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“More than,” Little O said. “I’ve been waiting to kill those fuckers for years.” Anteros took another shot, looking to Crazy A. Still he sat quietly in the shadows.
“Yes,” Anteros responded, setting his drink down, empty. “We have to end The Council.”
Big O jumped up. “All right. About fucking time we kill those old pricks.” He punched the air, fist hitting fabric.
“But,” Anteros added, narrowing his eyes at Big O’s grand display. “We can’t just rush into this.”
“Of course.” Big O straightened the lapels on his coat and sat back down.
“If we’re going to do this, there can be no doubts who did it or why,” Anteros said. “To end the uprising once and for all.”
“All these years denying we had anything to do with that councilman’s death,” Crazy A spoke up finally. “It’s kind of poetic.” Anteros looked to Crazy A, eyes shrewd. He was nearly shrouded entirely by shadows, light only illumining the hands folded on his lap. Naked women moved through the filmy cloth behind him like specters, coming and going, their flesh tinged ruby red.
He was referring to the rumor that brought them together when Anteros had purposely sent a councilman to death and they had backed him up. It had always remained a rumor, a dark thing no one could prove yet still made them the sinister thing that went bump in the night. As they grew in the ranks, the rumor grew with them.
Even then, they had only sent the man to death, they hadn’t curled their fingers around his throat. A smile crept to Anteros's face, knowing they would finally breathe life into the rumor.
“Emilio is nearly in place,” Anteros said. “In two days when he’s appointed, The Council will be distracted. We can strike that week.”
“They’re all heavily guarded,” Pretty Boy said. “Not just with high-tech security systems, but actual guards.”
“It’s a feat that should take months of planning,” Little O added.
“It will be handled,” Crazy A said with icy determination.
Big O laughed. “No offense, but even you can’t pull that off.”
“It will be handled,” Crazy A repeated, sitting forward. “One week from now, a day before the New Year, we will take them down.” All the Wolves shifted slightly, raised eyebrows, but didn’t argue. Crazy A hadn’t gotten his name for being mentally ill or for doing odd things.
He’d gotten his name for the uncanny ability to distort reality around him. Aside from Beast, he was the most feared one, as no one knew how Crazy A did the things he did. They just happened, and they were fearsome and terrible and ruining.
Anteros nodded. “A day before the New Year, then.”
“But,” Crazy A added, “The Council is not the only threat. There’s a much bigger one sleeping in your bed.”
“Dude.” Little O raised a hand. “Don’t go there.”
“She did give the Pavoni Princess rumor life,” Big O responded. “Gave the fanatics something to grab on to.” Big O paused. “Look, we don’t want to take away your toy…”
“My toy?” Anteros growled.
“He means…” Pretty Boy shot a glare at Big O. “There are soldiers and laborers who are starting to follow this fucking rumor, not just De Lucas. This thing is starting to spiral.”
“She is being dealt with,” Anteros growled, cutting through the bullshit. Truthfully he had no idea what the fuck to do with Frankie. Rationally he knew she needed to go; it was the type of calculated decision he would have made without a second thought just a few weeks ago.
But rational and calculated had gone out the window the moment she came into his life.
So he was pounding shots.
Anteros signaled for another round. When it didn’t come quickly enough, his arm slashed through the air with fury. A girl appeared, the tray she carried wobbling with her tremors. Anteros snatched a shot off the silver tray, not even waiting for her to place them down. She quickly cleared his empty glasses off the table and disappeared. Anteros’s throat was so numb from the liquor that he didn’t feel the burn. Glare fierce, he bore his intention into Crazy A.
“If she is not dead before The Council’s death, I will do it myself,” Crazy A said casually. Slowly Anteros set his empty glass down. All the Wolves looked to him, waiting to see what he would say and do. Crazy A challenged him, and there was only one way Anteros could respond. One way if wanted to continue as Boss.
A few more moments passed, Pretty Boy coughed.
“That won’t be necessary,” Anteros replied, clenching his jaw. “Because I will do it.” It was the ending he always knew was coming, so why did the words feel so anathema on his tongue?
“Do I have your permission to do it if she lives?” Crazy A leaned forward in the booth, his f
