Valiant Reign

by Brooke Sivendra

  “The truth: that the men behind the attacks were at the train station and you were trying to protect further attacks from taking place and more innocent people being harmed,” James said, so convincingly Asher almost believed it himself. It was a branch of the truth.

  Asher leaned forward, sighing deeply and running his hands over his face.

  “Take this opportunity, Asher. You don’t always get a second chance,” James said, his voice somber.

  Asher knew he was right, and he’d already made up his mind.

  “Do it,” Asher said. He saw the change in James’s eyes instantly—it was like Asher had flipped a switch.

  James pulled his phone from his pocket and made one call after another. First to Samuel, then Reed, and then to various teams. Within five minutes, everyone had been briefed and the teams assembled.

  “Are you planning to watch?” James asked, finally turning back to Asher.

  “Yes,” Asher said. He couldn’t help them in these situations, but he would never be the kind of person who sat in his office, oblivious to what was going on.

  “This one will be easier to watch,” James said, and Asher nodded in understanding—Abi wasn’t involved this time.

  “I need to make some final arrangements and suit up. Samuel will hook you up. We’ll get this son of a bitch,” James said with steely eyes.

  “Bring him to me,” Asher said. He would not be weak because Troy was his blood; Troy hadn’t cared about that when he’d killed Noah or Asher’s father. There would be no mercy.

  James nodded—a promise, Asher knew—and then turned away. Asher took one last look at Captain Lewis Spencer and wondered if he’d make it out alive. If he didn’t, it would be one less problem for Asher to deal with, and it would give Colonel Stevens justice. As harsh as it might be, he wanted that—it would be the king’s final gift to the colonel.

  Asher went to his office with his security team trailing behind. They closed the door behind him and turned on the screen on the wall while Asher sat at his desk. The towers of mail were multiplying, so much so it looked like a small city was forming on his desk. He needed a few hours of uninterrupted time to go through it all, but everyday there seemed to be a new crisis that stole his attention.

  He drew a long, calming breath and looked at his father’s crystal clock. It was odd how such a commonplace object could give him so much peace.

  What would you do, Father?

  Asher stared at the clock as if it would speak to him. He mindlessly rubbed his jaw, thinking through every possibility and analyzing every outcome.

  When a knock at his door stole his attention, he looked up into Abi’s eyes.

  “Hey,” she said with a smile.

  “Hey, take a seat,” Asher said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.

  Her eyes landed on the towers of mail. “I know things have been crazy, but are you purposely avoiding that?” She sat down, and a memory flashed in his mind of his mother and father in this exact setting.

  He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to even open it.”

  Her eyes lingered on it. “Do you want me to open it and sort it for you? I won’t read it all,” she added quickly.

  “Abi,” Asher said gently, “you’re going to be my partner in this; you’re going to be queen. There’s nothing in this office you can’t know about—there’s nothing I don’t want you to know about.”

  She searched his eyes and he wondered if she thought he was lying or putting on some kind of front. But when she smiled with warm eyes, his doubts vanished.

  She picked up a delicately balancing envelope and slid her finger underneath the seal. Asher opened his drawer and found a letter opener—five of them. He suddenly wondered why his father had so many. Was it something he’d collected? Asher picked them up, turning them over. There were no inscriptions nor any symbols or badges that looked familiar to him. He shrugged and passed Abi one.

  Together they opened envelope after envelope, sorting them into piles specific to what action Asher needed to take. He needed to send some thank-you notes; reports were collated and general mail was set aside for Asher to delegate to various administrative staff.

  They were almost done with the mail when footage flashed up on the screen and the speakers in his office activated.

  “What’s going on?” Abi asked, turning to look at the screen behind her.

  “They’ve set a trap for Troy,” Asher said.

  “At the train station?” she asked warily.

  “Troy’s choice,” Asher said, just as Captain Lewis Spencer walked into view.

  Abi’s eyes went wide. “That’s the colonel’s driver!”

  Asher had forgotten she hadn’t been updated on the events of the last few hours. He quickly filled her in.

  She stood and dragged her chair around to sit beside Asher so she could watch the screen properly. “Do they know who messaged the bombing times and locations to Alistair’s phone?”

  “No. The message was sent from an untraceable phone. There’s no leads on it at all. Hopefully they’ll make contact again soon—with better news,” Asher added quickly.

  “Hmm,” Abi said absently, her eyes on the screen.

  Asher looked to see what had stolen her attention.

  The captain had stopped to talk to someone—who, Asher didn’t know.

  “Samuel, do you have sound on him?” Asher asked, aware that when the speaker system was activated, the communications were two-way.

  “Yes, I have sound on all feeds and a team member is listening to each one. The captain is asking about the man’s family. Nothing of concern. I’m running facial-recognition software on him now, but he doesn’t appear to be a threat. Judging by the conversation, I think he’s military and they might’ve worked together in the past.”

  “Thanks,” Asher said, nodding.

