Page 13 of Brutal Truths

He laughs, like this is a game. “I look forward to it.”

“He’ll kill you.”

Hearing those words only amuses him more. “He’ll try. He won’t succeed.”

“He may not, but my sister will. She’s taken down arseholes way worse than you. You’ll be like child’s play to her.” I swallow a few times, trying to keep the pain in check. “She’s killed more men than you can probably count.”

The tone of his voice remains unaffected. “She doesn’t scare me.”

Gabriela will find me if Antonio can’t. And when she does, I hope she brings her friend with her—the assassin. I hear the two of them make one hell of a deadly combination.

“She should,” I warn him. “No one messes with a Reyes and gets away with it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Rising from his seat, he cracks his neck to one side.

It’s hard to see him. My vision is still fucked up, and he’s in the shadows, not helping my focus. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re not a Reyes, isn’t it?”

His words confuse me, which is why I correct him. “I am. My father was King Ramon.”

He steps closer, a sigh escaping his lips as he adjusts his suit jacket, the smooth, dark fabric sliding against his hands. “That’s what they wanted everyone to believe—a carefully constructed lie designed to deceive. Thought it would keep you safe. They were wrong.”

I’m still disoriented, my thoughts racing to keep pace.

“Safe?” The word feels wrong in my mouth. “From whom?”

His smile, full of malice, sends a shiver through me, compelling me to retreat further onto the bed.

“You have no clue who I am, do you?”

Should I?

There’s something about him that feels familiar. I can’t put my finger on it.

His eyes, cold and dark as obsidian, seem to pierce right through me, like he’s seeing more than I want him to. It’s eerie, and I don’t like it.

I improvise when I don’t recognize him, saying the first thing that pops into my head. “An arsehole who enjoys playing mind games. That’s who you are. And I’m bored, so I think I’ll lie back down and rest. Maybe once these drugs wear off, I’ll have a much clearer mind.”

“You are so much like her.” He snickers, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest before pulling a thick, expensive-smelling cigar from his pocket. “We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better.”

“Her who?” I can’t help but ask.

Since the end of his cigar has already been clipped, he brings it to his lips before retrieving a lighter. I watch him, far too relaxed as he lights it and takes a few puffs. The scent of cigar smoke drifts through the room, hitting me hard. It drags up memories of my grandfather and brings tears to my eyes.

After a few puffs, he clicks the lighter closed and tosses it onto the bed next to me. “Your grandfather had great taste in cigars. I’m going to enjoy smoking every last one now that he’s dead.”

Stretching, I grab the lighter next to me and study its design. The initials RL are embedded in the metal.

“You won’t get away with this,” I choke out, almost positive this man killed him.

The sound of his laughter—sharp, like shattering glass—cuts through me; something inside me snaps.

A manic burst of energy overtakes me. I’m on my feet, my heart pounding like a drum as I attack him. The fire in my chest burns bright, fueling each deliberate blow of my fist into his solid chest. He will pay for what he’s done.

It’s pointless, though. He quickly overpowers me, sending me sprawling onto the bed and leaving me disoriented. My head swims again, the drugs still running rampant in my system, dragging me down.

“That was your one free shot. The next time you try that, I’ll add a bruise to your other cheek.” He bends to retrieve the lighter I must’ve dropped during my attack. “Now get some rest. We have so much catching up to do.”

“Fuck you!”