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I can’t blame anybody for staying away. I’m not close enough with any of them to trust them in times like these, where I’m hitting a rare, uncharacteristic and vulnerable all-time low.
My Vegas guys—the crew I’d had when I first moved out to Vegas to prove myself—wouldn’t have backed away even if I told them to. The five years feels like a lifetime ago, much like with my memories of Falynn. I was a whole different man. Just a young and ambitiouscapoyet to finish proving himself.
I could trust C. J., Fozzi, and Dominico with my life. Even fucking Robby Greco, my once right hand, was a confidant until he betrayed me.
But Louis. It was Louis who was truly my best friend. The best man at my wedding. Closer to me than my own twin brother.
Yet I’d blamed him for what happened to Falynn and our unborn child. I reassigned him to a new crew and iced him out of my inner circle. It’s been years since we’ve had a real conversation.
I reallydodestroy everything. I’m a broken man. A fallen King. A failure.
I told myself I could fix things and then I spent years only making it worse.
You’d think that’d push me to prove I can do better. For once, I don’t have the strength to bother. Falynn took my heart with her, and now there’s a gaping black hole in my chest.
I slop down more whiskey and drop into my desk chair. The night feels endless, the massive mansion shrouded in darkness except for the light on in my office. How am I supposed to breathe without my heart?
My sweet Honey whom I didn’t love as she deserved.
I hate my father for what he did to my mother. I hate myself for what I’ve done. For letting myself become him after I vowed I never would.
I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want my crown or my throne. The empire can go to hell. It needs to end. It needs to beover.
My blurry gaze shifts from studying my glass of whiskey to the pistol on my desk. The solution presents itself so suddenly, right at my fingertips, it feels like a sign. A way to handle it all and end it.
I slide my large palm over the handle and then slip my finger through the trigger guard. I cock back the hammer and feel the pistol’s weight in my grasp.
It’d be so quick and easy to do it. Blow my fucking brains out.
Nobody’s here. Nobody can stop me. Nobody would give a shit.
A tyrant like me, there’d be celebrations in the streets that I was dead.
I’ll pull the trigger and I’ll end it. It’s what I deserve. I press the barrel against my temple. My finger hovers over the trigger, an odd sense of anticipation fizzing through me.
Something—or someone—moves out of the corner of my eye. My gaze flits to the sudden movement in my office doorway. A broad-shouldered man stands there, watching me.
I squint drunkenly at the figure half in the dark of the hall, but dimly lit by my office light. Confusion twists my lips into a frown.
“Louis?!”
