White Rabbit: The Rise (The Kingmaker Saga Book 1)

by London Miller

  She made a decision for herself and told Katherine the truth.

  I choose him.

  Another day, she might have been pleased by the audible sound of the door closing, signaling Uilleam’s return, but not today.

  This time, she only felt … worry.

  Anxiety.

  Fear.

  Because she knew, just as she’d known the night before when they’d wound up in bed together, that nothing was ever going to be as it had been before Paris. Back when their biggest obstacle had been a man who’d murdered his mistress.

  He didn’t stop walking until he reached the bar cart across the room and poured himself a healthy amount of whiskey into his glass, drinking it down without needing to take a breath. Even as his face twisted up at the burn of it, he still poured another. This one, he drank a little more slowly.

  She was almost afraid to ask him what had happened in the time he’d been gone. Whether he had found an answer to his looming problem. But she didn’t.

  Merely staring at him standing across the room, she wondered what would come next.

  He strolled over to her, glass in hand, his gaze briefly flickering to the TV she had playing in the background just to have some noise in his suite. “Anything of interest?”

  She shook her head.

  Even if there had been, that would be the last thing she wanted to discuss. Not after everything he had told her the night before.

  It didn’t matter that they were now in a hotel in the middle of the city instead of her apartment, or that it was more secure, she couldn’t forget.

  Not only would Gaspard be in the city—this city—but Uilleam also fully intended on killing him.

  On making him answer for cutting their time together in Paris short.

  All night and morning, it was the only thing she could think about. And what made it worse was that Uilleam didn’t seem to understand why she was nervous.

  Why the thought of him acting prematurely made her worry.

  “Why?” she asked, feeling as if her heart was mere seconds from beating out of her chest.

  She wished she could identify the emotion running rampant inside her, but she couldn’t put a name to it. The only thing she could do was feel, even if it felt as if she was being torn up inside. “Why me?”

  Never had she seen the look of frustration that crossed his face before. Uilleam didn’t get frustrated. He was always in control of everything and everyone around him.

  But not now.

  “Is this really a conversation we need to have now?” he asked, his irritation leaking through.

  Ah, she knew that tone of voice. The one that said she needed to back off before he snapped. Before he reminded her why so many people feared and revered him.

  “I won’t give you a second chance to have it.”

  He looked as if he wanted to argue further, or better yet, avoid the conversation entirely, but whatever he saw in her face right then caused him to walk over to her, standing so close that she could see the golden flecks in his dark eyes.

  “You have nothing to fear. I—”

  “Me, Uilleam Runehart. Why did you pick me?”

  “Because you didn’t break,” he hissed back at her, his hand slapping down against the wall next to her head. “You didn’t run and hide or beg like a child. You smiled at the challenges. You walked headfirst into them without a second thought.” He sighed, his brow furrowing. “As delicate and beautiful as porcelain, but you refused to break. How could I not choose you?”

  Those words drifted into her heart and planted themselves there. She knew how impossible it was to feel what she did for a man like him. Someone who had shown her how ugly the world could be, but he’d also shown her how marvelous it was at times.

  These past few months had completely turned her world upside down.

  Changed everything she thought she knew, and she had him to thank for it.

  “Then you know that I won’t stand here and let you do something stupid that will get you killed.”

  That quickly, the mask fell back into place. “I have it all under control.”

  She couldn’t help but wonder if he truly believed that … or if he didn’t have a choice. “What happens after?”

  “We move on and—”

  “Uilleam, please. We both know better than that.”

  This time, she wasn’t asking for pleasantries or clever words. She wanted the truth. She was worried, even if he wasn’t.

  “Karina—”

  “Let’s say it happens as you say,” she went on before he could finish. “By the end of your meeting with him, you get exactly what you want. Gaspard dies. You have to know there will be a price to pay for that.”

  “There’s a price to pay for everything, didn’t you know.”

  “Now you’re being deliberately obtuse.”

  “What would you have me do, hmm?”

  “Not go out there and get yourself killed, for starters.”

  “That’s not telling me anything.”

  “I’m just saying there’s another way!” she snapped, annoyed that he seemed intent on misunderstanding what she was trying to tell him, and annoyed by how difficult he was being.

  Something changed then.

  Not just with his demeanor, but in the way he held himself as he pushed off the wall and took a step away from her. It was as if he turned into an entirely different person.

  “And this clever way you presume to know so much about. What exactly do you expect to come of that? Do we all sit in a neat little circle, discuss our grievances, and go on about our business? Do I have that correct?”

  “I suspect there won’t be a legion of Gaspard’s men pissed off and wanting to kill you if you take out their boss.”

  “What is life without a little war?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I suspect it’s like whatever you were feeling when they nearly killed you in Paris.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. A testament to his darkening mood, but if he thought that was going to deter her, he clearly didn’t know her very well.

