Page 159 of Barinov

A flash of white hair catches the light as Uncle Miro steps forward. He’s my mom’s older brother and is the reason Rez got his mysteriously good looks. Same height, same stone-cold attitude. And those same icy greenish-blue eyes that make you feel like you’re being stared down by a goddamn blizzard.

“Can’t do that, malyshka,” Uncle Miro says, shaking his head. “Lex needs to be ready.”

“Roman?” she continues, her eyes darting between my dad and Roman. “Daniel, don’t let him do this again. He barely made it through the first time and if Irina knew what—”

“He’ll be fine, Anna. He’s stronger now,” Dad cuts her off, his voice low. He locks his gaze with hers. His dark eyes are blazing in a fury I haven’t seen since the time that fucker t-boned Mom’s car while she was driving Rez and I to school.

“And leave my wife out of this,” he grits.

“They’re right,” Roman adds, nodding. “He needs to be prepared.”

Her lips press together. “Cade?!”

Cade doesn’t look at her. He stands there with his arms crossed next to Sabine, staring at me with the same worried look he’s had plastered on his face all night long.

“Ugh!” Aunt Anna shrieks. “You and your Hollow Kings madness!” She storms off in a cloud of strawberry-blonde hair and green silk into the living room.

My aunt and uncle live on a massive estate in Alpine, NJ. A ginormous stone mansion that makes my parent’s look like a tiny dollhouse. They have a pool rivaling the one at The Row. A full basketball court. A shooting range where buyers come out to test out our supply. And acres upon acres of dense woods wrapped in a high-tech perimeter fence that could probably keep the military out if it had to.

The Hollow Kings have been using this place since before Rez and I could throw a punch. Dad, Roman, and Uncle Miro ran their first initiation out here.

The first Blackout.

And since I’m a few days away from walking into Luca’s twisted version of The Blackout in Rome, Rez figured what the hell? He called Uncle Miro, Dad, and God knows who else and got this shit set up for me in less than twenty-four hours.

After the Casino Night, Knox went straight to work. Spending hours with Tattooed-Dragon-Dick going over the math, code, and collars. They’ve hit a few walls, but Knox ensured me he’ll be ready in time.

In addition to the collars, they’ve also torn apart that keycard. The one tied to our girl’s fake-ass engagement party. We found out that she’s somewhere in Ditmas Park. The irony of that shit did not land well. Tex damn near shattered the screen behind the bar when he heard.

We all did.

Bella being that close this entire fucking time all while Luca’s had our asses running around painting and bleeding sent most of us into a frenzy. Rez and I were ready to go door-to-fucking-door through Ditmas Park. We’d have ripped the hinges off every door on the block and gutted anyone standing in the hallway until we found her. My hands were already itching for the weight of a sledgehammer.

But then Sabine stood up.

She rose with that terrifying grace of hers while the rest of us were flipping our collective shit. She talked us off the ledge one-by-one with logic none of us were ready to swallow. Points that tasted like ash on my tongue.

Sabine reminded us—coldly, I might add—that if Luca ever caught whiff of us in that neighborhood, the jackass would move her. Or worse. Trigger that bomb around our girl’s neck and turn her into a memory before we cleared the porch.

She whispered how we should be “merging with the shadows” and “waiting for the eye of the storm to break.” Some bullshit like that. Don’t remember the exact metaphors. They got drowned out by the half-gallon of vodka Rez was pouring just to numb the killing spree urge.

So now, we’re supposed to wait.

Wait for Knox and Mortal Kombat to finish the job.

Wait for the keycard to activate so we can go crash a party.

And while we wait, we prep for the Blackout and stay invisible. Never let that fuckface know we’re even on the damn map until he feels the cold steel of my barrel pressed between his emerald eyes.

“You ready?” Rez asks, flicking the needle twice.

I nod.

“I’ll do it, Rez.” Roman steps forward. “Get to your spot.”

Rez places the syringe in Roman’s waiting palm. “Good luck, brother,” he mutters, firmly squeezing my shoulders once before disappearing out of the kitchen.

His words hit me like a physical punch to the gut. Not cousin. Not the easy, familiar banter we’ve used to shield ourselves since we were kids.