by Nora Flite
Nova’s fists curled against her dress. Magnetic jolts flew between us as we held each other’s stare. It was as if she knew saying more than she had would be dangerous, that it would give me too much power. And she was right—it would.
My lower belly was already flaring, my tongue tingling, as I considered that this beautiful girl had been carrying a torch for me. There’s nothing sexier than knowing someone wants you.
Nothing.
“What’s going on out here?” A tall figure stepped through the archway. He was wearing a jacket that fell all the way to his thighs, black as tar and spread open to show off his slim, hard-muscled body. He flicked his honey-colored eyes at me.
Larchmont Valentine. Nova’s brother. I knew little else about him.
His smirk was jagged as he said, “Looks like a party we weren’t invited to, Richard.”
A second man followed Larchmont out of the church. He was beefier, his bronze skin almost the same shade as his closely shaved hair. This guy would have fit right in at a military boot camp.
Nova spoke to them without any kindness in her tone. “Why are you here, is everyone done talking inside?”
“Talking,” Larchmont scoffed. He lifted his head so he could stare down his nose at me. I was slouching, which made it easier for him. “What bullshit. I’m tired of all the talk. It’s not like anyone gives a shit what I want, anyway.”
“Weird,” I said, smiling at him. “You’d think someone with your pleasant manners would be really convincing in a discussion.”
Richard’s wide body moved so he could block me in against the stone wall, partially hiding my view of Nova. He was keeping me from accessing the steps that led down into the grassy cemetery. Larchmont’s position cut me off from dodging back inside the cathedral.
I was trapped.
Larch barely cocked his head. His movements were precise as those of a spider perched on a web, waiting for its prey to land. “Oh,” he whispered, “I just remembered that you’re the funny one in your family.”
“Yeah,” I grunted, pushing forward until I was standing nose to nose with the gold-eyed man. “That’s me, Mr. Funny.” I wished I had my damn gun. My decision to be respectful and not bring a weapon to the funeral had been a mistake.
“Tell me a joke, Funny Man,” he said. His sneer was so much like his father’s.
Nova lifted her hands. “Larch. Don’t.”
I glanced at Richard, noting how he was tense but unmoving. “I don’t tell jokes,” I said patiently. “I make clever commentary. Why don’t you just cut right to what you want from me?” It was obvious something was pissing Larchmont off. What had they been talking about inside?
He skimmed his thumb over his chin. “Impatient little shit. Why did they ever choose someone like you?”
My muscles went slack in confusion. “Choose me for what?”
Richard slammed me against the stone wall. Nova shouted in surprise, but after that I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear anything but the blood thrumming in my ears, my attention focusing on the big man who’d assaulted me.
People assume a lot about my family. When talking about which of my brothers is the most deadly, Costello is the one they usually bet on. And if they don’t bet on my older brother, they throw in for Kain. They liked to call him passionate. A nicer word for irrational.
No one ever remembers that I’ve had the same teachers as them. The exact same lessons in weapons, self-defense, even some light MMA. The only difference between us was that I’d always done my best to stay out of trouble. That didn’t mean I was weak or lazy. It meant I was smart.
Smart people know how to win when the odds are against them.
Richard’s grip fell away the second I jabbed my knee into his balls. Catching his jacket, I clawed it tight and ducked low. With a great heave, I leveraged him up into the air. I wished I could see how that looked—me balancing this huge ox of a man on my back.
He rolled down the steps that led to the grass below, staring at the sky in surprise as he fought to draw in air. I’d knocked the wind out of him.
“Look out!” Nova screamed.
I spun just in time to take Larchmont’s knuckles to my mouth. It was a solid hit that filled my taste buds with the flavor of warm copper. He was leering like he was fucking proud he’d sucker punched me, like he couldn’t wait to do it again.
Adrenaline cascaded through my body. It numbed any pain or sense of danger. Larch saw the fury in my face, but he wasn’t quick enough to decide what to do about it. I had an idea that he was used to hitting men who couldn’t fight back.
