But there were plenty of people waiting for him up on the eighteenth floor.
As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, he cursed under his breath.
iAm was leaning up against the closed door, all casual except for the murder in his eyes. And with him? The whores Trez had arranged for s’Ex.
The queen’s executioner was undoubtedly on the terrace outside. Or prowling around the inner rooms after having broken in, in a rage.
Trez shoved his hands in his pockets—no keys. Fuck.
Did he forget them? Or were they on the floor of Selena’s bedroom?
Goddamn it.
“Missing something?” his brother drawled.
“Hey, boss,” one of the prostitutes said.
“Boss—”
“What’s up—”
The women spoke over themselves as they pumped their extensions and rearranged their bra cups. They were each wearing some version of keep-it-legal, but everything was short and tight and low-cut.
Not that they were going to stay clothed for long.
“Allow me,” iAm muttered, taking out his copper key.
After doing the deed with the lock, he swung the door wide and nodded for the girls to go inside.
As they shimmied in, the male narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Taking care of business,” Trez hissed back. “The only way I know how.”
Pushing past his brother, he strode into the living room. And just like the wraith he was, the executioner was waiting on the far side of the glass, his black robes wafting in the cold wind.
As the three prostitutes noticed him, they froze, either spellbound or scared shitless. Maybe both.
“Give me a minute, ladies,” Trez said as he went to the sliding doors. “I’ll send him down to you in the bedroom off that hall over there.”
“Yeah, okay, boss,” the one in the front answered.
He waited until they were out of the room before letting s’Ex in. Good thing—the executioner was pissed off, all but tearing the hood from his head.
Jabbing a finger into Trez’s face, he barked, “You be on time in the future. Or our agreement is null and void.”
Just as Trez was about to get all up in the bastard’s face, iAm stepped in. “We had a mandatory engagement for the King. Nothing we could get out of, and nothing that’s going to happen again.”
Black, glittering eyes swung in his brother’s direction. “You make sure of that.”
iAm nodded once, his face deceptively calm: His tell was the twitch in his left eyebrow—shit, Trez was going to hear allllll about this as soon as it was over.
Great. Something else to look forward to.
s’Ex reached up to the black brooch at his throat. Big as a fighter’s fist, it was studded with black stones, the metal twisting in and around itself—and when he removed the thing, all those robes fell to the floor.
Exposing a pedestrian-looking wife beater and a pair of black combat pants.
What was not pedestrian was the rest of him: Every inch of his skin was marked with that white ritual tattooing, his heavily muscled arms and shoulders patterned with the shit. And yet, he could still pass for human.
Good news for the prostitutes.
“In spite of the fact that you’re late,” s’Ex gritted out, “I did you all a favor.”
“So our parents are alive?” Trez said.
“Oh, yeah, that, too. They are losing their quarters, however—at the queen’s request. Last time I checked, your mother was having a nervous breakdown as her jewels were being repossessed.” The executioner smiled slowly. “Her majesty is actually pleased with their suffering. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you planned this all perfectly.”
“What’s the favor?”
“Her majesty is about to be occupied with things that don’t involve you for a little while.”
Trez narrowed his eyes. “How so?”
“About nine months.”
“I’m sorry, what? I don’t get what you’re—”
“She’s pregnant.”
Trez stopped breathing. And then forced his lungs to get back with the program as he shot a glance over at his brother. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Of all people, I’d assume you don’t need a diagram.”
“But I thought her consort died ten years ago?”
“Yeah. Such a shame.” s’Ex cracked his knuckles. “He had a bad fall.”
“So whose is it.”
s’Ex smiled with a sly edge. “It’s a miracle.”
Holy … shit.
s’Ex nodded. “The timing’s good for you because she’s going to have to wait to see if it’s another daughter. At that point, the star charts will have to be read to figure out which will be the next queen. Obviously, if it’s a son? You’re screwed. If not, you might have a shot—after all, you were promised to that particular daughter. If another is to be queen? You’re good.”