Page 85 of Empress of Ruin
“We’ll find a way to get rid of him eventually. The more immediate threat is Killian and his little whore. Theybothneed to go.” Ladies and gentlemen, we have a jackpot, because it’s fuckingSilaswho says that part. My god… The three of them arefucked. “Alekseii’s man chose a knife instead of a gun, apparently. Gave Killian a nasty scar but couldn’t finish the job before security gunned him down. I want to send another.”
“You need patience,”Vladimir interjects. I look at the man himself, who’s frozen in his spot, pale, looking like he’s aboutto throw up—not unlike Silas or Ryan. “The tribunal will take care of him, I assure you. He broke the rules, which guarantees Spencer will vote against him. Raegan and Griffin aren’t enough. Be patient, my friend. Your time will come.”
“Sorry about that,” Carter says, lowering the recording device. “Couldn’t get this fucking thing to turn on earlier.” The wink he shoots me tells me that’s a lie, and he just wanted to wait to the last minute to make his save. I don’t even care; I’m so relieved I could cry. “That’s the shitty part about using outdated recording material, but hey, you can’t call this thing AI. It’s fifty fucking years old—AI isn’t capable of replicating it.” He clears his throat and runs a hand down his tie. “Interestingly, it sounds like this whole fucking thing was rigged from the start. Vlad, Ryan, Silas—in the future, when you have secret meetings, I’d avoid having them in hotels owned by me. You never know what recording devices might be too old to get found by your usual bug-sweep.”
“It’s—it’sfake—” Vladimir sputters.
“No, it is not.” Spencer’s jaw twitches. “I know that device. I know the man who invented it. The recordings can’t be tampered with once made.” Spencer slowly turns to face Vladimir. “You have broken a number of rules, haven’t you, old friend?”
A shaking Vladimir launches himself out of his seat, running towards the nearest exit, only to stop when a loudbangechoes through the cave. He jerks back as a bullet lands neatly between his eyes, then drops to the ground, dead.
“Fuckinghaterunners,” Carter says, twirling the gun he was somehow allowed to keep on himself—or, more likely, snuck in—in his hands. “No fun when they run instead of fighting.”
“Well, that does rather simplify things, doesn’t it?” Spencer pulls out his own gun, and fires off two shots. One for Silas, one for Ryan. Both men drop; eachthudof a body hitting the floor is a massive weight off my shoulders.
“Now that a panel of five has turned into a panel of three, and it’s rather obvious that all three are in your favor, I think a vote can be avoided.” Spencer nods at Killian, who’s watching with a stoic expression, but I see the emotions in his eyes. Relief. Shock. A hint of amusement. Reluctant gratitude as he looks at Carter… andso much lovewhen he meets my eyes. The tears I’ve been holding back spill over. We’re alive—our enemies are dead. Now, it’s just Killian and me. “Keep your wits about you. Don’t hurt our people for any reason—even love. And, do try to stay out of trouble for a while. This has beenexhausting.” He slaps the table and stands. “Court adjourned. Guards—we require some cleanup.”
And just like that, it’s over.We’re free.
Epilogue
Lyra
Six months later…
What does an utterly obsessed billionaire do when your pregnancy sickness is so awful you can’t eat? He hires a Michelin-starred chef and nutritionist to plan out sustainable meals around your every craving, that’s what.
And that’s how I end up eating fried pickles and protein-packed ice cream at 7am, without worrying about gaining weight or not giving my baby the nutrients they need, because both are made from scratch and approved by a world-class nutritionist.
The kicker is that my pregnancy teamtravelswith us. We’ve barely been home since I found out I’m pregnant and broke the news about three months after the tribunal. Killian promptly married me and whisked me away on an extended honeymoon to keep me out of the public eye.
He strides out of the villa’s office just as I’m looking longingly at the empty bowl of fried pickles, seriously deliberating if I should scoop up the few crumbs at the bottom.
“Morning.” He makes his way behind me, tilting my chin up to give me a lingering kiss while his free hand lowers to my stomach, cupping my quickly swelling belly. “How did we sleep?”
“Fine. It was very hot,” I murmur, frowning. We’ve come back to the states so Killian can do a tour of his domestic factories and meet with his teams—presently, we’re in the dry heat of Arizona. “I think the AC bottoms out at about 70.”
He rubs my bottom lip. “We’ll head out of here tomorrow. How do the Netherlands sound? I imagine you won’t have an issue getting too hot there.”
I bite my lip, feeling my eyes sparkle as I gaze up at him. “I’ll check my calendar. I'm so busy growing our baby these days, I find I barely have my free time. And my husband, well… he likes to eat up all my free time.”
“He must realize how lucky he is to have you.”
One of the waitstaff manning the estate where we’re staying walks in. Killian doesn’t look away from me as he orders a coffee and sinks into the chair across from me. “You look tired.”
“The morning sickness has gone, but I’m having a harder and harder time finding a comfortable position at night,” I murmur. “Only a few more months to go until we meet Berry. Then we’llreallyforget what sleep is.”
We started calling the baby Berry after my first ultrasound, when we were told she’s the size of a Berry. At our lastappointment, we found out we’re having a girl, and the nickname stuck.
“I’m already vetting a full staff to help us out. Besides, we’ve already agreed I’ll be taking night shifts—you’ll get to catch up on sleep.” He taps his thigh, arching an eyebrow. “Why are you all the way over there?”
“Excellent point.” I switch seats from my chair to his lap, relaxing against him with a sigh.
“Much better.” He kisses my hair. “An advance reader copy of your book is arriving today.”
I perk up, twisting to look at him. “What? Where?”
I finished edits not too long ago, and my agent promptly informed me that my book had sold at auction for a three-book, seven-figure deal. The second the first advance hit my bank account, I nearly passed out. I’m sure being Killian King’s wife certainly helped prompt some interest in my work, but still… being a real author is a dream come true.
