Chapter 50 His Greatest Regret
The silence that followed Maddox's request lasted only a heartbeat.
Then the bar erupted in laughter.
It started as a few scattered chuckles, disbelieving and mocking. But it quickly spread, growing louder and more raucous until the entire space rang with it. Warriors slapped tables and each other's backs, some doubling over with the force of their amusement.
The loudest laugh came from Joe at the door, a booming sound that seemed to shake the walls. "The Torres bastard wants a favor!" he wheezed between guffaws. "Oh, that's rich. That's really rich."
Maddox stayed on his knees, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. He kept his eyes on his uncle, refusing to acknowledge the laughter, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing how their mockery bit into him.
The laughter eventually died down, fading into scattered chuckles and whispers. But the atmosphere had shifted from shock to something darker. Condescension dripped from every face Maddox could see, contempt in eyes that had briefly shown surprise.
Elijah Barker let the silence stretch for a long moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was low and dangerous, carrying an edge that made the remaining chuckles cease immediately.
"How dare you?"
The three words landed like blows. Elijah's eyes, so similar to Maddox's own, were cold and hard as stone.
"How dare you kneel before me and ask for favors, boy. We came for you once. Ten years ago, when your mother's body was begging for justice. We offered you a home, a pack, a place among warriors who would have raised you to be strong. And you refused."
Elijah leaned forward, his hands flat on the table, his whole body radiating controlled fury. "You chose that human-loving weakling instead. Chose his soft life and his soft ways. Turned your back on your blood, on your heritage, on everything your mother died trying to protect."
Maddox's hands curled into fists against his thighs but he said nothing, letting his uncle's words wash over him.
"And now," Elijah continued, his voice rising slightly, "you come crawling back when you need something. You kneel before me like a supplicant, like you have any right to ask anything of this pack. Anything of me."
Elijah's fist came down hard on the table, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence. Bottles jumped and glasses rattled with the impact.
"Worse than that, you kneel before me when you have Alpha blood running through your veins. Torres blood, tainted as it is. An Alpha-blooded wolf does not kneel before another Alpha. It's a disgrace. An insult to everything we are."
The fury in Elijah's voice was building now, each word hitting harder than the last. "That pathetic excuse for a wolf must not have taught you anything about what it means to be one of us. Matteo raised you like a human, soft and weak, with no understanding of pack law or warrior ways. No wonder you come here not knowing even the most basic principles of respect and hierarchy."
At the mention of Matteo's name, something inside Maddox snapped.
His brow twitched, a small tell that anyone watching closely would recognize as the precursor to violence. His whole body tensed, muscles coiling as he started to rise, his wolf surging to the surface with murderous intent.
But he'd barely lifted an inch when two warriors were on him.
They moved with practiced speed, appearing at Maddox's sides so quickly it seemed like they'd teleported. Strong hands clamped down on his shoulders, forcing him back to his knees. Sharp claws extended, pressing against his throat with just enough pressure to draw tiny beads of blood.
Not enough to seriously injure, but just enough to remind Maddox exactly how vulnerable he was, how easily they could open his throat if he made one wrong move.
The bar had gone completely silent again. Every warrior was watching now, hands drifting toward weapons, bodies tensing in preparation for violence.
Maddox could feel the killing intent radiating from the men holding him down. One wrong move, one hint of actual threat toward their king, and they would end him without hesitation.
But Maddox didn't care. The rage burning in his chest was too hot, too all-consuming to be dampened by the threat of death.
He growled, the sound low and feral, his eyes locked on Elijah. "Don't you dare talk about him that way."
The warrior to his left pressed his claws deeper into Maddox's throat in warning. "Watch your tone, pup. You're addressing the Rogue King."
Maddox didn't even acknowledge him and kept his eyes trained on Elijah, the warrior found it hard to keep pressing down on Maddox's neck as he wasn't even budging.
Maddox wasn't finished, he couldn't stop the words from pouring out even if he'd wanted to. "No one could have raised me better than Matteo. He taught me honor and loyalty and what it really means to protect people you care about. He taught me that strength isn't just about how hard you can hit or how many people fear you. He taught me to be a decent person, something none of you would understand."
Maddox's voice was shaking now, with rage and grief and something that might have been tears trying to force their way out. "Nobody has the right to talk shit about him. Not you, not anyone in this room. He was worth ten of any warrior here, and I'll die before I let you disrespect his memory."
The claws at his throat pressed harder, breaking skin. Blood trickled down Maddox's neck in thin rivulets, but he didn't flinch nor did he back down. He just stared at his uncle with all the defiance and fury he possessed.
"One more word," the warrior on his right hissed, "and we paint these floors with your blood."
Maddox glanced at the warrior and the man almost stepped away because of the pure bloodlust he felt coming from Maddox towards him.
"I'm only here," Maddox continued, his voice dropping to something quieter but no less intense, "because I want revenge. Because the Torres killed Matteo, taking the one person who actually gave a damn about me and murdered him in his own home."
The words seemed to hit differently than everything else Maddox had said. The tension in the room shifted, the bloodlust pulling back slightly as confusion replaced some of the hostility.
Everyone went silent.
Elijah's expression, which had been carved from stone and fury, flickered. His eyes narrowed, studying Maddox more carefully now.
"What?" The Rogue King's voice was quieter now, but laced with disbelief.
Elijah made a small gesture with his hand, a subtle flick of his fingers, and the warriors holding Maddox immediately released him and stepped back, though they remained close and watchful.
Maddox stayed on his knees for a moment, glancing around the room. Then slowly, deliberately, he rose to his feet. His throat was raw where the claws had broken skin, blood still trickling down to stain the collar of his shirt.
His voice was more determined now, steadier despite everything. "I walked into my home and found Lorenzo Torres standing over Matteo's body with his hand inside his chest. I saw it with my own eyes. Smelled his scent all over the scene. They murdered him."
The bar remained silent, every warrior processing this information. The hostility had shifted into something else now. Interest. Calculation. The possibility of war.
"Why should we trust you to be on our side this time?" Elijah asked, his voice still hard but lacking its earlier fury.
Maddox didn't answer with words. Instead, his hands went to the hem of his shirt.
The bar tensed again, warriors reaching for weapons instinctively. But Maddox just pulled the shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside to stand bare-chested before them all.
Then, gradually, he turned around, presenting his back to the room.
The muttering started immediately, low voices expressing shock and disbelief.
Carved into the skin between Maddox's shoulder blades was a symbol. It was crude, clearly done by an unpracticed hand with a blade that wasn't meant for such work. The cuts were still fresh, still seeping blood in places, the flesh around them red and inflamed.
But despite the rough execution, the symbol itself was unmistakable to anyone who knew the old ways.
A circle with a line through it, intersected by three diagonal slashes. The mark of a warrior who had sworn a blood oath. The symbol that meant you had dedicated your life to a single purpose, that you would pursue that goal until it was achieved or until you died trying.
Elijah's eyes widened slightly, the first crack in his controlled expression. "You carved the oath mark."
"Yes," Maddox said, still facing away so they could all see it clearly.
He'd done it himself in the forest, after making his vow under the moon. He had used his knife to carve each line into his own flesh, the pain sharp and clarifying. Each cut had been deliberate, purposeful, permanent.
He had to use his imagination, considering he could only use the reflection of the clear water. But he had managed and carved the mark nonetheless.
"You know what that symbol means, don't you, boy?" Elijah's voice had changed, carrying a weight it hadn't held before.
Maddox turned back around to face his uncle, his eyes hard and certain.
"I do."
His greatest regret though, was disappointing Grace and keeping so much from her…
Right now, it didn't matter anymore.