Throne of Vengeance (Throne Duet #2) by Rina Kent

“You’re sick.”

“I think we’ve already established that.”

“Let me finish him off.” Vladimir digs the muzzle of the gun into my temple, causing my head to tilt back.

I don’t stare at him—he’s not important. My gaze stays locked on Rai’s, caught by how her eyes darken then lighten, flitting around as if she’s not sure whether to take the gun from Vladimir and shoot me or if it’ll be better if she kills me with her bare hands.

A few seconds pass before she shakes her head. “Leave me alone with him.”

Vladimir’s shoulders snap back. “No.”

“I can take care of this. Just wait for me outside.” When he doesn’t make a move to go, she touches his arm, her voice lowering but not softening. “Trust me.”

Vladimir punches me one more time for good measure, and I groan even though I smirk at the fucker. He motions at his guards to follow him, then places the gun in Rai’s hand. “We’ll be right outside.”

The door sliding shut traps me and my wife together.

Our marriage started by blood, and with blood it will end.





10





Rai





My spine has been snapped in a line since I stepped inside.

Even though I told Vlad to leave, I don’t feel like I’m completely in control of the situation. He, Ruslan, and Katia are waiting outside, and I can call them back in, but that would defy the reason why I came inside in the first place.

I try not to stare at Kyle’s beaten-up state for too long, but his bloodied lips, eyelids, and nose are hard not to notice. Vlad has beaten him to a pulp, which isn’t a surprise considering Vlad’s merciless personality when he sets out to punish someone. He made Kyle’s handsome face unrecognizable. It should feel better this way. He deserves every bit of pain he’s now going through. In fact, he deserves more.

That’s what I tell myself anyway, because as I stare at him, that stupid part who had my heart broken when I listened to his phone conversation is now in pain, too.

That fucking part feels as if I’m the one who’s been beaten and has swollen eyes and bleeding lips.

But why should it? Kyle’s injuries might be physical, but mine run deeper. He slammed into my chest and broke my heart, then walked all over it to the point that I’ll never be able to mend it back together again.

And all of that was because I trusted him. Against my better judgment and doubtful personality, I trusted Kyle Hunter, and he smashed that trust to the ground.

Now, my loyalty, my oath, and my duty toward my family are put to the test. Everything I’ve fought for so far is thrust to the forefront, and I have no way to ignore it.

“Now what?” His voice, although calm, is emotionless, as if he doesn’t want to speak at all.

“Now what?” I repeat incredulously, and it takes everything in me not to shout and hit him. I want to hurt him as much as he’s ripping me apart from the inside out. “You have the audacity to ask me now what?”

“What am I supposed to ask then? You brought me here and got me beaten up, so I suppose you have the rest of it figured out.”

I remain silent for a beat, then ask with a calmness I don’t feel, “Why me?”

“What?”

“You obviously married me for a reason, so I’ve been wondering, why did it have to be me? Am I the easiest way in? Is it because you already knew me seven years ago? Or have you been planning this ever since we first met?”

I hate the emotions in my voice; the hurt behind it all translates to painful anger.

Kyle lifts a shoulder. “You were the most convenient way in, Rai Sokolov.”

My hands fist on either side of me, and it takes all of my willpower to not surrender to the agitation. If anger consumes me then I’ll commit mistakes, and he’ll win without even making an effort.

So I hang on to my apparent calm with chipped nails and bloodied fingers. “Was anything you ever told me true?”

“Depends on what I told you. Which part?”

“You have no remorse whatsoever, do you?”

“If you’re expecting me to feel sorry for going after the people who slaughtered my fucking parents in front of my eyes, then no, I have no bloody remorse whatsoever.”

Up until now, I kind of had the idea that his parents were ghosts. He mentioned that they died, and I thought that was the end of it.

“I was five,” he continues with a distant voice. He’s staring at me, but he’s seeing straight through me. “My mother was killed when she attempted to take me and leave. Then, my father was shot in the back. Both happened in front of my eyes.”

The weight of his words strikes me in one brutal blow. It’s not only about his parents’ tragic deaths, but also about the way he calmly spoke about witnessing their murder when he was only five.

There are no emotions whatsoever behind his voice, as if he’s numbed himself to those feelings.

“I don’t recall their faces anymore—their alive faces, at least. The only thing I remember of my parents is their vacant eyes and their blood. That’s been my driving force ever since I was a boy, but that’s not the worst of it. Remember the organization I told you about? It's not a school for killers, it’s a fucking torture chamber called The Pit. Since we were able to kill, we were forced to carry out hits for money or for our superiors.”