King of Envy: Chapter 7

I cocked my gun and aimed.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Every shot punctured the paper target’s head and heart with clean holes until I ran out of bullets.

Afterward, Sean came up beside me and examined the target with arched brows. He held a file in his hand. “Feel better?”

Not even close. Not when my weekend with Ayana continued to weigh on my mind.

Instead of responding, I simply reloaded my gun.

We were the only people at the Valhalla Club’s shooting range. It was one of the club’s less popular facilities, which made it the perfect place for us to brush up on our skills and discuss private matters.

Truthfully, guns weren’t my favorite weapon. They were too impersonal. If you hate someone enough to kill them, have the balls to do it up close, where you can see the light die in their eyes.

Professionals and psychopaths aside, it separated those who killed for purpose and those who killed out of impulse. Only the former possessed the conviction to follow through when they could feel their victim’s last breath on their skin.

That was why I preferred knives. They were precise, versatile, and always personal.

However, when I needed to blow off steam or take my mind off a certain supermodel, guns would do.

“I have news that’ll take your mind off whatever you’re pissed about,” Sean said when I remained silent. He handed me the file. “We identified the suspect’s tattoo. Seventy-five percent match based on what was visible in the photo. It’s the most we could hope for given what we had to work with.”

I put my gun down and opened the folder. It contained a single blown-up photo of the tattoo in question: a black scythe with a hissing viper twisted around the handle.

My blood ran cold. There was only one organization whose members got inked with that specific tattoo.

The Brotherhood.

“Obviously, this complicates things,” Sean said. “At least now we know for sure the fire wasn’t an accident and that they’re after you. We understand their motive.”

I shut the folder and dropped it on the table. Do we?

My last bloody altercation with the Brotherhood happened almost thirteen years ago. We’d existed in uneasy mutual peace since then. They left me alone; I let them live.

So why the hell were they coming after me again after all this time?

“Not the exact motive,” Sean amended. He’d learned ASL after I hired him, so he understood me perfectly. “But we will figure it out. Have you received any unusual communication recently? Noticed anyone new or suspicious lurking around? Mail courier. Delivery person. Electrician. Anyone who fades into the background that could get temporary access to you.”

I shook my head. I was trained to look out for suspicious behavior. If I’d spotted something, I would’ve told Sean immediately.

“That’s what I thought, but I had to double-check.” Sean’s lips thinned. The Brotherhood wasn’t your average two-bit criminal operation. My head of security was worried, and I didn’t blame him. “I’ve already put together a plan to increase our security measures. Do you want me to put a detail on Willow too?”

Willow was my former right-hand woman and long-time assistant. She’d been my mother’s best friend, and after my parents died, she took care of me like I was her own son.

She’d retired earlier this year and moved to Oregon. Her health wasn’t so good anymore, and her daughter recently gave birth to her first grandchild. She wanted to spend more time with family. I’d respected her wishes and gave her a hefty severance package as a goodbye gift.

We still talked regularly, but we didn’t see each other as often as we used to. I hadn’t replaced her with a new assistant yet either; I didn’t trust anyone enough.

No. We don’t work together anymore, and she’s in Oregon. They won’t go after her. I paused, then added, Don’t change our hard security measures yet either. We don’t want to tip them off that I know.

Sean’s eyes widened. “We’ll be sitting ducks,” he argued. “Our current security is excellent, but against the Brotherhood…they could attack again at any minute.”

They could do a lot of things. But they haven’t.

Things had been ominously quiet since the fire. No attempted assassinations, no freak accidents. I’d started second guessing my instincts about the fire being intentional until Sean confirmed the Brotherhood’s involvement.

Knowing them, they were waiting for me to slide into complacency before they struck again. That gave me another month, perhaps more.

Like me, they were nothing if not patient.

Upgrade our soft security measures, including cyber and surveillance. We’ll play it off as part of our annual assessment. Also change our passcodes, locks, etc. But I do not want any visible additions to manpower.

Nothing would alert the Brotherhood more than additional guards around my house and offices.

“Understood.” Sean retreated to his lane, and we fired off another dozen rounds before we turned in our equipment.

No one blinked an eye when we entered the club’s main building. Sean only had access because he was my guest, but the other members were used to seeing him around. Even if they weren’t, they were smart enough not to question who I brought here and why.

The Valhalla Club was the most exclusive members-only society in the world. Some people were born into the privilege of membership; I’d fought and clawed my way in.

But I was here, and I’d landed the directorship of the club’s management committee. The position rotated between high-level members every five years, and I was nearing the end of my term. Nevertheless, I still had access to director perks including unlimited guest passes and near-free rein of the facilities.

I’ll find out what the Brotherhood wants. Sean and I passed a well-dressed trio on our way to the foyer. A visiting prince from Europe, the CEO of a telecommunications company, and an exorbitantly wealthy cosmetics heiress turned entrepreneur, respectively. They took one look at us and scurried down the hall. You deal with the suspect.

After Sean left, I took the elevator up to my office. Besides my extracurricular activities, I had my own company to run, as well as Valhalla business to take care of.

