White Rabbit: The Rise (The Kingmaker Saga Book 1) Read online

  Before anyone could walk in, however, he shoved the sheets off his legs and twisted his body to plant his feet on the floor. He hated how long it took him to get to his feet, and how it took even longer for him to shuffle his way over to the bathroom and get inside while also closing the door.

  He’d taken this all for granted—something as simple as getting up and crossing a room without feeling as if he was running a marathon.

  And worse, seeing the damage to his body up close in the mirror that spanned the entire east wall of the bathroom was sickening. In mere weeks, he looked as if he had lost a few pounds. His face a touch more gaunt and a thinness to his arms that he didn’t like.

  If only because he looked like shit, he wanted to make Gaspard pay for what he had done.

  By the time Uilleam came back out of the bathroom, he was no longer alone.

  Skorpion’s massive frame took up the entirety of the armchair next to the bed.

  While Uilleam had been in a drug-induced haze for the first few days after the shooting, he’d still been out of it for quite a while after, but even when his thoughts had been hazy, he did recall Skorpion sitting in that very spot on more than one occasion.

  He would have to find a way to repay him.

  “What’s the word?” Uilleam asked as he gingerly climbed back into bed, feeling far too much relief as he relaxed back against the pillows.

  Gaspard might have taken his pound of flesh, but he wouldn’t give anyone else the opportunity to do the same.

  “It’s been pretty quiet as far as I can find. Those who know aren’t talking, and those who don’t are none the wiser.”

  Good enough for the moment. “Where is she?”

  He didn’t have to elaborate on the she he meant. There was only one woman he would be asking after.

  “Safe. I have someone watching her place—says no one has come and gone but a woman with blond hair.”

  No one of notable interest, he figured. “I need to see her.”

  “That’s a stupid fucking plan.”

  “Careful.”

  Skorpion’s gaze cut to him. “In case you forgot”—he gestured at him with a flick of his hand—“Gaspard tried to have you killed. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to think he’d try again if given the opportunity. You took her with you to meet him, so he knows her face. If he can’t get to you directly, you know he would use her.”

  Of course he would.

  Uilleam would do the same—had even done so in the past—but that didn’t erase the desire that was eating at him.

  It had taken a number of years for him to find balance in his life, and though Karina had tipped the scales at one point and disrupted everything he thought he knew, she had also righted it again.

  And threat or not, he had no intentions of remaining in this room for much longer.

  He refused to hide and cower.

  His father had taught him better than that.

  A message needed to be sent.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked. “If I let this go unanswered, he wins.”

  And that was something Uilleam couldn’t allow.

  Not just because he wanted to see the end of the man and everything he had built, but because he couldn’t afford to look weak.

  Not after he had come so far.

  He was standing at the precipice of who his father had been and the man he had hoped to be.

  “If you answer prematurely, he wins anyway because you’ll be dead.”

  Feeling both tired and frustrated, Uilleam raked a hand down his face. “What would you have me do?”

  Skorpion shrugged, not offering an immediate response. “You got a call your first night here,” he said, pulling the mobile from his pocket. “I suggest you return it.”

  He caught the device Skorpion tossed at him, his brow furrowing as he read through the list of various numbers, stopping once he reached the one he was looking for.

  A missed call from a man he’d least suspected, but the one he needed most at this moment.

  His day was starting to look up.

  Two more days of bedrest and medication made all the difference in the world.

  He might have still been badly bruised, but at least it didn’t take a concentrated effort to make even the slightest move now.

  At least it felt as if he could breathe again without wishing he wasn’t.

  Besides, he was glad for it. Being idle made him antsy—his mind rebelled at stagnation.

  He needed something to keep him stimulated.

  Katt had already come and gone for the day, his presence not really needed now that Uilleam was on the mend.

  He could actually pull on a shirt without feeling as if the material was abrasive against his skin. That it didn’t feel like a weight on his chest.

  But even as he felt better, he should have been resting and regaining his strength because he still wasn’t back to one-hundred percent, but instead, he was awake and sitting in front of the trio of televisions on the other side of his room, watching the news.

  He wished it calmed him enough to make him feel less … on edge, but he was teetering on the edge of a break, and if something didn’t change soon, he feared he would turn to more drastic measures.

  Heavy footsteps sounded, so loud that his gaze skirted in the direction of his bedroom door.

  No one was supposed to be here after Katt had come and gone. Not to mention, Skorpion wouldn’t be arriving for at least another two hours.

  Carefully, Uilleam leaned across the side of the chair he was sitting in, pulling the Ruger from its hidden position beneath the chair.

  He might not have made it a point to use guns, but that didn’t mean he was unprepared.

  As soon as the door opened, Uilleam turned and aimed, his finger resting beside the trigger, at least until he saw who entered the room.

