King of Envy: Chapter 52

I was going to rip them apart with my bare hands. All of them.

Wentworth, the slimy coward who’d climbed back out from under his rock now that he had someone to hide behind.

Emmanuelle, the evil bitch who’d masterminded all of this.

And Roman, that fucking asshole.

I tried to breathe through a cloud of impotent rage. The knife blade of retribution pressed under my skin, drawing blood. It bubbled and sparked, incandescent in its anger and waiting—just waiting—for the moment it could burst forth and turn its enemies to dust.

That moment would come. Until then…

My attention returned to Ayana. She lay on the ground, her arms and legs bound to a chair. Inexplicably, she held one of her shoes behind her back. Huge, wide eyes stared up at me, glossy with fear and pain.

She didn’t appear seriously hurt, but she was scared, and that was enough for me to want to kill every single person responsible.

Outside, the sounds of gunfire had ceased. I had no idea whether anyone from my team was still alive. I had to trust that they were. If they weren’t…

I shoved the thought aside. One thing at a time. First, I had to figure out how to untie myself and deal with the trio in front of me.

“What? No snarky response?” Emmanuelle shook her head in mock disappointment when Ayana remained silent. If she was surprised by her old agency head’s appearance, she didn’t show it. “Ah, well, that’s too bad.”

“You said we could start. Can we start now?” Wentworth was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. The fucker was high out of his mind. “Vuk’s here.”

Emmanuelle’s mouth twisted for a brief moment before her expression smoothed again. She was dressed in a tailored blouse, pants, and heels. If it weren’t for the gun in her hand, she could’ve passed for an executive on her way back from the office. Which, I supposed, she usually was.

“Patience, Wentworth,” she said, her voice sharp.

He fell silent, his expression sulky. He also held a gun, but the hand I’d smashed was still wrapped in a cast. It gave me a vicious sense of satisfaction.

Emmanuelle walked over the mangled body parts rotting between me and Ayana. The warehouse’s size had diffused its stench earlier, but the smell from up close was putrid.

She nudged the head with her foot so it rolled over.

I didn’t allow a single twitch to mar my face—I wouldn’t give her the pleasure of a reaction—but my stomach revolted at the familiar face.

Enzo, the newest member of my team. I’d hired him to tail Emmanuelle. He’d sent me updates all day, but the condition of his body suggested he’d been dead for at least twenty-four hours. She must’ve hacked into his phone and fed me the false information.

He’d joined the team a year ago. Now he was dead because of me. Always because of me.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Emmanuelle said. “I knew he’d been tailing me for weeks the same way I knew you’d bugged my office. I admit, it took me longer to find the surveillance chip than I would’ve liked, but you are better at this than him. I’m almost offended you didn’t send someone more experienced to keep an eye on me.” She clicked her tongue. Her eyes slid past me and rested on Roman, who’d been silent this whole time. “Good job. He fell for the plan just like you said he would.”

“He’s predictable when it comes to her.” Roman tipped his chin toward Ayana. He sounded bored. “It would be romantic if it wasn’t so stupid.”

Ayana’s eyes blazed. She glared up at him like she was imagining tearing his entrails out, inch by inch.

“Enough chitchat. It really is time to get started.” Emmanuelle waved her gun in Wentworth’s direction. “Do what you must.”

His face lit up. He approached Ayana and sat her upright again.

“Trying to escape with a high heel?” He laughed. “Cute, but it was never going to work.” He reached for her top.

“Touch a hair on her head, and you’ll regret it. I promise.” My soft warning echoed in the vast space.

The thirst for vengeance pressed deeper inside me, making me bleed, bleed, bleed until a film of bloody crimson covered my vision.

Wentworth paused. Surprise lit up his face, followed by malicious delight. “So he speaks! Here I thought you were just a stupid brute.”

Ayana opened her mouth, but I cut her off with a quick glance. I did not want that asshole’s attention to return to her.

“What’s the reason for this? Control of the Brotherhood? Or revenge for your brother?” I asked Emmanuelle. She was the one I needed to worry about, not some punk who was trying to act tough. “If you wanted me, you could’ve attacked me directly instead of doing all of this.” I nodded at our surroundings.