  “And it wasn’t just you, was it? It’s not just your life that would be on the line for the choices you make. Or do you truly believe I’m stupid enough to think you had Skorpion bring me home personally because you were feeling chivalrous …”

  “If you think that if I spare his life there won’t be any repercussions, you’re not nearly as intelligent as I thought you were. But I find I’m often blinded by those closest to me.”

  She had always figured he was good at cutting with his words, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

  “Yet I’m intelligent enough to know that you’re a dead man if you kill someone who everyone knows you hate. Are you sure your endgame can handle that, Uilleam? Do you truly believe you’re smarter than every single person in the world? Because even if you were, unless you’re tracking every single member in his organization at all times and you have the security of a fucking army, someone will get close to you, and guess what? I don’t want to fucking bury you.”

  Uilleam stared at her for a long while, and with each passing second, his irritation faded.

  “I’m … sorry,” he said a moment later.

  It sounded rusty coming from him, as if he didn’t make it a point to apologize to anyone, but the fact that he uttered those two words was enough for her.

  “He should answer for what he did to you,” she said more gently, stepping closer to him. “But find another way. I don’t … I don’t want to lose you, Uilleam. Not right now. Not ever.”

  Not when she had only just gotten him.

  Not when she had decided to keep him and forsake everything else.

  40

  Spark

  Gripping the handrail, Uilleam stood on the balcony outside of his bedroom, staring down at the city below him.

  He should have been at peace. He knew what needed to be done—he even had a solution to ensure he got everything
he wanted in the end—but instead of peace, he only found more questions.

  For once in his long life, he was doubting himself.

  All because of her.

  Karina.

  His poppet—his bane.

  Even as he wanted to dismiss her words of caution—he would have already done so had it been anyone else—but because it was her, because he cared what she thought of him, her warning had lingered with him.

  Playing over and over again in his thoughts until he had no choice but to actually consider what she had said.

  Gaspard deserved to die—he deserved everything Uilleam had planned for him and more … but did he truly need to die now?

  Was his death truly worth the hell that would be rained down upon him?

  He might have put up a good front when Karina had asked as much, but he knew that Gaspard’s organization was legion.

  If he was half the man Uilleam expected him to be, he would have safeguards in place that ensured should he die, someone would not only take over his position, but his death would be avenged.

  He had to find a way to circumvent that.

  Three dots flickered on the screen, ringing for several moments before tapering off again.

  A part of him was almost afraid that Carmelo wouldn’t answer. That he would have to find the answer for himself, even if time wasn’t on his side. But as he was about to ring off, the screen went black before it lit up with color once more, the Italian’s face taking up much of the screen.

  Carmelo took one glance at him and shook his head, appearing far too amused. “You are your father’s son, as they say. He never knew when to die either.”

  Usually, Uilleam would have a ready response—it wasn’t as if this was the first time he had ever heard those words—but in his current mindset, he couldn’t think of anything else but the task at hand.

  “I need your help,” he said instead, leaning back in his desk chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

  Carmelo nodded once. “What can I do to help?”

  “How do I kill a man who can’t be killed?”

  The question seemed to stump him as he blinked once, considered the question a moment, then blinked again. “Speak English.”

  The only problem with that was he didn’t know how to explain his intentions.

  Killing was easy—that would solve his problem on a more permanent basis. But it would cause more problems than he currently needed.

  And while he might have been back in the game, he still wasn’t at one-hundred percent. His ribs were still tender, and he still had to rest more frequently because of it.

  Should Gaspard have the safeguards in place that he suspected, there was only so long he could go on before one of his men caught up with him.

  And as Skorpion liked to remind him, there was only so much he could do. There was only one of him.

  For now.

  “I … can’t kill him,” he finally forced himself to say—making himself acknowledge that fact.

  The sooner he recognized it as the truth, the sooner he could move forward and shape it to be what he needed.

  Carmelo didn’t respond immediately, but Uilleam could see that he agreed. Which meant, if he had to guess, he knew the consequences if he struck too soon.

  “Killing someone isn’t the only way to get rid of a problem.”

  No, it wasn’t. But it was far more convenient.

  And more satisfying.

  “I don’t have to tell you to watch where you step, Uilleam. You know better.”

  “What’s worse than being dead?”

  That answer was exactly what he needed.

  Now he just had to think of a way to implement that plan.

  When he was a boy, watching the way his father ruled over everyone around him—making sure his presence was felt as much as it was seen—Uilleam always wondered what sort of man he would be.

  Whether he would ultimately turn into his father, or if he would be worse.

  Monsters bred monsters.

  He wasn’t disillusioned enough to believe that he would leave his childhood unscathed.

  He had always been rather knowing of that fact.

  But he could never say that he had anticipated this moment in his life.

  When everything was about to change.

  When he would become the one to change it.

  By this day’s end, he would be a different man in more ways than one.

