Prince of Blood and Steel

by Nazarea Andrews

  His eyes are scanning the remaining pieces as he tries to determine what had put such an evil smile on her face. He says, “Without knowing where he is or what he's up to, I can't really make a solid move, now can I? Perhaps you should find him for me so we can gauge where we stand.”

  She swiftly collects her knight and slips around his defenses, again. “Checkmate,” she answers, and she knocks his king off the table. She takes a victory sip of her drink, that sly smile still firmly in place. She pins him with her shrewd gaze and says, “Yes, I suppose I will clean up your mess. You owe me double for this.”

  “Figures,” Mikie mutters, finally finding his brandy again.

  Quietly, outside the cracked-open study door, Tinney hits the stop button on his phone's voice recorder. It takes every bit of his resolve to slide the device into his pocket and creep away on the plush carpet. His fists are clenched at the conversation he just overheard, and yet it's not his place to react as he wants and bury his bullets in the brains of both Mikie and Nicolette. No, he will let Seth decide how to exact his revenge.

  Chapter 35

  The Hamptons, New York. August 9th.

  They’ve gathered at Tinney’s request. Rama arrived early in the morning with word from the city. A quiet, waiting day.

  He was speaking, when the giant assassin pressed play, and he fell instantly quiet as the Morgan king and Oliver princess talked shop.

  The silence after the recording finishes is huge, crushing. Tinney has taken several steps backward, away from the table and the volatile man whose world has just come crashing in on him. Rama's ink-dark eyes are trained steadily on Seth, gauging the intensity of the storm that has taken his eyes as he stares down at the offending piece of technology that has brought him word of treason. The round table at which they sit suddenly seems too small. Between them, Emma is also staring at the phone, but the emotion that boils in her gaze is hatred.

  In a flurry of movement, Seth pushes back from the table, which upsets his ornate wooden chair with a clatter. In a flash much too deadly quick, his guns are drawn, but there is nothing to shoot. All eyes are on him. No one moves. Seth blinks several times, as if it will stop the torrent that wants to break, and he just holds the guns pointed at the ceiling, as though he can shoot down god. His hands and shoulders are shaking, and his breaths come labored through gritted teeth. He begins to move his head from one side to the other, like he can force his denial into truth, like he can somehow erase this monumental betrayal. Then he presses the tops of his guns to his forehead. The tears begin to roll down his cheeks, and he sucks in his breaths.

  “All along,” he whispers. “They've both been fucking me all along.”

  Without making a sound, Emma stands and approaches his left side. She lays a steady hand on his shoulder. The gravity with which she carries herself brings his eyes to her, brings him into some loose shade of focus. His tremors ease beneath her touch, and he lowers the guns to his sides. There is murder in her eyes, and for once, rather than wishing he could take it from her, he relates absolutely.

  This, for her to witness this, is the final shove into the dark and twisting undercurrents of their world. And she has transformed gorgeously. Her curls look so soft against her icy expression.

  “You were right,” she says, tone as unwavering as her hand, “Caleb didn't have to die. But you were spared because he did. Let's do him the honor of seeing you take the throne.”

  The resolution in her voice is chilling despite the raging emotions coming from everyone present. Seth stares at her for another long, tense moment. Those determined blue eyes remind him so much of his brother that he feels the pang in his chest like a bullet. That's exactly what Caleb would have said in an instance like this. The well of his tears has gone dry, frozen so quickly to hate and rolling temper. His voice is deceivingly calm when he says, “You understand what you're suggesting, right?”

  She doesn't waver when she nods, and if she feels a rash of nerves in her gut, Seth would never know by watching her. He holsters his guns then pulls her against his chest in protective agreement; some silent indication that from this point forward, they are truly in it together.

  Nicolette was never worthy of being the Morgan's queen, but Emma, she will redefine the title. Over her shoulder, Seth's eyes flash to Rama, who is watching the exchange with intent. The eye contact between them is critical, full of wrath and lust, mutual purpose. Even an enemy's enemy is a friend, thinks Seth, and Rama is not quite an enemy. He is, however, a crucial key in a complete and hostile takeover.

