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Day and night. Time doesn’t dictate whether you’ll be robbed, gunned down, or kidnapped.
Crazy because just a few kilometers away are the rich gated communities, fanciest restaurants, shopping districts, and, of course, the vintage paradise of royalty at Leighton Archway, which leads to streets of mansions, villas, and finally, Leighton Royals University.
In ten minutes, you go from one spectrum of hopelessness to the other spectrum of richness.
The only thing that has stopped crime from running through their streets is the extremely tight security during the day and the sinister mafia empires running reign during the night.
Racking up territory and claiming every block that goes unclaimed when death strikes down a competitor.
These thugs would rather die trying to survive in these streets than perish at the hands of one of the mafia empire’s goons.
“Whatever.”
Warren sighs. “Ask something else.”
“Fine.” Might as well get to the hierarchy nonsense. “Lay it on me.”
“Lay what on you?” Poor Warren either turns off his ‘Understand Gemini Slang’ radar when it’s just us or he’s annoyed by this whole agreement regarding me attending Leighton Royals Academy.
Can’t tell which side he’s leaning toward.
“The Rules. Warnings. Heads up in what I’m getting myself into with these Kings,” I summarize and cross my arms over my chest. “Please tell me I can bring my weapons.”
I’ve grabbed his attention again.
“Not sure they’re going to allow you to have anything that you can slice their throats with, Verena.”
Bloody fucking no.
“Then you better turn us around ‘cause I won’t last five minutes without something attached to me.”
No way am I going to be some weak, vulnerable bitch.
“You’ll have to speak to the Kings and discuss the contract in regard to this ‘agreement.’ I’m not sure about the terms and conditions. It’s been a few years since I observed the Kings’ behavior in an academic setting. Even so, it’s all façade on thesurface. We all know when they leave the compound and head back to their fancy oasis, things go dark and hide what really goes down.”
Not surprised.
“Alright. Who am I dealing with here? The Ruthless Kings. Mafia heirs? Crazed psychos who enjoy having a semester power trip? Am I going to be raped in the first five minutes?”
Warren had to have something on his mind —and lost it the moment I pulled out the ‘r*pe’ card.
“Who said you’d be raped?”
He’s not asking.
He’s demanding an answer that includes a name so he can picture slicing their throat, very slowly, while enjoying how they beg and apologize for feeding me such nonsense.
“No one.” I try to belittle the topic like it isn’t a big deal. “It’s just something I should be prepared for, yes?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”I’m not understanding him.“These guys are called the Ruthless Kings. R-U-T-H-L-E-S-S. I’m sure the first letter stands for raping girls on the regular. That’s what half the douchebags in this fucked-up world enjoy doing. What’s going to stop them?”
“Me.”
We share a tense stare, to the point I know he’ll never break this boiling connection unless I do it first.
Pulling my gaze away from the movement of the red car before us, I decide to move on to the next topic.
