Royal Blood

by Victoria Renteria

  For a brief moment in time, I allow my grief to consume me, reveling in the mental pain and anguish. Closing my eyes, my breaths become labored as each memory pierces my already battered heart. Inhaling deeply, I exhale sharply before slowly opening my eyes. A sense of foreboding washes over me as I glare at the entryway. They say once you’ve made a decision you shouldn’t look back, that once you leave a place, you shouldn’t return.

  Yet, here I am once again, standing in front of the house that brought me so much pain a short time ago. Murky blackness shrouds the structure as cold, crippling shadows seep out from every corner. Clutching my hands together, I immediately think of every worst-case scenario possible. Shuddering, I tamp down the urge to flee as I look for signs of life within the darkness. It’s as if the very air has been decimated. All signs of life leech from existence, only shadows and darkness remaining.

  Gray clouds loom over the structure as if they too know its secrets and have vowed to cloak it in misery, shielding its darkness from the eyes of the world. Fear takes root in my veins as my heart races wildly, threatening to explode in my chest. My legs grow weak as the darkness I carry within me fights, clawing at my insides as if desperate to drag me into the depths of despair. I can’t do this, can I? Can I really walk right into this house of horrors as if nothing happened?

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

  If I can’t even get through this door, how am I going to make things right? Unable to contain the bottled up energy flowing through my veins a moment longer, I begin pacing the small sidewalk. Taking a sideways glance at the darkened entryway, I shudder at the gruesome memories of my time at Le Chateau de Torture. No. My head shakes of its own volition. I’m done.

  I will not allow her that power over me again. A smile creeps over my face as I realize I’ve just named her disturbing ass house the castle of torture. Straightening my spine, I stand tall and march toward the darkened house. Reaching the door, I pound on it several times and wait impatiently for someone to answer. What in the hell is going on? Leaning toward the window, I strain, narrowing my gaze, seeking anything to aid me in my quest.

  Finding nothing, I huff loudly, irritated with the outcome. “Screw this. You’ve come too far to give up now,” I grumble.

  Reaching for the doorknob, I give it a twist only to find it locked. Turning, I angrily fumble my way through the darkness. The turbulent beat of my heart can be felt against my breast as I slowly inch my way through the brush toward the back of the house. With each new step, my body tenses, unsure of what to expect when I eventually make my way inside. Rounding the corner my breath catches as I stop abruptly, taking in the sight before me. A lush private garden is nestled in the middle of a stone patio.

  The plush green terrace with blossoming trees and flowers looks oddly out of place next to the darkness oozing from the house. Massive stone planters line the pathway leading to the oasis, each filled with beautiful hibiscus of varying shades and colors. Each brightly colored flower is expertly illuminated with a single LED solar light to shed light on their radiant beauty. The darkness is brightened slightly by the LED lights methodically placed along the walkway leading to the terrace. Cobblestone pavers make up the pathway leading to the lush green foliage and beautiful cherry blossom trees. Finding my feet have a mind of their own, I move through the night toward the exquisiteness before me.

  The substantial cherry blossom trees intertwine with one another, overlapping to create a canopy that cloaks the small bench overlooking the koi pond. Vibrant, deep green Colocasia plants line the pond, creating a tiny alcove. Heart shaped leaves droop heavily as they strain forward, the tips of their leaves dipping into the water. Exhaling, I allow my eyes to roam freely and feel the serenity and peace flowing from the garden. Tranquility emanates from the oasis as I stare in bewilderment. A small seed of anger blossoms deep within my core.

  My teeth clench as heat rises, flushing through my body. Rage engulfs me as my eyes widen, the thick vein in my neck pulsing as realization finally dawns on me. My mother . . . No, my egg donor as Emma so blatantly put it must have spent most of her time relaxing peacefully, in her tranquil little garden while I was being tormented at the hands of her henchmen. Blinded by rage, I step forward and stumble over a loose stone. My nostrils flare wide as I snatch the stone up from the ground, gripping it tightly.

