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Blood flecks spray over my face like rain droplets. I grunt and plunge the knife into his chest for the third time. His rib cage cracks against the blade as I chip the bone. One wound to the neck did the trick and severed the artery, but a few more jabs for luck won’t hurt. He died instantly, but using his body as a pincushion is a great way to relieve some stress. I imagine it’s Freddie. The fucker shouldn’t have spoken to me how he did.
“Jacob?” A woman’s voice cuts over the noise of the cars racing down the nearby street, making me pause. “Jacob?”
Fuck, I have to hurry. I grab his ankles and drag the body deeper into the dark alleyway where my stolen getaway car’s waiting. Jacob Bryan is heavier than he looks. I have to use all my strength to hoist him into the boot. I’ve spent the last few days watching him and seized the opportunity when he was walking back to his flat alone. He visited the Italian at the end of the road and was carrying home dinner with a bouquet, which I assume was for him and a date.
“You shouldn’t have been a traitor,” I hiss to the corpse as I slam the boot shut. “That’s from Torean.”
I don’t know what Jacob did wrong, and I don’t care. His death will give me the answers I need, plus a family-sized lasagne with garlic bread.
I get back into the car. My hands are soaked with his blood, so I grab a towel—I came prepared—to mop up the mess. I take off my T-shirt and bundle it into a black bag before putting on a fresh one. I need to look acceptable from the chest upwards, at least.That’ll do.
I switch on the headlights and head off. Further down the street, I see the woman calling Jacob’s name. Her short, blonde, curly hair bounces around her shoulders. She’s wearing a pretty floral dress—too pretty for sitting around the house. She’s made an effort for a special occasion. A birthday or anniversary, maybe? I’ll have to stop by another time now that she’s newly single.
I tap my fingers on the wheel while I wait at the junction. The woman’s head swivels in my direction as I pull out and take a right turn.
She freezes on the pavement as our eyes meet. Her mouth falls open, and all the colour drains from her rosy cheeks. What’s her problem? She looks like she’s seen a ghost.
I push her shell-shocked face out of my mind and join the traffic, keeping strictly to the speed limit while Jacob rattles around in the boot like a ball bearing in a can of spray paint.
My work is done. I call Torean to let him know, and he answers on the first ring. “Well?”
“It’s done,” I say. “Now it’s your turn to uphold our deal.”
“I need proof.”
Does my accent make me sound as annoying and smug as he does?
“Torean,” I warn. “Don’t push your fucking luck. I’ve done what you asked.”
“Fine,” he relents, yawning. I grind my teeth. “One of my men called in a favour for a friend to get a weapons discount. It was a rich prick… Blakely… Brexley… Bexley. That’s it. Spencer Bexley.”
I fucking knew it. How angry must Rose have been to discover the Dukes were protecting him? I’m surprised she didn’t butcher us in our beds. If the roles were reversed, I would have.
I’m about to hang up when Torean adds, “Don’t be a stranger again, Callen.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too.”
That’s the closest we’ll ever get to saying we love each other in our own way. He cackles as I end the call.
Now all I have to do is get rid of the body and head back to the shitty hotel I booked for the night. I know the manager there. He doesn’t ask questions and won’t blink at my blood-soaked jeans.
I’m one step closer to finding my princess.
CHAPTER15
SEB
We’ve moved into one of the many properties I own under different aliases. It’s incredible what you can do in the name of discretion when you’re a member of the royal family. The flat we’re staying in is much smaller than our townhouse base, but we have a small weapons store and two bedrooms—enough space for what we need. It’s on the twentieth floor and gives us an incredible view of the London Eye.
“I’m leaving,” I call to Freddie.
He’s sitting in front of a computer screen like a zombie with a half-empty bottle of vodka next to him. He’s given up pouring it into a glass and slugs straight from the bottle. He’s hit rock bottom, and nothing I seem to do makes any difference.
We’ve been back in London for three days, and the longer he searches, the more dead ends he finds.
“Freddie?” I say again to make sure he’s heard me. “I’ll be back later. Can I get you anything?”