  The captain shook the man’s hand and moved on, continuing toward the marble statue of Asher’s grandfather. His eyes remained on the footage, and in the background he saw his own picture framed on the wall. It was customary for photographs of three successions to be framed and displayed in various locations around Santina—usually public places like the train station, hotels, or Town Hall—but it was the first time Asher had actually seen it. He supposed Alistair’s photograph had been replaced with his own after the coronation service, but he hadn’t given it a thought until now.

  He shook his head, clearing his mind. His eyes scanned the background of the footage streams; he didn’t see a single one of James’s men. But he knew they were there, hiding in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

  The captain reached the statue and Asher realized his own grip had tightened on his armrests. It was peak hour at the station, which meant it was a sea of rushing civilians. Asher said a quick prayer for them and for James’s team.

  His eyes continued to scan the passing faces but no one looked familiar. The captain looked around, his eyes darting from point to point. Asher’s eyes dropped to the clock and he noted the time.

  A minute passed.

  Two minutes passed.

  The captain looked increasingly nervous, reflecting Asher’s inner state.

  Where was Troy?

  Was it all a setup?

  Suddenly, the captain recoiled—a bullet landing between his eyes. Asher’s eyes went wide and he gasped as the captain fell. It only took a moment for the crowd around the now dead man to realize what had happened.

  Asher’s veins turned to ice as he watched the chaos that came next.

  Women, men, and children began screaming and running in all directions. Asher couldn’t hear their screams, but he felt them.

  One brave woman rushed to the captain’s side, but she only took one look at him before deciding there was nothing she could do to help him.

  She stood, looking like she was about to run—but she never got the chance.

  Two bullets landed in her chest and she fell to the floor. F
ury blazed in Asher’s chest.

  Reed

  Reed pushed through the sea of people, his eyes on the man no more than ten meters in front of him. Troy was wearing a navy-blue sweater and jeans—easily blending into the crowd. But Reed’s eyes never left him, and when Reed had a target in sight, it didn’t end well for his target.

  As James had predicted, Troy wouldn’t do the work himself but he’d be there to make sure things went to plan. Admittedly, they hadn’t expected Troy to put a bullet between the captain’s eyes, but as far as Thomas Security was concerned, that was no huge loss. They’d extracted what information they could from him, and now he’d served his purpose.

  Another shot fired somewhere behind Reed and frantic hands pushed into his back as a new wave of fear swept through the crowd. People began falling, concerned only for their own survival.

  Reed kept his eyes on his target, even when he tripped. He didn’t look down; he didn’t look behind him. He had one focus, and one focus only.

  “Reed, I’m covering you. Get him!” James commanded via his earpiece.

  “Copy. Working on it,” Reed said, quickening his pace to keep up with Troy.

  Reed wondered if Troy knew they were following him—if Troy sensed eyes on his back. His question was answered when Troy looked over his shoulder, straight at Reed.

  Troy’s eyes narrowed and he darted to the left, crouching low.

  Reed lost sight of him and his pulse accelerated as another gunshot fired and the crowd surged forward, sweeping him farther away from Troy.

  “Where are those shots coming from?” Reed asked, fighting against the crowd. “I can’t see him! I can’t see him!”

  “There’s a door to your left,” Samuel broke in. “It’s his only chance of exiting without going through the front doors of the station.”

  It was a risk, but right now it seemed like the only option Reed had. He pushed in that direction but it was a challenge just to keep himself upright in this frantic, panicked sea of people. Hands pushed into him and fingers grabbed onto his shirt as people fought to stay upright and avoid being trampled. Even if no more shots were fired, Reed knew there would be casualties from the stampede. That fueled his determination: if innocent people were going to die, he’d make sure their deaths counted for something—and capturing the king’s slayer was something Santina wanted.

  Reed’s eyes narrowed as a head popped up. He couldn’t confirm it was Troy, but he seemed to be looking for something.

  The door.

  Samuel, you genius.

  Reed was almost there. A few more minutes and he’d reach the door.

  “A stairwell. He’s inside!” Samuel said.

  Reed rushed forward but he’d only taken a few steps when he felt the unmistakable sensation of metal against his neck.

  He didn’t give his attacker a chance to slit his throat.

  Reed’s elbow came up, slamming beneath his attacker’s jaw. Reed hissed as the blade scraped his skin before it fell to the ground. Reed swung around, ducking as a fist came fast at his face. Reed blocked it and returned the favor, landing a hit in the man’s throat. The man recoiled, gasping for air and losing his footing. The crowd knocked him to the floor and stepped right over him; Reed knew they’d finish the job.

  He turned and ran. It had been a minute or more since Troy entered the stairwell, and that was a minute too many.

  Reed pushed through the crowd, desperate. Adrenaline raced through his body, heightening his senses. He reached the door, raised his weapon and kicked it open. Reed stepped into the silence, a sharp contrast from the panicked cries of the crowded station.

  The door closed behind him, echoing through the stairwell. He paused, listening, taking a moment to breathe.

  He looked up and down.

  “Samuel, what’s on the rooftop?” Reed asked.

  “Helicopter pad!” Samuel responded in a rush.

  Reed’s foot was on the step when he heard movement below. He paused, not daring to breathe as he strained to hear below. The stairwell was silent. Had he imagined it?

  He looked down again but saw nothing.