  A loud, angry cry bursts forth as I throw the stone across the oasis. The stone hits the trunk of the cherry blossom tree, shattering and falling to the ground into tiny pieces. A small laugh emerges as I stare at the remaining fragments of the stone scattered around the tree. The poor tree, it didn’t do anything, even if the crazy bitch did plant it. The cathartic release I’d found only moments ago flees as my anger returns with a vengeance.

  My gaze darts toward the darkened house. Scowling, I notice for the first time that the lights in the house are not on.

  “Dammit,” I swear under my breath.

  I really don’t want to have to come back later. I thought it might be therapeutic to come here. As if it would have some kind of magical healing properties and take away the pain it caused in the first place. Now, as I stand here glowering at the darkened doorway, I realize it doesn’t. Nothing can fix this broken feeling. I don’t know if I can ever be who I was before.

  An intense urge to burn the place to the ground damn near brings me to my knees. Inhaling deeply several times, I exhale heavily, forcing myself to walk to the door and knock. Waiting impatiently, I glower at the darkened door, silently reflecting whether or not I’m going have to try and break the damn thing down. The more time that passes, the stronger my urge to burn the place and its inhabitants become. Huffing loudly, I reach for the doorknob giving it a wiggle. The knob turns, and the door opens quietly.

  Taking a deep breath, I call out, “Anyone here?”

  My heart thumps wildly in my chest as I linger, my eyes scanning the darkness, waiting for someone, anyone to jump out at me. Entering the kitchen, I feel along the wall, blindly searching for the light switch, praying the damn thing works. With my arms thrust out in front of me, I shuffle forward several feet until a sharp stinging pain bursts along my side. “Fuck!” I yell, my hands automatically falling to my hip, desperately trying to rub the agonizing ache.

  Inhaling sharply, I resume my blind stumble across the kitchen, floundering in the darkness as my fingers run along the wall. Walking slowly forward, the cold tiles glide smoothly across my fingertips until I’m unable to push forward another inch. Using my index finger, I probe the end of the object giving me resistance, revealing the edges of a wall plate. Relief floods me as I fumble for the switch only to have it vaporize the moment the garbage disposal comes to life.

  “There has to be another switch around here somewhere,” I grumble angrily.

  “You mean like this one?” a deep voice asks in heavily accented English. Bright light instantaneously inundates the kitchen, blinding me. Squinting against the light, I blink furiously, trying to see who the voice belongs to.

  “Who are you?” I demand, the strength and anger in my voice surprising me.

  He chuckles but doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he widens his stance and bides his time silently watching me. As my eyes adjust to the sudden intrusion of light, I take in the man before me—his massive bulging arms, inky black hair, and legs the size of a small truck. Dark, calculating eyes seem to evaluate everything in the room. Noticing my perusal, he smirks, casually leaning against the wall.

  “You don’t have to be afraid. You can look all you like, little one.” Irritation fills me as I watch his grin continue to stretch.

  “You wish. Who in the hell are you?” I say, narrowing my eyes in his direction.

  His smile grows impossibly wider as he allows his heated gaze to roam over my body, devouring every inch. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you’re angry?” His accent grows thicker, becoming more pronounced with his lust.

  Snarling, I counter, “What’s it g
ot to do with you, huh? You didn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

  “Feisty, I like a woman with some fire in her. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get to know each other on a more intimate level?”

  “Come near me and I will cut your balls off and serve them to you on a silver platter for breakfast,” I grit out, steel edging its way into my voice.

  Wincing, he pats his groin sympathetically. “No need to threaten my manhood, 1Agassi. It was just a polite offer. You’re a very hard woman to resist.”

  “I’m taken. Now get on with it. Who the fuck are you?”

  His eyes narrow on my hands, no doubt in search of a ring. Even if the ring is absent, I’m still spoken for at heart. Finding no physical proof of my claim, he smiles and takes a step forward.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t really give a damn what you believe. Now are you going to answer my question? Or do I have to beat the answer out of you?”

  His dark eyes dance with mirth as he tosses his head back, a deep laugh permeating the air around us. “You’re quite the character. But I like it. You’re going to need that if you plan on succeeding.”

