“Nothing, just that I say daddy, and you instantly know I’m talking about Nate…”
Shit. I slap the visor closed and shift in my seat to get comfortable. “Why am I coming? I brought the book.”
Brantley is silent again and I’m getting annoyed with his evasive behavior. I don’t know how Madison handled it for so long. So much as a sniff of a lie and I will pollute the air with toxic poison so when they inhale their own bullshit, they won’t be able to exhale it into me.
“You’ll see.”
We drive for about ten minutes before I open up Instagram. I flip the camera to selfie mode and snap a photo of me leaning into Brantley’s arm. He’s scowling, but whatever, he’s always scowling. Our face paint lights up the photo like we just rolled out of The Walking Dead and I smirk, proud of our first photo together.
“I hate photos.”
I shrug, tagging him in it and sharing it to Instagram—and Facebook. “Tough.”
Another five minutes later and we’re pulling down a familiar long gravel driveway. Apparently, it was also where Madison got shot by Daemon. I didn’t piece two and two together because I wasn’t around during that time. I try not to lick my lips, afraid of smearing the makeup.
We pull up and there’s the building that Madison and I were in watching underground fighting while I met a couple of younger Kings. I slam the door shut after I get out, looking at Brantley skeptically.
“Why are the lights off?”
He smirks at me, lighting his smoke. “Because I told you, you’re at a meet.”
“—and what the fuck are you wearing?” Nate barks, storming toward me, literally appearing from the forest.
“Excu—”
He grips onto my wrist, yanking me around the car.
I yank it out of his grip. “Fuck you and fuck off.”
His hand flies to my throat and his eyes narrow. His white, wolf-like contacts glare at me like I’m staring into the eyes of a corpse.
“Don’t fuck with me, Tillie. Now is not the time for that smart-ass mouth.”
I whack his arm away, but he only intensifies his grip, slamming me against Brantley’s car.
I search his eyes, his nose so close to mine. “When did you change so much?”
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a grin. “I never changed, Tillie. You just never knew me.”
He shoves me back, finally unleashing his grip. His eyes go to Brantley. “It’s started, but Bishop isn’t here.” I see a few other boys exit out of the clearing that Nate did.
“I haven’t heard from Madison either…” I add, my eyes going between Nate and Brantley.
They stay quiet.
“Let’s go,” Nate says, nodding his head toward the forest. I run to catch up to him and fight with walking beside him or Brantley, but before I can make a decision, I find myself beside Nate, with Eli, Cash, and Hunter on the other side of me. The forest is dark, the only lighting from the moon touching the slight curves of the pathway. Orange flames lick the midnight air, and the clearing finally turns into one large circle. It’s the same place we were at with Bailey, only I have obviously come in from a different entrance. There is another group of boys sitting on a log. Younger. I recognize them from that night. There are four, all slouching down and glaring at me. On another log, behind the big bonfire, is a line of three men. One, I recognize as Hector. I freeze, my jaw clenching. The reason I’m here has to be with him—right? My eyes catch movement on another log to the side and opposite the young Kings, and there’s another line. I see Jase, Spyder, and I can’t remember his name, as well as another guy.
These are the closest generations of Kings.
I see behind them there are other logs, but they’re empty. Nate yanks me down onto the one that they all sit at.
Hector looks over at us. “Malum, where is my son?”
I look up at Nate to see his jaw clenched from behind the face paint. “Not sure. Was about to ask you.”
Hector leans into a man who is seated beside him. I don’t recognize anyone, but I don’t really know because of the face paint.
“What’s going on?” I look up at Nate. Nerves break through my body when I realize why he didn’t want me dressed like this. I’m in the middle of a cage with some very hungry lions.
He looks down at me. “It’s a meet. When all of The Kings join for one night a month to touch base.” He exhales. “Look at me, Tillie.”
I do, slowly bringing my eyes to his.
“This is not the place to be a brat. You will start a war if you do, but most of the men here wouldn’t speak to you unless they are spoken to. Most except for Hector.” He pauses, another jaw clench. “Do you remember last year when Madison came to the races? Her and Bishop had a massive fight and she ended up riding shotgun in his car to make a delivery?”
No, but I don’t say that.
He carries on. “Well, that was on a meet. Every time is different. If there has been betrayal, the person who did the betraying will be there”—he points to a cage, the same cage that Bailey was in—“and we deal with it appropriately. If there’s a test that needs to be done, there will be a race or a fight. The Kings run the distribution of every underground dealing in all forty-eight states across the US, although we reside in NYC and The Hamptons, we own this fucking country. We have ties to all nationalities of the mafia: Italian, Russian, Yakuza. All outfits of the five families, the MS-13, and bikers, but they don’t matter. We have direct lines to The White House, the CIA, and every other fucking organized crime group you can think of, and wanna know something, Princessa?” he whispers. “They’re all our allies. That’s what
