VALIANT REIGN (The Royals Book 3)

by Brooke Sivendra

  But the moment was interrupted when the screen activated and security footage began playing.

  “That’s their house,” Emilia said.

  Asher nodded. “The teams have arrived.”

  Emilia bit her lip, then looked away. “I’m going to leave you to it,” she said, standing. “Make decisions you can sleep with at night,” she told him simply. “That’s the motto your father lived by.”

  Asher only nodded, and when Emilia closed the door behind her, he didn’t hesitate before returning his attention to the screen.

  “In position.”

  Asher recognized Reed’s voice immediately. He wondered again how Reed was upright and back on the field so quickly after being hospitalized.

  “In position,” James said.

  Asher looked at the house, his mind spinning, his stomach churning. His uncle lived in an old palace, one built almost a hundred years ago. Previously a military command base, it had been upgraded and refurbished before Asher was born and again more recently.

  Asher paused, realizing he’d missed the first sign that something wasn’t right. He’d noticed it the moment he’d walked into their house after the most recent renovations—he’d dismissed it as odd and hadn’t given it any more thought; but their house had been renovated to look like the palace—same colors, same style. Asher tried to recall when Aunty and Uncle had done the renovations. Three years ago? Maybe four?

  How long had Martin Snider been planning this revolt?

  Asher’s jaw ground together. Martin Snider was going to be very disappointed when his long-planned efforts to destroy Asher’s family were exposed.

  “Three, two, one!”

  Asher subconsciously leaned forward and watched the footage.

  A second passed . . . and then another . . .

  He held his breath, waiting to see what was happening, but no one appeared to be moving.

  Then Asher straightened, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the front of the building explode into a fiery blaze.

  “Go!” James said.

  The footage blurred as the men ran toward the palace. The blurring footage was making Asher nervous, and he returned his attention to the front of the house. No one was rushing to put the flames out.

  He narrowed his eyes, squinting to see clearly.

  But he couldn’t see anyone at all.

  Asher knew if his palace was on fire, security would be out front immediately doing damage control.

  So where was everyone?

  Reed

  Reed’s heart stammered in his chest and his legs felt like dead weights. He reached the house and took a moment to catch his breath, then leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees while his teammates covered him.

  “You okay?” one asked.

  “Yeah, just give me a minute,” Reed said, breathing hard.

  When James had asked him if he felt good enough to go on this mission tonight, he’d answered honestly: Yes, he felt fine. He’d even felt fine in the gym this afternoon.

  But now his head felt fuzzy, and he felt like he had a ton of weights strapped to his legs.

  Reed drew a long breath and straightened.

  Mind over matter.

  It wasn’t quite that simple, but he needed to lead his team in and if he had to back out now, it would compromise their position.

  “No one’s come out to attend to the blaze.”

  Reed nodded to his teammate. “As we expected. They’ve seen what we’re capable of, so they’ll retreat. Let’s find them before they escape.”

  Reed straightened, his head feeling clearer now that he could breathe again. He crept forward, keeping his shoulder against the wall. His eyes darted from point to point, his mind hyper aware of the danger they were in. A mission like this was always risky because they didn’t know the property, and their enemy did—but a disadvantage did not mean defeat, and hopefully they’d caught their enemies unprepared.

  He looked up at a security camera. He saw the red light, indicating it was recording. Reed smiled and waved, feeling a childlike glee of satisfaction.

  I’m coming for you, Uncle.

  He ran forward, light on his feet once more. He had ten men behind him and six other teams were coming in. Soon they’d have the property secured.

  “Reed, move in straight away.” James’s command came through loud and clear.

  “Copy,” Reed said still smiling. It was his favorite command to hear; he never was one for idle surveillance. Reed knew it was necessary but he always grew restless with anticipation. James knew this about him and always gave him the first team to lead in. That came with additional risks, though, because statistically the first team in was the first team to die.

  But not tonight, Reed told himself. Not tonight.

  Reed tested the door handle and paused when it moved. Why would the door be unlocked? That was either a mistake by a purely incompetent security team—which Reed didn’t think was the case—or they wanted this door to be an entry point.

  The temptation to enter was as enticing as fresh blood to a vampire, but Reed held back.

  He held his palm up to his team, signaling them to hold.

  “James, the door is unlocked. I think it’s a trap,” Reed said.

  “Move to Plan B,” James said without hesitation.

  And that was one of the things Reed respected most about his boss: if one of the team had a bad feeling about something or raised a concern, it wasn’t questioned. Entry through this door was ideal given the palace layout and it gave them the most advantage points, but James would reroute their strategy if anyone raised a concern.

  “Copy,” Reed said, already running. He spotted another security camera and raised his pistol, shattering it. He was no longer in the mood for pleasantries.

  Reed saw the door ahead but as they ran past the window, something caught his eye. The drapes were slightly open, as if someone had been looking out, and Reed saw a female run past. She seemed to be on her own—strange.

  If the palace was being attacked, their security should’ve gathered everyone together.

