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“I don’t agree with the breakup. We’re still together.” She cowers under my brother’s and cousin’s menacing attention. “I’ll text you later, babe.”
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter, a migraine starting at the back of my head.
“What?” she asks, seeming lost.
“Don’t call me babe. I’m not your babe,” I say, clearer this time, and her eyes widen.
She starts to say something else, but Lan stands in front of me and pushes her away as if she’s a prop. “Off you go. Don’t show your face around my brother again or I’ll cut it to pieces.”
I want to reprimand him, but I’m glad his words finally propel her to move. She quickens her steps down the hall, tension rolling off her in waves.
“I’ll let you know if someone else needs help!” Eli shouts after her and then asks us, “She’s really not the help?”
“The degradation is unnecessary,” I say with a sigh.
Eli rolls his shoulder. He’s an inch taller than us and has dark hair and metal-gray eyes that excel at making people feel uncomfortable in their own skin.
Personality-wise, he’s similar to my brother and they share a destructive nature, which is why they get along, although they like to pretend otherwise. They have a lot of interests in common, including a chess game at our grandfather’s house that’s been going on for over a decade.
But where Landon is a show-off, Eli prefers to work in the shadows.
He’s still too antagonistic, though, which is why I prefer the company of his younger brother, Creigh. However, Eli has always been like a big brother to Lan and me. He made it his mission to protect us when we were growing up and he continues to do so.
Eli, Lan, and even Creigh are firm believers of the King name supremacy and consider an offense against one of its members as a declaration of war. It’s not that I don’t share the sentiment. More like, I never felt worthy of the superior last name.
Lan clutches my shoulder, a wicked grin painting his lips. “Congrats on kicking the bitch to the curb. For the love of Satan, don’t get back together with her. She’s not for you.”
“And how do you know what’s for me? Are you an expert?”
“Me, an expert? Nonsense. But you should at least be with someone who actually only has eyes for you.”
“Aww.” Eli wraps an arm around my other shoulder and squeezes me. “The help dared hurt my precious Bran? Why didn’t you mention that before so I could’ve gouged her eyes out and fed them to the dogs?”
“Maybe that’s why I didn’t,” I mutter. “I’m just going to sleep.”
“Hell no. We need to get you drunk to celebrate.” He clears his throat. “Rems!! Get the pints out!”
A few things are knocked over down the hall before a door is flung open and Remi peeks out, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face. “Did someone say pints?”
“Yeah, as much as you can find.” Eli squeezes me. “We’re giving Bran a Congrats for Dodging the Help’s Bullet party.”
“No clue what that is, but I’m in!” He jumps to the opposite room, wearing nothing but boxers, and kicks Creigh’s door open. “Wake up, spawn! We have a partaayyy.”
I’m dragged to the living room against my wishes for a celebration I want no part in. I’d rather paint for an hour or so until ten thirty.
But then again, my paintings are taking a turn I dislike and I find myself hiding the canvases as if they’re a dirty little secret.
Maybe they are.
So perhaps this mindless gathering with my family members is exactly what I need.
I find solace in Creigh’s silent presence, who also didn’t give his approval about attending this sudden celebration.
He’s around Glyn’s age, but he has an old soul and he’s the one I seek out whenever I need calm.
He clinks his bottle of beer against mine and lifts his chin. “Congrats on getting rid of the loose screw.”
Jesus. Even he didn’t like her.
