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“Just where I want you,” the King retorts, jutting out his chin.
The guard behind Mr Carmichael pushes him forward, the gun pressed into the back of his head. “Sit,” he demands.
Mr Carmichael sits down next to Connie as the King takes his place at the head of the table.
“I’d like my daughter to join us,” the King says, looking at the guard behind me. I get shoved forward, almost losing my balance. Eastern lunges for the guard and gets a punch in the face for the trouble.
“Sit the fuck down, Asia, or I’ll put a bullet in your boyfriend’s head!” the King warns when I try to reach for my oldest friend. Tears prick my eyes as the guard aims his gun at Eastern. A heartbroken look passing between us.
“It’s okay…” I whisper, knowing it isn’t. Knowing this is it. Eastern’s whole body is shaking, not through fear but from rage. “I love you so much,” I say to him, knowing this may be the only chance I get. I don’t allow myself a moment to see his response, instead I move my gaze to Kate, to Ford, then Sonny and finally Camden who’s still supporting Pink. She’s awake now, trembling against his side, holding on tight.
“I love you all. My boys, my crew, myfamily,” I say.
It’s the first time I’ve voiced those three precious words. Right here, in front of my father who has never loved a person in his life, in front of my half-brother Monk who hates as passionately as I love. The thing is, I don’t feel weak for loving them like the King said I would. I feel strong.
So. Fucking. Strong.
My entire life I’ve always believed that words are meaningless. That they’re just sentences strung together to create a fairytale, a story. Fakery dressed up into something pretty to soothe and placate. Yet, right here, as my four boys look at me with love in their eyes, I know that words are powerful when spoken from the heart, just like Mr Burnside had said all those months ago.
“I love you,” I repeat, straightening my spine, pulling my chin up before turning to face my father. “And you,” I spit, pointing an accusatory finger at the man who’s responsible for all this heartache and pain. “Ihateyou.”
“Sit down,” the King commands with a dismissive flick of his hand as the guard pulls out a chair for me. He watches me as I sit at the table next to Ma Silva. My hand rests on the white linen, my fingertips curling around the material, bunching it up. Ma Silva reaches for me, her fingers wrapping around mine. She squeezes tight, an apology right there in her touch. The King notices and sneers.
“Love is a weakness. Hate, violence, anger, they’re emotions that are worth something. They are what keep you alive in this world full of fantasy and make believe. Didn’t your own mother spin tales about me? Wasn’t I a figment of her wild imagination, nothing but a story conjured up for a daughter desperate to know her father?”
“How the fuck do you know that?” I ask.
“Because that’s what she told me on the first and last occasion she came to me and begged for money. She was lucky I didn’t kill her. Then again, the heroin my dealer supplied her did a fine job of that. So, I guess I did kill her after all, albeit from afar.”
The King laughs at the look on my face and I see red. My anger blurs my vision. Grabbing the butter knife, I don’t think, I just launch for him across the table only to be yanked back by the guard behind me. The cold metal of his gun digging into my temple.
“Try that again and you’re dead,” the guard growls.
“Asia, don’t let him get to you,” Mr Carmichael says calmly, a look I can’t interpret flashing in his eyes. My breaths come in short, sharp pants as I try to control myself.
“See, Asia, love makes you weak,” the King repeats, his eyes narrowing at his brother.
“Is that the lie you tell yourself these days?” a familiar voice says.
Malakai.
The King stands. His mouth dropping open as he stares at the huge brute of a man. Except his shock isn’t because Malakai has walked into the room without a hair out of place, it’s because he’s holding hands with a girl no more than four or five years old, a gun aimed at the King’s blackened heart.
Who the hell is this?My question is answered half a beat of my troubled heart later.
“Daddy?” the little girl whispers, her huge brown eyes brimming with tears.
“Daddy?” I hush out.
The King blanches, his face paling. A flicker of emotion, so miniscule I almost miss it, flashes behind his eyes. “Don’t be afraid, Ronnie. Malakai won’t hurt you, Ipromise,” he assures her vehemently before focusing his attention on Malakai, his eyes narrowing
“You have another child?” I ask, shocked by that brief look offeartracking a path across his features and the fact there’s another little girl who belongs to the King.
He snatches his head around, meeting my gaze. “Yes, surprise,” he says, waving his hands in the air like some fucking maniac. Behind me I can hear Camden swear under his breath and mutter his shock too. How did he not know that the King had another child? A heartbeat later, we all find out.
“Veronika was the product of a short affair that I had with a woman before I met your mother, Camden. Another whore who’s only worth in this world was to give me Ronnie. When I found out about her birth I made sure I didn’t repeat the same mistakes as I did with Asia. So, I took her. She’s been our little secret, hasn’t she Monk,” he adds, staring at his son who just grits his jaw and nods.
“Why didn’t mum say anything?” Camden blurts out. It’s not a question he expects to get an answer to, but the King seems happy to share regardless.