  Reed supposed it could’ve been a security officer, but the posture of the woman suggested otherwise. She was too hunched, too small.

  “James, Plan C. I’m going in the window. I think I saw the aunt,” Reed said quickly.

  “Copy,” James responded as Reed’s elbow smashed the glass. He had one hand through the window, reaching for the lock when the glass panel beside his arm shattered.

  Reed ducked, shielding his body. He grabbed a mirror from his pocket and raised it up, but the room was empty.

  He raised his pistol, firing blindly into the room to give him a chance to stand and get inside. They needed to move fast, because this palace had underground tunnels like Asher’s palace and there was a chance they were already too late.

  “Target identified!” James shouted a second before gunfire drowned out his voice. Reed spun around in time to see ten men storming toward them, and he dove behind the couch before crawling forward, his pulse whooshing through his ears. He paused, listening to every sound in the room. The plush carpet made it difficult to hear their footsteps but Reed caught the shadows cast by the dim floor lamp. He watched them closely and when the footsteps became a faint, padded sound on the carpet, Reed rolled out and fired straight into the feet of the men. He sprung up, ignoring his protesting body, then fired shots into their chests, making sure they didn’t get up again.

  He caught the look of one of his team members.

  “What?” Reed asked.

  The man smirked. “I still don’t know how you move like that.”

  Reed raised an eyebrow but he didn’t have time to ask more questions.

  “Reed! We’re cornered! South wing!” James said.

  Reed’s breath caught in his throat—James never considered himself cornered until he was facing death.

  “Go!” Reed shouted, raising a hand to motion his team forward as he sprinted ahead.

>   He ran the length of the long hallway, his weapon raised, his senses on high alert. His teammates were a step behind him, and as they turned the next corner, he heard gunfire.

  Reed slowed as they approached the origin of the sound, and it took him a second to realize the full extent of what he was looking at.

  James had five men with him, all backed into the corner of an industrial kitchen, most of which had been set alight. Flames licked the cabinetry, and a smoky haze reduced visibility. Reed followed the direction of their weapons, spotting the teams they were firing at. He couldn’t see the men from his position, but he thought there had to be at least twenty men to corner James—at least.

  We’ve had worse odds, Reed thought as he breathed in the choking, thick air.

  What is with these guys and fires?

  Reed shook his head. He was pissed off now—he’d inhaled enough smoke to last him the next ten years and he was done.

  He pulled a grenade from his back pocket. “Hold!” he commanded his team as he lifted his T-shirt, pulling it over his nose and mouth as he stepped forward. The smoky haze had its advantages, though—for one, it made Reed a little less visible.

  “Keep them occupied,” Reed said to James as he moved toward the kitchen. Once he’d rounded the corner, he saw the men firing at James and his team. Three clusters, at least thirty men, if not more.

  Reed cocked a smile as he pulled the pin on a grenade and launched it.

  “Down!” he screamed a second before the grenade landed, lighting up the kitchen.

  Reed sprung to his feet and sprinted forward, firing. He’d dropped his T-shirt and the first full inhalation of smoke knocked the oxygen from his lungs. He gasped, feeling like he was choking, but he ignored his burning lungs and fired. The sooner he killed these guys, the sooner he could get out.

  James burst through the haze, his weapon unloading on the small group of men still standing. But now the tables had turned and the men who hadn’t been blown up were backed into a corner. However, Reed was not in the mood for taking prisoners—except for one.

  Using the wall as a shield, he pulled his T-shirt up over his nose and mouth again.

  James was standing against the wall on the other side of him and Reed didn’t miss the look he cast him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Reed said as a cough caught in his throat, exposing his lie.

  James looked over his shoulder then something flickered through his eyes. He pulled a grenade, launched it, and Reed ducked down, shielding his head with his hands. The house shook with a deafening bang and they surged forward again. Reed couldn’t see anything through the wall of flames, but there was no return gunfire.

  James leapt over the flames and Reed heard two shots fired.

  He suppressed another cough.

  “Jackson, get Reed out of here,” James commanded.

  “I’m fine!” Reed said.

  “Jackson! Get him out!” James commanded and Reed felt a hand on his elbow.

  He sighed. He wouldn’t disobey a direct order from James, and neither would Jackson. They retreated, leaving the way they’d come.

  As soon as they were out of the kitchen and away from the smoke, Reed’s lungs seemed to open up and he could breathe properly again.

  “Look at that,” Jackson said, pointing to a blood trail on the floor.

  “It’s on our way out,” Reed said, trying to convince Jackson—and himself—that they weren’t disobeying James’s order by taking a detour.

  They quickened their pace following the blood trail, which became more obvious and the blood stains less defined. Looking at them, Reed assumed someone had been hit in the leg and they’d started dragging that foot.

  And then the trail stopped. Reed looked to the closest door and motioned toward it. Reed and Jackson stood on either side, and Reed pressed his ear to the wall, listening. When he heard nothing, he reached for the door handle and turned it, then kicked the door open before immediately flattening his back against the wall.

