Page 57 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“You need to get out of here.” I call for more elevators, thumbing the buttons repeatedly. “Up to the top floor,” I shout, grabbing everyone’s attention.

Thankfully, most people have managed to take shelter, but there are approximately twelve people left in the lobby scattered around, tending to the wounded.

Some people scurry into the elevator, but not all.

“You can’t save him,” I shout at the man leaning over the deceased, tears streaming down his face.

“I can save him.”

“No,” I say. “You can’t, and I refuse to get into an argument over this with you. In the elevator, now, or I’ll drag you by your fucking hair.”

The man flashes me a look before climbing back to his feet, following the others.

For the most part, the damage already seems to have been done. After glancing around the room, making sure the coast is clear, I stalk across the lobby. The masked men have vanished into thin air, but I’m sure they’ll be back when they see me.

They’re here for me, and I’m going to find out why.

I slip my knife, hand locked around the handle as I stride through the corridor, away from the lobby, hunting down my fucking prey.

I roll my eyes, hearing sirens outside.

I turn on my heel, raking a hand through my hair as I head back into the atrium. But before I can get there, a figure emerges, standing in front of me, cutting me off.

“Kill me,” says the masked man in a begging-like tone. “I want to know how it feels to be killed by the almighty Salvatore Moretti.”

Time is ticking. Wheels hit the floor as paramedics wheel stretchers into the building. Boots thud as multiple police enter. I listen carefully to the sounds, figuring out how much time I have left before they round this corner and find me. Being exploited as a teenager comes with many benefits. Renato taught us a wide range of different life skills, ranging from healing our own wounds, all the way to avoiding confrontation with the cops.

I grab the bastard by the shoulder, shoving him into the wall.

I tear off his mask, ready to do damage, when I see an innocent pair of eyes staring back at me…

And it’s like I’m looking straight into a mirror, seeing my seventeen-year-old self.

“Who are you working for?”

“It doesn’t matter,” says the boy. “I’m dead anyway.”

“You can tell me.”

The boy laughs, shaking his head. His adolescent features are lined with anger as he looks over my face. The boy is half my height, all skin and bone, and yet he shows no fear, tipping his chin up at me as he challenges my authority. “People like you deserve to be scrounging around at the bottom with the rats.”

My chest tightens. I feel his desperation. The hunger for food and revenge.

All I wanted was the people at the top to pay, but I became the top. The cycle continues through the generations, and there are no real winners.

“I used to be you.”

“A very long time ago, old man,” sneers the boy.

I grab his shoulder and throw him down the corridor, away from the atrium before the first responders see us.

I unlock the janitor closet and launch him inside, stepping in after, securing the lock.

In one swift motion, I release my knife, tearing open the boy’s shirt. A crow tattoo shines in the weak light.

“Fuck,” I step back, smoothing my hand over my chin.

With my guard down, this boy could quite easily kill me.