Page 8
8
NATHANIEL
I ’ve called Delicroux a handful of times on the way to the abandoned warehouse.
D took off without me, fury and rage filling his eyes because they have his wife. We found out her location after my best friend took it upon himself to kidnap and torture former allies until someone finally revealed where she was.
His head isn’t clear; we need a fucking plan. My hands bang against the dark leather steering wheel of his Bugatti in frustration.
I took his car. It’s fast, and I like it.
We’ve officially drawn the line in the sand. Sides picked, and I feel no regret or remorse over it. I’ve spent my entire life devoted to an organization because that’s what was expected of me. We are more powerful together than alone, my father would say. So, my blinders went on. I accepted my fate and gave myself to The Exiled. I went to law school for them so I was equipped for my role, which my father held prior, his father and his father’s father. A role I was prepared to have die with me.
Elijah doesn’t conform to others’ ideologies. He kills. He will do it for anyone at any time if they allow him complete freedom to play. And I never fought it.
Never did I expect it to go down like this.
A war.
The King has done terrible things to Delacroix and Cecilia. Things all out of spite because he married what was promised to the King’s son, Dalton.
Or has this been Dalton all along, as I’ve suspected?
And recently, my best friend was held up in the hospital because of them.
We have always known about rebel groups trying to destroy The Exiled and all the work we’ve done. I’ve always dismissed them. Ignored any reasoning they’ve tried to project on why we are “evil.”
Since Cecilia, though, I get it. The Antichrist has presented hard evidence that cannot be ignored. Hell Fire Night has always been sold as a rite of passage, an initiation for the upcoming generation.
But it’s all for show.
Brad, the King, and his merry men wanted the purest bloodlines taking over. Killing those in their way. And those people being our own members. Fellow Dukes and Duchesses, parents of the children who would one day initiate.
Children were left orphaned. For the sake of purity.
Those children include my brother by choice D and his wife.
Dalton is Cecilia’s cousin.
Speaking of, my eyes widen with excitement; his car is within sight.
I slam down on the accelerator in order to pass him, and as I do, I grip the handbrake and pull it. The car spins, and my tires squeal against the hard pavement as the car turns sharply to cut him off. He brakes just before the front end of his vehicle crushes the side of the Bugatti I’ve borrowed.
I follow, stopping but not getting out. Instead, I observe his tantrum.
D’s face is bright red as his chest heaves. He is yelling, but I tend to tune out my dear friend when he’s entered this state. Waving at him politely, I tell him, “I think I’ll stay right here, thank you,” knowing I’m only agitating him further.
Storming off, he isn't missing for long.
Nope, he comes back even more pissed. How exciting, he has his gun pointed at me. “Get out of the car, Sinclair,” he shouts like it’s an added scare tactic to make me obey him.
Chuckling to myself, he can be so dramatic. I wait briefly just to see how far he will go. Looking over once more, his eyes are bulging out of his head.
Best get to it then.
Opening the door, I get out. I grab my suit jacket on the way and stand; I adjust it and my slacks before walking around the car. My smirk remains. It keeps me from bursting out in laughter.
Leisurely, I come to stand before him. He’s like a ravaged animal.
Down boy.
“What good are you to your woman if you’re dead?”
He isn’t amused by my question. He is acting on impulse, not logic.
“We are nearly there. What is wrong with you?”
“I’ve always admired you for being strategic. But when are you going to use some common fucking sense?” I throw back at him. At the same time, I’m stepping closer to him. Before I’m able to finish speaking, I’m on D, trying to disarm him. As I swipe his pistol, he stumbles to the ground from being completely caught off guard.
Before I can slap him around a little, a vibration goes off in my pocket. Jumping to my feet, I don’t bother assisting Delacroix up. I’ll let him wallow a moment longer. As I see the message on my phone, my heart drops and my face pales. I can feel my body slouch forward as I watch in disbelief.
Graphic photos and videos of Cecilia are staring back at me. She’s naked, bloodied, and bruised with a message informing me,
UNKNOWN
Times Up.
The fuck it is.
Faintly you can see she’s encaged like a goddamn animal.
D can never see this.
“Where’s your phone?” I ask as he brushes the dust off his pants.
Looking at me, confused, I catch a glimpse of it on his passenger seat. Rushing past him, I push him down once more. Behind me I can hear vulgarities being shouted, but I don’t care. He can’t see this.
Opening the passenger side door, I snag his phone, dropping it to the ground, then stomping on it with my boot.
“Why the fuck did you do that for?”
Looking back over at him, I say, “I need your head in the game. Emotions aside, because there’s no going back for us.”
We are a mile away from the warehouse when an army of blacked-out Range Rovers approach and park around us. Elijah didn’t wait for me before leaving early, and as a door opens on one of the Rovers, he jumps out, wearing all black with his bat in hand.
That’s my fucking boy.
Clasping my hands together, with my own gun tucked away in my holster harness, I walk over to Elijah, placing my hand on his shoulder and reaching for my phone with the other. Using my body as a shield, I make it seem like I’m talking to Elijah privately when I’m really showing him what was just sent to me.
“Understood,” is all he responds with.
Emotions. Feelings. To give two fucks about anything, it isn’t really in him.
The real motive for showing him is to amplify his hunger to kill. He gets the mission.
Shouting can be heard from behind me. “Let’s move out.”
The rest of the crew prepares, equipped with everything we need for the rescue.
A thick tree line surrounds the warehouse, and we all make our way over. Hiding behind the brush, we are sitting ducks. He could have this place rigged—one wrong move, dead.
