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“My dad asked me to come check on this place,” I told them then took a sip of my drink. It was whiskey and tasted like shit, but I needed to play the role of a mafia boss’s son which, according to my bastard of a father, meant I needed to drink and fuck a lot of women.
My father was a real piece of shit.
A crease formed between Reece’s brows. “Why?” He had to shout over music as a part of the song rose to a louder beat.
I set the glass of whiskey down on the table. “He wanted to ensure no one besides his men were dealing here. He said he heard rumors that the Portersons were moving in.”
“I heard that, too,” Reece divulged. “But who knows if it’s true with how easily gossip spreads?”
“I know.” My eyes drifted back to the dance floor. I couldn’t see anything that would back up this rumor.
Blaise started bouncing his knee up and down.
“Dude, what’s with the anxious energy?” Reece asked him.
He continued bouncing his leg and twisting his ring. “I texted Al twenty minutes ago, and she hasn’t responded.”
I stiffened but tried to remain composed because that was how I had to be—always put together on the outside. It’s what I was taught to do—show no emotion, be cruel and ruthless, and act as if I’m above everyone. I hated being this way, but I had to to survive.
“She might not be able to hear her phone over the music,” I said, hoping to God that was the reason, though worry stirred inside me.
What if something is wrong?
Blaise shook his head. “She always returns my messages because she knows I’ll worry.”
He was right.
“Maybe we should go check on her.” Reece was starting to grow tense, as well.
“After we finish here,” I said, but that was the last thing I wanted to do.
The truth was, I was worried. I was always worried when it came to Al.
Blaise fell quiet for a moment before he jumped to his feet. “I can’t just let this go. I care about her too much.” He moved to take off down the spiral stairway, but I stood up and grabbed his arm.
“We can’t leave yet,” I stressed. “I’ll be in deep shit if we do.”
He wrenched his arm away from me. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t just ignore this. I love her.” He took off, jogging down the stairway.
I stood there with my jaw hanging to my knees. He loved her? What the hell?
I glanced at Reece to see if he was as shocked as I was. If anything, he looked sick to his stomach, and his skin was pale beneath the dark lighting. I kind of felt the same way, yet I didn’t understand why.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, facing him.
With his eyes fixed on the stairs, he muttered, “I have to go check on her, too. I’m sorry.” Then he rushed off, hurrying down the stairs after Blaise.
I knew I should stay at the club, yet I couldn’t stop worrying enough to sit still. So, I eventually left, too.
I paid for it later, but I was glad I did since when we found Allura with some guy who was trying to convince her to go into a bedroom with him, even though it was clear she was too drunk to make the decision. We beat his ass and took her home. She ended up sleeping with her head on Blaise’s lap in the back seat of the car. And Blaise seemed so content with that as he combed his fingers through Allura’s hair while staring out the window at the stars. I realized later that I might have been in love with Al, but it took me a while to acknowledge it aloud. Reece eventually admitted the same thing.
Looking back, I wonder if we wouldn’t have broken Al if the three of us would have ended up fighting over who got to date her. But we did break her, and now everything is in pieces. Except I’m hoping this—the fate ceremony; everything we’ve been working toward for years—will be the start of repairing things between the four of us.
Will it be easy? No.
Will it be perfect? No.
But what we did to her had to be done. Because what was planned for Allura’s future before we got our fathers to agree to the fate ceremony would’ve been way fucking worse. And I never want Al to learn about that—what her father did to her. I worked hard for that not to happen; tortured all of us throughout high school so that we could get to this point.
