nods. “The very same. We’re closing the one in the Hamptons and classes start back after the summer break.”
“I thought it was too old to have kids in, which is why they moved the school to the Hamptons?” Bishop questions Hector.
Hector shakes his head. “Not entirely true. We didn’t tell you all right away because you were only just stepping into your roles. We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
I snicker. Pretty sure learning that our school was moving to a different location would be the least shocking lie we would learn.
“So what’s the story?” Nate asks.
“Since you’re taking the gavel this year, son, you will need to know all of the little cracks that we’ve hidden from you, and over time, you will know everything. But for right now, we need to talk about this.” His eyes flick to Nate. “Your father has pushed this, too, by the way. Pushy fucking bastard. He’s getting worse with age.”
“Why does it matter if the old schools are reopening?” I ask the question no one else seems to want to know, annoyed with the dancing around.
“Well, a few reasons,” Hector answers, and we all wait in silence for him to say what he needs to say. “And all of them impact each of you in one way or another.”
That has my attention.
“You.” He points to Bishop. “Because you’re going to be on the frontline to a decade long turf war. You.” He points to me. “Because you have something, or someone, in your possession that is far more valuable than you know, and you,” he finally says to Nate, and I have to pull in all of my instincts that are screaming to ask him what the fuck he means. “Because I promised Stuprum that I would protect your child from enemies, and I’m a man of my word.” Finally, he leans forward, unclasping the button of his suit jacket and resting his elbows on the table. “You should all, I, we, every King, be on high alert right now. Things are happening behind the shadows. There are movements happening that we’re not comfortable with.”
“We’re the motherfucking Elite Kings Club.” Nate waves off Hector. “Dare any dumb fucker to come near us and live to talk about it.”
“Well, that’s just it.” Hector shifts back in his chair, and for the first time ever, I see something foreign flash over his face. “It has.” Fear.
Saint
She’s so pretty it hurts. She has long dyed pink hair hiding her natural blonde. Not as blonde as me, but blonde. No one is as blonde as me naturally.
Her mouth is moving as she talks while zipping around the kitchen, flustered, her hair flying around the place. I have barely been able to get a word in. I hope she doesn’t think I’m rude.
“…so now I’m pregnant and my best friend isn’t here, her best friend has moved away with her boyfriend which, by the way, we wouldn’t be friends anyway. I don’t have any girlfriends except for those savages outside—” Her mouth stops moving. I realize she has stopped talking and she’s looking right at me. “Sorry, I’m not with it right now.”
I shake my head, running my sweaty palms over my thighs. “It’s fine. Really.” It’s sort of not. I don’t know how to talk to someone like this. Are most girls like this? I like her. Don’t get me wrong. She’s obviously fierce about the things she loves and I wouldn’t want to ever cross her, but she speaks at speeds I can’t catch. Maybe that comes from her confidence. She has a lot of it. She’s also so pretty.
She takes two steps closer to me, and I finally notice what she’s wearing. Skinny jeans and a Louis T-shirt that hangs loose on her figure. Her makeup is impeccable, her eyebrows perfect. You’re being weird.
“How old are you?” she asks simply.
“I’m seventeen.”
“When did you turn seventeen?” She examines me closely. When she looks me up and down, it isn’t in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable. In fact, I prefer it, because now I get to openly gawk at her without feeling like a weirdo.
“Three weeks ago.”
“Jesus,” she whispers. “You’re so young.”
“How old are you?” I find myself asking, because I wouldn’t think she’s much older than I am.
“I’m twenty.”
Huh. She doesn’t look it.
“You seem younger, though.”
My stomach flips. I have to fight the urge to reach forward and touch her hair.
“Anyway.” She brushes off our conversation. “You stay seated while I cook.”
“Cook?” My shoulders