Tess flew from the lounge and spoke frantically, trying to slap sense into her husband just like I’d failed with Elder.
Q merely ignored her with his hands in his pockets and waited. His posture lethal just like Elder’s. His temper unfurled and ready to defend his territory and woman, no matter the cost.
Elder stalked, cursing under his breath, sounding more and more dragon as he approached.
I chased after him, but Selix grabbed my bicep, incinerating me with a look that froze me to the spot. “You are not to interfere. You can’t. He needs to do this.”
“He doesn’t need to do anything.” Ripping my gaze from his, I called after Elder. “Elder, please! Please, don’t do this.”
But he didn’t turn around.
He didn’t stop.
With ears deaf and mind on retribution, he prowled toward his enemy.
Chapter Nine
______________________________
Elder
I’D KILL HIM.
I didn’t care I had injuries slowing me down and there was no logical, realistic way I could fight, let alone win.
I didn’t care Pimlico had taken his side over mine even though it fucking cleaved me in two.
I didn’t care I might pass out from fever and agony halfway through the battle and lose.
I had to do this to avenge Pim, to prove to myself I hadn’t let her down, and balance whatever scales I’d ruined with my fuck-ups.
Q Mercer was a dead man.
That was all there was to it.
If I died in the process of delivering that sentence…so be it.
The ankle boot around my leg hindered my prowl, but as I sank deeper into war lust, I no longer felt the bone throb beneath. That was the thing about fighting—it was a drug. As consuming as marijuana; as cloying and addictive as any contraband.
I no longer thought about what was possible but only what I needed to do.
Kill him.
Knowing I was on the cusp of violence deleted everything unnecessary out of comprehension. I had two fists (minus a broken finger). I had two arms (minus a bullet tear in my shoulder). I had two legs—
Fuck it, this asshole doesn’t stand a chance even with my handicaps.
And he was an asshole.
Instead of coming to meet me—entering this duel and taking his punishment like a goddamn man, he remained steadfast in the doorway, gatekeeper to his home and anyone stupid enough to care for him.
A woman flittered around him with something bulky bouncing on her hip, only for a petite girl in a maid’s uniform to yank her deeper into the house.
Left alone, Mercer didn’t move; he merely watched me waste precious energy traversing his lawn.
Bastard.
I could shout profanities at him. I could murder him with words. But he knew what he’d done.
He’d pulled the trigger. I’d ended up in pieces. It was his turn to know what that felt like.
With only a few metres separating us, the bastard had the gall to say, “You’re hurt, Mr. Prest. I suggest you stop before you begin. I’m not opposed to hurting you some more if you try to enter my home with violence.”
I didn’t reply.
Pity for him I wasn’t afraid and I’d stopped doubting my odds at winning in my current state. I had fury on my side, and it was a vicious instructor when it came to survival.
He could be a great fighter for all I knew. He could have mastered martial arts like I had. But unlike me, he’d been taught with rules and parameters in place. When I’d learned to fight, the Chinmoku had taken the rule book and shredded it with a machete.
I could beat him with a fractured ankle and busted elbow and any other malady without even breaking a sweat.
Three metres remaining.
Two metres.
One.
My hands locked into fists, my distended finger bellowing at being forced to curl. After this, I’d need another splint after throwing the last one on the helicopter floor, but for now…it had a job to do just like the rest of my body.
I swung before I’d even climbed the top step.
His eyes flared as he staggered backward, my blow striking his cheekbone.
If he’d expected some sort of conversation or ceremony before I began, he knew now I had no such intention.
The crunch of his face ricocheted up my arm as I stomped into his home, inhaling lemon and leather and baking.
“You fucking took what wasn’t yours to take.” I breathed hard, already drunk on what I would do, how I would parry, what death I would deliver. “You shot my cello. You tampered with my world. Prepare to die.”
A woman’s shout echoed through the house followed by the screech of something animal-like.
Mercer removed his hands from his pockets, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the white tiles. “Don’t look so smug, Prest.” His eyes narrowed. “I gave you that one. I’m apologetic enough to allow you to draw blood. But heed my warning when I say it won’t happen again.”