He laughs. “Oh, it’s much too late to think he’d ever take the Baron’s path. Especially now that he knows I’d like him to.” The bright lights reflecting off his green eyes make him look sinister. “Naturally, I’d hoped to have my heir serving my house, but I gave up on that the moment he pledged to the fists.”
“And the alternative is what?” I ask, fighting back the welling anger. “Locking him in an eight-by-ten room for the rest of his life, painting watercolor landscapes? It’d drive him to suicide.”
“It’d mean that he’s safe,” he says, a bit too sharply. “He’d be medicated and well cared-for. He’d be with his mother.” There’s a flash of angry, bitter grief in his eyes. It surprises me to see something so familiar. A feeling I know like the back of my hand.
It’s the anger of someone who loves Remington Maddox, but is completely fucking unable to save him.
I feel it every single day.
More reserved, he looks out over the pit below. “In any case, you’re wrong about why your fathers didn’t want you and Nicholas to become Royals. They didn’t care about the violence of this life. Your mother, maybe. But for those two, it’s the secret. It’s theshame.”
I balk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You see,” slowly, he turns to look at me, “in Forsyth, a Royal man can only lead a house that’s willing to follow him. Imagine how terrible of a leader your father–a Bruin, born and bred–must have been to have lost the loyalty of his entire territory to Saul Cartwright.”
“You’re not going to rile me up,” I insist, pretending to be bored by this tidbit of information.
Maddox leans back and throws an arm over the back of the couch. “If you’re not going to encourage Remy to come home, then why did you ask me here, Simon?”
“You know why I’m here.” I hold the glass to my lips and tip it back, swallowing the drink in one gulp. It burns, giving me the courage I need to make my demand. “I need you to get the hit on Nick removed.”
Once again, he looks bored. “Lionel made that hit, not us.”
“But you’re carrying it out.”
Maddox releases a low, insidious laugh. “If you think I can control Lionel Lucia, you misunderstand the application of my power.”
Shrugging, I keep my voice matter-of-fact. “Then you’re going to have to figure that out, because if you don’t?” I pause to make sure he hears the gravity of my words. “Every citizen in Forsyth is going to know who and what you are.”
He watches me back for a long beat, not even breaking my gaze to set his glass down. “You’re threatening me. A King.”
“To them,” I gesture to the dance floor, “you’re a King. To me, you’re just Remy’s sperm donor.”
“Hm.” He rubs his fingers together, swaying a bit from the liquor. “In truth, that makes this all much easier.”
I barely see him move, a shadow zipping over the distance. Before I can do more than tense, flinching to bolt, he’s behind me, fisting a handful of my hair.
Something cold and sharp digs into my throat.
A knife.
He speaks into my ear. “It’s been so long since I felt blood on my hands.” Maddox’s voice is suddenly crisp and fierce, the slur now completely absent. “That’s why I took the hit, you know. An artist has to keep the gears oiled.”
I rest my hand on the arm of the chair, sighing in annoyance. “Come on, dude. You’re not going to kill me.”
The knife digs in deeper, his voice a low growl. “And why is that?”
“For one, because this place is public as hell.” Rolling my eyes, I add, “But also because Remy would never forgive you.”
My scalp stings as he pulls it, extending my neck for the blade. “I think that ship sailed when I took the hit on Nicholas.”
“Maybe,” I concede, because he’s right. Remy wouldn’t have forgiven him for that, either. “But there’s another reason you’re not going to kill me, and it’s a lot more convincing than the others.”
I can practically hear the mocking smirk when he asks, “And what’s that?”
With one jerk of my legs, the chair jolts backward, knocking into his chest. I snatch his wrist before he can react, spinning, leaping from the chair and shoving him back.
I have him pinned against the wall, knife pressing intohisthroat, before he even knows what’s hit him. “Because,” I smirk, “I’ll win.”