Chapter 48: Yes, My Queen

The heavy steel blast shutters didn't just hiss open—they groaned like a hungover mech, revealing the absolute fucking circus waiting in the main observatory hall.

Ren was leaning against a fried control console, casually flicking hot cigar ash onto the corpse of a Council suit while flipping a stolen silver keycard between his knuckles. Kael was sitting on the shattered window ledge, his bare legs dangling over a casual thousand-foot drop straight down to 34th Street, eating cold, leftover takeout with a blood-stained combat knife.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to rejoin the fucking working class," Ren drawled, taking a long drag off his Cuban cigar and blowing a thick ring of smoke toward the ceiling. "We were about two minutes away from starting a betting pool on whether Adrian was going to break the sofa or break your spine."

"Fuck off, Ren," Adrian growled, stepping out of the penthouse frame completely bare-chested, covered in sweat, soot, and fresh bite marks, looking like a demonic tank that had just won a war against a leather couch. His massive hand was still clamped around Mari’s hip, dragging her flush against his side like a trophy he had no intention of ever putting down.

"I’d have put fifty credits on the sofa," Kael yelled over his shoulder, swallowing a mouthful of cold lo mein and grinning like a goddamn lunatic. "That leather was imported from Italy! Complete waste of good furniture, if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you, you psychotic little prick," Sera deadpanned, idly snapping a jagged icicle off her elbow and using it to clean the dark blood out from under her fingernails. She gave Mari a slow, cool evaluation from head to toe, her blue eyes tracking the fresh bruises on Mari’s neck. "Though I have to admit... the dark blue collar suits you, my Queen. Really ties the whole 'bloodthirsty dictator' look together."

Mari let out a sharp, breathless laugh, shoving Adrian’s heavy hand down just enough to step into the center of the bloody hall. Her body was aching, every muscle humming with a hyper-sensitive, bruised heat, but her voice sliced through the room with pure, unfiltered authority.

"Are you assholes done gossiping, or do I need to throw someone else out the fucking window?" Mari purred, her eyes flashing with lethal, dark amusement.

"Hey, I'm all business!" Ren held his hands up in mock surrender, though the filthy smirk never left his face. "The regional warlords are shitting their collective pants. Boston surrendered five minutes ago. The Atlantic fleet flipped their colors before the Chairman even hit the pavement, and the European sector just went dark on all comms channels. They think we’re going to cross the ocean next and kick their teeth in."

"Can we?!" Kael practically bounced on the window ledge, his dark eyes gleaming. "Please tell me we get to kick their teeth in! I’ve always wanted to drown a French diplomat in a fountain!"

"Sit your ass down, Kael," Mari snapped, though the corner of her mouth twitched into a wicked smile. She grabbed the silver keycard out of the air as Ren tossed it to her. "Let the bastards sweat for a few days. Ren, get the Midtown grid fully locked down. Sera, freeze out any corporate loyalists still hiding in the subway pipes. Lena..."

Lena, who was sitting at the base of a shattered pillar carefully polishing Mari’s spare sidearm, looked up with wide, worshipful eyes, practically panting. "Yes, my Queen? Who do I kill?"

"Nobody yet, little bird," Mari chuckled, stepping up to the shattered edge of the skyscraper, looking out over the dark, smoking expanse of Manhattan as the golden morning light washed over the ruins.

Adrian stepped up right behind her, wrapping one massive, calloused arm around her waist and pulling her hyper-sensitive back flush against his burning chest. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a filthy, possessive promise.

"You heard the Queen," Adrian growled to the room, his voice a low, heavy rumble that vibrated through Mari’s whole body. "Get to work, or I’ll use your skulls as target practice."