I frown, unease stirring in the pit of my stomach. It’s a small part of me wishing our conversation, although meaningless, hadn’t ended. That, or it’s the drink catching up to the emptiness in my stomach. But at least his leaving means he probably wasn’t part of the media.
I’m unsure of how long I sit at the bar. It’s long enough for me to get the bartender to make me another drink, so a pretty long time. I wouldn’t call myself drunk, but the way the room lags means I’m not sober. Thank God for our driver waiting outside for us.
A hand slaps my shoulder. “Alright, Kingsley. We can leave. Once some guy made us make a circle so he could try to breakdance, I knew the night was over.”
Odie hooks her arm in mine, and we move through the crowded bar toward the door.
We’re almost out the door when someone dancing absentmindedly bumps into Odie, knocking her purse out of her hand. The guy immediately apologizes, and they both bend down to pick up her spilled items.
When I glance up, my eyes fall on a certain foreign man. Rip is leaning against a wall, arm resting above his head as he talks to a girl.
Or, I guess I should say, flirts. The shorter girl is giggling at his jokes as if he’s a comedian, her smile so big it reaches her ears. Maybe he has a way with words, or something.
Rip leans down to her ear and whispers something, and her face turns the brightest shade of red I’ve ever seen. I roll my eyes. Nothing’s that damn funny.
“King.” Odette nudges me, and I snatch my gaze away from Rip as if I were caught doing something I shouldn’t have. “What are you staring at?”
I grip my chest when something unfamiliar squeezes inside it. I need to get out of here.
“Nothing,” I reply.
She looks at me funny, but if she sees something’s up, she drops it. She links arms with me again, and we head to the door. “That guy asked for my number.”
I hum in place of a verbal reply.
“He said he’d apologize over coffee. It’s like he already knows me. I love coffee!”
Odie rambles about the cute guy and their spontaneously planned date, but I only half listen. I’m too focused on the tatted British man leaning against the wall away from the crowd, still making the woman before him laugh and blush.
I hold the door open for my sister when his eyes meet mine. The girl before him has her hand on his chest, and his arm is around her waist, but that’s not who he’s focused on.
He offers a sly grin, and I return a small wave.
Then he laughs, and I don’t know if it’s because of her or me.
I leave the club feeling better than when I came, but that all goes away once I make it back to Beaumont Grand.
2
Kingsley
Idon’t wake until four p.m.
My sister and I didn’t make it back until two in the morning, and naturally, I slept the day away. It wasn’t as if I planned to leave the house anyway, nor was I expected to. All the meaningful tasks go to everyone else, like intel gathering, making deals, and roughing up those who think they’re above the Crowncrest.
The Crowncrest is a major crime outfit my ancestors started ages ago, which has since been passed down to my father, and has recruited different folks from all over. What began as a small Black gang has grown into one of the most extensive and powerful crime organizations in the world.
My sister Aralynn is in Italy doing all the entertaining jobs, yet the most interesting work I’ve received in the last year is waiting for cargo shipments at the dock, and even that’s not frequent.
My sisters are getting all the work I used to handle, and if I had any fucks left to give, I’d be fuming. And that isn’t me saying my sisters aren’t bad-ass; both Aralynn and Odette could individually take down a group of five men in a matter of minutes thanks to the extensive, borderline abusive trainingwe endured growing up. But considering I’m the one to step up when Dad bows out, giving all the jobs to them has to be a poor decision.
I’m sure if I pushed back on my dad, he’d have me doing all my old tasks again, but finding my will to care lately has been impossible. So instead, I spend most of my time either checking off shipments, managing the resort, or letting the hours pass as I do nothing in my bedroom.
My parents own a hotel chain called Beaumont Grand Hotel & Resort. The business has been in the family for decades, and it has evolved from a small motel into a grand resort in that time. An indoor and outdoor water park, mini golf course, multiple restaurants, a massive arcade, a spa… the list goes on of the amenities. It’s pretty fucking insane.
Now we live in a home built at the back of the resort. My parents, albeit humble, like to show off their wealth when they can, so having our estate fenced off, but on the property, seemed like the right move.
The roar of my stomach sounds. Fuck, after a night of alcohol, I thought I wouldn’t be so hungry. My legs are leaden as I haul myself out of bed and head for the kitchen, and I squint and cover my eyes when I reach the hallway, shielding the bright light.
