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“Habits die hard,” Ares answers me. He knows me well enough to understand my brain’s process. He looks at Dom. “We can just pull some strings. Pay a bitch to sub in. She can get assassinated by accident. Gives us more time.”
The mere mention of ‘murder’ makes my hand twitch. It’s enough to encourage the spinning blade between my fingers.
“No cunt is going to enter our safe oasis,” Dom strikes down the idea. I’m not surprised. Neither is Ares.
Our home is our sanctuary.
It’s the space we worked hard for since eighteen to build from fucking crumbles. So many envied our newly renovated paradise, but those were the same pieces of shits who mocked and laughed when it was nothing but deserted rubble.
Those are the people I despise the most in the world.
Beings who mock and laugh at an empty field of soil. Little do they know what’s planted down below. Seeds that feed off ofwater, sunlight, time, love, and care to sprout, grow, and flourish into a blossoming piece of life.
That’s why when roses bloom, they come with thorns.
To stab those who never appreciated their beauty when it was nothing but a sprouting stem.
“We know so many of the empires are willing to send their bitches in hopes of a favor from us,” Dom continues as he pauses his pacing fit to cross his arms over his chest.
He’s trying to hide how he stares at his Lange & Sohne watch. It’s a cobalt blue with 24 karat gold interior, which decorates the ticking hands and numbers. It’s an exquisite piece from his grandfather that’s now worth two million, give or take an additional half a million if auctioned.
Haven’t determined whether he wears it to flaunt his riches or due to the sentimental value it holds within his cold beating heart.
“We’re not relying on those douches. Already in touch with Ásvaldr and Joaquin. They’re set.”
Shit…
“Seriously?” Ares sounds surprised. “You got to be fucking joking. That preppy excuse of a university, Ásvaldr Prescott? Mother fuckers think they were carved by God himself. Going around calling themselves the Lords of Havoc or some stupid shit. They freak out when a girl cries in their vicinity. We should have opted to steal their fucking name.”
“Ruthless Kings of Havoc,” I hum. “Honestly, I like the ring of it. Wasn’t there a copyright issue?”
“What? Fuckers own words now?” Domino snaps. “It’s in the fucking dictionary. They could have tried it. I dare them to. As if they can claim shit. They want to ignite bad blood over a word. Don’t want to end up dead like that prince who tried to eliminate Dawn’s Empire by claiming the word ‘cocky.’”
“We didn’t go with that because it didn’t fit this stage of our reign,” Ares announces as he rests his elbows on his knees. Further spreading his legs out, he cracks his neck a few times.
“What stage are we in, Ares?” I’m intrigued by his reasoning. I don’t give a hoot where we land on this path when it comes to our reign.
This is ours to enjoy… from the beginning to the very end.
No one will stop us. Over my dead fucking body.
“We’re starting our journey of metamorphosis,” Ares elaborates, further intriguing me with his terminology. “Carnage is the beginning of our reign. Where bloodshed is all but necessary in our sinister realm of darkness and chaos. That’s what gets people talking. Whispers brewing. Makes all those antsy fuckers who doubt our power come running for an alliance of any shape or form. However, we’re not searching for the little people, are we?”
“Nope.” I grin at that. “We want the lurkers. Watchers. Those observant beasts who hide in the shadows.”
They have the highest tax brackets. The massive alliances. The generational empires.
“That’s when we move on to Havoc. We begin a domino effect of treachery. Leave destruction in our path of demise. Reminders left and right while we lay our foundations in hidden places until those observant shadows come out to play.”
I’m getting giddy with anticipation.
“Stage three,” I prompt in encouragement.
“Obsession.” The way he purrs the word ignites goosebumps along my pale flesh. “Let them begin to watch our every move. Breathe the same air in our propinquity. Seek to walk our very halls and emulate our rules and behaviors. They’ll begin to mimic our executions until we’re all in synchronization. Like a unified symphony with three different orchestras.”
“A harmonic execution that leads to a grand finale.” I’m envisioning it all out, piece by piece, until we have one final move to make. “Which leads to?”
“Vengeance.” The word couldn’t be more bittersweet. “The true beginning of the end, where they’ll be no survivors.”