“My brother?” Emmanuelle blinked, clearly surprised I’d connected the dots between her and Shepherd. She recovered a second later and laughed like I’d told a particularly funny joke over afternoon tea. “So. You found out about Stéphane—or Shepherd, as he called himself before he died—but no, this isn’t about him. In fact, you did me a favor by killing him. He thought he was so smart and could take control after the old leadership died.” She snorted. “But he always lacked vision. Strategy. That was how you were able to ambush him so easily. But he had the name recognition and manpower, which was how he’d stayed in the game for so long. Otherwise, I would’ve crushed him long ago.”

Her words sank in. My gaze didn’t waver from hers. “You’re the other faction leader.” It wasn’t a question.

Emmanuelle’s smile widened. “No, not a stupid brute at all,” she said. Wentworth rolled his eyes, but he appeared to be so enraptured by our conversation he’d forgotten about Ayana—for now. “I’ve kept my identity hidden from all except my most loyal followers. No one ever suspects I’m a woman. Misogyny can be a useful tool if you know how to wield it.” She closed the distance between us. “Roman was my cover. My figurehead. People thought he was the leader.” She laughed again. “We sent him to infiltrate my brother’s faction, and he did so admirably. Even convinced you to take out Shepherd for us.”

She paused for a response. When I didn’t give her one, she continued, looking slightly disappointed. “I initially didn’t care whether we took you out or not. We’d agreed that whoever killed you would become the next leader, but I simply sat back and let Shepherd go after you. I knew he’d never beat you. It was only a matter of time before you got rid of him for me, and you did.” Emmanuelle shrugged. “Control of the Brotherhood is an inevitability. Like I said, my brother had no vision. He wanted to keep things the same when the organization has the potential to be so much more than a group of for-hire killers. With its manpower, it could be an empire. Arms dealing. Money laundering. Nothing was impossible. But he never got that.”

“Yet you funded him throughout this ‘war’ between the factions,” I said coldly.

“Only a little bit.” She wrinkled her nose. “I had to play the part of the good sister. He didn’t know I was the other faction leader. That’s how clueless he was. He told me a little too much about the Brothers even before the old leadership died. Shepherd always had a big mouth. I was able to slip in through him and see how things worked. I quietly built a following of members who shared my vision. Only a trusted few knew my real identity; the rest were drawn to what I promised, not who I was. If Shepherd had taken control, he would’ve run the Brotherhood into the ground. But you know…” She tapped her gun against my arm. “I would’ve left you alone if you hadn’t stuck your nose where it didn’t belong. I don’t like leaving loose ends behind. Fortunately, Ayana turned out to be a useful distraction.” Her smile returned. “I kept you both busy enough with the lawsuit while I set all this up, didn’t I?”

“She had me plant the photos of what you did to that poor man in Ayana’s apartment,” Wentworth piped up. “Said it would throw you two into a tailspin, and it did. If she⁠—”

“Shut up, Wentworth,” Emmanuelle said without taking her eyes off me.

He quieted again, his mouth taking on a mulish set.

“He was very upset with what you did, Vuk,” she murmured. “I promised him he could make you suffer if he helped me out with a few small tasks. I hope you don’t mind. I simply must repay my debts if I want to start my empire on the right foot.”

I was sick of this woman’s voice. She was smarter than her brother, that much was true, but she was also like every other narcissistic megalomanic out there—driven by the desire to flaunt her “accomplishments” and blinded by the need for validation from those they deemed worthy of bestowing it.

That was why she’d rambled on for so long when she could’ve easily shot us both and gotten this over with.

Sadly for her, she would never have my respect. Not a single ounce of it.

I leaned forward, looked her dead in the eyes, and spat in her face.

Wentworth’s jaw dropped.

The saliva dripped off Emmanuelle’s perfectly made-up face. A snarl destroyed her gloating calm, and she backhanded me with the gun so hard my ears rang. Pain exploded across my right cheek. I spat out a mouthful of blood and smiled.

That only enraged her more. Her eyes bulged, and she raised her arm as if to strike me again before she stopped. “Roman, step back. Wentworth, take care of Ayana,” she ordered.

Roman removed the gun from my temple and stepped aside without a word. Terror seeped through the cracks of my fury when Wentworth reached for Ayana again.

“I was going to let you sit quietly and watch, but I see I was being too nice.” Emmanuelle aimed her gun at my face and cocked the trigger.

