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“Somebody better start fucking talking,” some guy wearing a Hell Hounds kutte snaps. “I don’t give a fuck about your petty Rosewood politics or who’s fucking who. I thought we were here to discuss peace.”
“Ah yes, of course,” Bellfleur says, nodding and tapping his chin with the end of his gun. “I forgot about you for a second.” Without another word, he pivots and shoots Moore in the head.
Time seems to slow down as the gunshot rings out through the air. Moore, crumples to the ground and blood pools around his head, staining the gravel. Bellefleur stands above him, bleeding from the arm and gun still in hand, a hint of a smirk on his face.
Before Moore even hits the gravel, a barrage of bullets erupts from everywhere at once.
My men converge on me, herding all of us toward the car, but none of the bullets fly toward us. No, they’re all aimed at the Hell Hounds. Or what’s left of them.
I shuffle back a step and glance at the bodies on the ground, horror crawling up my throat and stealing my voice.
“What the fuck, brother? I thought we agreed to let Moore live. He was fucking useful,” Deran Masters, the president of the Savage Souls, snarls.
Bellfleur puts his hand up, halting Masters. He strolls in front of us, like he’s putting on a one-man performance. “Now you’ve gone and done it.” He scratches his head with the barrel of his gun, his face pinched in annoyance. “I had this whole speech prepared, a better way of introducing her to you and telling her my origin story, asshole. A beautifully crafted story about my mother’s affair with your father. See my mother, the incomparable Olivia Bellfleur, fell for lowlife scumbag, Elliot Masters.”
“Fucking watch it,” Masters growls. “That’s my father you’re disrespecting.”
“To the fucking car, now,” Bane hisses out of the side of his mouth. Like we’re one entity, the four of us walk backward, never taking our eyes off of the devastation unfolding in front of us.
Bellfleur concedes with a dip of his chin. “Quite right. Our father was a piece of shit to my mother, much like he was to my half-brother Deran.” He grins now, this maniacal flash of too many teeth. “But then it went the way these kinds of things always go. Big brother over here grew up, and one day, he fought back. Luckily for him, his half-brother was a respected member of the police force.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, he’s gonna monologue us to death,” Nova grumbles under his breath as we shuffle back another step.
“So when we reunited, I did him a solid and took care of his little problem. Nothing bonds you quite like murder, am I right?” Bellefleur flashes me a Cheshire-Cat-like grin and winks like we’re bonding or something. “One thing leads to another, yada, yada, yada—I’m skipping around a bit, princess, because it seems like I’m losing your attention, and I don’t want to have to start shooting people until I’m ready, yeah? It’ll ruin the grand finale.”
I freeze when he looks at me, my hand flying out to stop Silas from taking another step. The threat feels as tangible as Silas’s stupid-hot forearms underneath my palm.
Bellfleur pivots and starts pacing again, resting one arm behind his back and letting the injured one hand. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. So big brother over here told me all about his childhood in Rosewood, and I was curious. And that’s where you come in, princess.”
I swallow around the lump of fear in my throat and force my lips to tip up on the sides. “How so?”
“Good,” he says with a decisive nod. “You’re listening. I would hate to have to force compliance, but I will if I have to.” He stops pacing and closes his eyes, tipping his chin toward the sun. “I can still picture your face, you know. The little flared skirt you wore and the way your hair shined in when you wrote your name in the air with sparklers. The way you laughed when you burned your marshmallow over the bonfire.”
Fear churns inside my gut, around and around until I’m sure I’m going to vomit. I can picture those moments with the same amount of startling clarity. It was the night I met Lincoln.
Bellfleur opens his eyes and looks directly behind me, at Lincoln. “I saw every signal you sent me that night, but no matter how hard I tried, I never had an opening.” His gaze slides to mine again. “So I waited and waited and waited some more. Watching over you until you were ready. But how long is a man expected to wait, hm? Don’t you think eight years is long enough?”
I shake my head, my mouth parting but no words coming out. It sounds fantastical, like some shit I’d hear on a podcast or see in a movie.
Bellfleur exhales loudly, tossing his hand up and letting it smack against his thigh. “Well now look at what you did, Deran, she thinks I’m fucking crazy.”
Deran Masters grunts, eyeballing me like he’s not sure I’m worth the trouble. “She looks fine to me, brother. Let’s get on with it, yeah. I’m fucking starving.”
Bellfleur taps his forehead with the end of his gun, glaring at his brother and then us. “Princess,” he says, his face softening when he looks at me. “I can’t believe you shot me.”
“I was aiming for your head,” I mutter.
Nova elbows me in the side. “Fucking hell, don’t provoke him, sweetheart.”
But Bellfleur only chuckles. “I’m so proud, princess. Don’t worry, I’ll help you practice your aim. C’mere, we can start right now. There are a few more things that we need to take care of.”
“Hard pass, you Polaroid panty-stealing fuck.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, sugar,” Bane mutters under his breath.
Bellfleur clears his throat. “What I meant to say was, get your ass over here before I shoot your boyfriend in the fucking head.” He flashes me a manic grin. “Is that better?”
I take a step forward, and three hands latch onto me at the same time.
