Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
He descends the stairs with the confidence of a man who’s never been told no in a way that stuck.
Mid-forties, maybe. Broad shoulders beneath a tailored coat. Salt-and-pepper hair slicked back with too much product. A heavy ring on one hand that looks like it could crack bones.
He’s accompanied by two men who look like paid violence.
Viktor stops three feet from me and looks me over like I’m a purchase he’s considering returning. Then he laughs. Low and delighted. “Ah,” he says, voice rich with amusement. “My new guest.”
I force a smile through split lips. “Your hospitality sucks.”
“That’s what I’m told.” He steps closer, crouching a little to bring us eye level. “You know, you made this very easy for me.”
“Happy to help,” I rasp.
He grins. “Don’t be modest. Men like you never are.”
His gaze flicks to my wrists, the ties, the chair.
“Knight,” he says, like savoring the word. “The internet’s little boogeyman.”
“I prefer ‘problem.’”
“Oh, you are.” He straightens, casually dusting nonexistent lint from his sleeve. “But you’re also… useful.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “You want me to join your loyalty program.”
“I want you to do exactly what you already do.” He spreads his hands. “Attract attention. Force movement. Summon heroes.”
My stomach goes cold. That’s not a threat. That’s a strategy.
“I’m not a beacon,” I say.
He chuckles. “Every decent trap needs bait. You’re excellent bait.”
I test the zip ties subtly, looking for slack. There’s none.
“You came into my house,” Viktor says softly. “You crawled straight into my walls. I could almost admire it.”
“Try harder,” I say.
He laughs again. Then his expression shifts—something darker and more satisfied. “Here’s the part you haven’t figured out yet,” he says.
I don’t respond.
He doesn’t need me to.
“I don’t actually care about you,” he says. “Not personally. You’re a talented nuisance, yes. But the true value isn’t in your skull.” He taps his temple. “It’s in what you pull behind you.”
I go still.
He watches the realization dawn and enjoys it like dessert.
“Maddox,” he says.
There it is.
The other blade.
The real one.
“You want them to come,” I say slowly.
“Of course I do.” He looks almost offended I’d ask. “Dean Maddox is a legend with a reputation so shiny it blinds enemies into mistakes. He can’t resist saving his people. It’s what makes him powerful.” Viktor steps closer again. “And what makes him predictable.”
I don’t like the calm in his voice. It’s too certain. Too prepared.
“I have a partner,” Viktor continues. “A woman who appreciates long games. Old grudges. Elegant revenge.”
Serafina.
The name doesn’t have to be said. It’s already in the air between us.
“She wants Dean,” I say.
“She wants what Dean protects.” Viktor’s smile sharpens. “And I want what Dean is. An institution. A symbol. A crown.”
I lift my chin. “You won’t get either.”
He tilts his head. “Maybe not,” he admits. “But tonight? I get to try.”
The guards behind him shift. One checks a watch. The other looks toward the stairs like he’s waiting for a cue.
My pulse picks up. Not fear. Anticipation. Because Arrow will have noticed the missed check-in. Because Gage will become feral, and Arrow will become surgical, and Dean will become a storm with a moral compass.
They will come.
And if I’m lucky, I’ll be a step ahead of Viktor’s trap.
If I’m unlucky—
Lark will break every command Arrow gave her and walk right into a lion’s mouth.
The thought makes my blood burn.
Viktor turns slightly, as if he’s losing interest now that he’s delivered his monologue. “Bring him water,” he tells a guard. “Keep him alive. We want him bright-eyed when the cavalry arrives.”
“Cavalry?” I echo.
He smiles over his shoulder. “Heroes love a dramatic entrance.”
Then—
The lights die.
Not flicker.
Not dim.
They cut out completely, dropping the basement into thick darkness.
A beat of silence stretches. It’s the kind that makes every man with a gun go very still.
I hear a sharp inhale from one of the guards. A soft curse. And then I hear it. A bird whistle. It’s faint, and sounds like a fast, high-pitched sequence of sharp, tinkling notes. It’s only for me to hear.
Lark.
Viktor doesn’t sound surprised. He sounds pleased. In the dark, his voice lowers into something almost reverent. “Ah,” he murmurs. His footsteps retreat a half step. Like he’s making space for the show. “They’re here.”
My heart slams against my ribs. Because he thinks he’s about to catch Maddox in his net. Because this is his stage. Because he believes he’s in control. And because somewhere in this building— there’s a chaos girl with combat boots and a bat who doesn’t know the meaning of stay put.
I close my eyes.
Breathe once.
And pray the darkness belongs to us.
TWENTY-TWO
BIRDIE WITH A BAT
LARK
The thing about people who underestimate me is that they do it loudly. They do it with smirks and assumptions and the kind of swagger that makes my bat itch in my hands.
And tonight?
The Monarch is full of men who think they’re the apex predators.