Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(61)

Failure and shame and pure self-loathing washed over me, squeezing me in a vise grip from which there was no escape. That was twice now I’d failed to murder the man known as Daxton Hart. At least this time, it wasn’t from lackof trying.

“I’m thrilled you’re still alive,” I said through a clenched jaw, my mind racing. Whose blood was that? I glanced into the room, but most of my view was blocked by Daxton and the door. Who else was at the manor with—

All the air left my lungs, and suddenly it was all I could do to remain standing. I’d been so busy worrying about Greyson that I hadn’t given Benjy’s safety a second thought.

No. I couldn’t lose control. I couldn’t forget who I was supposed to be. Benjy was nothing to Lila. Daxton would have no reason to hurt him for my sake. And if I asked about him—if I gave even the slightest hint he was my top priority—

“Where’s Greyson?” I managed, forcing the words out. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Oh, don’t worry. Greyson is quite safe,” he said, and he stepped aside, giving me room to enter. “He doesn’t have the courage to pull the trigger anyway, does he? No, no—once I reviewed the footage from the incident, it became crystal clear who the perpetrator was.”

My head buzzed with fear and pure adrenaline, and I staggered forward, hardly daring to let myself think it. It couldn’t be Benjy. It couldn’t be Benjy. It couldn’t be Benjy.

I exhaled sharply when I saw the body lying prone on a steel table. Or at least I thought it was a body—the skin was nearly all gone, revealing the angry red muscles below, and the hands and arms lay in pieces on nearby trays,clearly sawed off bit by bit. The massive belly was sliced open, and another bowl of organs had been placed beside several fingers.

I turned away and was sick on the floor, heaving up what felt like everything I’d eaten in days. I’d been right. It wasn’t Benjy. Even though it was nearly unrecognizable, the body was too big to be him. But I did recognize the handlebar mustache attached to what was left of the face.

Minister Bradley.

“Is he—?” I managed once there was nothing left to come up. For once, I hoped the answer was yes.

“No, not yet. He will be soon, though, don’t worry. To his credit, it did take several days to break him,” said Daxton, setting aside the saw and moving to admire his handiwork. I’d seen evidence of it before, I realized—in the basement of Mercer Manor. At the time, I’d assumed it was only Jonathan Mercer. But of course his brother had enjoyed himself, too.

“You think—you think Minister Bradley tried to kill you?” I said, gagging again as the smell of vomit mixed with the rest of it.

“Oh, no. The public does, of course—it’s easy to spin the footage from the event to make it seem like that’s the truth—but I know exactly what happened.” Daxton selected a particularly long knife from his collection of tools, testing his thumb on the tip. “Even without Bradley’s confession, Greyson doesn’t have the courage, and Benjamin would have done it privately, no doubt. Or at the very least, he’s competent enough to recognize a bulletproof vest underneath a suit when he sees one.”

But he hadn’t. None of us had. In the dead of winter, with the bulky coats we were all wearing, it would have been impossible to tell a vest from an extra sweater. I cursed myself again and again for not considering that possibility. I should have aimed for his head.

“So you think it was me,” I said, too shaken to fake Lila’s usual haughtiness. I wanted to believe that, faced with the torture Minister Bradley had spent the past five days enduring, she wouldn’t have been able to keep it up,either.

“I know it was you, Lila. Bradley admitted he gave you the gun. My guards are searching your room now. I have no doubt they will find it soon.”

There was no point in denying it. He knew Lila had wanted to kill him; he knew we all did. And whether I admitted it or not, my sentence would still be the same. “Is that why you brought me here? To execute me?”

Daxton laughed as he traced the tip of the knife over Bradley’s exposed chest. Though he had been still and silent until now, the former Minister suddenly trembled, and a soft moan escaped. My stomach contracted again, but there was nothing left to purge.

“Execute you? My dear Lila, why on earth would I do something so foolish? No, no. Your allegiance, feigned or not, is far too precious. I only wish to demonstrate to you exactly what will happen to Greyson and anyone else alive you love should you ever attempt something this heinous again.”

He shoved the blade into Bradley’s chest, right where his heart must have been. At once, Bradley’s moans stopped, and grim relief filled me. Five days. It had taken him five days to break and betray me. No one could blame him for that, and if Daxton hadn’t put him out of his misery, I would have found a way to do so before leaving the room.

“You are mine, Lila. Do you understand? You and Greyson—you are my pets, to sit and stay and roll over as I please,” snarled Daxton. “Dogs do not bite their master unless they want to be euthanized. Is that what you want?”

“The dogs wouldn’t bite at all if their master didn’t abuse them.” My voice trembled, but at least I’d found some drop of courage. “The master is always at fault.”

“Maybe. But the master is the one who holds the leash, so in the end, does it really matter?” He pulled the knife from Bradley’s body with a sickening, wet sound. “Let this be a warning to you, Lila. There is no escape, and the harder you try, the direr your circumstances will become. You are dismissed.”