  Tinney steps forward, says, “Mikie's driver reports to me that there is a dinner party at Bethania's house tomorrow evening for exclusive members of the Board. I'm told that Nicolette is to attend in her father's stead.”

  The information bounces around the room for a few moments before Seth twists his head to the side and says, “Mikie's driver reports to you?”

  Tinney allows a demure smile, then says, “Your roots of loyalty run deeper than you know, son.”

  Son. For the first time in a long time, the term doesn't make Seth want to break something. It reminds him of the way his dad used to say it. His fingertips brush over the scar on his shoulder, as they are apt to do when he thinks fondly of his father. He doesn't have a scar for Caleb, he thinks. Then, no, that's not true. He has a brand, bears the mark of the ally that cost him his brother's life. He all but shakes himself of his thoughts and refocuses on Emma.

  “I hope you have a dress. We have a party to crash.”

  Chapter 36

  The Hamptons, New York. August 10th.

  She’s sitting on her bed. Her red-gold hair falls, veiling her face. He stands in the door, half shadowed as he watches her. For all that she looks like an innocent angel, he knows better.

  She clicks the last bullet into the magazine and drops it onto the bed, shoving her hair back. Her gaze still has the power to bring him to his knees and conjure the ghost of their dead.

  “What do you want, Rama?” she asks, her voice cool.

  The Thai steps into the bedroom carefully. He is an uneasy ally at best—Seth is still protective of his cousin, and Emma has been distant and cold since he arrived in the Hamptons. Now, with the sting of Nicolette’s betrayal still fresh in her mind, she’s dangerous. Staring at him like he is a traitor and threat to her cousin.

  “You,” he says simply.

  She stares at him, fury clear in her eyes. “I’m not a pawn. I’m a Morgan.”

  “You’re exactly what you were born to be,” Rama says, softly. “A queen.”

  She hesitates at that, surprise flickering in her lovely blue eyes. She stands without a word. His breath stalls when she reaches for her zipper, sliding it down without hesitation or fanfare. He’s seen her naked. Seen her laid out before him like a pale offering. But never like this, like a challenge. He hasn’t seen her naked, not since the lies were stripped away, their truths and positions revealed.

  Her sun dress puddles on the ground around her bare feet, and she stares at him with a challenge in her eyes. “You don’t see a queen, right now, do you, Rama?” she asks, her voice silky. “Right now, you see the girl you lied to and fucked.”

  The words are harsh, like a slap in the face. She turns away—gives him her unprotected back, like he is hardly a threat—and he flushes, anger glittering in his eyes. He takes three steps to cross the room, catching her by the arm and jerking her back to face him.

  Her gun nestles below his chin. She’s shaking, trembling with rage. Her cheeks are softly flushed, and he can’t help but see how perfect she is. She’s a worthy queen, more than Nicolette ever was. “I see you, mali,” he murmurs, a hair’s breadth from her lips.

  “And I see a foreigner, intent on making an ally. I am not the weakest link, Rama. You can’t use me the way you used Caleb.”

  She’s changed so much. “You know what you are asking for, don’t you?”

  Emma steps away from him, letting the gun drop to the bed. He waits wh
ile she pulls on her white silk suit. The skirt fits perfectly, the pale blue shirt fluttering around her neck, sweet and feminine. She lifts the skirt and tucks her gun into the black holster on her thigh. Shrugs on her suit coat and fluffs her hair.

  Finally, she meets his gaze. She’s learned icy from Nic, the best in the city. But she still has the heart and fire of the cousin who protects her, and it’s shining from her eyes as she says, coolly, “I’m not asking for anything, Rama. I’m going to kill the coldhearted bitch who broke his heart.”

  Chapter 37

  The Hamptons, New York. August 10th.

