Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,110
it in himself to punish his best mate for breaking the rules. Not that we’ll ever know if that was really the case. When Pa was alive, we were too young to know any better. Now that we’re older, Robert Guthram’s health has long past deteriorated. The fault lies with all of them and we’re stuck with the consequences: a bounty on my head and my brother briefly held behind bars for a murder that he didn’t commit.
Saxon may be out but I’m still being hunted. If I can use Robert Guthram to corral Marcus into letting me go free, without resorting to just killing the commissioner—which was my original plan—then I’ll take it.
Mercy isn’t without its benefits. It just requires more devious scheming.
To Rowena, I say, “Guy will tell you that he thinks Guthram pushed his case to Pa. Probably even pointed out that the three of us—me, Guy, and Saxon—were growing up in the same world as our father and he only wanted the same for his own son.”
She rests her elbow along the window, gently knocking her knuckles against the glass. “But you don’t think that, do you.”
I shouldn’t even be surprised that she’s read me so well. “No,” I answer, reflexively squeezing the steering wheel, “I don’t.” Switching gears, I push the car a little harder. “I look for signs, patterns in behavior. Whenever Marcus comes for us, it’s not motivated by envy.”
“Power?”
My stomach tightens with the memory of seeing my name appear on the UK’s Most Wanted list. For seven months and counting, I’ve remained the number one fugitive. Without a picture of me, Marcus Guthram was forced to stick with Damien Priest’s fake profile. A lifetime of serving this country, and the Crown, only to end up with Domestic Terrorist captioned beneath my name.
I grit my teeth.
It was a power move on Guthram’s part, all right. It was him staking claim over a city that he views as his, done as rashly as whipping out his prick and pissing all over the streets of London. But no matter how hard he tries, the Met’s commissioner will never stretch his fingers as far or as wide as we do—my brothers and I rule from the turquoise seas of Cornwall to the dark, turbulent waters of the Shetland Islands.
We may not wear the crown but all of Britain is our throne.
“For whatever reason, he likes the idea of us down on our knees. Guy terrifies him, but Saxon and me, he seems to think that he can pick us off one by one. Yesterday he had me followed.”
Her voice kicks up a notch when she demands, “From Holly Village? You were followed from my home?”
“No, after I met Matthews by St. Paul’s.”
“So the man that you . . .” Clearing her throat, she taps her knuckles against the window again. A restless tempo that picks up speed when she says, “He was one of Guthram’s?”
“Is one of Guthram’s,” I correct, darting a quick look at her. “I didn’t kill him, though God fucking knows I’ll probably regret that soon enough.” Easing the car into the left lane, I merge onto M3, heading for Southampton. Almost there. “Today isn’t for Holyrood or the queen, Rowena. It’s for me and it’s for Saxon, whom Guthram put in prison for murder. Even though it wasn’t him who did it but Jack.”
Rowena’s hand falls away from the window. “Who did Jack kill?”
“The priest from Christ Church Spitalfields.”
She clutches her stomach. “I had no idea. That’s not . . . I hope you know that in no way did I tell Jack to kill—”
“I know,” I cut in, wanting to ease the stricken look on her face. “Guy had Saxon released. And we . . . Guy and me, I mean, we may have taken things too far.” Thinking of the way I severed Jack’s head and left it for Guthram to find in his bed chills my blood to ice.
Madness.
Life is a series of cause and effect, and while I may not have started the war with Robert Guthram’s son, I plan on being the one to end it.
“For putting the bounty on my head, I always planned to kill him,” I tell her on a rough exhale. “The only want to make a cycle stop is to end it in the most permanent way possible.”
Hiking her leg up under her skirt, she turns to face me in her seat. “Are we finding ourselves an accomplice at Broadmoor?”