My head pounded as I poured myself a glass of Markovic vodka, neat. I tossed it back in one swallow.

It was only after I finished my third glass that I braved a look at the most hated part of my body.

Not the scars, not the burns, but the tattoo inked on my inner bicep: a black scythe with a viper curled around the handle.

If I had a choice, I’d devote the entirety of my time to hunting down the Brotherhood again.

Unfortunately, obligations must be met, which was how I found myself at the Vault that Friday.

The nightclub had skyrocketed to notoriety since its grand opening five months ago, and an invitation to its Tastemaker nights—which granted attendees early and exclusive access to the best events in food, fashion, literature, and more—was the hottest ticket in town.

As a silent partner, I contributed capital but stayed out of its day-to-day operations. Those fell on Xavier Castillo, the heir to the Castillo beer fortune and now the most powerful name in New York nightlife.

“Good to see you, Vuk.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be happy to hear business is booming. I’ll have last quarter’s reports to you on Monday.”

I nodded, indifferent. My partnership was more a formality than anything else. I didn’t count on it being a major revenue stream, though I was impressed by how well Xavier was running things.

When he first came to me last year with his idea for the Vault, I’d dismissed him. The former playboy had a reputation for frivolity, indolence, and debauchery, none of which were qualities I looked for in a business associate.

However, he’d impressed me with his tenacity and vision for the club. Even after the fire set construction back by weeks, he’d pulled things together in time for its splashy grand opening in the spring.

I’d invested well.

But I wasn’t here to bask in the Vault’s success. Tonight’s Tastemaker event was a coveted first look at Lilah Amiri’s new collection ahead of New York Fashion Week.

Jordan had returned from Rhode Island and asked me to meet him here to discuss an “important matter.” He was constantly trying to get me to leave my house, hence the insistence on meeting at parties and restaurants.

But tonight? I would’ve come even if he hadn’t invited me.

After Xavier excused himself to make the rounds, I scanned the room. It was packed with a who’s who of the fashion world, but I skipped past the nameless models, designers, and magazine editors in search of…

There.

My gaze zeroed in on the corner where Ayana stood with Jordan. They were speaking with a leggy blonde in a blue dress—Sloane, Xavier’s girlfriend and Ayana’s publicist.

A silvery peal of laughter carried over the music and settled low in my gut.

Ayana’s laugh was what had grabbed my attention the very first time I saw her. It was infectious, joyful, and full of life—the antithesis of how I lived my own life.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And the more I watched her, the deeper my obsession grew, until its vines were so twisted up inside me, I couldn’t hack them off without killing myself too.

Ayana said something that made Jordan grin. He wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered something in her ear. She laughed again, her smile flashing white in the dimly lit club.

I took a deliberate sip of whiskey, my eyes trained on the angle of her body and the placement of his hand.

The alcohol washed down my throat, burning away the toxic green fumes of envy and leaving a bitter aftertaste in their wake.

Seeing her with Jordan was torture; not seeing them and letting my imagination run wild was worse.

Either way, I was fucked.

A group of raucous partygoers quieted as they came near. They skirted around me, giving me a wide berth.

Besides Xavier, Jordan, and a small handful of other people, no one approached me at events. It was exactly what I wanted.

I had little use for small talk and even less use for ass-kissing. I was here for one reason and one reason only.

I tipped my glass back and finished my drink without taking my attention off the couple in the corner.

Jordan said something else to Ayana before leaving her side. His hand grazed her hip on his way out.

The empty glass cracked in my hand.

In six months’ time, I’d have to watch them kiss. Marry. Fuck off to the type of happily ever after that was never meant for people like me.

The glass shattered.

The conversations near me lulled, followed by an outburst of gasps and whispers. Two staff members immediately appeared to take the broken glass out of my hand and sweep up the broken shards.

“Many apologies, Mr. Markovic,” one of them said. A small tremble ran through his voice. He avoided looking me in the eye while his colleague did his best to fade into the background. “Please, let us get you a Band-Aid for that cut. If you’ll follow us…”

I glanced at the smear of blood on my hands. I’d barely felt the pain before he brought it up.

“We’ll make sure to double-check the integrity of all our glasses…”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I shook my head, cutting him off. The incident wasn’t his fault, and it damn sure wasn’t the glass’s.

I grabbed a napkin to stave off the bleeding and waved the men away. They disappeared without question.

The music was loud enough that only the people in close proximity to me noticed what happened. Ayana was still chatting with Sloane, but the other woman left a minute later.

Ayana was alone.

She sipped her drink and looked around the room, her gaze skimming over me before she did a double take.

Our eyes met. A soft glow of surprise illuminated her face, and the sting from my cut receded.

She took a step toward me.

However, before she made it any further, a man with slicked-back hair and a red shirt cut into her path. She came to an abrupt halt, her mouth hardening.

The man didn’t have to turn around for me to recognize him.

Hank Carson. Her agent.

Something dark and unpleasant slithered through my veins.

I’d been going through his and Beaumont’s files. I hadn’t pinpointed why they’d raised red flags yet, but I would. Until then, it would be interesting to see their dynamic play out in person.

So I watched.

And I waited.