Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
A door opens, but I don’t move. Paralyzed by the aching in my chest, I can’t seem to gather enough fucks right now to see who it is. With a glass filled with whiskey in one hand, and a cigarette in my other, I’m easily most comfortable here. Alone with my agony, bleeding quietly on my own.
“Ky, we’ve got to go.” Cartier. Of course. No one else has the balls to come and interrupt me. She gently closes the door. “I know you’re going through a lot right now, but we’ve got to go.” I raise the glass to my lips and take a small sip until the liquid burns down my throat.
“Is she alright?” I don’t recognize my own voice. Reaching for the tie that’s around my throat, I yank on it roughly until it’s barely hanging on.
“Yes. The bullet clipped her arm and grazed her belly, but if it wasn’t for—” Cartier answers softly, kneeling down in front of me with her hands on my knees. “Ky, you’re scaring me.”
I move away from her. “Why?”
“You’ve never—”
“—I’ve never what? Cartier? What? Lost someone I love? No, I can’t say that I fucking have.” Taking a drag of my cigarette, I blow out a cloud of smoke while leaning back to look up at the ceiling. “You know I didn’t even tell him that? That I love him? I was too busy being fucking angry at him—which I still fucking am—for being there, that I didn’t.” My throat swells, strangling the words that want to come out. The tightness rises all the way up my throat until it cripples the marrow in my jaw.
“He knew, Ky. He knew you both loved him. But we need to go right now, okay? They’re waiting for us.”
Today is the day we put Eli to rest, and I still can’t seem to get my mind to move. The screams that are piercing my brain can’t seem to escape, yet the answers we now finally have don’t seem to fit the punishment. He deserved more than that. More than a cheap fucking shot from a bitch on a power trip.
I slam the door behind myself to shut her out, raising the bottle to my lips while stumbling out to the waiting city car. Both of my parents are inside when I slide in, but it’s my mom who speaks first.
“We’re the last to leave.” The door opens again, Cartier sitting beside me.
Mom leans forward. “Son, I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Leave it,” I snap, looking out the window.
“—look, I know you’re hurting.” The car pulls away, and every single time the tires turn, eating the asphalt toward Riverside, I feel my stomach roll. “—she’s not good, Kyrin. She needs you as much as you need her. They both need you. She’s acting strong, for the child, but Kyrin—” I am so caught up in the disarray of my own thoughts that I miss whatever the fuck it is that she’s saying. I stare at her.
“Lilith, son. Your mom is talking about Lilith.” My dad fills the answer that I’m searching for.
I wince, bringing the bottle back to my lips and swallowing more until the pain in my throat balms the one in my heart. Not a chance. It doesn’t even touch the sides of the pain I’m feeling.
“We can figure that out later,” Cartier says, her hand on my thigh. “They’re both with Kill and Sass right now. I think they had to carry her to the car…” I close my eyes, needing that same peace to come. It never does. The car stops and we’re outside a cemetery, buried in the middle of a forest.
“Jesus, what the fuck?” I reach for the door handle, when Cartier stops me again.
“This is the EKC crypt. All of the Kings rest here.”
“You know an awful lot about Kings, Car. You wanna tell me something?”
“Son…” my mom warns, but I roll my eyes and push open the door. Leaves and dried twigs crunch beneath the sole of my loafer. I just want to bury him. We can fuck with the rest on a later date.
A piano plays the tune of “Exile” by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver. I squeeze my jaw so tight my teeth fucking crack. Thick bushes surround the crypt, and fat green shrubs that are filled with fairy lights decorate the outside of the concrete box. A sundown funeral—not surprising for a King. There are black roses littered down the line that separates two sides. I’ve noticed one is for Midnight Mayhem, the other for The Kings family. The music continues to play, when a girl’s voice filters through the sound system. My parents both lead me to the front of the chairs, directing me beside who I know is Lilith, but I’m entranced. Trapped in the hypnotic way her voice sounds in replacement to Taylor Swift. When the song ends, everyone takes a seat and a pope slowly walks down the aisle, his thurible swinging from side to side and expelling smoke. The smell of lavender and sage follows behind him as he quietly reaches the front, turning to face us all. There has to be close to one hundred people here. Turning over my shoulder, I freeze in my chair when my eyes connect with Dominic Stranger, who’s standing in the back of The Kings’ seating. His eyes are covered by dark glasses, his suit freshly pressed. The motherfucker has the audacity to be here, let alone have the nerve to look upset.