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“You said you’re good at knots. Untie them and help me.” I lower my chin.

“Help you do what?” Anders closes the space.

I don’t back down. Standing still, I feel him press his ax to my neck, directly on my pulse.

“Renegotiate,” I state firmly. I arch my chin higher, giving him more space.

Anders stares at me; each second feels like a century in an unbreakable prison. Suddenly, he snarls as he laughs. “A deal is a deal.” He presses his ax more firmly into my neck, cutting my skin. “Shh, don’t move. Don’t fuck up my masterpiece, I don’t deal in refunds.” His cuts are fine, just enough to break the skin, not enough that I’ll need stitches.

He twists his ax, branding me. My toes curl as I keep my expression neutral.

He steps back. “R,” he says. “Now you have her initial on you. Hope that’s enough to soothe your idiotic heart, Steffen.”

He swings his ax in his hand, making a whistling sound in the air. A drop of my own blood lands on the floor.

His gaze drops to his hands; a blood-red tattoo is inked on his wedding finger.

Anders smirks at his inked wedding band and shrugs. “I give you Nelson, I bring Alister his daughter, and we all go off on our merry way. However”—he spins to me—“I do need to stress that Nelson’s death must be kept private. If others find out we rescinded an offer, it will cost you.” He lets his warning hang in the air like a noose trying to coil around my neck.

He tilts his head, looking at me. His eyes drop to my boxers, then flicker to my eyes. His chest sinks; he brings the ax to his palm, resting the blade in the soft part of his flesh. One wrong twist and it will slice his hand clean open.

“It’s a terrible sickness, isn’t it?” Anders speaks low and with a rasp, his voice crackling like the embers of a fire. “To fall in love.” He pushes his ax deeper. “I tried to fight it, but it spread through me like a cancer. It killed the part of me that allowed me to function.” He lifts his ax, then slides it back into his belt. “Lucky for you, the part it killed has kept you alive today.” He sighs deeply.

Torben does too.

“Torben and I are going to wait outside. We will give you a few minutes. Time to say goodbye. This is where you say, ‘Thank you, cousin, for being so goddamn considerate!’ Where is the passion?” He lets out a mocking chuckle as he throws his hands into the air.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he commands Torben to follow. Anders glances at the ink on his skin, his head shaking in disbelief. “The things I do for her,” he mutters, voice barely more than a growl.

Then his serious eyes lock onto mine. “I didn’t get a goodbye. Don’t make me regret allowing you to have one, Steffen. I gave my word. This battle is done. I am not involved in wars of the heart. If you want Alister’s daughter, you should have negotiated her into the terms. You will not continue this feud. Do you understand?”

My chin lowers slightly.

“BANKS Corp is vital to us. Man the fuck up and move on. If I get so much as one call from Alister, I will slice your cock off.” He looks at the leather binding on the hilt of his ax. “It’s about time I re-wrap it in new leather.”

He glances at my boxers with a sly smirk, cheeks flushing deeper. “You really think this”—he swings his ax—“is cock leather?” His laughter erupts, stormy and unhinged.

Torben and I remain silent.

“Are the rumors about me that bad?” His laughter dies as he bats his lashes. “Good to know,” he gloats. Spinning on his heels, he strides out of the kitchen, whistling a tune.

I can’t breathe. Every bit of air is locked inside me.

Torben comes to a stop between me and the exit. “I warned you this road you walked led to a dead end. You got Nelson, but it cost you Rylan,” he says. “Anders is right. A deal is a deal. She’s not yours anymore, Steffen. But revenge is. Our father’s killer awaits.”

CHAPTER 20

Rylan

My eyes flicker; a smile spreading over my face as I feel Steffen’s fingers glide along my jaw. “Wake up, Little Thief,” he says.

Maybe it’s me, but his voice sounds firm. Abruptly, air replaces his fingers. Opening my eyes, I sit up and watch as he walks into his closet.

I linger on Steffen’s bed, unsure if my legs can hold me. I’m sore and tender, so content I just want to fall back onto the mattress.

Steffen steps out of his closet wearing military-style pants, a plain black shirt, laced boots, and a gun on his belt. He holds another shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

My throat tightens.