Chapter 58: Reaper’s Forces [I]

The man in the chair chuckled softly, setting his glass down on the small side table with a faint clink. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes gleaming in the low light. His sharp features and stern brow were an unmistakable mirror of the Field Marshal’s, only slightly weathered by age. The resemblance between them was so uncanny that even a blind man could have sensed the shared blood in the room, as though their identical posture, mannerisms, and commanding presence carried the same unmistakable stamp of their family.

The only obvious difference lay in their eyes.

Where Thompson possessed piercing amber eyes, his brother’s were a cold, unsettling shade of green, giving him a far more predatory appearance, like a man who viewed every room he walked into as a hunting ground.

"Judging by your smile, I’d say the meeting went exactly the way you wanted."

Thompson walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter resting there. The amber liquid splashed softly into the glass. "It went even better."

"How did Prime Minister Ashcroft handle the show?"

"Predictable as always," Thompson replied, taking a slow sip. "He sang his usual anthem about preserving the stability of the crown and warned me against playing detective." He let out a snort of disbelief. "Me? Playing detective?"

Walking back to his desk, he stepped around it before lowering himself into the high-backed chair behind it. He swirled the contents of his glass with a look of quiet amusement.

"That bloody idiot actually thinks he’s in a position to lecture me. He genuinely believes he’s maintaining order. He has no idea he’s merely building the scaffold for us. If not for the role I still need him to play, he would have been lying cold in a grave years ago."

The older man rose from the armchair, adjusting the cuffs of his dark jacket as he walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate. "Forget about the Prime Minister. I’ll handle him myself."

He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out across the sprawling grounds below. "We just need to focus on the second phase of the plan. This is the perfect time to move forward," his voice dripping with cold satisfaction. "The King is drowning in grief, the council is divided, and the idiot who tried to steal my son’s place is lying helpless in a hospital bed, though not for long."

A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Everything is falling into place. Now we need to remove every obstacle that could interfere with our next move. It is time to make Prince Basil king." He turned back toward Thompson, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You’ve done well making sure the pressure stays on Basil. Nobody will suspect what’s really happening when the final piece falls into place."

Thompson nodded slowly, leaning forward slightly, his eyes cold and calculating.

"Which brings me to another matter."

His voice darkened. "Why didn’t the driver make sure he finished Darius off before driving away? He should have gotten out of the vehicle and made certain the job was done."

The older man shrugged. "Maybe the fool panicked. The impact drew far more attention than he expected, and he wasn’t willing to risk being caught."

Thompson’s expression hardened. "Tell me he’s been handled. We cannot afford loose ends."

The man’s crooked smile widened, cold and completely detached. "The car is already at the bottom of a lake, and its driver went down with it."

He turned toward Thompson.

"So relax little brother. No connection will ever lead back to this room." His eyes narrowed.

"You just have to make sure that Prince Darius doesn’t survive the next attack, and that the foolish woman in the royal cell doesn’t live to see another sunrise. It’s time we reclaimed what was stolen from us."

*****

The Wild Hounds’ headquarters had been completely transformed since the day Prince Darius had been struck down and left fighting for his life. The old atmosphere was completely gone. The usual noise of card games, drunken arguments, and careless laughter had vanished almost overnight. In its place was a level of discipline that made even Leo somewhat uneasy. Armed men moved through the building with purpose, speaking in low voices and carrying stacks of files, maps, and reports from one room to another.

Every hallway seemed occupied by someone working. Every office was lit long past midnight.

The transformation had begun the very same day Prince Darius was admitted to the hospital.

Rows upon rows of dark convoys had pulled up outside the headquarters without warning. Hardened, dangerous-looking men had poured out of the vehicles and stormed into the building, demanding to speak directly to the leader of the Wild Hounds. They made it clear from the start that they would be taking over operations, utilizing the Wild Hounds’ territorial influence as the only organization under Prince Darius that operated close to the capital.

Leo could barely believe his eyes when he took in their presence. In all his years of being a gangster, he had never encountered men like these, men who moved with such lethal, terrifying discipline. And to think that every single one of them answered to the Reaper was almost absurd. He simply couldn’t wrap his head around how a young man who had barely made it into his twenties had managed to gather such terrifyingly capable men and turn them into an elite force.

Looking around him, Leo couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him as he rubbed a hand over his face. It was no wonder Prince Darius had been able to track down the Wild Hounds’ headquarters so easily. If he had people like these working for him, there probably wasn’t much in the kingdom that could remain hidden for long. Their network seemed to reach everywhere, uncovering secrets with an efficiency that was honestly unsettling.

What was even more frightening was how far they were willing to go. They had already stationed their own people inside the hospital where Prince Darius was being treated, disguising them as nurses, doctors, orderlies, and support staff. Every floor was being monitored. Every visitor was being watched. Every movement around the prince’s room was being tracked, all to ensure that no further harm came to him while he remained unconscious.