  Anyone else might have reacted to having a gun pointed at them, but Zachariah Runehart wasn’t just anyone. His reflexes were keen and well honed, and four decades of living the way he did ensured he knew when and if his life was in any actual danger.

  Or perhaps he didn’t see Uilleam as a threat, considering he had been in his life since Uilleam was in diapers.

  “Uncle Z. You’re the last person I was expecting to see.”

  His uncle might have been many things, but sentimental had never been one of them. He was far more straightforward that Uilleam’s father had been and possessed considerably more tact.

  “It looks like I’m digging you out of a hole you seem determined to bury yourself in.”

  Uilleam scratched at his whiskered face, knowing he was in desperate need of a shave, but for the time being, he couldn’t be bothered.

  There were quite a few things he needed to see to, and his facial hair was at the very bottom of that list.

  “I’m handling it.”

  “I made a promise to—”

  “My father was never one to hang on such sentiment,” Uilleam interrupted before he could finish.

  If he thought to guilt him that way, it wouldn’t work.

  Alexander would have sacrificed his own family if it meant he got what he wanted—had done so once before, in fact.

  “It wasn’t to him,” Zachariah continued before sitting on the opposite chair, his gaze briefly flickering over to the many televisions Uilleam was sitting in front of. “To Kit.”

  Uilleam frowned—a reaction that was almost standard when he heard his brother’s name. It hadn’t always been this way in the beginning, back when they were living together at Runehart Castle during the months he was home from boarding school.

  Those had been some of the best days of his life when he took a moment to think about it. If he’d had no one else to confide in—to look up to—he had Kit.

  At least until Kit had turned seventeen.

  Something had changed about him that year.

  Something Uilleam had never been privy to. He had seemed more reluctant to be home and acted as if he would ra
ther be anywhere but there.

  Which, considering the idol worship Uilleam had once felt for him then—thankfully that hero worship had simmered down—it had still hurt to think his brother hadn’t wanted to be around when he was all Uilleam had.

  It was somewhere in the midst of that time that Uilleam grew out of it and became less disillusioned where his brother was concerned.

  And though he would never admit it to himself, it was after his brother’s departure that his resentment for him grew as well.

  “So is that why you deigned to call me after all these years?”

  Unlike his brother, Uilleam didn’t consider himself particularly close with his uncle. His particular occupation wasn’t one that he was interested in.

  He trained assassins.

  Molded and shaped them into calculated, cunning killers.

  It was his specialty.

  Kit’s specialty.

  Uilleam had never been overly fond of killing—he’d much rather have someone else dirty their hands with the job.

  Even as his own were just as stained.

  “You decided to make an enemy of Gaspard Berger.”

  Uilleam didn’t offer a response as the other man took a seat beside him. There wasn’t much he could say—not when he wasn’t wrong.

  “They’re not going to stop just because you’re down,” Zachariah said with a shake of his head, his expression grave. “If anything, they’ll try harder. There’s no easier prey than a man already on his knees.”

  “I know,” he answered, even if it was a bit of an overstatement.

  He wasn’t on his knees just yet, but Gaspard had almost accomplished that.

  “What you need to do is prepare for it. Tell that big Samoan to teach you how to use a damn—”

  “I had something else in mind.”

  Zachariah arched a brow, his skepticism clear.

  It was a thought he’d contemplated for quite some time now. He had known, long before Gaspard took his shot at him, that he had enemies, but he’d also thought he’d have more time before someone struck out against him.

  Not to mention, he’d thought his notoriety would help him in the same manner.

  And while it had deterred some, he needed to make sure everyone knew that acting against him wouldn’t be in their best interest.

  To implement that plan, it had to be more than him.

  “Go on then,” Zachariah said with an impatient gesture of his hand. “What is it?”

  “Mercenaries.”

  He blinked once. “You’re not serious …”

  “That’s why I called you here. You, better than anyone, can help me bring this to fruition.”

  “What exactly do you intend to do with the mercenaries?”

  For the first time since he’d feared he would die in the streets of Paris, Uilleam smiled. “I’m going to make an army.”

  37

  A Welcome Return

  Another glance at her phone, another moment wasted.

  She was still waiting … still expecting.

  Hoping against hope that something would change. Anything. She didn’t care so long as something did.

  It didn’t matter that she was starting to develop a routine that wasn’t doing her the least bit of good. She didn’t know why she was still checking at all considering nothing had changed, and there was very little reason to think that anything would.

  But the part of her that had always made her different from her mother and sister refused to think that Uilleam had brought her along with him to Paris simply because he wanted to have sex with her.

  That could have happened at any time, if she was being honest with herself. Hell, it had nearly happened on more than one occasion before Paris had ever been mentioned.

  So the time she spent there with him wasn’t black and white.

  There was more to it than that.

  She had to believe that.

  Because otherwise … these feelings that had her stomach twisting into knots would be for nothing.

  But it still didn’t change the fact that she had yet to hear anything from him.

  Not a call.

