“Killian,” she grates through her teeth. “A word.” She sashays past us and heads straight for the house, Killian smirking from behind her.
“Okay, someone has to fill me in here,” I say, loud enough for them to hear me but not for the strangers. “What is this party, and is she really his mother?”
King ignores me, moving straight past me and heading for a group of men who are around the bonfire. They’re older men, all classically handsome from what I can see, and wearing sharp, excellently tailored suits.
One in particular catches me eye, mainly because he’s already watching me. He has graying hair that’s cut short on the sides and slicked back on the top. He’s wearing a dark suit with no tie, the collar loosened around his neck. A cigar dangles from between his two fingers, with a red pocket square folded into his front pocket. It’s not until King is standing directly in front of him when he finally pulls his attention away from me.
“Who’s that?” I ask, nudging my head toward the man, or men, who King is talking to.
Keaton follows my line of sight, and then looks back at me. “It’s no one.”
“Son.” My dad grins. He’s aged since the last time I saw him. Wrinkles sink into the corners of his eyes, his skin as worn as his Desert Eagle. “Didn’t realize you were bringing company.”
My head tilts over my shoulder. “Didn’t realize I had to ask?” I don’t have to, but they are The Four Fathers, and we are The Four Brothers. Our time will come when we take their place, and the next will take ours, but he knows damn well that if I wanted someone to be here, they would be here.
“You don’t.” He brings his cigar to his mouth, biting down on the edge. “But are you doing as you’re to do, son, or are you getting distracted from the task at hand?” His words evaporate into the air, my shoulders straightening.
“I know who comes first, old man. I learned from the best.”
“Son.” My father leaned down to face me, flicking his cigar between his fingers. “There’s going to come a time where I will need you to do things that you won’t want to do.”
I sucked down on my ice cream, tilting my head. My eyes squinted against the harsh afternoon sun. “Like what?” I’d always known how my family operated. When you were born, raised, and bred into a community that ran by their own laws and had their own punishments, you learned that way before the way of the world. I always preferred our way, but then again, I was only ten years old and Mum and Dad had always made it clear that I was trained like a machine. To know the loyalty of the brotherhood before anything and anyone else.
Dad’s eyes narrowed into slits as he brought the cigar to his mouth. “Like live and fight with the same monsters that haunt you in your nightmares.”
I stopped my licking, my fingers flexing around the cone. “I don’t have nightmares.”
He stood tall, his shoulders squaring. “You’re about to.”
His eyes pierce through mine, pulling me out of my memory. “Good. You have one place for love, and that place is not for little Dove Noctem Hendry.”
“No one said shit about love,” I quip, one eyebrow cocked. I pat his shoulder in assurance. “We’re still playing the game, only we’ve changed a few of our moves.” My eyes fall around the three of them. Lie.
King is still talking with the three men when Killian finally returns, with his mother behind him.
“Hello,” she answers, placing her hand out to me. It’s the first time I notice her bright eyes. Blue teal, rimmed by black rings. “I’m Drayar. Killian’s mom.” Her eyes slowly drift to him before coming back to me. Her smile is in half, not authentic. I already know she hates me; I just don’t know why. It’s not like I’m dating her son.
My hand finds hers, and she squeezes stiffly. “Dove.” Suddenly, my words are tangled in a jumble word scrabble in my head, and I’m back on the yacht, unable to form the right letters to construct a single word. I don’t want to speak, because my mouth is closed shut.
“Hmm,” Drayar murmurs. “Stick around if you want, child. Though I wouldn’t advise it.” She starts walking away, her back turned to me, when I follow the trim line of her spine and land on her tailbone. I notice the same star tattoo that the boys have is over her lower back. I stand in silence, wanting to ask the question I’ve had at the edge of my brain since meeting them. The night moves along, and Killian takes me under his arm, walking me near the fire. He takes a seat on the ground and looks up at me. “Are you going to sit or stand? Because it might be a long night.”
My eyes find King who is watching me from the other side. They’re actually all watching me. I instantly sit beside Killian, wanting to hide from the attention I’ve so effortlessly attracted.
“Why am I here?” I lean into Killian, searching his features for any telltale lies. It’s no use, though. These men are armed with the talent to lie. Being illusionists, telekinetic, and whatever else it is that they do—Killian, I’m almost certain, has some sort of hypnotic powers—but I try to find the lie between his truths.
“Would you believe me if I said we had been planning to have you here for years?” His voice is dipped low, and I’m drawn to the way his bottom lip’s dimple sinks in.
“No,” I answer through a whisper. “Because that would mean you all knew me before I was picked up and put in that cell, which goes against everything I know, which in essence, makes me uncomfortable.”
“We don’t care about your comfort, Little Bird.” Kyrin takes a seat on the other side of me. I instantly shuffle closer to Killian. Kyrin makes me uncomfortable. His eyes are untrustworthy. I can almost judge all four of them by their eyes.
Kingston: Strong, assertive, broody, intense. Liar.
Killian: Playful, devious, trickster. Liar.
Keaton: Confident, skeptical, careful. Liar.
Kyrin: Manic, Rage, anger, resentment. Liar.
See, I may not know these boys as well as I want to, but I’m beginning to think that they may know me. And maybe I’m wrong and I’m seeing what they choose for me to see, but I look between the truths and lies, and I’ve noticed that even through all of their faces, the one thing that does not change outfits is their eyes.
Kyrin stirs something inside of me that shouldn’t be tampered with, which is why I trust him the least out of all of The Brothers, which is also why I find myself moving away from him just as fast as he sat down.
“I’ve figured as much,” I answer as music starts playing. The rest of the night goes uneventful. People stare, and I watch them back. I notice the atmosphere shift the later it gets. The more the fire burns, the more people drink, the more people start to open up.
Music is playing like a trance when Drayer begins to dance in front of the fire. I’m in awe, trapped in her performance, as her body moves like fluid waves against angry flames, licking through the dark night. I’m unable to move away from her as her back arches backward, and her hands flail out beside her. King must have sat down at some point because his voice is behind me in an instant.
“Want to talk?” he whispers, his lips softly touching the nape of my neck. Yes, I want to say, but the stubborn part of me—the bigger part of all my five-foot-four—wants to fight him. My attitude is as hot as my hair. I never got picked on as a child for having red hair. I remember my dad always saying, “The world can’t handle redheads. That’s why God only created a small amount.” I understood. Sometimes, but otherwise, I was a fairly chilled out child.