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Chapter One
Connor
“Can you believe this shit?”
I hum in agreement, not looking up from the menu. It feels almost sacrilegious for the hot chicken sandwich to not be the special today. It’s Saturday for crying out loud. A day that demands crispy fried chicken smothered in hot sauce.
This is lunacy.
“We’re gonna have to ask Mable why they did this. I’m completely thrown.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
My gaze pops up from reading over the sandwich selections to my older brother, Cohen. He’s at a level-four scowl so something must really be bothering him. The line between his brows was barely an indentation. You only had to worry when the line was clearly defined—crater-like—on his face. That meant shit was about to go down.
“I’m talking about the hot chicken sandwich being off the specials list today,” I say, tapping the plastic menu. “This is the only topic of importance we should be discussing.”
Cohen doesn’t respond; he barely even moves. Knowing it will piss him off but doing it anyway, I stare back at him unblinking. It takes a second, but he clues into what I’m doing and straightens slightly in his chair.
“You’re an asshole,” he growls, eyes narrowing on me.
“I’m gonna win this time.”
“In your dreams.”
A stinging sensation begins to build behind my eyes, making them water. I can’t give in. Cohen always wins our staring contests. Even as a kid he was weirdly good at this game. He never really played it willingly, but I found ways to ignite his competitive spirit.
“You boys ready to order?”
I blink at the sudden intrusion.
“Damn it!” I cry, giving the table a little smack. “Mable! I was about to win.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Cohen says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “We’re ready, Mable.”
“Wait a second,” I halt my brother, my hand coming up in a stop gesture. “Mable, what happened to the hot chicken sandwich? It’s the highlight of my week.”
“Your week is pretty bleak if that’s the highlight.” Wow. Shots fired. I didn’t expect an answer like that from sweet Mable, but I guess it’s going to be one of those days. “Hot sauce shipment came partially broken this week. Didn’t have enough to even try making the special.”
“There was a hot sauce casualty?”
“Jesus, Connor. Let the damn sandwich go.”
Shooting my brother a scathing look, I turn back to Mable with a small smile.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mable. I bet you’ve told that story to a lot of people today and you’re tired of it.”
“Nope.” She pops theP, shaking her head at me. “Just you.”
Not giving me time to say something else or even defend myself on why I love this sandwich so much, Cohen starts listing off his order.
In a last-second decision, I get a burger.
“So, what’s got you in a mood? What were you referring to before when I was mourning the loss of my sandwich?”
Again, Cohen stares at me. I’m used to waiting through his long periods of silence as he formulates if and how he wants to tell me something. He’s a quiet man generally and very private.
“The princess of Macelondia is supposed to be in hiding and yet she’s today’s feature in the gossip section. What good is a secret protection agency if they can’t do their damn jobs?”
