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His mouth falls into a straight line. “Damn. We turned into the bad guys, huh? Killing and shit for fun, not purpose.”
I choke on my laugh until my eyes water. “I wouldn’t say it doesn’t have a purpose if they’re fucking with one of ours first.”
“Hmmm.” I hate when Vaden gives noncommittal answers.
I should tell him that we should take the Gentlemen anyway, and that Moses and his brothers wouldn’t be able to do shit about it. Danny Dale is sick with cancer. It is only a matter of time before he goes down and his oldest son rises up. Then what? Then it is fucking on because I am certain that Moses Dale wants our heads just as much as we want his. Or maybe not. We don’t know. The Gentlemen are wild cards, but we are the dealers.
Halen
I stare backat myself in the mirror, my fingers grazing the white paint that’s smudged down my jaw. I’ve been waiting for this moment for as long as I can remember—we all have. The process of becoming a King is sacred amongst our kind, but a practice that historically took place during a different time for our parents. Many will be born into one of the ten Founding Families, but not everyone will become a King.Officially.
We wear our marking with pride, but it signifies a lot of things to many different people. The rest of our lives start after tonight.
Quod Ritualia. The Ritual.
Stella peers at me over her shoulder, as Saint—who is far too sweet to be her mother—works on her face skull. “You’re thinking too much into it. Mama, tell her she’s thinking too much into it.”
I love the girls, but one of the many reasons is that there’s a toxic recklessness to Stella, who could put a man three times her size in the ground without blinking, and then River, who’d write poetry with your blood as she declares her underlying love.
“Thank fuck!” My mom rushes through the door in a flurry of panic, before her shoulders sag. “Why are you so hard to fucking find lately?” She places a hand on her hip.
I love when she does this. Pretends she’s my mother and not my sister. She’s more than I could ever ask for in a mom, but damn. The woman’s spunk just won’t die.
“Probably because she’s beneath War.” River’s tone is drunk with sass.
Tillie pauses on River’s makeup, my mom’s eyes are lazy on mine, and Saint clears her throat.
“Thank God!” Tillie exhales, clutching her belly when she curls over. So dramatic for no reason. Also, love Tillie, but damn… “Ohthank fucking God!I was almost afraid that he’d bring home a stray, or worse…”
I know she’s implying Katsia.
She uses her hand to fan her face. “I want all the tea!”
I shoot River an icy glare before softening back on Tillie. “What your daughter meant to say, was that we are nothing. There’s still a very real possibility that he could bring home a stray. Or, like, ten…”
Tillie blinks at me as if I spoke a foreign language. Maybe I had, but it’s more Stella’s habit to randomly break out in Latin, not mine. “Nope. I know him. He’s exactly like his father.”
She turns back to River, swiping up a makeup brush. “So, on that note.” Her cheek crinkles when she tries to hold in her laugh. “How’s the trauma?”
Mom’s hand comes to mine. “I need to show you something.”
I don’t know why we decided my room to get ready for the event of the century would be best.
I squeeze her hand with mine and smile, placing my glass of gin down on the vanity while tightening my satin robe. “Okay, Mother.”
Her smile widens, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so beautiful. Actually, that’s a lie. She was forged by an angel on the day of the joint wedding in Italy. All to marry the Devil.
She directs us down the long hallway. Arce Hayes has twenty-three bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, two theatres, a shooting range, an indoor basketball court, an underground fifty-car garage, and a pool that would make Elon Musk cream his panties. The kind of wealth our families have is disgusting. Thankfully, every six months, our mothers hold prestigious charity events, and then match every dollar that they raise.
The next one will be in a month, and we’ll officially all be Kings. Without our parents’ involvement. They’ve phased out slowly over the years, but once that gavel is in Priest’s hands, they’re officially done.
Not that my brother hasn’t been holding the gavel since he was in his senior year of high school, because he has… metaphorically. He and Dad share an outlandish bond. One that kind of feels like a secret society in itself. My brother would burn the whole world down if anyone hurt Dad, probably killing him along with it just to prove a point.
After following Mom to the end of the hallway, we walk up a level and she stops outside a door that’s smaller than the others in our house. She squeezes the handle and cracks it open.
I peek inside to see a swivel staircase that grows to the ceiling. The walls are barely wide enough for the stairs, let alone me—a claustrophobic.
She leans against the wall, the worry lines around her eyes deepening. Well. The lines that are there, since she religiously gets them frozen. As much as she wouldloveto say it’s genetics, we all know it’s not.
