“Fine,” I grumble, swallowing the entire contents inside my glass. “But we need a plan and we need one fast.”
I want to say that I want my shit ended on Friday. I want to fucking hand his ass to him on a silver platter, but I know it won’t happen. Not only because Bishop is being sensitive about it, but because he’s right. It’s going to take more than us wanting revenge to actually obtain our revenge, and we are Kings. The mother fucking Elite. The monsters people whisper about in fear because they’re too afraid to say our name out loud.
He will get his retribution.
It’s coming, but when it does—my eyes snap to Bishop, who is already watching me. Is that why he’s stalling too? He’s not ready? Because when we do go through with a plan, it’ll be Bishop who will be taking the throne.
“And then there are The Rebels, rubbing up against Tillie…” Eli reminds us, and my eyes flash with rage.
Bishop sits silently across the table. “That’s a plan that needs to go into motion. Remember, everything that we do from here is for our plan.”
Bishop’s phone starts ringing and he snatches it off the table, his eyebrows furrowing. He swipes it and presses it to his ear. “Yeah?”
Silence. I lick the maple syrup off my fingertips slowly as we all try to listen in.
“Why?” he asks, his eyes narrowing in on me. “Yeah. Okay. Are you going to tell me why the erratic schedule with this meet?” Must be Hector, my eye twitches. “Alright. I’ll wait to hear back.” Then he hangs up before announcing, “He called it off. We are to wait for further instructions.”
“I’m just going to say it,” Ace mutters, tossing the crust of his toast onto the middle of the table. “I’m too old for this shit and totally fucking get why Saint bounced.”
We don’t speak, and Brantley flinches at the mention of that name. He and Saint were cool, so I know it has nothing to do with that. Weird motherfucker.
“Saint is fine…” Bishop nudges his head. “He’s happy.”
“Well fuck, I want me some happy too!” Ace smirks, just as Bailey comes padding into the kitchen, groaning. She flicks the coffee pot on and leans over the sink, her mess of hair sticking up all over the place.
“You all right there, Bails?” I ask, smirking.
She flips me off.
Tillie
Later that night, we’re all chilling around the bonfire, roasting marshmallows and drinking mulled wine. I have Chase sitting between my legs on the ground and I’m halfway through French braiding his hair, his broad shoulders pressed between my thighs. Tash Sultana is playing through the sound system and everyone is lost in their talks. I look up to catch Nate watching me with every tighten on the braid.
“Pretty sure he’s jealous,” Chase murmurs, so only I can hear. “Pretty sure he’s about to kill me.”
I roll my eyes, finishing off his braid and tapping his shoulder. “He will live.”
They told me today that Hector had canceled the meet until further notice, and as much as that news should have settled my nerves, it didn’t. It only intensified the fact that I need my revenge. I understand revenge, though, probably more than Nate. I was raised in a world where people were cruel to me. It toughened my willpower to wait for the right time to strike, instead of lashing out at every person who does me wrong. Hector will get his at the right time, because it needs to be done right. And I still want to know why. Aside from getting me to Perdita, why did he need me to have nothing to live for? We drink more, dance a little, and Bailey pulls out her little camera again. Later that night we all settle back into our beds, but I’m restless. Bailey is snoring softly beside me, already deep in her sleep when I fling the blankets off my body and head for the door.
Why didn’t he talk to me all night?
Why is he mad?
Now I’m mad, which is why I find myself standing outside of his door, my fingers clenched around the handle. I twist and shove it open, the back side of it hitting the wall. Nate is lying on the top of the covers, leaning on one elbow with nothing but his white Calvin’s on. He’s doing something on his phone and his eyes slowly come up to mine, like me barging into his room was expected.
“What, Tillie?”
“Why are you mad at me?”
He finishes what he’s doing on his phone, not meeting my eyes. “I’m not mad at you.”
Am I being a twat? No, no I’m not. Because I’m sick of his mood swings. “Why haven’t you spoken to me?”
He exhales, tossing his phone onto the other side of the bed. “Have I not been giving you enough attention? Come sit.”
“I’m not your pet, Nate. I won’t sit when you tell me to sit.” … outside of the bedroom.
A dark smirk slides onto his mouth. “Really?”
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol that’s coursing through my body, or just the fact that he is Nate and I am Tillie, but I narrow my eyes on him. “What did I do wrong?”
“Wrong?” he asks, his eyebrows tipping up a little. “Nothing. Why would you do something wrong?”
“Can I ask you something?” I say, leaning on the door frame.
“You’re going to anyway…”
He’s right.
“Where do you see yourself in five year’s time?”
He pauses, seeming to think over his next words. Just when I think he’s not going to reply, he opens his mouth. “Living in my house.” His eyes flick to his phone. “Sitting beside Bishop as he reigns over this fucking world. Why?”
My heart stops beating for a second, or at least it feels that way, and my gut squeezes. “Doesn’t matter.” I turn on my heel. “Goodnight, Nate.”
And
