Page 9 of Decimation

Gunther’s fear quickly turns to anger as his face contorts into a mask of rage. “What the fuck do you think you are doing here?” He pushes me back with more strength than I would have guessed he had. “I don’t have to answer to you anymore. I can do what I want! I marry who I want, fuck who I want, kill who I want too. In this country, I am Grand Master.”

“No one is above our Grand Master,” I say, my voice cold and unyielding. “For our Grand Master is a living god.”

Gunther laughs, a harsh, mocking sound that echoes through the storeroom. “What are you going to do? Mark me? Excommunicate me? Drag me to Oblivion?”

I pull the dagger from my belt, the blade gleaming despite the dim light. “No,” I say, my voice a whisper. “Your sin is too great. Your trespasses demand a blood price, and I am going to make you atone for it right here.”

This will change everything. This will unleash chaos, but I know it’s necessary. I know it’s the only way to send a message, and the only way to put Antonio Macrae firmly in my pocket.

The first slash is quick and precise, a shallow cut across Gunther’s chest. He screams as I move with practiced efficiency, each cut deliberate and calculated.

But all that anger, all that pent-up frustration, it’s like it’s suddenly unleashed like a tidal wave and it feels so fucking good to get it out. To purge. To prove that I too am not helpless, powerless. I may not be Grand Master, but I am still my father’s son, I am still the blood of the order.

Gunther collapses to the floor, his blood already rapidly pooling around him.

I step back, feeling no satisfaction. Instead there’s a sense of unease, a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. The British Chapter has been unstable for years now. Killing their Chapter Lord will not resolve it, but it will bring all the nasty little players out of the woodwork.

It will shine a light on all the deviants who think they can get away with subverting our ways.

And it will prove to us who is truly loyal and who is not.

The problem is I know my brother is not strong enough to sort this. Whatever chaos I have created here tonight will linger, will fester, perhaps for years. In my head, I wonder if this will be a wakeup call for him, for Konstantine. Maybe this is what he needs, a good kick up the arse.

I turn to leave, pausing as I reach the exit to look back at where his body is still lying, twitching slightly, “Goodbye, Gunther,” I murmur. “See you in hell.”

But those barely leave my lips as a man appears from the shadows, his movements almost as silent as my own. He kneels beside Gunther’s body, his hands moving with zero hesitation while I watch in stunned silence. Can he see me, or does he simply not care? He takes my dagger, replaces it with another, then disappears back into the shadows at the other end without a second glance my way.

My stomach knots. Clearly there is something else going on here. Have I been played? Is this Antonio’s doing, or something else entirely? I grit my teeth and it hits me then, that I am not the only monster walking these halls tonight.

No, apparently hell is empty and all of us devils are here tonight.

“We need to get the wife.” I state.

I’ve interrupted their breakfast, and I don’t care. There’s no time for pleasantries, no time for idle chatter. The urgency of the situation burns in my chest like a fire that refuses to be extinguished.

It’s been twelve hours since I found out who she is, what her relation to us is.

“We need to get her,” I say, my voice sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “We need to bring her back.”

Konstantine looks up at me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, while the steam curls around his face, and sets the cup down with deliberate calm. “Get who?” he asks, his tone casual, as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

I grit my teeth, frustration bubbling up inside me. Like he doesn’t fucking know. “The wife,” I snap. “We need to bring her back to the US. Now.”

Konstantine shakes his head, his expression still purposefully blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lazarus.”

My patience snaps. “Don’t play dumb with me, Konstantine. Antonio told me on the plane back that she’s family. She’s a Heseltine for fucksake. We can’t leave her there.”

Antonio shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between me and Konstantine. Oh, I can see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between duty and loyalty. He’s caught in the middle, and I know it’s tearing him apart. He’s known the girl since she was six. Since her father died, since he gained guardianship of her.

It all makes sense now, it all explains why he was on the plane, why he was so involved in this little escapade. And why he was so desperate for me to gut Gunther.

Konstantine takes another sip of his coffee, his movements slow and deliberate. “No,” he says simply, his voice calm but firm.

The word hits me like a punch to the gut. “No?” I repeat, my voice rising. “She’s family, Konstantine. She’s blood. We can’t just abandon her.”

Konstantine doesn’t react, his face a mask of indifference. He sets his cup down and leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. “The deed is done,” he says, his voice cold. “You fucked up anyway by killing the bastard and not simply marking him as I ordered. There’s nothing more to be done.”

I step forward, my hands slamming down on the table, the dishes rattling with the force of it.