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“Me too.”
I spun at the unfamiliar voice, finding a guy standing a couple feet away from us, a pint of golden beer in his right hand. The jeweled crown tattoo around the base of his index finger giving away his status as a King. He looked… familiar, but then again he also looked like half the male students at Briar Hall. Great cheekbones, even better skin. With sandy blond hair cut short, a chin dimple, and a classic Cali tan.
But overshadowing it all was the weathered veneer of a man who’d already seen some shit in his short life.
Truly though, if it weren’t for the roughness of his hands, the wicked gleam to his eyes, and the style of his clothes, the guy could’ve passed for the son of one of the bluebloods in attendance here tonight, too.
But he wasn’t that. He was a King.
“What?”I cocked my head at him.
“He’s creepy as fuck,” the guy repeated.
“Isn’t he one of yours?” I asked, a rhetorical question, really.
The guy nodded. “Yup.”
He turned, feeling the unanswered query still lingering between us.
His brown eyes roved the length of me before continuing. He leaned in closer, conspiratorially, making Rook growl low from behind him. Guy had balls, I’d give him that.
“His name’s Aries,” the King whispered to me, the smell of his grapefruit and sandalwood cologne strong in my nose. “He’s always been kind of a loner. But he’s lethal when Maverick needs him to be. He’s the one we use when there’s a message that needs sending if you catch my meaning. He’s also our one man cleanup crew.”
My stomach churned.
The guy they sent in when they needed to send a message…
Could that fuck be the one who took out my dad?
Unconsciously, my hands balled at my sides. I only realized when Rook dropped a heavy palm on my shoulder, shocking me back to the present. He dragged me back a step, pulling the King’s attention.
“And you are?” Rook asked, his smile all teeth.
The guy stretched out a hand to Rook, inclining his head respectfully. Clearly he already knew who they were. “Drake.”
Rook’s upper lip twitched, but he took Drake’s hand.
“And you must be Rook Clayton.”
Drake nodded to Corvus and Grey. “Greyson Winters. And Corvus James. Your reps precede you.”
“Afraid yours doesn’t,” Corvus said gruffly, staring openly at the guy.
Drake frowned, but there was still a smile lingering at the edge of his mouth. He wasn’t offended, or at least he was doing his best to appear like he wasn’t. “Well, shit, man. Way to call me out. We can’t all be the sons of a veritable street god.”
“Touché,” Grey put in, throwing a covert elbow into Corvus’ ribs. Reminding him that we were trying to make friends here, not enemies.
The guy snorted a laugh.
Corvus gave the guy a nod. “Enjoy the fight, man,” he said before stalking away, likely gone to scope out the competition for Rook.
“What crawled up his ass,” Drake whispered playfully, tossing me a wink before he turned to the bar for another drink.
Rook eyed him as he turned away, and I gave him a hard look. Play nice, I mouthed to him. The guy had paid me barely an ounce of attention. I pitied the fool who one day tried to actually pick me up in front of them. That guy barely flirted and Rook looked close to smash mode. Grey too, actually.
“What are you smiling at?” Grey asked me, confused.
I shook my head, clearing my throat. “Nothing.”
