POV's Jace
I lashed out, hitting her arm. She dropped a syringe and scrambled for it again. Grabbing her throat, I hurled her away from me. The back of her head collided with the storage shelves with a sickening crunch, and she slumped to the ground. Breathing harshly, I stared down at the syringe.
What kind of shit did she try to inject me with?
I pulled up my pants and staggered over to her. I didn't bother feeling for her pulse; her neck is twisted at an angle that left no doubt about her death.
I bent over her and tugged her pants down, revealing her hipbone. There is a scar where someone had burnt away a tattoo. I knew what kind of sign had been on her skin: the crossed Kalashinkovs of the fucking Bratva that they inked onto the skin of every single one of their whores.
"Fuck," I snarled. This had been a trap, and I'd walked straight into it, had let my dick rule over my thinking, had lowered my guards. Shouldn't the incident with my cousin have taught me better?
I jerked upright. Philip. Fuck. I rushed out of the room and searched the other back rooms. No sign of him or the other no-doubt traitorous whore. I stormed across the dance floor, searching the crowd for a sign of my brother, but I didn't see him anywhere. Where is he? I headed outside, past the waiting crowd, and around the corner until I reached the small back alley behind the Sphere. Philip is busy getting ahead. His eyes, too, were closed. We were fucking stupid idiots. No goddamn blowjob is worth forgetting about the first rule in our world: don't trust anyone. The whore reached for something in her bag.
"Philip," I shouted, pulling my gun. His eyes shot open, his expression a mix of annoyance and confusion, before he registered what she was holding in her hand. He reached for his knife, and she raised the syringe to strike. I pulled the trigger, and the bullet tore straight through her head, throwing it back. She fell to her side, the syringe tumbling out of her palm.
Philip stared down at the woman, knife in hand, and his fucking boner still on display. I moved toward him and revealed the burnt skin over her hipbone.
"I really wish she had waited for me to come before she tried to kill me," he muttered.
I straightened, then grimaced. "Why don't you pull up your pants? There's no reason to present your junk anymore."
He dragged his pants up his legs and fastened his belt, then he looked at me. "Thanks for saving my ass." He gave me a smirk, but it was off. "Did you at least have your happy ending before your conquest tried to end you for good?" I shook my head. "The Bratva almost got us. We both acted like fucking fools, letting those stupid whores lead us around by our dicks like randy teenagers."
"We are randy teenagers," Philip joked as he sheathed his knife. I glared down at the dead woman.
"The other whore's dead as well?" Philip asked.
I nodded. "Broke her neck."
"Your first two women," he said with a hint of wariness, his eyes scanning my face, looking for God knew what. "You feel guilty?"
I regarded the blood staining the concrete and the lifeless eyes of the woman. Anger is the prevailing emotion in my body. Anger at myself for being an easy target, for thinking a pretty woman is no threat. And burning fury at the Bratva for trying to kill me—and worse, Philip.
"No," I said. "The only thing I regret is that I killed them before they could answer a few questions. Now we'll have to hunt down a few Bratva assholes and get info out of them."
Philip picked up the syringe, and I tensed, worried he could get some of the poison on his skin by accident. I did not doubt that whatever is in there would lead to an excruciating death. "We need to find out what's in there."
"First, we need to get rid of the two bodies before guests or the police find them." I raised my phone to my ear, calling Beckham. "I need you at the Sphere. Fast."
"All right. Give me ten minutes," Beckham said, sounding as if I'd woken him.
Beckham is more my man than he is Father's soldier, and I trusted him to keep his mouth shut when required. "Father won't be happy about this," I said.
Philip gave me a curious look. "About us walking into a trap, or that the Bratva tried to kill us?"
"The first, and maybe the second."
"I'm growing tired of people trying to kill us," Philip muttered, his tone serious for once.
I took a deep breath. "That's how it is. How it'll always be. We can't trust anyone but each other."
Philip shook his head. "Look at Father. He trusts no one. Not even Surina." He did well not to trust his wife, considering the way he treated her. The marriages in our world rarely led to trust, much less love.
Jace, 20 YEARS OLD
The second we entered the elevator, the sound of music and laughter drifted down to us.
"Seems like this party might be worth our time," Philip said, checking his looks in the reflection of the doors. Except for our general facial features, we didn't look alike. I am still the spitting image of my father, same cold gray eyes, same black hair, but I'd never wear it in that disgusting slicked- back way he did.
"That would be a plus, but the main reason we're here is for connections."
The apartment belonged to Senator Parker, who was away on business with his wife. His son, Lucas, used the chance to throw a party, inviting pretty much everyone who mattered in Montavero.
Lucas waited in the open door when Philip and I stepped out into the hallway. It is the first time I'd seen Parker Junior without a suit, since he is trying to follow in his father's footsteps. He waved at us with a crooked smile, already drunk.
I nodded at him. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to hug me like so many people tended to do with everyone, but then he thought better of it. Good for him.
"So glad you could make it," he slurred.
"Grab a drink. I booked a few bartenders who can prepare any cocktail you want."
The penthouse is packed with guests, and the beat throbbed in my temples. Philip and I wouldn't drink much, if anything. We'd learned from our mistakes of the past, even if the present crowd didn't pose a danger.