Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
And when the blond and dark-haired men’s faces turn up in all-too-familiar smiles, the unbearable news of Rook’s and Kane’s fathers—and their also shitty personalities—confirms itself too.
Wherever my brothers are, I hope to fuck they’re not being subjected to this kind of mental warfare.
“A spade has no problem being called a spade,” I eventually say, shrugging an unbothered shoulder. “Which is why I’m sure you don’t blink when people call you a prick.”
My uncle, the crazy asshole, laughs like he’s somehow proud of the reply, heading off my father’s angry steam before it can escalate. “Good. Now we’re even on the jabs, and we can move on.”
The other three, however, take much more offense. They were hoping to crawl under my skin and root there—but it’s hard to bully someone who doesn’t give a shit.
I only care about the opinions of people I would trade places with—and I wouldn’t trade places with these fuckers for a hundred billion dollars.
“I wanted all of you to meet so we could act as a welcoming committee of sorts,” Lucian goes on to explain. “If Calloway is going to assimilate among us, he needs to have some stewards.” He points toward the dark-haired asshole. “This is Nathanial.” And then he points to the blond-headed fuck. “And Ronan.”
Neither man offers a smile or their hand.
“Good luck, kid,” Cassian—my fucking father—spits. He eyes me over his glass of bourbon before snorting in disgust and downing his drink. “You’re certainly going to need it.” He turns hard blue eyes to Lucian, spilling his evil out for the world to see with no filter. “If I’m his steward, he’s dead. How about that?”
Lucian sighs as Cassian walks away, and Rook’s and Kane’s fathers snicker among themselves.
“Nathanial? Ronan?” Lucian eyes them pointedly. “You owe me this.”
“Fine, Luc.” Nathanial nods, his mouth set in a firm line, and it’s almost uncanny how much Rook looks like his father. “But don’t expect me to do it nicely.” He shoves into my shoulder as he walks away, and Ronan is the only brother left to consider me.
He shakes the ice in his glass and runs his tongue across his teeth. “My boy look as much like me as you look like Cassian?”
Kane might as well be his fucking mini-me, but I shake my head. “Nope,” I lie. “Not even a little bit.”
Without so much as another word, Ronan leaves the room to head for the observation space, and my jaw works itself over with the effort not to break in two.
It’s one thing to meet your father. It’s a whole other thing to come face-to-face with a man who sells and tortures innocent women for sport, knows you’re his son…and thinks you’re better off dead.
“Come on, Calloway. Let’s get moving,” Lucian encourages, moving on from the fucked-up family reunion as though it never even happened. “You’ve got a room of women to see.”
I don’t say anything—because I can’t.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, short of burning this whole place to the motherfucking ground will do.
I walk on wooden legs as my uncle escorts me out the door, past a couple of security guys, down a long hallway, and up a grand set of red-carpeted steps. At the top, we make a left and enter a pair of double mahogany doors into a ballroom with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows along the entire left side.
Male vampires of all ages stand at the glass like a bunch of zoo-goers at the gorilla exhibit, talking among themselves and pointing to various parts of the room below.
The moment I step inside, something stirs in my gut—an instinct that pulls my attention toward the glass with them.
It’s unsettling as hell.
And it doesn’t matter what the women down there look like; they’re all innocent pawns in a rich vampire game.
“It’s a one-way mirror,” my uncle updates as he guides me toward the viewing glass. “The women down below can’t see us. This is an important part of the selection process that allows us the opportunity to see them acting naturally. As I’m sure you could guess, a lot of them have preconceived notions about how they need to be—what look they need to present—and, when they’re among us, turn into something of a different personality entirely.”
Overwhelming discomfort pricks at each and every one of my senses as we step up to the massive viewing window and peer down into the room full of extravagantly dressed women.
They talk among themselves and laugh and drink, upturning their faces toward us just enough that my stomach flips over.
“If they can’t see, why are they looking up here?” I ask, hating myself but needing the information if I’m even going to have a shot in hell at dismantling this place from the inside out.
Lucian smiles. “Keen observation, Calloway.”
I don’t accept the compliment, but he doesn’t care. He takes the inquisition as a personal victory, leaning in even more closely and lowering his voice as he explains.