Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. She’ll be gearing up the gang because I told her that Billie will be there.”
Brantley doesn’t flinch, his eyes remain on mine. “Really…”
I chuckle. “Really.”
“And you’ve been talking to her?”
I nod my head. “Yeah.”
Brantley doesn’t say anything, though he wouldn’t have to. I know how he feels about Billie. Hate, that’s how he feels.
He opens his mouth and then shakes his head. “Tillie doesn’t need backup, Nate. You know that. If she wanted to punch Billie, she wouldn’t need Madison there to help her. Billie would be dead. Bringing your initiation pussy as a date is a low blow. I have to know why.”
“Madison is coming?” Eli interrupts, entering the lounge with vodka in his hand and wearing the same suit as Nate and I, holding his mask in his hand. The bone of his ancestors on his. Bet they’re not as pissed with him as mine are with me.
I lean forward and snatch the bottle of scotch off the coffee table, twisting the lid off with my teeth and spitting it across the floor. “Yeah.”
“Interesting, considering how I caught Tillie and Bishop earlier today.”
My eyes snap up to Eli, the same time that Brantley laughs. “What?”
Eli smirks at me, his eyebrows raised. “What? You can’t be surprised, can you? I mean, considering you and Madison…”
I have two options. Feed into his shit, or ignore it. I sink my drink in one go, my eyes staying on Eli. “She can fuck who she wants.”
Eli continues to stare at me, his floppy brown hair falling over his innocent eyes. He’s the youngest one out of all of us by a few months, and we treat him that way, but it also means he has a smart ass mouth. Way smarter than mine.
Brantley is watching me, a dark smirk on his mouth. He knows I’m bluffing, and I hate that he reads me like a fucking open book.
“Don’t get me started on you,” I smirk at Brantley. “Flowers, gold, secrets…. Doors…”
He flips me off, his jaw clenching. I know he’s hiding something, or someone, in this creepy fucking house. I just know it. I can feel her presence everywhere, subtly lingering in all the nooks and crannies, like she comes out at night and disappears during the day.
“So many questions for Bran Bran…”
“Are we ready?” Bishop snaps from the doorway, and I have to mentally count to ten again.
“Yup!” I stand from the sofa, swaggering straight past him.
“Nate!” Bishop calls out just as I reach the front door, but I don’t want to turn around and give him any attention. We used to be tight, he and I. Bishop was my best friend, but since Madison came into the story, Brantley and I have merged closer together.
“Yeah?” I turn to face him. Shit. How am I supposed to abide by one of The Commandments if I can’t even face the fact that Bishop has touched Tillie, and why the fuck does it bother me more than Brantley touching her? Because betrayal, that’s why. Brantley hasn’t done anything behind my back.
Not like what I did with Madison and Brantley that one time…
Fuck.
“You good?” Bishop asks, and the world stands still for a beat. Silence stretches out between us, scattering out to the rest of The Kings who are watching carefully.
“Yeah.” I smirk, my fake face coming on at full force. “Always.”
Never.
Tillie
My black lace mask is secured around my face tightly. I chose another red dress, because of course I did. It’s tight around my waist, dipping like a heart between my breasts with no straps. It bands tightly down my legs until it spills out slightly around my feet. There’s a long slit that goes right up past my hip, so I had to skip on wearing underwear. Madison and I both visited the salon today. My hair was so faded that I couldn’t stand it anymore and wanted a change. I thought about going back to my natural blonde but bitched out. So they put another pink through and washed it out so it’s back to a metallic, bright pink.
My eyes are dark and heavy with liner and smoke, and my lips are a blood cursing red.
“I think I’m going to spew,” Madison murmurs from beside me as our driver takes us toward a hotel in the heart of NYC where it’s being held.
“At least it’s not at his house again.”
“True,” Madison agrees, readjusting her mask. She’s wearing the same as mine, only red. Her dress is black and short. She wanted to go short, for obvious reasons. She has also been drinking since we started applying makeup.
“Will you be okay?” I ask her as she sips from a champagne flute.
“Yes,” she says, throwing back the rest.
This might not end well.
The driver pulls up to the front of a hotel in the Upper East Side and we both climb out, our heels clicking across the concrete. I squeeze my clutch in my hand and grab hers with my other.