are around the bonfire. They’re older men, all classically handsome from what I can see, and wearing sharp, excellently tailored suits.
One in particular catches me eye, mainly because he’s already watching me. He has graying hair that’s cut short on the sides and slicked back on the top. He’s wearing a dark suit with no tie, the collar loosened around his neck. A cigar dangles from between his two fingers, with a red pocket square folded into his front pocket. It’s not until King is standing directly in front of him when he finally pulls his attention away from me.
“Who’s that?” I ask, nudging my head toward the man, or men, who King is talking to.
Keaton follows my line of sight, and then looks back at me. “It’s no one.”
“Son.” My dad grins. He’s aged since the last time I saw him. Wrinkles sink into the corners of his eyes, his skin as worn as his Desert Eagle. “Didn’t realize you were bringing company.”
My head tilts over my shoulder. “Didn’t realize I had to ask?” I don’t have to, but they are The Four Fathers, and we are The Four Brothers. Our time will come when we take their place, and the next will take ours, but he knows damn well that if I wanted someone to be here, they would be here.
“You don’t.” He brings his cigar to his mouth, biting down on the edge. “But are you doing as you’re to do, son, or are you getting distracted from the task at hand?” His words evaporate into the air, my shoulders straightening.
“I know who comes first, old man. I learned from the best.”
“Son.” My father leaned down to face me, flicking his cigar between his fingers. “There’s going to come a time where I will need you to do things that you won’t want to do.”
I sucked down on my ice cream, tilting my head. My eyes squinted against the harsh afternoon sun. “Like what?” I’d always known how my family operated. When you were born, raised, and bred into a community that ran by their own laws and had their own punishments, you learned that way before the way of the world. I always preferred our way, but then again, I was only ten years old and Mum and Dad had always made it clear that I was trained like a machine. To know the loyalty of the brotherhood before anything and anyone else.
Dad’s eyes narrowed into slits as he brought the cigar to his mouth. “Like live and fight with the same monsters that haunt you in your nightmares.”
I stopped my licking, my fingers flexing around the cone. “I don’t have nightmares.”
He stood tall, his shoulders squaring. “You’re about to.”
His eyes pierce through mine, pulling me out of my memory. “Good. You have one place for love, and that place is not for little Dove Noctem Hendry.”
“No one said shit about love,” I quip, one eyebrow cocked. I pat his shoulder in assurance. “We’re still playing the game, only we’ve changed a few of our moves.” My eyes fall around the three of them. Lie.
King is still talking with the three men when Killian finally returns, with his mother behind him.
“Hello,” she answers, placing her hand out to me. It’s the first time I notice her bright eyes. Blue teal, rimmed by black rings. “I’m Drayar. Killian’s mom.” Her eyes slowly drift to him before coming back to me. Her smile is in half, not authentic. I already know she hates me; I just don’t know why. It’s not like I’m dating her son.
My hand finds hers, and she squeezes stiffly. “Dove.” Suddenly, my words are tangled in a jumble word scrabble in my head, and I’m back on the yacht, unable to form the right letters to construct a single word. I don’t want to speak, because my mouth is closed shut.
“Hmm,” Drayar murmurs. “Stick around if you want, child. Though I wouldn’t advise it.” She starts walking away, her back turned to me, when I follow the trim line of her spine and land on her tailbone. I notice the same star tattoo that the boys have is over her lower back. I stand in silence, wanting to ask the question I’ve had at the edge of my brain since meeting them. The night moves along, and Killian takes me under his arm, walking me near the fire. He takes a seat on the ground and looks up at me. “Are you going to