“No!” Ayana screamed. She struggled wildly against her ropes, derailing Wentworth’s efforts to get a solid hold on her. “Don’t⁠—”

The blast of a gunshot wiped out the rest of her words. My vision darkened; agony blazed as the bullet tore through flesh and bone and set off a thousand fires that ate away at my consciousness—but I was alive.

Emmanuelle had switched her target at the last minute and shot me in the thigh.

My teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. My head swam, and my legs almost crumpled, but I forced myself to stay upright. I refused to fall to my knees in front of her.

“A taste of what’ll come later.” Emmanuelle wiped my spit off her chin, her eyes bright. “Next time, I’ll aim for your fucking balls.”

She turned her attention to Wentworth, who was watching the events unfold with rapt fascination. “I said take care of her,” she growled. She swung her gaze back to me. “Let’s see if you can take her pain as well as you take yours.”

I snarled.

Wentworth pushed Ayana’s top up, and my vision blacked out for an entirely different reason.

I was a rational person. I was calm, collected, and strategic. I didn’t let emotions overshadow reason

But in that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted his blood on my hands and his head on a fucking plate.

I lunged forward, heedless of my bound wrists or the hostile weapons surrounding me. Emmanuelle’s gun snapped up. Behind her, Ayana shouted, the sound brimming with anger more than fear. She tried to headbutt Wentworth, but he easily ducked out of the way.

Emmanuelle aimed for my groin and⁠—

A gray blur leapt from the top of a nearby shipping container and onto Wentworth’s face. He screamed. His gun clattered to the floor while her shot went wide. It hit the spot where Roman had been standing.

The asshole was nowhere to be seen, but I didn’t have time to dwell on where he went or when he’d slipped away.

Emmanuelle whirled in time to see the newcomer swipe its claws across Wentworth’s eyes with an angry hiss. He screamed again in obvious agony.

Shadow. That fucking cat.

I could kiss the damn thing.

Emmanuelle tried to shoot at him, but Wentworth was flailing around too much for her to get a clear shot. He tried to peel the cat off him, but Shadow clung on like a barnacle. The furry menace yowled, dug his claws deeper, and gouged the fuck out of Wentworth’s eyes.

I took advantage of Emmanuelle’s distraction and tackled her from behind. We hit the concrete with pained grunts. She attempted another shot, but I’d landed on top of her, and she didn’t have enough leverage. The bullet pinged off a metal container, as did the next two after that.

Even with my hands tied, I could do some damage as long as I prevented her from shooting properly. I rolled over and pinned the arm holding her gun beneath my body weight. She struggled to free herself, but she was no match against two hundred-plus pounds of muscle and pure, unadulterated rage.

I threw my head back and slammed it into her face. Bone crunched and blood gushed.

Emmanuelle howled with anger. She reached down and jammed her nails into my bullet wound.

A hoarse shout tore from my throat. Dark spots crowded my vision. It wasn’t just my leg; my entire body was on fire, bones and muscle crumbling to ash as excruciating torture hijacked all my senses. I would’ve passed out if not for the dim awareness that Ayana and Shadow were still here, and I needed to help them.

I scrounged up enough strength to headbutt Emmanuelle again. She gasped and gurgled, blood dripping down her chin. This time, she didn’t recover so fast.

Wentworth’s panicked shouts ceased. I lifted my head in time to see Shadow fly across the room. He hit one of the containers and dropped to the ground with a pained mewl.

Emmanuelle shoved at me. I was too weak and dizzy from blood loss to offer much resistance. She freed herself and scrambled to her feet.

“Time to end this,” she hissed. She raised her gun again.

A shot blasted through the air.

I instinctively recoiled and braced myself for impact—but it never came.

Emmanuelle’s mouth formed a surprised O. A small, perfect red dot blossomed between her eyes. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but then she swayed and tilted to the side. The light in her eyes died before her body hit the ground.

Cool air eased some of my pain. I summoned my last reserves of energy and looked up.

Ayana had somehow freed herself from the chair. She stood there, Wentworth’s gun clasped between her shaking hands. Her wide, unblinking eyes were locked on Emmanuelle’s body.

Behind her, the photographer was trying to crawl away as inconspicuously as possible.

I’d deal with him later. Emmanuelle was dead, and Ayana was in shock, but this wasn’t over. We needed to get out of here before backup came.

“Ayana, sweetheart, look at me.”

She didn’t move. She appeared to be transfixed by Emmanuelle’s prone form.

