Chapter 158: Futile 2

BONNIE

Bradley cleared his throat, stepping to the center of the room, his boots clicking against the tile. "With what happened today," he began, his voice carrying that particular authority he used when he was about to deliver orders disguised as explanations, "there are matters of security that must be addressed. Loyalties must be verified."

He continued speaking, something about the witch’s death and the need for discretion, but I couldn’t focus on his words. I was watching Ryker’s face, the way his jaw worked back and forth, the way his fingers kept flexing against the grip of his gun. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, deciding whether to jump.

Then Ryker laughed. It was a short, sharp sound, bitter as bile. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

"Get on to it. Are you going to kill us, High Beta?"

The room went still. The other sentinels and retainers turned to stare at him, their eyes wide with shock. Bradley stopped mid-sentence, his head swiveling slowly toward Ryker like a predator scenting prey.

"Who spoke?" Bradley demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Ryker raised his hand, not the one near his gun, but the other one, his palm open and empty. "I did."

Bradley stepped toward him, his movements controlled but carrying that coiled violence I’d seen earlier when he’d finished with the witch. "What would possess you to say something so vile? These are my brothers and sisters. My family."

"Family?" Ryker laughed again, louder this time, his eyes bright with something that looked dangerously close to madness. "Is that what we are? Because from where I’m standing, we look like loose ends. Expendable assets. Sheep being led to slaughter."

He took a step forward, his hand finally leaving his pocket to gesture wildly at the group around him. "You think I don’t know? You think I haven’t heard the whispers? We killed healers and Omegas months ago, Bradley. We did it on the old King’s orders, and we did it without question because that’s what good little soldiers do. We follow orders. We don’t ask why."

My blood ran cold. What the hell was Ryker talking about, and why in Goddess’s name was he acting so unhinged?

"And now," Ryker continued, his voice rising, cracking at the edges, "I heard you. I heard you tell the soon-to-be King that we should die to protect his throne. That we’re liabilities. That we need to be managed." He turned to face the others, his arms spreading wide. "We should question this shit. Is that why the witch is here? To stop our hearts? To make sure we never talk?"

Bradley moved faster than I could track. His fist connected with Ryker’s jaw with a wet crack that echoed off the walls. Ryker flew backward, his body hitting the floor hard enough to slide several feet across the tile. He lay there for a moment, dazed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But he didn’t stay down. He rolled onto his side, coughing, spitting red onto the white tile, and then he was laughing again. The sound was wrong, high and hysterical, scraping against my nerves like nails on slate.

He pushed himself up to his knees, swaying slightly, his hand going to his belt. The gun came up smooth and fast, the barrel steady despite the blood dripping from his chin. He pointed it at Bradley’s chest.

"Is that the best you’ve got?" Ryker wheezed, grinning through the blood. "Hit me harder, Beta. Make it look like an accident. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Making the inconvenient disappear?"

The other sentinels in the room tensed, their own hands moving toward their weapons, but Bradley raised one hand, stopping them. He stood perfectly still, staring down the barrel of Ryker’s gun with an expression that looked almost bored.

"You’re making a mistake," Bradley warned, his voice flat and cold. "Put the weapon down, Ryker. This is your last chance to walk out of here breathing."

"Walk out?" Ryker laughed, the gun trembling slightly in his grip. "There is no walking out. You said it yourself. We’re dead either way. At least this way I get to choose who I take with me."

I stepped forward before I could think, my body moving on instinct, placing myself between the gun and Bradley. The movement was stupid, reckless, the kind of thing that got people killed in stories, but I couldn’t stand there and watch another person die in front of me. Not today. Not after everything.

"Ryker, stop," I called out, my voice shaking but loud enough to fill the room. "This isn’t the way. You’re not a traitor. You’re not the enemy here."

His eyes snapped to me, and the hatred I saw there made me flinch. The gun swung in my direction, the black hole of the barrel staring at me like a dead eye.

"You," he hissed, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Of course it’s you. The golden girl. The special one." He spat blood onto the floor near my feet. "Shut the fuck up, bitch. You don’t get to talk to me. You don’t get to pretend you understand anything about what we’ve lost."

"Ryker, please," I whispered, my hands rising slowly, palms out. "I know you’re scared. I know you think you’re protecting yourself. But this won’t help. It won’t bring them back."

"Bring them back?" He screamed the words, his face contorting into something ugly and grief-stricken. "You can’t bring back the dead, healer. Or did you forget? You were there when the King died. You watched him bleed out just like the rest of us watched our friends die today. And what happens to you? You practically get a crown. You get the Regent’s protection. You get to be the victim while the rest of us get to be the casualties."

He took a step closer, the gun wavering but still pointed at my chest. I could see the sweat on his forehead, the tremor in his hand that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with rage.