With a few hand singles made, everyone moves out, staying in the shadows to the best of our abilities. Reaching the door, my son, the one-man A team, kicks it in, and it flies open.
“Yes, son. Well done,” I praise with excitement, knowing exactly how much he hates it. Elijah’s body flinches as I follow behind him.
It’s quiet and dark. Unsettling.
Following my son, I’m on alert, watching for any sudden movement. We don’t make it far before a body is seen on the floor—a commoner from Cecilia’s protective detail. Shit.
D is the first to act. Crouching down, he tears the stapled note off the bloodied shirt.
Darian, enjoy your gift.
He passes it off to me, but I don’t care to have possession of it and let it flutter to the ground.
Elijah walks farther in, looking for any sign of Cecilia or Dalton and his crew. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is really fucking off. Then, in that exact moment, a droplet of red splatters onto D’s shoulder. We both look at each other, confused, as another drops.
Looking up, I’m lost for words.
Seconds feel like minutes.
My brain finally registers what my eyes see.
“Holy mother of God.” I’m horrified.
Chaos ensues, and a member of the team yells, “Someone get something to bring her down, NOW!”
Cecilia’s hair hangs down toward us. Her body, naked, battered, and bruised, is hung upside down from the rafters, attached to a cross.
Then, all at once, time speeds up, bodies are racing around me, and my mind and vision become focused.
“Elijah! Search the place. If any of his men have been left behind, interrogate, then kill. Understood?” I shout at my son, who, for once, looks shocked at the scene before him.
He nods then takes off, bat swinging while whistling a tune.
Cecilia is lowered, D is bent down, broken, and looking for any sign of life. It doesn’t look good as her head rolls to the side. I crouch next to him, moving her blonde hair away from her face. “I’m so sorry.” There is no way she’s alive.
Darian rises and finds the commoner, who is still lying unconscious on the floor. Rage is released as loud roars echo. No one stops my best friend as he beats the commoner to death. Kicking him relentlessly, then moving to his skull. By the time he is done, brain matter is splattered all around.
Elijah comes back and takes in the destruction, looking over to D, and casually says, “Use the heel of your boot next time, gets it done quicker.”
Only my fucking kid.
I move my fingers to check for a pulse one last time before I stand. I stop breathing and wait, pressing down firmly on her neck.
No.
“We have a pulse!” I yell in shock. “She’s alive.”
Paramedics are already rushing in. Darian races over and joins them as they take her out on the gurney.
I stay behind with Elijah and the others Greta sent from the Antichrist.
“I found something over here, Dad,” Elijah says, grabbing my attention.
Nodding, I follow him as he leads, but before I see it, he points to the wall with his bat— KING is written in blood on one of the warehouse walls, with Cecilia’s blood, I presume.
“Brad has to be dead. This motherfucker is getting his dick hard taunting us.”
Since Darian and Cecilia married, we’ve been Dalton’s number one target. His dad promised her to his son. Which is why my gut is saying he killed his dad. A false promise. Dalton has an ego and a hot head. Has always been reactive and hard to contain.
And since Darian married, it appears his missus has been associated with the rebel group, the Antichrist, who lives to take The Exiled down. Which, by default, we have gotten to know better. Dalton’s taken notice.
Where D goes, I go. So when I say we, I fucking mean it.
Thomas rushes over to me, his face looking frantic. “Duke. I’ve just received word that Dalton appointed a new chief of police. One of his own men.”
Keeping calm, I absorb what he’s just told me and try to put together all the pieces. What is this little shit up to? He has completely broken protocol. I appoint chiefs and judges; the Sinclairs have been responsible for this for half a century. For as long as The Exiled has been in existence.
Dalton is now publicly declaring war on his own people. Perhaps he didn’t like how we covered up the murder at the cabin; was that meant to be his public display as well?
This could ruin everything we have worked toward and invite worry and fear within the townspeople, but he’s too high on power to realize the reality of the situation.
Smirking, I rub my hands together.
Elijah begins laughing.
Thomas is confused, too innocent to realize what’s going through our heads.
We will fucking destroy his prepubescent army of assholes. This motherfucker doesn’t stand a chance. We won’t make a show of it. He won’t see it coming. Just when all seems safe is when you should be the most scared.
Pulling my phone out, I dial Rogers and put it on speakerphone. “Everything we know on my desk by sunrise. Do you fucking hear me?”
His response is immediate. “Absolutely, Duke.”
My mind flashes back to Rylee, who's still at my house. The Antichrist had been hiding and taking care of Cecilia, hoping Dalton got bored and hopefully moved on.
I’m positive Rylee knows nothing about the side hustle her grandmother operates. She seemed far too confused earlier when I mentioned Greta’s instruction to stay put.
“Make sure Greta is present,” I add before hanging up.
Looking out the window of Cecilia’s hospital room, I let out a deep sigh and rest my hands in my trouser pockets. Cecilia is in rough shape, dehydrated, and covered in lacerations. Bruises are prominent on her face, and her blonde hair is stained in red, but she is going to be okay.
D comes to stand next to me and mumbles something barely audible. He’s exhausted. Dark circles surround his eyes, and sadness fills the lines on his face.
I don’t respond or ask for him to repeat himself. I’m not nervous about what I’m about to say, but concerned he is too tired to fully understand the implications of those words.
My breathing becomes heavier.
I can see Cecilia sleeping in the hospital bed in the reflection of the glass. Rage is coursing through my body. She’s collateral damage to decisions we’ve made as members of The Exiled.
But my decision is made.
“Let’s kill the King.”