Page 36 of War and his Queen

The kind that I’m not sure we really want to know.

The kind that only the boys know.

They keep secrets from us, sure, we all know that, but is it the kind of secrets that will drive a wedge in our dynamics? I’m not so sure. At least… not yet.

“It’s not sexist, Riv. Shut up.” War takes a swig of his whiskey, ignoring all of us. They think it isn’t obvious that the only time we spend together with them is when we’re all drinking, like they think it’s to keep us from asking questions why we aren’t with them when they’re not.

I haven’t asked any questions. Mainly because I don’t want to know.

I push up from the chair, straightening my short miniskirt and Dad’s vintage Van Halen band tee. I tied the front and tucked it to display my fishnet tights that cling around my waist. I need more alcohol if I want to get through this night.

Especially since it’s the first time we’ve all been drinking together since the night I shamelessly tried to get War to fuck me. That was a month ago.

I think they knew that we had been absent, but it worked for us as much as it did for them.

We have secrets just like they do.

Ours are more fun. Theirs, I’m sure are lined with the blood of our enemies, or whatever.

I stumble to the patio door of Priest’s room that overlooks the party out back. People are dancing, laughing, drinking. It’s the usual Saturday night at Hayes Castle.

Pushing the heavy curtains out of the way, I leave the door open, not really caring who is watching, since everyone always is. I lift the glass to my lips, inhaling the smoky notes of whiskey and awaiting the burn to slide down my throat. Lithe plays loudly through the speakers, vibrant lights dangling through the trees.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I don’t want to pull it out to check.

My life is a series of what-ifs. My loyalty, my family, and my needs.

The sound of the door clicking shut makes goosebumps prickle over my skin.

I follow Jessica as she dances her way through a group of seniors. So desperate and needy, but I like her. I like anyone who is shamelessly themselves.

“Something got your attention, Halo?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, unable to turn to look at him. I hate that I threw myself at him last month. It willnever happen again. In fact, I’d go as far as to say I’ve revenge fucked my way out of feeling shitty about it.

“Mmmm, not so much,” I quip. Fuck the dreaded moment for the whiskey, I’ll take it right now.

His arm brushes mine and my eyes flick down to the connection. For as long as I can remember, War and I have always been a duo. He was the apology for my psychotic brother. There was a carnal tug-of-war that always erupted anytime we were near one another, no matter how much we fought it. It was out of our control, so we both did the only thing we could.

Stayed away.

He towers over my five-foot-plus frame, but I never feel too small beside him. He has always made me feel like the most important person in every room. Maybe that’s why I read into it too much, and in my drunk stupor, tried to fuck him.

“You wanna talk about last month?”

I grimace, biting down on the anger that surfaces. I love War, but that never took away my pride, and last month, it took a hit.

“No. I’m good.”

“Halen…” he rasps, leaning his forearms on the rail. He doesn’t look to me, merely keeping his eyes locked on the masses out in the garden. Mom’s inspiration for the parterre drawing straight from the Italian Renaissance.

I hate that I find myself tracing the sculpted lines of his jaw. The way it makes every Instagram model look like a solid one. War in any room, turns heads. That’s just a fact.

My cheeks heat. Damn whiskey.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I was drunk—it’s fine. It was handled.”

He stills before his head jerks to me. My stomach drops when his baby blue eyes find mine.

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