Page 84 of Ricochet
“I don’t give a fuck if he likes it or not, Atlas,” Kieran started. “He’s lucky we didn’t declare a war on your asses.”
“But you would have to ask daddy dearest for permission first, wouldn’t you?”
I chuckled.
I fucking chuckled, because holy balls on this man. He was right though. I was surprised the three of them could even go to the toilet without asking for permission first. I guess all those dreams about killing their father and taking over, were just that— dreams.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t stab you in the eye right now?”
Oh, K was getting pissed, but I guess that whenever somebody dared to speak the truth, he got his panties in a twist. However, even I knew this was not a situation in which you could threaten a man who obviously had the upper hand.
“Because there is a person aiming just at you, positioned somewhere very close. So, if I were you, Kieran Nightingale, I would shut my preppy little mouth now, because Prez won’t be this forgiving.”
Fucking shit, being out of the Syndicate, I didn’t even know who their current president was. Way to go, Ophelia. All those assassinations, battles, scars, and this is how you would end up dying —killed because of a cock war.
Truly magnificent.
“Should we head inside, Atlas?” Tristan, forever the peacemaker, asked while I kept quiet looking anywhere but at the men surrounding us. If I were to guess, there were at least three of them above us, probably ready to shoot on command.
“Sure,” he answered and looked at me again. Recognition, the widening of his eyes, and I fucking knew. He was there that day. He was with them.
Just my fucking luck.
He opened the door, the creaking sound filling in the silence encompassing us, and entered without waiting for us. I admired him, actually.
We were taught never to turn our backs to our enemies, and this man, he just didn’t give a fuck. Thanks to the three fucktards, we were outnumbered and in such a deep shit we were almost drowning, and they left their soldiers three streets away.
Who does that?
I would just like to know what kind of training these three took, because it was definitely different from the one I had.
The church was eerily quiet; the only sound was the clicking of our shoes on the marble floor that probably used to be white. Lamps were lit up on the walls, and I noticed that there were no chairs or benches inside.
This place was abandoned a long time ago, and while I didn’t believe in God, I hoped that whichever force was there, it would allow me to die quickly if it came to that tonight.
The area where the altar usually stood was completely empty, but I had the feeling that the Saints painted on the windows of what once used to be a holy house, were judging us.
I mean, they had good reasons to judge us, but they could also fuck off. Where were all of the Saints, where was God when the first knife was placed in my hand and I was asked by my flesh and blood to condemn my soul to Hell for eternity?
Where were all the angels to save Ava and my sister, when they did nothing wrong in this lifetime? Where was this God when my nights were spent crying, begging, pleading to save us all from this misery?
They were nowhere to be seen, because they didn’t care about us.
So, yeah, they could fuck off and take their judgy little eyes to somebody who cared. I fucking didn’t, and I just wanted to survive this night.
I came this far, and I hoped I wasn’t going to go out like this.
Killed in a church, well, cathedral— same shit, right? Satan’s daughter slaughtered in the holy house. It would be the news of the century.
Cillian took a hold of my arm forcing me to stop, and before I could start a fight with him, my eyes zeroed in on Atlas at the bottom of the stairs, talking to somebody else.
Somebody hidden from us.
Black boots were the only thing I could see, before he stood up and looked at us. What were the symptoms of a heart attack, because I was pretty sure I was about to have one?
Clad in dark jeans and a loose Iron Maiden shirt, standing like a God of Death among mortals and wearing the scowl he didn’t have the last time I saw him. Storm-fucking-Knoxx commanded the room with his sheer presence and no matter how much I tried to resist, I was sucked in.
Pulled under the water.