  Seth has chosen his favorite suit for the occasion: slim, black, elegant. He has opted for a steel gray button up beneath his coat, the color of which makes his eyes look like cold metal. He didn't wear a tie tonight, and of course his collarbone peeks from beneath the sleek fabric. He hasn't spoken in nearly an hour. He just sips his scotch and watches Emma in her sleek suit, chopping lines on the table between them. She has stayed close to him, flitting around the room, filling their drinks, anything to burn some of her anxious energy. He has watched her for signs of fear. It's not fear that makes her so methodical now, she just lacks the discipline to calm her whirl of nerves. Her hand is steady.

  Rama sits patiently in a third chair, completing the unlikely circle in which they seem to be increasingly finding themselves lately. He, too, sips at his scotch as he watches Emma's hands belie the innocence that her face might suggest. What a grand and dangerous world is hers. If he wants her—and Seth doesn’t for a moment believe otherwise—the Thai prince has the desire well hidden. Rama is here by request that he be a gun at Seth's back. He loved Caleb, as well, and the Buddhist in him insists that he do right by Caleb's soul. Seth takes the gesture as a seal on the unofficial and still-shaky alliance they have made.

  Emma presents the glass straw to Seth, eyes searching his face, perhaps for the same response he had sought in her. He makes a rueful smirk and accepts. He pauses before he partakes, glances at her and then Rama. They are both watching him as if he is some exotic dancer, here for their viewing pleasure.

  Finally, he says to the table, “Tonight, we avenge my brother. Tonight, we live by the code one more time before we put it to rest with my father's soul. We begin a new era for this empire, and we will not be divided.” He glances up at them, fury and resolution burning in his gaze.

  He takes his line. It burns as it travels through his nasal cavity. The sharp taste becomes a comfort as it slides down his throat. He passes the straw to Rama and retrieves his drink. His expression has become passive set, perfectly hiding the mystery of his thoughts. He lifts his glass, and stares at the floor for a moment of collection. He says, so softly, “Here's to you, Caleb. I miss you more than anything. I'm sorry I failed you.”

  His eyes slip closed for just a moment, during which he must take a slow, steadying breath. When he opens his eyes, Emma and Rama have both raised their glasses in answer, and are expectantly watching him. Rama says, “May he watch over you, and both our houses prosper under your rule.”

  “Thank you,” Seth says, his gratitude apparent in the way his eyes soften when he says it. He takes a long drink, banishes all the bitterness that tries to rise. His expression is carefully blank, but his insides are in shreds. Emma stares at him, too long, a question clear in her eyes. He gives her a minuscule nod, and some tension eases in her shoulders.

  Emma takes her line after Rama, one last shot of courage and fortitude with which to face the task at hand. Seth looks deceivingly comfortable with his arm slung over the chair's arm, and his drink lingering close to his lips as he watches his protege do coke like she was born doing it—such a far cry from that night in the library, when she had made such a ballsy play for his attention. He waits while she recovers from the hit, watching with an almost amused look. He waits until she meets his eyes with hers. Then he says, “I need to be absolutely sure that you will both follow my lead and that you not act out of line, for any reason. Emma, I especially want to hear it from you.”

  Her eyes momentarily grow wide at being called out. Part of her wants to protest that she wouldn't dream of acting out of line, but then she glances at Rama, and she remembers her former offense. She says, “I understand. But what are you going to do about . . . Nicolette?”

  She nearly chokes on the name, as if just uttering might break her dear cousin into tiny pieces. His expression doesn't change, and she wonders how much devastation one must endure to perfect such a straight poker face. Still, a stab of pain flashes in his eyes right before he answers.

  “I don't know yet, Em. Just leave that to me, please.”

  She sighs, but she won't dare put a voice to her protest, or her suggestion of what she would like to do to that dirty bitch. “Fine.”

  He watches her for a moment longer, as if by doing so he can gauge what she's really thinking. He opens his mouth, almost says something more, but decides against it—there is nothing left to say. He nods decisively, drains his drink, and stands. “Go time,” he says.

  Chapter 38

  Bethania’s country estate, New York. August 10th.

  Her mother’s estate north of the city is decked in fall finery, with lights strung through the flawless landscaping and a violin trio playing on the patio. Security doesn't think twice about letting her through when Emma pulls up in a silver Mercedes with Rama in her passenger seat her other two occupants hidden safely behind darkly tinted windows.

