Shouldering through the shit-stirring Kings, I descended the stairs to the garage.
“Ultraviolet my fucking ass,” I mumbled under my breath.
Chapter 27Micah
“Of course the meeting is cancelled, you idiot,” Oscar’s voice boomed. “Why would my boss enter this fucking shitshow? The Ludus promised discretion, and the brothel we were supposed to enter was blown the fuck up in pink smoke.”
A lowly Ludus pleb stuttered under Oscar’s aggressive ministration. My former uncle was an intimidating man, especially with his attention placed solely on you. “I’m sorry, sir. Boss apologises for the inconvenience, and has personally requested your presence at the Gladiator Games tonight to amend the oversight.”
The sound of smashing glass could be heard ricocheting through the rounded office. Eight large pillars surrounded the circular conference table, with arched doorways on either side. My back was plastered to one of those concrete cylinders, listening to these dim-witted men play their power games.
“I don’t give a fuck what Maximus has ordered me to do. I don’t answer to him. He answers to fucking me and mine, and he better remember that before he ends up in his own death match.” Oscar’s tone dropped deathly quiet. “And I’ll give you a tip: my money isn’t on him.”
Now, what the fuck was Mayor Oakview’s bodyguard doing shouting commands at an underground kingpin? Many people had been killed for less, and I should know.
“Now go and scurry off to your master. And tell him that his quota better be on time.”
“We are ready for our next distribution of Amp—" His words were cut off by a choking screech.
“I wasn’t talking about Amp.” I risked a peek. Oscar had the thin man shoved against the wall, his large hand constricting his oesophagus. “I’m not waiting for Maximus. We expect a thorough update before our meeting with Vice in two weeks. Ensure you don’t fuck up again.”
Oscar released him, his victim lurching from the ground to make his escape. Then Oscar turned for the exit—the one right beside me.
Inhaling a deep breath, I blocked the door.
His step faltered, sparing half a glance. “Move. I’ve no interest in your services.”
I snickered. “Do you ever, Uncle?”
Oscar looked at me then, truly looked at me. His gaze climbed my body—not in a lustful way, more cataloguing every inch to make sense of my presence. He flinched, catching the tattoo on my chest, his eyes finally clashing with my amber orbs, the exact shade of my father’s.
The air charged between us before he took a hesitant step forward, his features lined with affection. “Micah? Kin—”
“Don’t say my name. Don’t speak our name.” I stepped back.
His expression stilted at my retreat, clocking my aggressive stance.
I didn’t realise that deep fucking down, I was hoping I was wrong. That when we came in contact, he would assuage my doubts with some fantastical story about why he was alive, why he hadn’t searched for us.
Nevertheless, I was not built for misplaced sentimentality. My Variant had never steered me wrong—not once in my life. Now flaring in my chest as bright as a strobe light, the atmosphere thickened in wild hostility. With weighed judgement, my heavy heart strained in regret.
Oscar cackled, his concerned mask shattering. “You always were the smartest of your sisters. Where are they?”
My face remained impassive. “You should know, since you killed them.”
He clucked. “Now, young Micah. I’m not solely responsible.”
“Then tell me who is and I’ll deal with them, too.”
“Too?” His stance grew predatory. “So you’re going to deal with me, are you?” He made a show, perusing my lack of attire. “In what way, may I ask? Well, you being a whore and all.”
I am really getting sick of that fucking word.
Oscar was a phenomenal fighter. He was one of our trainers from an early age. However, I wasn’t a little girl anymore. Nil fear or apprehension registered, just the desperate need to see the lifeforce drain from his one remaining eye.
I rocked on the balls of my feet, muscles tightening from prolonged tension. I didn’t have a weapon, not even a measly knife to stick into his flesh, but I’d take my chances.
We began to circle each other, the single round table the lone barrier between us. I scoped his movements as he assessed mine in return, actions purposeful and transient.
“Tell me, Uncle. Do you still have that golden crown tattooed over your chest? Do you mourn the loss of your family?”
“I have a new family.”
I clucked. “Cold-hearted as ever.”
Oscar halted across from me. “It’s what I taught you, no?”
“Indeed.”
I launched over the table, careening off the edge and smacking his hard, bulky form off-balance. When he rebounded off the wall, my foot was waiting, a swift kick pounding into his rib cage.
Oscar released a breathless laugh and I retreated. In the onslaught, his shirt had ripped down the middle, my question answered without a word from him.
In the centre of his chest lay a white scar and overtop was the stark black outline of a ram’s skull, horns and all, replacing his allegiance to the Sovereign.
I blinked, attention zoned in on the image. “I may have sold my soul for vengeance, and I guess that does make me a whore in some respects. But I have never met a cheaper whore than you, Uncle.”
Oscar blanched, my statement affecting him more than I’d expected. I spoke with honesty.