  If he made the wrong call now, it might take them months to find Troy again, and Reed knew there would be retaliation attacks for today. Troy would punish Asher for this—there was no doubt.

  Reed looked up again.

  He’d wasted too much time.

  It made sense Troy would have an escape plan, and a helicopter pad was a good one . . . but his gut screamed for him to go down.

  The pressure of the decision threatened to paralyze him, but Reed had been trained for those exact moments. He stepped back and whispered, “I’m going down!”

  He ran down the stairs so fast he felt like he was flying. He was halfway to the bottom and questioning his decision when he heard footsteps echoing below. He surged ahead and saw a flash of Troy over the balustrade, but he wasn’t close enough to catch him.

  His heart stammered in his chest. He couldn’t fail—he hated to lose.

  Reed looked to the ground, quickly calculating how many levels up he was, then put his hand on the railing and launched his body over. That was one decision he really hadn’t thought through properly. Troy stepped toward the door as Reed came flying down from above. Troy turned, his eyes doubling in size as he raised his weapon.

  But Reed flew down like a ninja and knocked the weapon from his hands before landing on the floor in a crouch. He grunted, the wind knocked from his lungs. Pain shot through his feet, all the way to his hips, but he pushed up just in time to block a blow from Troy. The guy was bigger than Reed, and someone had taught him how to fight, at least passably.

  The blows kept coming, and there was a fire in Troy’s eyes that made the hairs on Reed’s neck stand up. It was a look he had seen before: the look of a man prepared to survive at any cost.

  Reed ducked, swinging low, balling his fingers into a fist. He landed one in Troy’s stomach but it wasn’t hard enough. Troy had caught his hand and threw him into the wall. What Troy lacked in technique he was making up for in brute strength.

  Reed’s head slammed into the wall and he blinked a few times as his vision blurred. But when Troy’s fist came at him, he was quick enough to block it. Reed used the block to his advantage, grabbed his weapon, and fired a shot into Troy’s shoulder. Blood sprayed and he took a step back, but it didn’t stop him.

  If Reed could just kill him, this fight would’ve been over a long time ago—but until they had Alistair’s son, that wasn’t an option.

  “Reed? Reed?” James voice came through urgent.

  “Copy,” Reed said with a grunt as he defended another blow. Reed needed more space to move, but the cramped stairwell didn’t allow for it. Reed crouched and then rushed at Troy, slamming a fist into his injured arm then hitting him twice in the face.

  Troy landed a hit, and Reed hissed when it felt like the thin skin of his cheek split. When he tasted blood a second later, he guessed he was right.

  “Big mistake,” Reed said. Despite his line of work, he was still vain and didn’t want a scar on his cheek.

  Anger surged through him and he launched up, flying through the air, catching a breathless, pain-riddled Troy unprepared. Reed brought his fist down on Troy’s bloody shoulder and slammed his knee into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  But Reed didn’t stop. Instead, he unleashed. He delivered blow after blow, hitting Troy like he was a boxing bag. Blood sprayed from every orifice of Troy’s face and only when his eyes rolled back into his head did Reed stop.

  Troy’s legs buckled first and he slumped to the floor.

  A set of footsteps thundered above him and Reed gritted his teeth—but when a familiar face came barreling down the stairs, he lowered his weapon.

  James leaned over to look at Troy, then raised his eyebrows. “Please tell me he’s going to be able to speak with that broken jaw,” he said dryly.

  Reed shrugged. “His fingers are fine. He can type.”


  James smirked. “Let’s tie him up and get out of here. It’s chaos out there.”

  Asher

  Asher sat across from his once-trusted cousin. Troy’s eyelids fluttered, but he had yet to fully wake up.

  “He might be out for a while. Reed did quite the number on him,” James said.

  “I’ll wait,” Asher said, his voice tight. His throat felt like it was closing in. He was looking at a man he had called a friend . . . and now a man who had murdered his brother and father, attempted to murder his mother, and almost certainly aided in Abi’s kidnapping.

  Asher would wait.

  He wanted to be there the moment Troy opened his eyes.

  Minutes passed and James sat beside him, silent. They both knew that what happened next would change Asher’s life forever. He would never be the same man—the same person.

  “Did you think they would kill the captain like that?” Asher finally asked.

  A beat passed. “Not quite like that,” James admitted. “They were quick to put a bullet between his eyes. My team was well hidden and I’m certain they didn’t see anyone following him. I think Troy issued the order to kill him before the captain ever set foot inside that station. There was never a plan to protect him.”

  “How do you know who you can trust?” Asher asked, watching James carefully. “How do you know the men you’re employing can be trusted?”

  “Personally, I keep a very small circle, so that narrows the risk,” James said. “And that circle is composed of people I know would die for me. There’s very little risk that someone willing to die for you would also betray you.” He sighed. “In regards to my staff, I have a very strict policy in place . . . an uncomplicated HR policy,” he said without a trace of humor. “If they betray us, we’ll kill them—and every staff member knows it. It’s an extreme policy, but a necessary one.”

  “Have you ever had to enforce that policy?” Asher asked carefully, returning his attention to Troy.