  They assume she is a guest at her mother's fancy dinner party as they wave her though the gate. She gives them her demure smile as she passes. Once out of sight, she skirts the area where the staff is parking the guests' cars and pulls around to the private lot out back.

  If Emma knows her mother, she has made an art of alternating between gossiping with her guests and terrorizing the catering staff to ensure that everything is going perfectly. Bethania's grating OCD for detail will keep her busy enough that she won't even notice her daughter's untimely arrival.

  It’s odd, being here. Where she spent so many summers, but now is so blatantly unwanted. It would sting, if she cared what her mother thinks anymore. As it is, it’s faintly amusing.

  Emma leads the deadly party to one of several back entrances, Seth close behind her, followed by Rama, and then Tinney. She punches the security code into the door, and they enter without a sound.

  As they walk, Seth lets the recorded conversation flood his thoughts, lets himself feel the anger and devastation of hearing the love of his life talk so casually about carving out his heart for money and power. She had been lying to him this whole time, and though he won't go so far as to say she wants him dead, hindsight—like a motherfucker—says she had to realize that night at her apartment that calling Mikie would be the signature on Caleb's death note. She had to have known, and she did it anyway. Never mind any differences she and Seth ever had, now her hands are just as bloody as Mikie's with the responsibility of Caleb's death.

  He can hardly stomach the thought. There's nothing he could have done to hurt her badly enough to justify this. And just as quickly as he has dredged up those thoughts, he slips his focus to Mikie, and his vision flashes red. For every minute of sleep he lost the night before, for every heart-wrenched, lonely tear that has fallen, he feels his rage solidify—heavy on his liquor-laden stomach.

  They move like agents of the reaper, each well-armed and thoroughly furious. It is just as Seth said, they are here to avenge a soul they all loved in their own way. They can hear the chatter of the party in the huge dining area, under-toned by the soft string trio. They pause outside the dining room, and Seth nails Emma with a heavy look, very quietly says, “If bullets start flying, you get the fuck out of here. I mean it.”

  There is steel in his voice that defies argument.

  The hard set on her face says she wants to argue, but she just nods and lets loose a tiny but tempestuous huff. He takes one more steadying breath and smooths his jacket. If ever the family believed th
ey had seen the most outrageous of his theatrics, they are nowhere near prepared for what he is about to do. He gives Emma a cock-sure wink, just before he turns and strolls into the dining room with all the confidence of the king he is.

  All the conversation and clinking of silverware dies as the party patrons begin to realize who has joined them, as he sidles right up to the head of the huge, solid oak table. Mikie is seated at the other end, and he's holding a fork-full of filet mignon halfway to his mouth. He stares at Seth with a comical level of disbelief. His eyes flick to the party that has accompanied his nephew, and it's all he can do to bite back his shock at seeing the Thai and the man who has protected the Morgan kings for so many years flanking the unassuming daughter everyone forgets.

  Seth's gaze clocks over to Nicolette, who is sitting in the first seat next to Mikie. She's staring back at him in mute shock, silently scrambling for some legitimate reason as to why she would be dining with the enemy. She says, “Seth—”

  But he cuts her off. “I don't want to hear you.”

  The surprise widens her features further. In all the fights they have ever had, he has never used such a frigid tone with her, never eyed her so emotionlessly. Then, just in case she has somehow missed the disdain, he dismisses her by looking away without another word.

  “What are you doing here?” Bethania demands shrilly, pushing away from the table and standing in her shock and anger.

  Seth dons an infuriating smile, as cool as a drink of ice water, and says, “I heard there was a party. My invitation must have gotten lost, because I'm sure the Board would never rally behind my back . . . again.”

  “You are not welcome here!” Bethania snaps, all but screaming already. “Get out of my house!”

  Seth's smirk deepens, and he says, “I'm not going anywhere. Where else can I find all my conspirators together at once? Tell me, how are you guys planning to oust me this time—since the Cubans didn't kill me like you had hoped, and since your lawyers can't figure out how to take my brother's shares away from me? What are you going to do now?”