  Impatience seems to have become my new best friend. Previously, I might have taken a few moments to digest what he said, maybe try to work out the meaning on my own, or mull over the pros and cons, figure out what to do next. Now, all I can think about is: Why won’t he just spit it out already. Get. To. The. Fucking. Point.

  Poking my tongue lightly into my cheek, I inhale a long breath. Glancing at the source of my irritation, I exhale abruptly. My tone is forceful as I say, “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  The man’s eyes darken with amusement, his lips lifting slightly at the corners. “I spoke English, did I not? I would think you’d be able to figure that one out.”

  My cheeks burn hot, flushing with anger. Glowering, I take a step forward fully intending to take him down a peg or two with a quick kick in the balls when he stops me.

  Holding a hand out to halt my progression, he says, “Calm down, little one. You really have to get that rage under control. I can understand what Nari sees in you. It takes a lot to gain her trust, and you have it completely. That is something you must not take for granted. Many try and often walk away empty handed.”

  A frown creases my brow as I allow his words to sink in for several long moments. Nari? Who is this guy? All of the anger and irritation from earlier seems to drain away completely as question after question arises, taking its place. A small groan and tsking sound from his direction. Glancing up, I see a pained expression painted on his features as he clutches his chest in mock pain.

  “No! You must bring the feistiness back, little one. Confusion is not as sexy on you.” The mock expression of horror on his face would be comical if I weren’t actually annoyed.

  “Stop calling me little one. I have a name,” I snap.

  “Ah, there it is.” He sighs.

  “Do you ever give up?” I ask incredulously.

  “Depends. But with you . . . I just kind of like to see you squirm.” Winking, he shoots me a devilish grin.

  “Ahhh!” I yell. My irritation and anger at their limit, I stalk toward him, ready to pummel him for answers when he speaks.

  “All right, Kylee. You win.”

  His words stop me in my tracks. I’m frozen in place, wondering yet again who he is and how he knows so much. Unable to contain myself a moment longer, I begin with my barrage of questions.

  “Who are you, and how do you know my name? You mentioned Nari, how do you know her? Seriously, you better start talking because I am at the end of my patience level for the day. And there is no telling what I’ll do when there isn’t anything left . . .” My angry words trail off as I toss my arms over my chest, widening my stance, waiting impatiently for him to speak.

  Groaning, he waves a hand in my direction. “That really is sexy, woman. All that pent up anger and rage. Are you sure you don’t want to . . .”

  “Enough!” I scream.

  “Okay, Okay,” he says, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. Shaking his head, he releases a breath, placing his hands behind his back. With quick, concise movements, he begins pacing a small path in the kitchen. Ten steps forward, turn, ten steps back, repeat. After several passes, he finally speaks.

  “My name is IL-Seong. I am Nari’s partner. We have been working undercover in this ring for quite some time.” Stopping, he peers at me from the corner of his eye. After a moment, he resumes his pacing and continues.

  “You wanted to know how I knew your name, yes?” he asks, stopping to make eye contact with me once again. Nodding, I meet his fervent gaze.

  “It is impossible not to know the infamous Kylee Parker—the woman who essentially blew into this world and tore it apart. First, you were known as the child who got away—the only child to ever get away. It is important you should know that. Then you breeze in here like a summer wind and snuff out the most vicious woman in the crime world. And you did it while barely even breaking a sweat.” His gaze lands on mine, his eyes holding so much wonder and adoration that I feel the urge to retch.

  Is it truly possible that he believes this crap? I barely broke a sweat? He has clearly built up some image of me in his head that’s like Wonder Woman. I hate to break it to this poor idiot, but Wonder Woman was awesome, and I am her opposite in every sense of the word.

  Shaking my head, my voice is full of sadness as I reply, “You’re wrong. I broke more than a sweat and lost more than you could ever imagine. The only reason I am even going back is to prevent it from happening to someone else.”

