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“What happened to Patrick?” I ask, knowing the man is dead, but I have a feeling my father had something to do with his demise.
Dad doesn’t respond, and I wonder why he decided to keep it from me. It’s not like him to do something without the Sovereign knowing, so this has me on edge.
“Did you do something? Did you have him killed?” I question, glaring at him. My father is not someone you fuck around with. He can easily kill someone with a flick of his wrist, but right now, I don’t give a shit.
“Be at the meeting tonight, we’ll discuss your inking,” he tells me, not responding to my question. He must’ve had Patrick killed. Tonight, I’ll get the tattoo on my chest, right between the shoulder blades, the crest of our family, of the Sovereign. “You can go.”
His dismissiveness makes me wary. My father doesn’t do something because he wants to, he does it because it’s all part of a larger plan. And I wonder just what Abner is hiding behind his calm exterior.
“I’ll be there.” I make my move to walk away and leave him to his work.
“Ares,” Father calls to me when I reach the door, causing me to glance over my shoulder. “She’s not your friend. Even if her father is dead, she’s still a liability.”
“I didn’t think she was my friend.” I grin. “And since you’ve done my job for me, I have nothing to worry about.”
He shakes his head because he knows I’m angry with him. Even if he tells me not to do anything to the girl, he knows I’ll disobey him. Normally, I wouldn’t, but my anger always gets the better of me. And Dahlia has to pay for her father’s sins.
She’ll beg for mercy.
And I don’t know a thing about offering it.
Sauntering down the quad, I take note of the large metal clock on the tower, which sits in the center of the grassy area where most of the students hang out during lunch.
The red brick structure is a part of my legacy that’s still standing, and I can’t help but be proud of it. Black metal makes up the circle and hands of the white-faced clock. Where the number twelve should be is our coat of arms. A shield with the ribbon beneath it and the date 1854 inscribed on it, the same year the Sovereign was founded.
“Yo, man.” Etienne makes his way toward me over the freshly cut green grass. His eyes are hidden by shades, and he’s dressed in his signature leather jacket, along with ripped black jeans. He’s convinced he’s god’s gift to women, which is why we’re mates. Because we play the good guy, bad guy all too often.
I bump knuckles with him before greeting, “What’s up?”
“I see the new girl arrived,” he tells me. He knows about Dahlia and her father. He knows how much I hate the bastard, but he doesn’t know how much I want to break the little flower.
“She’s a problem,” I tell him. “I was just talking to Dad, her father is dead, so she’s here, living with the old lady.” My admission causes a smirk to curl on his lips.
“And we’re going to toy with her?” he questions, arching a brow at me. The thick, dark curve higher than his black sunglasses makes me chuckle. He’s worse than a fucking woman with his perfect eyebrows.
“Is there any other way?” I respond, shrugging my shoulder. Just then, I notice the little spitfire walking toward the parking lot. Nudging my chin toward her, I tell him, “My father took the one thing I needed away from me; it’s time I step up and show him I’m worthy of my crown.”
“I’m right beside you, brother,” he tells me with a hand on my shoulder, offering me a reassuring squeeze. I knew he would be; he’s always been there, through our darkest moments and through the most fucked up scenarios.
Dahlia’s friend comes running up beside her, and Etienne’s whistle is loud when he takes in the girl in tight jeans that seem to be painted on her. He can have her; my gaze is locked on the little flower.
“My dick likes the blonde a whole lot,” Etienne tells me with a chuckle. “What’s the friend’s name?”
“That would be Rukaiya, her father moved here with her, and Dad reckons something’s fishy about the guy. He and Patrick Milton were partners.” I push off the wall and make my way down the quad with my best friend hot on my heels. We reach them as they step off the grass and onto the gravel of the parking lot.
“Hey, baby,” Etienne coos at the blonde while I keep my gaze locked on Dahlia. “Need a ride?” He offers, and I know he ain’t talking about a goddamn lift home. He takes a step up to the best friend who seems more interested in her phone than his attempt at being a charming asshole. I have to bite back my laugh when she steps by him with a sassy wink.