“Ayana.” My voice firmed. I was minutes away from losing consciousness, and I needed to get through to her before I did. “It’s okay, srce moje. Look at me.”

A shudder ran through her body. She wrenched her eyes away from her old agency head and focused on me instead.

Awareness gradually set in. She sucked in an audible breath and ran over. She was still missing one shoe. It lay next to her chair amidst a tangle of rope.

“We don’t have time,” I said as she untied me. “I brought a few men with me, but I don’t know if they’re dead or alive. We have to leave in case other Brothers come.”

“Okay.” Her voice trembled. “Can you walk? Do you know where the exit is?”

She finally freed me from my ropes. I allowed myself a tiny sigh of relief before I replied. “I’ll manage, and yes. But first…” I gently eased the gun from her hand. “There’s one more thing we have to take care of.”

Emmanuelle was right about one thing. No loose ends.

A feral hiss drew our attention to the other side of the aisle. Shadow had bounced back from his earlier injury, and he was pissed. He raced after Wentworth and grabbed the man’s pant leg between his teeth. A vengeful slash against his ankles brought forth another howl.

I was tempted to let Shadow take care of him, but like I said, we didn’t have time.

Ayana helped me to my feet. Despite the pain, I closed the distance between the other man and me with several heavy steps.

I’d let him go the first time. He wouldn’t be so lucky the second time.

“Wait,” Wentworth pleaded. His face was a bloodied mess. One eye was swollen half shut from his injuries, and his voice bubbled with panic. “Wait, if you let me go, I swear I⁠—”

“I told you what would happen if you went near Ayana again.” I pressed the gun against his forehead. He sobbed. The scent of urine filled the air. “But I forgot to mention another thing. Don’t touch my fucking cat.”

This time, the gunshot was accompanied by a spray of crimson mist and gore. Behind him, Shadow’s tail thumped with satisfaction.

I preferred knives, but Wentworth didn’t deserve a blade; he deserved an unremarkable death.

Ayana’s mouth opened and closed. She appeared to be sliding into shock again.

“Markovic!” Roman rounded the corner, looking noticeably worse for wear. His shirt was ripped at the shoulder, and a nasty bruise blossomed over his left eye. His eyes were uncharacteristically frantic. “We gotta go. They wired this place to blow!”

We sprang into action. I couldn’t move fast with an injured leg, but I tried my best. However, I made sure to grab Shadow and take him with us as we raced toward the exit.

Ayana and Roman wrapped their arms around me and helped me along.

“Sean and the others are waiting outside with the car,” Roman said. Thank fuck. They were alive. “We took care of the other Brothers in here. There weren’t many. Emmanuelle only brought her most loyal soldiers, and now they’re all dead.”

I didn’t have enough energy to respond. My breaths weakened by the second, and we were only halfway to the exit.

A boom rocked the air. Heat billowed over us in waves. Shadows of roaring flames danced on the walls, and the unmistakable scent of burning flesh saturated the air.

“Fuck!” Roman cursed again.

I didn’t have to look back to know that the flames were streaking toward us. That was the trap. Emmanuelle must’ve rigged the explosion to go off at a certain time, near flammable material. She would’ve left before it blew, and she would’ve made me die after living through my worst fear.

Fire. Smoke and death and heat. The sizzle of it against my skin. The scent of my own flesh melting off. The sight of my brother’s body charred beyond recognition.

I stumbled. My knees hit the ground; the walls closed in. Somewhere high above me, or far from me—I wasn’t sure—I heard Roman shout. Ayana shouted back. Then the noises dulled to a low, steady roar so the only sound that broke through was the frantic thump thump thump of my heart.

The heat was intensifying. It didn’t have to touch us—we were so flammable it only needed to come near us to guarantee instant death.

That was why I should run. Leave. Escape. I should I should I should but I couldn’t move and the memories and the smell and⁠—

Strong hands grabbed me. Roman.

The world was a blur as he half-dragged, half-carried me toward the exit.

Roman.

This was all his fucking fault. This was his plan.

He’d told me Emmanuelle was the other faction leader and that she was working with Wentworth. He said the photographer and another Brother were the ones who’d grabbed Ayana off the street. After months of lies about him not having insights into the other faction, he’d finally told me the truth.

Emmanuelle had thought he was loyal to her, and he’d convinced her it was her idea to send him to me as a double agent. She had no idea we were really conspiring against her and not the other way around.

