Kings of Quarantine (Brutal Boys of Everlake Prep #1) - Caroline Peckham ,Susanne Valenti Page 0,82

barely dressed as it was.”

“So let her die,” Blake said bitterly, chugging down even more booze as he threw his head back and sang to the classical music. It didn’t have words so we were gifted with him replicating the bum, bum, bums. I doubted he really meant it though, he was just too wasted to think straight and I could practically see his grief shining out of his eyes despite the display he was putting on.

“Seems a bit easy,” I commented, ignoring that twist in my gut at his words.

If they hated Tatum Rivers this much just for being related to some asshole, then I wondered what they’d think of me if my secrets ever came to light? There were shadows in me that ran deeper than my bones and secrets I didn’t even dare whisper alone in the dark. If they knew the truth, would their love for me fall apart and give way to hatred? They were certainly more inclined to hate than love. All three of us were. There was a beauty in that. But a rot too. Hate could drive the purest of things to ruin.

I wanted to believe I was their brother. More than just a brother. That our bond went soul deep. Far further than blood. But was it really so simple? I only knew I needed them far too much to test it. Without the other Night Keepers, I was nothing. Less than nothing now. My name didn’t even mean shit anymore.

Hell, when they found that out they might cut me out of our circle of three. And I had secrets far more ruinous than the decision I’d made about my family this summer.

No. I wouldn’t be telling them any time soon. And that knowledge made me feel a little uneasy about what we were doing to Tatum Rivers.

We’d done shit to plenty of people before. Far worse shit than commanding them to stand out in the freezing rain all night. But they’d deserved it one way or another. There was always something that I could point to and say this right here is why. But Tatum? She hadn’t done shit to anyone. Only been born of a scumbag. And I could relate to that. If we were going to be punished for the crimes of our fathers, then I was destined to burn in hell for all of eternity and then some.

But there was no point in me saying that to Saint and Blake right now. Blake was angry and grieving and rightfully so. And as fucked up as it was, I preferred to see him dance in victory than try and stop him from taking things too far with the new girl. If her sacrifice was required in order to right the wrong that had been done to him, then that was fine. I’d end her myself if I believed it would bring him relief. He’d gone above and beyond for me far too many times and I was overdue a repayment.

And Saint…well, Saint needed power like a whore needed sex. He needed to bring everyone around him to heel. He had to feel the weight of his enormous balls dragging him down as everyone else bowed to the top dog. He wasn’t like me and Blake in that regard. We’d been broken by life and the people who’d brought us into it in one way or another. Saint had been born broken. Like there was some vital piece missing from him. And because of that emptiness, he was consumed with hunger and a need to fill that hole. He fed on the pain and suffering of others because he struggled to appreciate other people’s emotions at all. Most emotions were hard to label, hard to feel if they weren’t your own. But pain? Real, honest agony of the heart? He could almost taste it when he dealt it out to someone. I swear if demons existed, Saint would be one that devoured souls.

I sometimes wondered if he’d ever find what he was hunting for. Ever satisfy that hunger. Or if it would eventually consume him too. Not on my watch though. All the time Saint needed victims, I was happy to provide them. I had a talent for it. For sniffing out someone twisted and dirty enough to warrant the attention of the Night Keepers. That was how I’d first figured out what Monroe was, though of course I hadn’t ever used it like that against him.

Sad as it