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My mouth burns and I don’t bother with a response, far too busy trying to scoop the ice cubes out of the glass and rapid-fire shoving them into my mouth, all while Dalton, Cross, and Sawyer just sit back and laugh.
Sawyer glances at the burger. “I take it you’re not going to eat that?”
I shake my head, the burn slowly starting to ease. “Have it, but if you even look at my fries, you’ll be on all fours with a collar and leash around your neck before you even know what’s going on.”
Sawyer just nods, already consuming the burger, not even appearing to notice how spicy it is. He annihilates it in seconds, and I pick at my fries as I grab the sticks of charcoal, trying to figure out exactly how this is going to work. I mean, there’s a big court right in front of me. It’s the biggest blank canvas I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t even think about fucking with my court,” Dalton mutters, watching me from across the massive green rectangle, reading me as effortlessly as though he’d been doing it for years.
Letting out a sigh, I glance up at him, needing to block the sun from my eyes. “Then where the hell am I going to draw? I don’t have a canvas.”
Cross glances at me with a strange curiosity in his eyes before pulling his shirt over his head. He turns his back and glances over his shoulder at me. “Will this do?”
“Your back?” I question, my greedy gaze shifting over the strong muscles beneath that beautiful, tanned skin, his back the perfect blank canvas. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to roam my hands all over it. “Are you sure? Charcoal isn’t known for being tidy. It’s messy as shit.”
He gives me a blank stare. “Will it do or not?”
“I mean . . . yeah,” I say, watching as he drops to the ground and sprawls across the court, offering his back for me to use as I please. Cross grabs his discarded shirt and shoves it under his head, getting comfortable for the long haul.
I don’t hesitate, scooching toward him and laying the charcoal out beside him. I glance over his back, trying to figure out what to do with it, before leaning over his ass and starting my outline.
Over the next few minutes, a face starts to form, covering his whole back as we fall into a comfortable silence, but I find myself all too curious about this beautiful stranger. “Cross?” I question, almost certain he’s going to fall asleep.
“Mmm?”
The charcoal sails over his strong back and I lean in a little closer, concentrating as I give definition to the girl’s cheekbones, contouring the shit out of them. “What’s your name?”
He glances back at me, barely lifting his head. “My name?” he questions, a strange hesitance in his tone. “It’s Cross.”
“No, I mean your real name,” I say, not meeting his eyes. I don’t want to seem like I’m prying for information, when I’m just wanting to have a casual conversation and know more about the man whose ass is fantastically close to my face. “I figured Cross was a nickname.”
There’s a strained silence before he gives a short nod. “It is,” he murmurs. “My name is Easton. Easton Cross.”
“Easton,” I whisper, liking it so much more than I have the right to. It somehow feels so right on my lips. “Is it going to cause problems if I call you that, or do you prefer Cross?”
He waits a moment before letting that deep, raspy tone fly free. “You can call me Easton.”
A strange flutter causes havoc deep in my stomach and I try to push it away, not wanting to make a big deal out of this. Yet, I can’t help but feel as though we just made some kind of progress, and not just thehappy to smile at one another in passingkind of progress, but theI want to crush my lips to his and see if he can make me weakkind of progress.
There’s just something about this guy. He’s so mysterious and quiet, yet broody and terrifying. But there’s a softer side, something I don’t think he often shows. Something I think he might be afraid of. It intrigues me, and I find myself drawn to him. It’s almost as though I want to trust him. I want to believe that he’ll always protect me.
“Can you tell me more about Empire?” I question, realizing this girl on his back is starting to resemble me.
“What do you want to know?”
I shrug my shoulders, having no idea where to start. “How does it work? Is there a boss or does it just run on a trust system?”
Sawyer scoffs, and I glance up at him, not realizing he was listening. “We might be a powerful organization, but there’s no trust. Those motherfuckers will turn on you in a second if it means getting a step up in the world. If we didn’t have such high standards when it comes to following traditions, we never would have made it this far.”
“So how do you enforce it then?” I question, glazing over the woman’s eyes on Easton’s back and realizing it needs something more, something darker to match his vibe. “How do you make sure everyone stays in line?”
“It’s similar to how a big company works,” Dalton explains. “We have our board of directors who oversee all the day-to-day bullshit and enforce our rules and values. They’re known as The Circle, twelve scary as fuck bastards. And then we have our leader who has the power to overrule, the one who The Circle goes to when they can’t come to a decision. He’s the big fucking boss.”
“Well shit, how’d he get that gig?”
“Pretty simple, actually,” Easton mutters, his gaze on Zade across the rooftop. “He was born with the right DNA.”
“Oh, so it’s an heir type of situation then, passed from father to son?”
