands come up, and there’s the glint of metal, my straight razor, the one she stole from my bathroom.

She flicks it open and slashes at Matteo’s forearm.

He howls, dropping the knife, and swings at her.

She ducks, sweeps his leg, and he goes down hard.

Damn, she’s fast.

She grabs her gun in a split second.

The wounded henchman tries to get a bead on us, but Will appears out of nowhere, empties a full clip into the guy’s chest.

He doesn’t even scream, just gurgles and dies.

Matteo claws for his gun, but Sienna is on him, the gun pressed to his forehead.

She could end it right there.

I can see the calculation in her face: Do it, or don’t.

But instead, she leans in and whispers something in his ear.

He freezes.

His eyes go wide.

Then she smiles and pulls the trigger.

Sienna stands, breathing heavy, blood spattered on her neck and arms.

She meets my gaze, deadly calm.

“You used your last bullet on him,” I say.

She wipes a drop from her cheek. “He was louder than you. Don’t let it go to your head.”

We survey the carnage.

At least ten bodies, glass everywhere, the club a total loss for the night.

I sit, let the blood seep into my clothes, and watch Sienna as she checks the bodies for weapons.

She strips them, lines up the guns on the bar.

At least the guests got out. The ones that didn’t get shot anyway.

I stifle a chuckle.

Owning half the city has its perks.

Easy enough to manipulate the cops and the papers into believing whatever I want out in front of the public.

Will walks over, limping, a bullet crease on his calf.

He takes in the scene, then looks at me. “You’re both insane.”

“Probably,” I say.

Sienna grabs a cloth napkin, wipes her hands. She looks at me, hard, then tosses the razor onto the table.

“I could have killed you,” she says.

“But yet again, you didn’t,” I reply.

She shrugs, but her mouth twitches at the corner.

I pour three glasses of whiskey and push one to Will, one to her.

She takes it, slugs it back. “What now?”

Now? Now we rebuild, we retaliate, we reset the board.

But I don’t say that.

Instead, I watch the way her hands shake, just a little, before she forces them still.

I say, “Now we clean up.”

And she smiles, blood in her teeth.

An hour later, the Black Serpent is a butcher shop with a jazz soundtrack.

The staff moves through the carnage like they’ve been trained to, scooping glass, dragging bodies, spraying the marble with so much disinfectant you could drown in the lemon scent.

I’ve already called in some favors, and all is good.

No one will look any further into what happened here.

No real loss.

Sienna sits on the bar, legs crossed, reassembling an Uzi she lifted from one of the dead.

Her long legs are splattered in blood, but it only makes my cock harden.

She’s fucking stunning when she’s deadly.

The front doors swing open, and my brothers walk in.

Korrin is first—six-one, shaved head, boots that leave a trail of mud even on a clean floor.

He’s got a hunting knife on his belt and a .38 tucked in his waistband, but the real weapon is the way he looks at people.

Like he’s already imagining their flesh on a slab.

Cyrus follows, his suit impeccable as always.

Hair slicked back, glasses perched just so, and hands folded behind his back.

He’s scanning the scene before him.

Korrin locks eyes with Sienna, then with me. “What the fuck, Varrick.”

I take the drink from Sienna’s hand and finish it. “Nice to see you too, brother.”

He gestures at the mess. “You having a sale on funerals or something?”

Sienna slides off the bar, lands in front of Korrin, a deliberate invasion of space. “You must be the muscle.”

He grins, showing the cracked tooth he never bothered to fix. “You must be the problem.”

She laughs. It’s not a warm sound.

Cyrus steps between them, as if he’s afraid they’ll kill each other before breakfast. “Let’s talk, Varrick. Upstairs.”

I wave Sienna off. “Go clean up. Or don’t.”

She gives a little bow, mocking, and vanishes into the staff corridor.

Korrin glares after her, then at me. “She’s a fucking liability, Varrick.”

“Not as much as you think,” I say.

He shakes his head, stalks to the elevator.

We ride in silence, the mirrored box reflecting our differences: Korrin in black leather, me in bloodstained navy, Cyrus in pressed gray.

We look like a before-and-after ad for criminal evolution.

The office is minimalist: steel desk, wall of maps, nothing personal except the row of antique knives in a glass case.

I close the door, flick the lock.

Korrin doesn’t sit.

He paces, knife already out, clapping it against his palm.

The big scar on his throat flushes red when he’s pissed.

Cyrus takes the chair, ankles crossed, attention on the map of Vancouver’s underbelly. “What happened?”

I lean on the desk. “Rosetti came to kill me. He failed. Sienna finished the job.”

Korrin spits on the floor. “You trust her now?”

“No,” I say. “But I trust what she wants.”

Cyrus looks up, sharp. “You think you can turn her.”

I shrug. “I think I can use her.”

Korrin plants the knife point-down in the wood. “You’re fucked, man. She’s Cross’ blood. You know what that means.”

“It means she wants to kill me,” I say. “So do half the people in this city. Doesn’t make her special.”

“She’s not half the people in this city,” Korrin snaps. “She’s Cross’ heir. She’s trained. She’s a viper.”

I smile. “So are we.”

Cyrus steeples his fingers. “Strategic value if you flip her. Suicide if you fail. Which way you leaning?”

I look at the map.

Six new power shifts in the last week alone.

The city is a chessboard, pieces shifting faster than anyone can track.

“I want her on a leash,” I say. “Long enough to see which way she runs. If she comes for my throat, I’ll handle it.”

Korrin snorts. “Let me handle it. One night. No witnesses. Body will never be found.”

I shake my head. “No. She stays alive until I say otherwise.”

He glares, jaw flexing. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“Never do,” I say. “That’s why I win.”

Cyrus points at a zone on the map. “She could get to our father. To the others. You ready for that?”

“I’m counting on it,” I say.

The silence is heavy.

Korrin finally pulls the knife free, wipes the blade on his jeans. “You’re in charge,” he says. “But when she stabs you, don’t expect me to save your ass.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say.

He storms out, slamming the door so hard the glass knives rattle.

Cyrus lingers, eyes bright. “You actually like her.”

I stare him down. “Don’t mistake usefulness for weakness.”

He smiles, thin as wire. “Whatever you say.”

He leaves.

I sit in the office, pulse still jacked, the echo of violence in my head.

When I finally come down, I go looking for her.

Sienna’s in the main bar, making small talk with Tracie.

“You could have run,” I say.

She doesn’t look up. “You could have died.”

I toss her a loaded clip.

She catches it, one-handed, slides it home with a click.

Then aims at my chest, finger on the trigger.

“Do it,” I say, wrapping my hand around hers, staring into her eyes.

It’s fascinating what I find there.

Flickers of admiration. Flashes of hatred. And a long flame of lust.

She holds the sight for a long time, then lowers the gun.

“Why didn’t you?” she asks.

“Why didn’t you ?” I counter.

She shrugs. “I like the game.”

I lean closer, voice a raspy murmur. “New game. First one to lose control loses everything.”

She meets my gaze, raising her chin. “I don’t lose.”

I believe her.

But I’m betting she’s wrong.