  His expression changes, transforming to a solemn look. “I understand—”

  Before he is able to get another word out, I cut him off mid-sentence. “No. You don’t understand, and I don’t expect you to. So do not try to placate me and pretend you know what I went through, because you don’t. I don’t need your sympathy or your pity. And despite what you or anyone else may think, I sure as hell do not want it. So if you’d please just stick to the facts. Tell me who you are and what the fuck is going on.”

  Internally, I cringe at the harshness of my tone. I don’t regret the words only the manner in which I rushed to say them. I breathe a small sigh of relief when IL-Seong smiles at my tirade.

  “Nari was right. You really are perfect.”

  “What does that mean?” My curiosity rears its ugly head again.

  “It means that in order to take over as the head of the 2Kkangpae, you will need to be fearless. That anger and rage will serve you well. You will not be welcomed with open arms by all into the syndicate. There are those who will test you at every turn. Some will test your loyalty; others will test your bravery. And then you will have the ones who will just try to kill you. The point is, Kylee, they will try to show any weakness you have. Therefore, you must not let them; you must remain in control at all times. You mustn’t let your anger control you. You must control it. Allow it to drive you and give you the power to rise above them all and do the job that needs to be done.” IL’s eyes blaze with fire, the passion and intensity of his work at the forefront lighting the way.

  As the meaning of his words slowly register in my foggy brain, I begin to realize the task that I’ve delved into without a thought. Shit. I didn’t exactly plan this out. Swallowing, I raise my gaze to meet IL-Seong’s. My voice is surprisingly steady as I say, “I don’t even know where to begin. I came here looking for her, and she clearly isn’t here. It’s a little difficult not to let that frustration take over.”

  A knowing grin lights up IL’s face. “Not to worry, little one. That’s what you have me for. I’m here to tell you everything you need to know, including where to find your dear darling mother.”

  “You mean egg donor,” I correct, a feral grin stretching across my face.

  This is perfect. Exactly what I need to get this party started. Let’s hope that I can kill all of these birds with one stone. Get in
, get out, and get home. I really would like to return to Alex someday, that is if he will still have me.

  * * *

  1 is the term for young lady in Korean

  2 is the South Korean Mafia or Street Gang

  THE FAMILIAR EBB AND FLOW of guilt worms its way into my conscience as I toss a sideways glance at the phone buzzing on the dashboard. A picture of Cooper hanging off the back of a Humvee flashes on the screen bringing with it the uncomfortable reality of my present circumstances. Fidgeting, I unbutton the top button of my shirt and shudder in relief as the phone falls silent. Cooper’s call finally goes to voicemail.

  “You’re such a pussy, Grant,” I mutter under my breath.

  The truth is I really am, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do what needs to be done. To the outsider looking in, it appears like a simple thing, turning off a phone. Pressing and holding the button to power down the device. Yet, as I sit here catching an occasional glimpse of the phone on the dashboard, I can’t bring myself to do it because, despite everything, I’m not just turning off a device. I’m cutting ties with my unit—with my brothers.

  Pushing away the men who have taken bullets for me, men who had stood by me when no one else would, and believed in me when there wasn’t anything left to believe in, made my heart ache knowing that I have to sever all ties with Cooper, Sam, and Brighton. They’ve been by me through thick and thin, and we’ve never been out of contact. The phone buzzes rapidly, sliding off the dash and onto the floor.

  With a groan, I lean forward, retrieving the device as Brighton’s and his sister, Phoebe’s, faces continuously light up the display. Sighing, I toss the phone on the seat and pick up my night vision binoculars. My gaze roams over the devil’s whorehouse. Inwardly, I chuckle. It’s the perfect name for Kylee’s mother’s house. Not that you could call that monstrosity a house.

  More like a damn three-story fortress. The entire home is surrounded by enormous stone walls with armed guards stationed along the wall for security. Massive wrought iron gates are the only point of entry to the castle-like fortress the she-devil has secluded herself in. The buzzing on the seat stops bringing my attention back to the seat beside me. Scrubbing a hand down the back of my neck, I shoot a glance at the phone. Brighton and Phoebe’s smiling faces fade to nothingness as the screen goes dark.