Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
The day that man makes “fuck” a true part of his vocabulary, I’ll know he’s a clone. It’s my turn to sigh and Kane’s gaze cuts to mine, a question in his eyes. “Andrew wants to know what happened with my father. He wants to come over.”
“No,” Kane replies tightly. “Final answer and tell him if he wants to push my limits, he won’t like the result.”
Rarely is Kane this ripe, unless it’s behind closed doors—at me and with me, but he’s hit a limit that has his father written all over it. In other words, I’m a feisty bitch, but I like to think I understand my husband’s breaking points and he mine. The only one who gets to work his hot points when he’s like this is me. It’s time to get rid of my brother. With this in mind, I type my reply to Andrew: I’ll call you later. Much later. And when I know he’s typing a rebuttal, because I know him, and there’s always a rebuttal, I add: But if you really want to come over, Kane said he’d be happy to bake you cookies.
Now I wait and see if my brother has grown a set of balls. I’m betting on a big fat no. I get my answer in three seconds. No balls. Just bravado. Fine, Lilah, he replies. I won’t come over, but I’m in the center of this hell. I need a phone call. Now. Not much later.
Considering he’s inside the hornets’ nest, and he can’t even tie his own shoe without asking questions half the time he’s not wrong. I have to call him and manage to calm him while assuming our calls are being monitored. I punch his autodial, and he answers on the first ring. “What the heck, Lilah?”
“Where’s Dad now?”
“His security team just rushed him out of here,” he answers. “What happened to his finger? And don’t tell me he smashed it.”
“He had a visitor,” I say cautiously, not about to say Ghost’s name on a cellphone, and even if I would, I don’t need Andrew going DEFCON 1 on me. Should that happen, I might have to murder him and I haven’t tortured him enough in this lifetime to be done with him. “I handled the situation,” I add calmly.
“Who?” he demands. “Who was it?”
“Do I really need to say this to you? Not on the phone. Meet me for breakfast.”
“What time?”
I glance at Kane who’s staring at me with one of those unreadable hard expressions that declares himself as a living, breathing king which is why there are moments when I’m forced to remind him that the king bows to his queen. But there are also moments, few would believe, when I bow to him. Okay, I don’t have those moments, but I stand by his side, and unless he becomes an unbearable dick, that’s my position tonight.
“Lilah,” my brother presses. “When? Where?”
“At this point, Andrew, I have no idea when I’m going to sleep. It’s in your best interest that I sleep four hours before we meet.”
“You haven’t outgrown that, Lilah? Dad wants me at the office early.”
“I’m confident that you’re intelligent enough to come up with a reason for being late.” I hang up on him and a cursory glance tells me we’re outside the venue, thank fuck, and closing the distance between us and our apartment. “The idea of my brother undercover within the Society circle,” I say, my gaze meeting Kane’s, “and even with our own father, terrifies me.”
“With good reason, bella. He’s trying to be a hero on a battlefield of blood and bones, when your brother is the guy who’ll offer his enemy a hand, not a blade and a grave like his sister. And sometimes, your way is the only way.”
Chapter Five
He means his way, our way, the dark parts of us that see an excess of bodies six feet under. And that statement tells me exactly how fucked up he is in the head right now, and without one inkling of doubt, that’s compliments of his father. I rotate to face him, in full confrontation mode, but he’s ready for me. “No, I am not suggesting we should start stabbing people,” he says, his effort to cut off my concerns.
“But you’re not suggesting we shouldn’t, now are you?” I counter.
There’s a tug on his jaw, the muscle a knotted rope, as he redirects the conversation back to the event we’ve already left behind. “What was that back there on the stage?” he asks, the king vibe sliding away, though I have no doubt it’s within easy reach.
“My brother was on the outside looking in and freaking out.”
“You know I’m not talking about Andrew,” he says. “What made you go on stage which everyone assumes to be a show of support for your father?”