  A bullet flew past him so close that Reed swore he heard it cutting through the air.

  His heart pounded against his ribs and he touched his cheek and ear, but there was no blood.

  Reed waited, signaling for Jackson to hold. He strained to hear, but there was no movement inside, so he inched forward—just as another gun shot rang out. Reed jolted back, analyzing his next move. He didn’t want to use a grenade because he’d inhaled enough smoke already, and he wanted a clear view of what he was walking into.

  He pulled out the next best thing: a flashbang.

  Reed held it up to show Jackson and he nodded.

  Reed angled his body and launched it inside. To his surprise, it made a thud—like it was hitting a wall—before it released a bang.

  Reed moved fast, but he’d only taken two steps inside when he realized what had happened.

  He kicked the pistol from the man’s hands as light flooded the closet.

  Asher’s uncle sat with his back against the wall and a puddle of blood underneath his leg. When the man looked up at him and disgust filled his eyes, Reed realized the man could still see—somehow he’d avoided looking at the flashbang when it had gone off.

  Reed smiled wide, baring his teeth. “Hello, Uncle,” he said, pointing his weapon at the man’s chest.

  Asher

  Like his son, Uncle showed no sign of remorse.

  How do you murder your own brother and not feel remorse?

  Asher exhaled a shaky breath as Reed cuffed his uncle and hauled him upright. He returned his attention to the camera footage that was linked to James Thomas. He was running through the tunnels—why? Was he simply eliminating the last of Uncle’s men? Or was he looking for something?

  Or someone?

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  “Samuel, what are they looking for?” Asher asked.

  “Your Aunty. Reed thought he saw her in the house earlier,” Samuel said.

  He continued to watch the security footage but with each minute that passed, Asher’s body relaxed a little. Eventually he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

  James’s team searched all the tunnels and went back through the house, but Aunty was nowhere to be found.

  Asher ran his palms over his face.

  “Bring them to me,” Asher said when James ordered all men to exit the house.

  Asher picked up the telephone and dialed the palace doctor.

  “Good evening, Your Majesty,” he said, but then quickly corrected himself. “Good evening, Asher.”

  Asher supposed he was so used to using the formal title as he had done for the past twenty or more years that he did so without thinking.

  “Evening. We will be needing some morphine tonight. Can you arrange it as soon as possible?”

  “Of course. How much will you be needing, Asher?” the doctor asked, his voice wary.

  “Enough to kill two adult men,” Asher said, his voice tight.

  There was a long pause at the other end. “Asher, I can’t provide that.”

  “It’s an order. The two men responsible for murdering King Martin and Noah will be executed tonight,” Asher said.

  They were lucky they would be executed with a hit of morphine, but it wasn’t about the method for Asher—it was the psychological torture that would come with it.

  “Of course,” the doctor said, but he still sounded unsure.

  “Thank you,” Asher said before hanging up. He only needed the doctor to get the supplies, because apparently James Thomas was good at inserting intravenous lines and he was very willing to help.

  Asher asked Samuel to turn off the screens and he left his office. He walked the hallways to his new living quarters, the room he was sharing with Abi, but something about the palace felt different tonight. There seemed to be less shadows, less imaginary whispers. Asher was sure it was all in his mind, but bringing his father’s and Noah’s mu
rderers to justice gave him a sense of peace—two less killers on the streets of Santina and two less people aiming at his back. He’d expected to feel a slither of angst when this time came, but Asher didn’t feel any angst or regret at all. He felt victorious and the fact that they were blood relatives made it even more important to do this.

  Abi wasn’t in the quarters when he entered so he went straight to the bathroom and showered. He didn’t linger; he didn’t need to wash away any dirty feelings today. Asher was surprisingly calm.

  He changed into a clean pair of jeans and a white T-shirt and checked his reflection in the mirror. Fifty percent of his wardrobe was comprised of white business shirts or T-shirts, but tonight he felt different wearing white. White was a symbol of purity, and tonight he would take a major step forward in purifying Santina of the evil that had infiltrated it.

  He walked down to the cells and waited patiently for the teams to arrive. Initially he sat with the security team before deciding to pay his cousin a visit. It was the first time he’d spoken to Troy alone since he’d been captured.

  When Asher entered the cell, Troy was sitting on the cell floor with his back against the bed. His face was a composition of stitches and even though Asher had known he’d been stitched up, it was still shocking to see.

  Troy looked like something out of a horror movie. Asher had asked the doctor why he had stitched Troy’s face back up, given that his death was imminent, and the doctor had said, “It’s best we keep him free of infection . . . I thought you might like him lucid.”

  Asher hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry at that response—and he wondered again what people thought of him now. What did they think he was capable of?

  He wanted them—his enemies—to ask themselves that every hour of every day. Because if they didn’t know what he was capable of, they couldn’t predict his next move, and that gave him power.

  Troy didn’t look his way when Asher entered. He wondered if Troy knew it was him, or if he refused to look at anyone who entered his cell.

  “Your father is on his way to see you,” Asher said, keeping his voice neutral and casual.