In order to guarantee I got to Ayana safely, Roman had pretended to betray me. We had to make it convincing, hence the bound hands. While my men engaged the rest of the Brothers, we would bide our time until the right moment. Once Emmanuelle and Wentworth were sufficiently distracted, Roman would free me with a quick slice of the ropes and give me back my weapon (which he’d tucked into his waistband) so we could take on the pair and rescue Ayana together.

He couldn’t shoot either one of them before freeing me first. The risk of the other attacking him while he was busy with the first was too great. He needed my cover.

It was a shitty plan, which made sense because it ended up going to shit. We hadn’t foreseen Emmanuelle shooting my leg first, though I suppose that was my fault for spitting in her face after she baited me.

I should’ve kept my calm. I should’ve—I should’ve⁠—

Fresh air slammed into me. The scent of roasting flesh faded as I gasped in a breath, and the world returned in splotches of color and movement.

Roman had somehow managed to carry us to safety.

Us. Ayana.

I searched for her in the dark. Roman was doubled over next to me, his chest heaving. Shadow sat at my feet, his small face worried while Sean and Bruce rushed toward me from the car. I didn’t see Mav; I also didn’t see Ayana.

“Where is she?” I demanded. I grabbed Roman’s shoulders and shook him. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he gasped. “She said I should take you and go ahead since you were injured. I thought she was right behind us.” He lifted his head and looked around. “Fuck. I—where are you going?”

I was already halfway back across the lot.

I didn’t know where I found the strength. A second ago, I would’ve sworn I didn’t have any left. But if Ayana wasn’t out here, then she was in there, and I hadn’t come all this way to let her die. I refused to let her die.

“Sir! Vuk!” Sean’s panicked voice grew closer. He grabbed me. I shook him off. “You can’t go in there! The fire is already…” He kept talking, but his protests blended into one long, continued whine of noise.

My ears buzzed; my heart pounded so hard, I might throw up. My wound was bleeding out, but I barely felt the sticky warmth dripping down my leg. My pain was nothing compared to the sheer, blinding terror of what I might find inside.

Ayana trapped. Injured. Dead.

Roman said she was right behind us. The only reason she wouldn’t have followed us out was⁠—

No. She was alive. She had to be.

If she was gone from this earth, I would feel it. I would know because I would be dead too.

Somehow, I made it back to the warehouse. Sean gave up trying to convince me and followed me inside.

Boiling heat and fetid scents engulfed us. Due to the warehouse’s sheer size, the fire hadn’t reached us yet, but it was close. Too close.

Sean gagged while I stared at the flames, my feet rooted to the ground. The smell reminded me so much of that night. Past and present blurred together as images of my brother’s charred corpse flashed through my head.

If you don’t move, the same thing’s going to happen to Ayana.

The thought spurred me into action again because fuck that. Nothing was going to happen to her. Not while I lived and breathed.

My pyrophobia retreated to a distant corner of my mind as I searched frantically for her amidst the smoke and shadows. It was impossible to see clearly. Where⁠—

“There!” Sean shouted. He pointed to a figure on the ground about fifty feet away.

I was already moving. Sprinting as fast as my injured leg would allow. It was the same strength that allowed mothers to lift cars off their child and other superhuman feats. I barely felt the gunshot wound or heard Sean behind me.

Every cell of my body, every ounce of my attention, was locked in on Ayana’s motionless form.

When I got closer, I was relieved to see she was breathing, albeit shallowly. She was already weak and exhausted after a full day of captivity; she must’ve passed out from the smoke inhalation.

“It’s okay, baby.” It was my turn to lift her up and wrap an arm around her. She didn’t wake up. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

I staggered with her toward the exit. The flames were closing in. Their greedy fingers grasped at our backs, hungry for more flesh to devour.

Sean met me halfway. He draped Ayana’s other arm around his neck and together, we half-ran, half-dragged her across the remaining two dozen feet, through the door, and into the night air. We made it a quarter of the way across the parking lot before the fire swallowed metal and concrete whole.

The warehouse erupted behind us, fully ablaze.

Someone took Ayana; someone else pulled me toward the car.

I was aware people were talking, and things were moving, but I couldn’t make sense or shape of them.

Their voices fell away, and the last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was the orange glow of fire painted across the night sky.