The man in the chair, with a build, a face, and even a smarmy snicker to match the man’s, unleashed an open grin at Brick. The expression was wide enough to crack some crumbling latex glue at the edges of his cheeks, which fell atop a flexible rubber mask in his lap. The thing was similar to the kinds of façades that hit the stores at Halloween season—only instead of the president or the latest internet scandal star, this was a face condom of the shithead who’d begun to dominate his nightmares.
And would continue to do so.
Only now, Brick was living those midnight terrors. In more ways than he wanted to acknowledge.
“Shit on a shingle,” Z grunted.
“Deep fake for the obscene win, anyone?” Ethan added.
“Hmmm. I approve of his concept.” In a different time and place, Carris’s stand-in could’ve made some bank as a celebrity look-a-like for the asshole. Everything about the guy’s voice was an ideal match too. “Winning has a nice ring to it. And since it is fairly much the truth now…”
“Which means what?” Shiraz surged forward, overenunciating the last word until it sprayed across the dickwad’s features. “Faisi-crish! Start talking now, kimfuk. As you can see, we have exactly done what you dictated.” He grabbed the front of Brick’s coveralls and hauled him forward. “He is here now, yes? Your beloved bonami, in the flesh. So start—”
“Okay, whoa the fuck there.” The doghouse was no place from which to start a dog fight, but Brick was willing to lose a paw for it. Bonami. He knew that term now. Jayd and Emme had used it enough times with each other. “I’m not any kind of a buddy with this ass chunk. Do you honestly think—”
“That you are lying through your fucking teeth?” Evrest was the surprise Dirty Harry to his brother’s Josey Wales. “Or do you have another colorful story for why you ran out of here when Samsyn and his team were on their way from the airstrip and then showed back up with a bigger gang of soldasks?”
A new snort burst from Zeke. “Can’t speak to whatever the hell a soldask is, but we’re no gang, man. And further—”
“Pardonais, Your Majesty.” Thankfully, Ethan was swift with serving the courtly manners platter of this awkward tea party. “What my friend means to say is that we arrived here of our own accord, out of a concern to assist if our friend Brickham was in trouble.”
“Well, that he damned well is,” Shiraz leveled.
“But not because I’m hitting ragers with him!” Brick glared harder at the pretender in all the ropes. He loathed the asshat’s steady nod of concurrence.
“Another outstanding point from the Yank,” the guy drawled. “I intimated not a thing about sharing ragers with him, did I?”
The king didn’t fling back any answers. Neither did either of his brothers.
Which opened the door, terrifyingly wide, for Brick’s logic to go to work.
And for its conclusion to exit his mouth in a harsh spew.
“Shit.”
Cuffs be damned. He stomped in until he took up all of the dickhead’s personal space.
“Are they shooting straight about this?” he demanded of the guy. “You told them you’d talk if they brought me back here?”
“Hmm.” The guy emulated his idol once more, tick-tocking his head with Carris’s trademark insolence. “More or less…yes.”
Brick scowled. “Why?” But the threat faded from his face as harsher understanding exploded in his senses. “Never mind. I already know.”
God fucking help him, did he already know.
He wasn’t conscious of blurting it aloud, especially because the length of his throat burned with bile. But somehow, once he looked up again, Arcadia’s three princes were braced in a tense semicircle around him.
Their stares, already bright against their burnished skin, were incisive with suspicion. He had no idea what his offered in return. Dread? Fury? Fear? Nausea? Any or all would be disgustingly accurate.
Still, he dredged words to his lips. He had no other choice. “He was following Carris’s orders,” he croaked. “The cockbag wanted the Arcadian troops distracted, and then me out of the way, so he could have a clean path…to her.”
To her.
The prize that had first slipped from the man’s grip, just when he thought his hold was airtight. The treasure he’d tracked all the way to Paris, only to be denied once more.
The woman Trystan Carris was determined to own—no matter how extreme the cost.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Ancient steel bit into Brick’s wrist as he moved to fight the screams of his mind by clawing at his skull, until being reminded of that impossibility. The pain was brutal, but that was perfect. Anything to put a dent in the torture device he’d been calling a brain.
But before that happened, the torment got worse. He was helpless to do anything while watching the same horror bite into Jayd’s brothers. Their anguish made him wish for their anger all over again. But respawns were only good for characters in video game forests, not real-life guys struggling just to reconnect clear thoughts.
Thank God for Samsyn Cimarron—yeah, Brick meant it this time—who lunged right in at the ass chunk. With the guy’s neck solidly lodged beneath a hand, the warrior prince let fly with a vicious snarl.
“Where. The fuck. Is he?” Samsyn didn’t let up, his Josey Wales glare throughout the imposter’s stubborn silence. “That is the first and last time you get the courtesy of the question!”
As soon as his knuckles visibly tautened, the imposter gulped. Well, attempted to. Just as quickly, the bastard reverted to a smirk. Christ, Brick had forgotten how infuriating an indoctrinated zealot could be.
“He is…nowhere,” the man said with sickening serenity. “And yet everywhere.” He canted his head the same direction. “Do you not know this yet, Your Highness? We are the Pura. Our very name means purity. And when you are pure, you can flow infinitely. Boundlessly. Beyond places you ever dreamed—”
“Yeah, yeah. And following the light will grow your dick a couple of inches. Hold up while I grab the branding iron and Kool-Aid.”
Under other circumstances, Z’s crack would’ve earned him at least a chuckle from Brick. But here and now, he could only send thankful vibes his friend’s way while hoping his shutdown stuck with Cosplay Carris. The fucker’s son-of-insanity shit was already stinking like the pile of dung it was.
Once more, he was glad to see the same sentiment stamped across the faces of the men around him. He was also damn glad that his two buddies were a part of that small crowd, especially as Ethan embraced his straight-to-the-chase DNA.
“Much as I’d love to make sure this sweet thing never pisses right again”—he quirked a grin when the imposter paled by four shades—“he clearly doesn’t know Carris’s whereabouts. So that means we’ve got to think faster and smarter.”
Shiraz straightened his spine. “That is correct. We are wasting valuable time. We have to find Jayd before they do.”
“They…meaning anyone in the damn kingdom.” Brick dove off the psychological high board and said it. Why not?
Best case, it engendered a few shreds of the royals’ trust. Worst, they took advantage of the moment to really toss him in the brig, likely located below their very feet. Also not a shitty thing, if Jayd had lingered anywhere near the spot at which he’d last laid eyes on her. But to share that key information, he also had to get bossy. What was there to lose? He didn’t care about getting the gold medal anymore. Or being the plucky little engine or even the world’s goddamned savior. All that mattered was getting to her before Carris. No matter what the cost.