Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,30

the backend of the Jewel Tower, I press down on the screen until a drop-down menu appears. Gunfire. Tear gas. Grenade. It’s an auditory buffet of my own design, ruthless and creative and prone to instigating all-out destruction.

Every hero has a weakness . . . even you.

“Fuck,” I grunt, wishing I could eviscerate the memory of her husky voice right before I realized she was working me over like a professional.

If I’d been anyone else, I would have taken her right then and there. Blind, ruined, and all. Joggers tugged down and forgotten around her ankles; knickers shoved to the side with a crook of my finger; bent over, face down, my cock a hard reminder that love and hate are mirrored versions of the same indefinable emotion.

She’d love each thrust just as surely as she despised the man fucking her.

Rowena has it wrong: I’m not the hero here, and I have only one weakness that could bring me to my knees. And it’s not a woman with rebellion in her eyes or a penchant for—

I select gunfire.

A second passes, and then human-made pandemonium arrives.

The air explodes with the sound of rounds unloading. Volatile. Insistent. One after another, sounding so damn realistic that if I didn’t know any better—if I weren’t the bastard who designed the watch—I’d be hard-pressed to believe that it isn’t real.

As it is, I observe from the shadows as the two guards shove at each other. Helmets conceal their expressions, but I don’t need to see their faces to know the havoc I’ve unleashed.

“Go!” the taller one argues, the panicked command carrying on the damp breeze.

“Me? Are you mad? I’ve been on the job for two bloody days!”

“Does it look like I care? As your superior, I’m telling you to investigate.”

Without remorse, I tap my watch again and go for round two.

Ra-ta-ta-ta!

The guards leap in unison, helmets swiveling toward the paved path that leads to The Cloisters. They stand there, hands gripping their rifles, booted feet rooted in place.

“Bugger all,” the superior finally says, “I’ll go, okay? I’ll go.”

I wait until he’s disappeared around the corner before I slide a finger under the Velcro flap of my military-grade vest and pull out a palm-sized ball. Keeping my eyes firmly locked on the remaining guard, I activate the device with a shallow push of a button and hurl it across the lawn.

It lands with a heavy thud in the grass.

Three.

The guard whirls around, rifle raised.

Two.

“Oi!” he calls, fear rampant in his voice. “Who’s there?”

One.

A flash of blue coincides with a startling crack! that has the guard throwing himself to the pavement, his arms curled over his head.

I narrow my eyes. Snarl “get up” under my breath, as if that’ll force the man to grow a pair of bollocks and do his blasted job. Jesus. Where the hell did Carrigan find these two bellends?

Finally, finally, he belly-crawls forward on his elbows and knees.

Not ideal, but it’ll have to do.

Marking his position by the glint of his helmet under the sparse moonlight, I stalk toward him on silent feet, already reaching into my vest again.

He grunts something unintelligible.

My fingertips graze a coil of hard wire.

“What the hell—” Cutting himself off, he shifts onto his knees and taps the modified flashbang with a single finger, clearly wary of it exploding all over again.

Which it will. Fifteen seconds, if that.

Scooping the device into one palm, he turns it over in his hands. He’s so focused on the weapon that he doesn’t notice my approach until it’s too late.

The flashbang implodes and he releases a garbled shout and I hook the wire over his throat, each end looped around my knuckles to keep the pressure tight on his airway.

He gurgles and he thrashes, the SA80 falling from his chest to hang under his armpit while he grapples with my fists.

I drag him deeper into the shadows.

With each meter, he loses another sign of consciousness. His feet stop kicking; his legs go slack; and then, finally, his hands fall from mine to the damp grass. When his breathing slips into a shallow rhythm that barely expands his chest, I pause to stuff the wire back into its designated pocket.

Then, with my hands locked around his biceps, I pull his limp frame all the way to the Jewel Tower’s arched oak door.

Quickly, I pluck the body camera off his chest and shove it into the front pocket of my trousers. Then cast my gaze to the security scanner that’s bolted into the stone beside