  Entering the spacious room, mindful of the woman walking two paces ahead of him, Uilleam kept his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.

  If nothing else had come of the attempt on his life, he was far more conscious about the people around him, even more so than he had been before.

  It was always a bit odd, seeing a 3D rendering of a room, and then entering that very place in person. It was foreign still, but familiar all the same.

  The twin gray couches that faced each other. The knit rug that ran between the two of them. Even the priceless art had been written down and documented, as well as the built-in safe behind the one on the left.

  The woman stopped in the middle of the floor once they reached the open space where a media room had been converted into an indoor spa.

  Only men with far too much money and not enough taste had a waterfall running into a pond in the middle of their living room. It seemed like a waste of space to him. Then again, this was Gaspard, and the man wasn’t known for his subtle demands.

  The man in question sat in a white robe on a black chair, two women standing behind him, kneading their fists into his back. He didn’t stir at Uilleam’s appearance in the room, though he was sure from the way his guard in the corner had cleared his throat at the sight of him, he knew he was here.

  “The penthouse in Time’s Square,” Uilleam said as he stepped forward past the retreating woman. “That’s a bit predictable for a man of your standard, no?”

  From the way he looked up with a smile, he recognized his own words reflected back on him, but while they had rankled Uilleam, Gaspard didn’t look bothered at all by them. Why would he? In his mind, he had won.

  The game was over.

  Men always underestimated those they saw as the dark horse.

  “I figured you were alive somewhere, licking your wounds. Your father was a hard man to kill you know, so I didn’t expect it to be easy to get rid of you. I’d pay a fortune in gold to learn who finally killed the old bastard.”

  Oh, if only he knew the answer to that question.

  “I do, at the very least, appreciate an honest man. I’d hate for you to insult my intelligence and pretend it wasn’t you who tried to kill me.”

  “You cost me a lot of money,” Gaspard said sitting up, waving his hand to dismiss the women who quickly turned and left.

  The guard in the corner of the room shifted on his feet, his gaze scanning the area around them.

  “I’d like to think so,” Uilleam said with a shrug. Anyone who came after him could expect his retaliation to be swift and painful as possible. It was better not to risk it. “It would be unfortunate if you didn’t actually have to work for it, especially with the amount of effort I’ve put into you these past few days.”

  He tried to hide it—and Gaspard was better than most at keeping his expression neutral—but Uilleam didn’t miss the confusion in the man’s eyes.

  “Curious thing, those drinks,” Uilleam said with a casual nod of his head at the cup in his hands. “They use a special ingredient in those, don’t they, Gaspard? Elderberry, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t think he had ever seen a man swallow as harshly as Gaspard did at his remark, and had he not been in a rapidly declining mood, he might have reveled in that look of surprise. Taunted him with the knowledge that he knew something he shouldn’t have.

  But with his current mood, he wanted to see this done.

  Because he wasn’t worth more than that.

  “I thought about just having you shot. Easily done and virtually untraceable
considering who I wanted to hire, but then I thought, what would your men do at your sudden passing? I would be a fool if I didn’t think they would target me for it, especially after that unpleasantness in Paris.”

  Gaspard set the drink away, as if that would change anything at this point. He had already consumed enough to make sure the contents fully went into effect. “What have you done, boy?”

  “It was simple really. I wanted a seat at the table, as was my due. Your insulting little tests and demeaning comments should have been enough to ensure my entry, considering I tolerate that from no one, but you’re not just anyone, are you, Gaspard? You’re like my father in that way. A stubborn bloody tyrant.”

  A man he hated as much as he had hated his own father.

  Gaspard dragged in a rattling breath, his eyes widening as he coughed, trying to clear his throat. The more he panicked, the faster his blood raced—the faster the poison swept through his system.

  “You would have gotten by with your slights for as long as it took to kill you in some other sort of grisly fashion, but instead of doing what a corrupt bastard should have done, you tried to kill me.” Uilleam moved to his feet then, advancing on him. “And I really don’t appreciate attempts on my life.”

  “What did you do? What did you do to me!” Gaspard demanded, his face turning an alarming shade of purple.

  “They’re called miracle berries,” Uilleam said calmly, carefully, making sure he understood every word. “Should you consume one, it’ll make the taste of sour foods sweet. Fortunately for you, I’d wager. I don’t imagine the taste of belladonna is a pleasant one.”

  Gaspard’s eyes widened, and Uilleam knew he wouldn’t have to explain the significance behind his drug of choice.

  It had all been by design, after all, but only because he was enjoying this far too much did he do exactly that.

  “I couldn’t kill you—there would have been too many questions—but put you into a coma first … Well, I didn’t prepare your drink, did I? Nor would anyone know I was here, because you planned to kill me again, didn’t you?”

  A shadow moved in the corner of the room, Skorpion coming out from inside a room where he closed the door after him, snapping off bloody gloves. Looking far too comfortable at having done so.