Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I flung my hair over my shoulder and slowly made my way toward them. I was confident, to put it lightly, and that probably—no, definitely—came from always getting everything I wanted in life. That amongst other things.
Once I reached the edge of the sofa, I looked down at the two boys. “Well? Are you both going to sit there and stare, or are you going to show me if you can fuck me like your eyes just did?”
Brantley
Secrets. The Elite Kings were notorious for keeping them, hiding them away where little girls couldn’t find them, and then shoving it down their throats when it was convenient. It’s how we checked if you had a gag reflex. It was what we did. We spilled the blood of our enemies over the same floor we all learned to walk on. This was our life. Some assumed we were a secret society, but that’s not it either. Secret societies have boundaries, we have none. TEKC was formed generations and generations ago between the founding fathers. Bishop’s great, great, great whatever pop was the Don, the fucking creator, along with mine, Nate’s, and Eli’s. Evil didn’t fade out through the generations; it only grew stronger with every spawn. We found new ways to torment our enemies. I mean… just ask Madison.
Tried it on Tillie, didn’t work.
Tillie, who just announced to all of us that she’s pregnant.
Everyone is excited. Fucking ecstatic. Nate’s arms are around her, his hand on her stomach protectively. The Elite Kings’ next generation is about to kick off, which gives the rest of us roughly one year to knock someone up if we want our lineage carried on.
Not fucking likely. Knew that I was cutting off the Vitiosis line long before we killed my dad.
“Bran Bran…” Tillie teases from the other side of the room. She thinks I hate the name. Admittedly, I don’t care. She can call me whatever she wants. Bishop’s dad, mom, and Nate’s parents have long since left, leaving just Nate, me, Bishop, Tillie, and—my eyes fall on Saint. Her. My fucking five minutes.
“I’m not congratulating you, Tillie,” I answer flatly, moving away from the fact that Saint walked herself down into this mess that I call my family. Having her in the same vicinity as these savages has the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight. When she came downstairs, no one batted an eye. But the range of looks I’m getting from Bishop and Nate is enough to tell me that the conversation isn’t over. It won’t be. The reason why nothing can ever come between Kings is because we never invite shit in.
I yank the cork off my bottle with my teeth and pour the thirty-year-old Japanese whiskey straight into my glass.
I’m watching everyone around me, but my attention is solely on Saint.
Tillie moves closer to her, her nervous tics in full effect. The tucking her hair behind her ear, the shuffling of feet, and looking down at the floor before looking back up. Tillie was an open book. She was always so animated and fierce and had absolutely no problem putting people in their place. It’s what I liked most about her. She handled shit, no matter how wild it was in her hands—she still controlled it. I mean, Nate. Case in point. “Who knew this bastard was holding you hostage.” Tillie would attach herself to Saint, not only because they’re siblings, but because they are two halves that have always needed to be whole.
Saint moves her long snow-like hair over one stiff shoulder, and my fingers flex around the glass. She peers up at Tillie with her doe-like eyes. The whitest gray you could ever imagine, they almost look unreal.
The first thing I noticed about Saint was her eye color.
The second was how easily she took hold of the burning rage that simmered deep in my gut and stored it away to use as a weapon. I was her weapon; she just chose my targets. How, you ask? Well, for one, you could breathe in her vicinity, and if I think you’re just a little too close, it’ll be the last one you ever fucking took. Touch her? The last memory your family will ever have of you is your hands in a fucking box. She took hold of my rage and stamped her name across it in block letters.
“There’s a lot you don’t know.” I swirl the amber liquid in my tumbler, my eyes on Tillie.
She huffs, crossing her arms in front of her. It’d be cute, if I gave a fuck. “That, I don’t doubt.”
I slowly shake my head at her. Drop it.
“Fine,” she says, hooking her arm into Saint’s. “We’re going to be friends.” Tillie continues to walk Saint out of the room and into the kitchen area, leaving Nate, Bishop, Eli, and me. Don’t fucking know where Cash and Hunter left to. I missed everything while counting to one-fucking-hundred.