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“We have access to security feeds,” Pretty Boy continued.
“Some of us wish we didn’t have access,” Big O added dryly. “When you’ve seen one wrinkly old ass fucking, you’ve seen enough.”
“No one asked you to watch that,” Pretty Boy replied.
“You were oddly insistent,” Little O noted.
“It’s called recon motherfuckers!”
“Is it still recon when your dick is out?” Little O asked curiously. They argued jokingly and their voices faded out to Anteros. The Wolves were discussing the final details in the coup against The Council, the final pieces in a puzzle he had spent his life crafting so he could put it together.
But he wasn’t interested. His mind was on Frankie, on the song she was humming.
“All that’s left is to lop off their heads.” Little O laughed behind Anteros.
“And the slave?” Big O asked, somewhat uneasily. Anteros rubbed his chin, watching the city thaw, feeling the sharp prickles of his five o’clock shadow. He’d left Frankie to go to the docks, but not before holding her in his arms.
“If we’re being perfectly honest here,” Little O said, “I kinda hope Beast doesn’t do it. I’d love to try to snake a kill from Crazy A. My month has been fucking boring.” Crazy A hadn’t shown that morning, again. Anteros knew the Wolves had noticed the tension between them at the party and his absence was starting to be felt, like a pressure slowly rising. Even if they wouldn’t say it aloud, there were only so many meetings a Wolf could miss without reason, without it being addressed.
He and his Wolves had spent a decade in harmony, avoiding the common pitfalls that many in the mafia face: backstabbing, rivalry, eventually death. Now discord was seeping in and Anteros wondered distantly if they would be like all the rest.
“So boring that you want to die?” Pretty Boy asked.
“I’d watch that,” Big O said.
“Eh,” Pretty Boy gave in. “Me too.” Little O launched into a diatribe of indignation, saying he could take Crazy A easily. Big O and Pretty Boy compared the stats of Crazy A and Little O as if they were Pokémon cards. Who had the most stamina. Who had the most agility. Who could handle guns or knives best.
Anteros zoned out again, focusing on how the city came to life. The sun was rising bright, like a diamond sparkling between the skyscrapers. The frozen gray skyscrapers became bars of silver as the dull, icy river shone with golden light from the sun.
That morning Frankie had been naked, staring out the window at the still dark and frozen city. Anteros slid out of bed and went to her, wrapping his naked body around her, pulling her close to him, flesh to flesh. He tucked her against him, and that was when he noticed she had been humming to herself.
Her hums reverberated against his body, the melody obvious and glaring, a tune he would never forget.
“Did I ever tell you about my parents?” Anteros mused, cutting into the jokes like a bullet through a birthday party. The room went silent. Still facing the window, he continued. “My father used to sing ‘Blue Christmas’ to my mother. It was the only song he knew in English—pretty much the only words he knew in English. He liked the melody, maybe…I can’t imagine he knew what the words meant. After beating her to near death, he’d sing it while mopping up the blood on the floor. When she had regained consciousness, she’d come for me. But she was gentler in her abuse.”
Silence continued, the Wolves unsure of what to say in
the wake of Anteros’s confession. As more minutes passed, Anteros hummed the melody, watching as the world melted.
Citing business with Rhys at the penthouse, Anteros cut the meeting with his Wolves short and went home. What he’d told them wasn’t a complete lie, anyway, he’d just left out the fact that his meeting with Rhys was hours later. He’d needed to get out of there. He couldn’t even wait for Nikolai, so he took a cab; the sooner he got home the better. He’d spent over a decade with his Wolves without telling them anything about his past. It was better that way. Less weak.
After being dropped off, Anteros entered his building through the public entrance and headed straight for the elevators. Frustration at himself spilled over and Anteros pressed the button to go up, then pressed it again, then again, and again. He still wasn’t sure what had compelled him to tell them now.
No, that wasn’t true.
He knew what was up, just didn’t want to admit it.
“Rough day?” someone to his left asked. Anteros curled his fist, ready to punch his frustration out just as the elevator dinged. Uncurling his fists, Anteros stepped inside. The man made a move to join him and Anteros calmly pushed the man back out into the building’s foyer. He pressed close on the elevator, muffling the man’s protests, then placed his palm against the wall. He leaned forward, thinking.
As the elevator rose higher, he thought to the girl waiting for him in his penthouse. The girl who’d been ignoring his rules since day one, the girl who’d been fucking up his life for almost a month. Mostly, he thought about how he was letting her. Frankie was causing a massive fracture in his life, and somehow he couldn’t find it in him to do anything. When the doors opened, Anteros kept his hand to the wall, head down, until her voice made him raise it.
“Were you going to tell me?” she beseeched. Anteros lifted his head and blinked, taking in the girl before him. When he’d left Frankie that morning, she’d been serene, a little off, but calm. Now her eyes were like fire, both in color and ferocity. Her lids were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying, yet her glare practically spit sparks. Her curls were wild and untamed, her arms folded, and her jaw clenched.
Nikolai appeared next to her, a look on his face as if he didn’t know what to do with her. Fear etched his youthful features, his jade eyes shooting from her to the Beast. He wouldn’t punish Nikolai for her disobedience. If he himself could barely manage Frankie, it wasn’t fair to expect Nikolai to do so. The elevator buzzed angrily with being kept open for so long and Anteros stepped out.
“Were you?” she asked again. He raised a brow, shedding his coat for Nikolai to take and motioning for him to leave. “Were you going to tell me that you were selling Gabriella to some random guy in Africa?” she asked. Ah. There it was. He’d been so busy he’d entirely forgot about Gabriella. Rhys was finalizing the plans and she was set to go to Africa just after the New Year. At least that hadn’t gotten fucked.
Then again…Frankie was set to die sometime before the New Year, so it didn’t really matter. There was no point in talking to her, no point in anything. She was going to die. Rubbing his hands over his brow, he sighed and pushed past her. He didn’t want to deal with her, with what was happening to him, with any of it.