  Not a text.

  He hadn’t even sent Skorpion back around to let her know anything.

  Now, without any way of getting into contact with him, she had to settle for waiting. She certainly wasn’t going to ask her mother for assistance, though she had briefly entertained the idea.

  Katherine had never been the sort to do anything out of the goodness of her heart. Her favors came with strings, and having witnessed the sort of things she asked for in return, Karina would rather take her chances elsewhere.

  Forcing her mind off Uilleam, her mother, and everything else that had her distracted from the articles she was reading online, Karina tried unsuccessfully to focus back on work.

  “You’ve been really quiet since you got back,” Samantha said conversationally as she came from the office kitchen, leaning one shapely hip against the side of her desk. “How was your trip?”

  Karina might have been back for nearly two weeks now, but mentally, she was still in Paris—in a mansion just outside of the city.

  At the time, she hadn’t realized she’d been taking her time there with Uilleam for granted. If she’d known then what she knew now, she would have savored every moment with him.

  Spent more time lying beside him, enjoying the contentment she felt in his presence. The peace that always settled over her when she was with him.

  Just the thought of him made the pang in her chest worsen. “It was good … fun. I’m just tired, you know? Jet lag.”

  It was the best excuse she could think of. The truth was far too complicated to explain to anyone.

  Samantha sighed, looking off into the distance as if she could imagine a more beautiful place. “I’ve never been out of the city. First chance I get, I want to go to Spain. No … Australia. Somewhere warm, definitely.”

  Karina tried to listen to whatever she was saying, she really did, but it was hard paying attention as her mind was somewhere else.

  The only hope she had of not driving herself crazy with thoughts of Uilleam was if she buried herself in her work.

  “Sam, I—”

  “Ashworth!”

  Saved by the bell.

  She offered her an apologetic smile as she stood. “The editor calls.”

  “No worries, we’ll chat later.”

  Lord help her.

  But as she walked toward Camilla’s office, she was reminded that there was one person she could talk to without worrying what sort of price she had to pay in return.

  Though even as the thought filled her with hope, she wasn’t so sure whether the meeting would go at all the way she was hoping.

  For once, Orion didn’t look happy to see her. His easy expression was pensive now, his brows pinched as he tossed back the last of his drink and pushed the glass to the edge of the table before raising his hand to signal for another.

  She didn’t like this look on him.

  The indifference.

  Something akin to bitterness, though she couldn’t read it quite right, and with her current mood, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  She had her own issues to deal with.

  “I can’t say I’m not surprised you agreed to meet me,” she told him as she placed her purse in the booth opposite him before sliding in.

  He gave an absent nod of his head, having yet to actually look at her. “Yeah? Well, when have I ever been able to say no to you?”

  Karina fell silent, not quite sure what to say. She doubted anything she could say would be good enough.

  “So …” he started, tapping his thumb against the table, still not looking at her. “What’s brought you around here? I thought you had a thing with the fixer.”

  Had she actually thought this would be easy just because she knew Orion? If anything, it was worse.

  With him, she couldn’t pretend as if Uilleam was an innocent man, or that something good
was buried beneath the surface. Orion knew all about him, probably more than she did.

  Not to mention, Uilleam had had him arrested and thrown in jail simply for knowing her. She couldn’t imagine he was his favorite person.

  If she had to guess, he was probably public enemy number one at the moment.

  “You hear things, more than anyone I know.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “And you want to know what I’ve heard about him.”

  Karina nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “Yeah? And what do I get in return?”

  She … hesitated, though only for a second. “You’ve never asked for anything before.”

  “It was never about fucking Uilleam Runehart before. It was different then.”

  “Different because of who he is, or different because I’m the one asking?”

  The question slipped out before she could contain it, and she knew within seconds that it was the wrong thing to ask. It was written all over his face.

  But before he could respond, the bartender came over, eyed him sharply—undoubtedly looking for telltale signs of his drunkenness—before refilling his glass and carrying on.

  Orion didn’t toss this one back like he did the other. Instead, he turned the glass round and round in his hands, staring down at the amber liquid as if it held all the secrets in the world.

  She wished she knew what he was thinking.

  She also wished it wasn’t because of her that his expression was so grim.

  “What do you care?” he asked after a while, pale eyes finally lifting from the tabletop to her. “Why do you give a shit what happens to him? ’Cause the way I see it, he doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  “Orion—”

  “What, you think I’m wrong? If he did, where the hell is he? Huh? Because a little bird told me he’s alive and well despite the odds, and if you’re here with me and not him, looks to me like he didn’t want you to know.”

  This time, he lifted his drink and swallowed half, grimacing against the burn. “The motherfucker just won’t die already.”

  With the way he grumbled those words, she wasn’t sure he had meant for her to hear them.

  All the same, she ignored the remark and focused on the rest. “So he is alive?” she asked, wishing that didn’t make her feel better.