A limo pulls up to the curb and King swings the door open. When I don’t budge, he glares at me through hooded eyes. Is he half drunk? “Get in the fuckin’ car, P, before I throw you in there.”
I roll my eyes as chuckles sound out behind us. Sliding in, I lean over the console and grab the champagne straight away. Popping off the bottle, I take a swig as everyone else piles in.
“Jeez, King. She can’t go to the club?” Maya blazes a joint, knocking on the window that separates us from the driver.
King doesn’t say anything, his thigh pressing against mine.
I remain silent, drinking my champagne.
The window rolls down and Maya requests a song.
“You disappear for two days, and then come back and drag me out of a club?” I ask when it begins to be too much.
“Yeah, so?” King answers, brushing me off like I mean nothing. He pulls out his phone and starts flicking through his contacts.
“King!” I yell, clicking my fingers in front of his face.
He ignores me, his eyes staying on his phone.
“Why!” I hit the phone out of his hands, and it goes flying across the car. Everyone quietens.
King looks right at me this time. “Oh, wait, you think this is because I’m pulling some jealous boyfriend act?” He laughs, and then looks at Killian. Just when I think he’s going to continue, he shakes his head and leans back in his chair. “I can assure you, P, that’s not what this is. You can fuck whoever you want.”
“Really?” I say in my drunk state. I call bullshit on his bullshit. Lucky for us, the drive isn’t that far away. My eyes drift over all of who is in the car. Obviously, Keaton is out. Incest isn’t really my thing, but Kyrin I know for a fact would be down. Killian has loyalties that are probably stronger than his sexual urges.
My eyes lock onto Kyrin.
His narrow.
I smirk.
He chuckles, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. “Oh boy. Well, all right then, Little Bird.” His eyes come to mine, his tongue coming out to whip against his lip. “Come use my cock.”
I shake off my seat, leaning forward to flash my ass directly in front of King. I don’t know why I’m playing with him right now because I’m still mad. Mad at him, and The Brothers, and everything.
King’s hands come to my hips, and he yanks me back into my chair, so hard it could almost pass as domestic fucking abuse. I glare at him, his hands flying to my throat. “You so much as go near his dick, and you won’t be able to walk for a fucking week, and trust me, P, it won’t be from his.”
I whack his hand off my face. I’m too fuming to even realize we have pulled up at the compound. The limo stops and I reach for the handle, flying out of the limo.
“Oh no, you don’t get to fucking run away from this!” King comes up fast, interfering my footsteps until I crash into his chest.
I shove him. “Fuck you!” Tears threaten to spill down my face, but I fight them. I fight my misery with anger, because if I let my sadness roll out, I’ll drown in my tears. “You lied to me, King! You lied, stalked, stole, and lied to me! I feel so fucking betrayed by you! By you, King! Not from anyone else!”
He doesn’t say anything, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in deep breathes. His square jaw is clammed closed, his eyebrows knitted together. He inhales my sharp words and swallows them, because deep down, he knows he deserves them.
I carry on. “On top of it all, you,” the tears spill down my face and I swipe at them angrily, “you offered me up as a fucking sacrificial lamb! All for fucking what?”
He winces. “You were Dove then.”
“Like that makes it okay!” I yell, my hands doing that thing again. My head thuds from the alcohol.
“You we’re my fucking task, P! This is my life! I didn’t get to walk away from it like you did and have for the past ten or so years! This is what the fuck I do!” He steps forward and I swallow. “You want me to have emotions, baby? To be soft and that same little boy you knew all those years ago?” He tilts his head, leaning down until his lips come over mine. “I will never be that boy. He died when you died.” He licks my bottom lip. “One cannot exist without the other.”
I shove him away and run toward my RV, pushing open the door. Tears are streaming down my face when I roll into bed and drift off into a deep sleep.
I’m scrubbing up in my shower the next morning, my head pounding when flashbacks of the night before come pounding through my head. “Oh God.” I massage my temples. The fighting with King, him finding us in the club, the fighting with King. I’m still angry with him, but he doesn’t deserve my words or my wrath.
I turn off the faucet, stepping out in my towel. Dressing in double time, I settle for ripped boyfriend jeans that hang off my waist and show the strip of my G-string and a crop top. Delila called this morning to tell me I have to meet my new recruits and I don’t know why, but I’m nervous. What if they’re not what I want? I can work with anything, but what about their personalities? I have to live with them.
Rushing toward the tent, I ignore the people walking around whispering, probably about mine and King’s explosive argument when we got home last night. I run into the tent.
“Sorry I’m late!” I yell before I look. I pause when I see that The Brothers are all sitting in the chairs. King has his foot up on the back of a chair, his hoodie drawn over his head, shading half of his face.
“Good!” Delila claps her hand. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Hmm.” I smile at her, taking a seat on the ground in front. There are a few people scattered around, but the ones I always find myself drawn to are the four psychos.
I fight it, noticing the three people near Delila.
She points to a small girl with long, dark brown hair, soft, flawless skin, and the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. She is drop-dead beautiful. “This is Saskia.” The girl bows her head between her shoulders, resting her forehead on her arm.
Delila carries on, pointing to another girl with blonde hair. “That’s Callan.” She’s beautiful too, classically. You can see the beauty they hold even beneath whatever darkness each of them is carrying. Looks like Delila already scrubbed them up and put them in clothes too, thank God.
Delila finally points to a young guy, who can’t be older than me. He looks to be around eighteen—if that. He’s slim, without being skinny, and his facial structure is made for an upper-class fashion magazine. Most of the guys from Kiznitch are good-looking, and when you see The Brothers, that only sells you on that, and this guy is no exception.
He tilts his head up to look me right in the eye, a small smile on his mouth. “And that,” Delila points her perfectly manicured finger toward him, “is Kenan.”
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “Do any of you dance?”
“Yes,” the blonde girl says, clearing her throat. “I do, and so does Kenan.”
“And you?” I ask to the ridiculously stunning brunette. “Do you dance?”
“Oh, she doesn’t talk much.”
I chuckle. “I can relate to that.” Looking up, I catch King’s eyes, and then bring myself to their level. “What about freestyle?”