Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
“You—” Priest stands slowly, turning his full attention to his sister. “—fucking why?”
I slow my exhale and watch them with careful eyes. Priest would never hurt his sister, but then Priest puts the Kings first and above all, so if he thinks she’s betrayed us in any way, there’s no telling what he would do.
“You protecting them?” His eyes flash a brilliant shade of murder.
Halen doesn’t back down, crossing her arms. She’ll never bitch from a challenge, even if her biggest one has always been her brother. “I hate you.”
Shit, she’s mad.
And making it obvious that she’s avoiding me.
“Who is he?” I ask, apathetic to her obvious hostility, even though I’m having massive regrets about not dragging her ass back into that shower.
Her shoulders lift again, as her eyes move to the girls. “I guessed a long time ago that he was with a rival group. Not sure who.”
I trace the lines of her features in an attempt to domesticate my wild thoughts.
With her arms at her sides and her mouth turned to a frown, I know she isn’t lying.
“So, why the bloodbath tonight?” I ask, tilting my head. “The passion? I mean, you gotta be filled with some pretty volatile hatred if your first instinct when you see someone is to pump a whole chamber into their skull.”
She falters. “I told you. He looked like the man. I panicked and killed him.”
My jaw twitches a few times. “I’m fucking tired. We can finish this shit tomorrow.” I know Halen, and the harder you push, the more she pulls away. Whatever happened, there has to be more to it than what she’s letting on.
I fall back as my hand rests on my abs and the circle light dims from above her bed. My eyes follow her when she saddles up with the girls in the corner. With how big the space is, we can’t hear each other talk if it’s hushed, and something about that just doesn’t sit right with me.
The mattress dips as a rolled joint comes into view by tatted hands. I reach for the trunk, glancing briefly up at Vaden.
Bringing it to my lips, I ignore the faint chatter from the girls and the evident silence from Priest. I inhale and hold, until I feel my muscles relax around the THC.
Vaden takes the spot at the top of the bed. “Gentlemen?”
I bend my head back to look at him. “Naw. Don’t stress that. This is too messy for them, and they’d never go for one of us. It’s why the treaty is in place.” I blow on the ember when it dies out. “Danny Dale is a crazy sucker, but he loves his kids. He’d never do anything to fuck with that. Because we would,” I clarify, even though Vaden doesn’t need to be reminded. “Fuck with them. I’ve heard his daughter is hot. She’d make a good little target.”
His mouth falls into a straight line. “Damn. We turned into the bad guys, huh? Killing and shit for fun, not purpose.”
I choke on my laugh until my eyes water. “I wouldn’t say it doesn’t have a purpose if they’re fucking with one of ours first.”
“Hmmm.” I hate when Vaden gives noncommittal answers.
I should tell him that we should take the Gentlemen anyway, and that Moses and his brothers wouldn’t be able to do shit about it. Danny Dale is sick with cancer. It is only a matter of time before he goes down and his oldest son rises up. Then what? Then it is fucking on because I am certain that Moses Dale wants our heads just as much as we want his. Or maybe not. We don’t know. The Gentlemen are wild cards, but we are the dealers.
Halen
I stare back at myself in the mirror, my fingers grazing the white paint that’s smudged down my jaw. I’ve been waiting for this moment for as long as I can remember—we all have. The process of becoming a King is sacred amongst our kind, but a practice that historically took place during a different time for our parents. Many will be born into one of the ten Founding Families, but not everyone will become a King. Officially.
We wear our marking with pride, but it signifies a lot of things to many different people. The rest of our lives start after tonight.
Quod Ritualia. The Ritual.
Stella peers at me over her shoulder, as Saint—who is far too sweet to be her mother—works on her face skull. “You’re thinking too much into it. Mama, tell her she’s thinking too much into it.”
I love the girls, but one of the many reasons is that there’s a toxic recklessness to Stella, who could put a man three times her size in the ground without blinking, and then River, who’d write poetry with your blood as she declares her underlying love.