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She searches my eyes, ice against fire. Two complete opposites. “Brantley, I’m sorry…”
I bare my teeth, swiping the bottle of whiskey from the nearby table and bringing it to my lips. I don’t want to walk away and leave her here. I shouldn’t. But if I stay and if she pushes, I’ll snap at her. She’s never pushed the subject before. Not ever. She’s getting bold.
I find the heat of the bonfire relaxing. It meets the rage that burns inside of my soul. I tip the whiskey bottle to my lips, but it’s empty. I’m sure that it’s only been a few minutes since I was talking with Saint, but that was a whole bottle of whiskey and that bottle is not new now. My eyes sting, my vision blurring in and out. I drank too fucking much. I never fucking drink too much. I’d never lose control, especially with her here. Saint. I shoot to my feet and turn, rubbing my eyes to outweigh my vision, but my arms are fucking heavy. Too heavy.
“Bishop!” I roar, both palms pressed on my eyes, but he doesn’t answer. I knew Nate and Tillie had left the second Tate arrived, but Eli, Hunter, and Cash were still here.
I turn back around and find Eli on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head hanging between his elbows.
“Eli, fuck.” Slowly, he lifts his head up until his eyes are on mine. Glassy and out of focus.
“I can’t fucking—” His words break. And I know. I know right here and now that we aren’t drunk.
We were drugged.
My legs turn to jelly as I fall to the ground. Eli’s frozen in place, but his eyes remain on mine. It would take a large fucking dose of that shit to bleed into my bloodstream. There are people talking in the background, but I don’t care. I slowly reach for my phone in my pocket when a flurry of blonde hair appears. Tate is grabbing it for me instead.
“What’s your passcode?” she asks with urgency.
The music is still blaring in the background, people dancing obliviously. Too many fucking people.
“S-saint,” I force out, my eyes on hers. She’s not in dead, mainly because she’s not of EKC linage and can’t be in it, but also because I can’t imagine Tate wanting to wear it even if it was against our laws that you don’t unless you’re blood.
She grabs my palm and slides my phone unlocked, facing the screen in front of my face for the recognition. Spyder whistles out to one of his boys, who finds his way over to us. Spyder’s generation of Kings roll a little differently. They’re not necessarily Kings because they’re the cousin chapter, but they’re still dangerous.
“The girl with white hair and dressed in—”
“I know who you’re talking about,” Spyder’s man interrupts, and I sneer up at him from where I am on the ground, running my tongue over my teeth.
He throws his hands up defensively. “Wow, no. It’s—well, yeah…”
“Shut up, Cooper!” Tate snaps. “Go and find Saint.” Her fingers flick through my phone before she presses it to her ear. “Bishop, get back here now. Brantley, Eli, and I’m assuming the rest of your pack have been drugged.”
My fingers tingle, right up my arms and across my chest, down my torso, and through my legs. So fucking weak. Anger snaps inside my head as I try to move my leg.
It remains still, sweat dripping down the side of my temple.
She hangs up with Bishop. “He’s on his way back.”
My phone rings in Tate’s hand and she doesn’t hesitate to answer, putting it on speaker.
“What?” she snaps, like she fucking owns it.
I never thought shit about shit when it came to Tate. She’s mundane and basic. Not my type, nor any of The Kings really, but that’s not because she isn’t pretty, or hot, because she is. But it takes a lot more than a pretty face to hold our attention. You need to be raw. She lacks the grit it takes to handle this world. Well, she used to.
“Riddle me this, Vitiosis…”
Everything inside of me dies. My breathing, my thoughts, my will to move. I don’t recognize the voice, because the piece of shit has hidden it behind a robotic voice-over.
“If Beauty starved the Beast, would the Beast still feast?” He chuckles then.
My cheeks feel numb, my body stuck in purgatory, but the anger and rage are exploding inside of me with nowhere else to go.
“Don’t worry about the drugs. They’ll wear off in no time. Now I bet you’re wondering where your little Dea is?”
I clench my fingers, the will to get to her far stronger than what any drug could do to stop me. My mouth opens, closes, and then opens again.
“Who the fuck is this?” Tate sneers.
