Page 51 of The Unravelings

Tonight, my brothers and I will face half the country’s criminals at Franco’s casino, celebrating the deals and shaking hands as we reach more agreements. Raising our glasses to the new allies we’ve spread across the country to further Franco’s empire and cement his future rule, where he takes over as king of the damn universe.

Fucking performative bullshit.

Put this suit on, Hux. Shake hands. Smile. Let the other leaders see how well we’re doing here in Greenwood, Hux. Make a good impression, Son. Or you’ll fucking regret breathing.

Funny, sometimes I do.

But I continue the song and dance for my brother’s sake. For my sake. For our future’s sake—whatever that may hold. Day by day, especially now, I’m not sure what’s in store for us.

But first, I have to shower and rid myself of past regrets and all the other bullshit I’ve kept hidden from the world. Silently, I run my fingers over the numbers on my chest and the necklace that hangs from my neck.

A promise to her.

Today. Tomorrow. Forever. Always.

A promise I will never break.

Ever.

15

Huxley

Once I’m dressed, I meander down the stairs with coffee on my mind. Only I stop near the kitchen island, raising my brows at the sight of JJ, locked in concentration on something. Hopefully, finding out who damaged Olivia’s headstone. Something we haven’t got word on yet.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

JJ’s entire body stiffens, and he clicks his laptop a few times before looking up at me with an assessing gaze, roaming over my body.

That’s fucking suspicious.

“Looking into the recruits who signed up to join,” he says quickly.

Too fucking quickly. What the hell is he up to?

I raise a brow. “Right.” I hold out the word longer than necessary as I scope out his fidgety expression. “You know we’re going to have to talk to Franco about that tonight?”

In years past, JJ would forward the curated list of potential members with their background checks, parental lineage, and everything in between.

Franco always has a hand in the final selection, even though we have to run the initiation trials to weed out the weak.

If the person doesn’t have a solid background, they won’t set foot in our inner circle. It’s why we’ve been so selective over the years. Oftentimes, we don’t induct anyone into this mess of a damn gang. At least we didn’t the first two years. We tried hard to skew the results so we didn’t have to babysit the newbies.

Unfortunately, that didn’t work for us last year. Or this year.

All thanks to the president of the damn nation’s kid wanting his hand in our frat. Why? He could have gone any-fucking-where, but he chose us. Knew us by name. Wanted a piece of what we had to offer.

Maxwell Cole.

He knew what he was getting into. How? I have no fucking clue. But he came, he fought, and he won a spot. And tonight? He’ll be inducted into our ranks as a regular member of our gang, with his father’s approval. And mine. Franco is fucking delighted to have such a powerful adversary by his side.

“I—uh—tonight?” JJ stiffens, stumbling over his words as his eyebrows squish together.

I blink several times. “The annual casino gala? Ring any bells? You know, with all the important people we’re supposed to wine and dine and impress into Franco’s pockets?” I sarcastically question, moving to the coffee maker.

Need. Coffee. Now. Or alcohol. That sounds tempting, too. Maybe both. Together. In one big mug to take away the sinking feeling in my gut about what’s going to happen tonight. I hate playing the dutiful son. The leader. The composed one.

I hate this goddamn life.