“Come on!” I laughed. “Let’s fucking go!” I snatched the collar of his shirt before he could backpedal out of reach. Stitches ripped; the sound was gratifying. My fist crunching into his nose was even better.
He went spinning away from me, half bent over as he clutched at his face. I stayed where I was so I could catch my breath. And because I needed to keep an eye on Richard. Glancing back, I saw the big man was standing now, his hands at his sides like he was a linebacker ready to make a tackle. He’d have to ascend the steps, which would at least give me time to react.
“You think you’re better than me,” Larchmont said, wheezing.
I turned enough to eyeball him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
He wiped his nose and stared at the red stains. His glare was full of accusations I didn’t understand. “You’re not special, you just got lucky. You didn’t have to work for anything. Not you, not your dad. You’re all just fucking lucky your moms banged the right men.”
“Stand up,” I spit. Blood came out with my saliva. The sight of it made me laugh—a hard bark that turned Larchmont’s scowl into an uncertain frown. He didn’t know what I would do next. I wasn’t sure I knew, either. “I’m ready for another round. I didn’t quite break your nose, huh? Another solid hit should do it, let’s see if I’m as lucky as you say.” My foot slid forward; Larch backed up on shaky legs. “Fight me!” I shouted. “Come the fuck on, let’s keep going!”
“Thorne!” my father roared. He was standing in the archway of the side door, his lips pulled back over his snarl. Now that was an expression I was familiar with. Dad’s disappointment tasted like undiluted nostalgia. “What the hell is going on here?”
“He’s insane,” Larch said, retreating to my father’s side.
“Insane?” I laughed. “I thought I was the ‘funny one.’ Sounds like you’re sore you couldn’t hold your own against me.” I shot a look at Richard. “Neither of you could. Attack me together, might increase your chances.”
Larchmont sniffed loudly, drawing attention to his bloody nose. “You better get your kid under control, old man.”
Rage swelled hotly in my guts. “He doesn’t fucking control me.”
“Hawthorne,” Maverick said. “You aren’t behaving appropriately. It’s embarrassing.”
That pulled me up short. “These two chuckle-fucks come out here and throw some cheap punches, and you’re worried that I’m embarrassing you?”
Richard had made it up the steps, but he was staying at a distance. His expression was only slightly more neutral than Dad’s. As for Larchmont, his smugness could have been scraped off his face and served up on toast. “People will think you’re a violent fool,” Maverick said.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks about me.” I wished my words would make him flinch. But my father showed no sign of being affected.
Someone else did, though.
Nova’s frown spread over her face like a warning. It left me cold and unbalanced. That wasn’t the reaction I’d been looking for.
“Maybe you should tell him that his actions matter to his future subjects,” Larchmont scoffed, his red-tinted teeth showing.
There—I spotted guilt in my father’s eyes. “What the hell is he talking about?” I asked.
“If you’d stayed inside to talk, like I told you to, you’d know,” he said.
“I’m listening now. Ears wide ope
n.” Was it possible to feel more adrenaline than I had while fighting for my life?
The guilt was replaced by stoniness. “This country won’t accept you sitting on the throne if you act like a wild animal,” Maverick said coolly.
Blazing heat traveled over my skin. My adrenaline was washed away by panic, Larchmont’s words from earlier echoing in my head: Why did they ever choose someone like you?
“And why the hell,” I asked cautiously, “would I ever want to sit on the throne?”
“Because it’s the only choice you’ve got.” It was the first time Richard had spoken out loud—and I wished he’d remained a damn mute. “It’s what was decided,” he said firmly.
To my horror, my father hung his head. “You’re joking,” I whispered. “Where the hell is this coming from?”
“No one else can do this,” Maverick said quickly. “Costello has his woman. Kain is already married, like me.”
Rules of succession. “Wait, slow the hell down.” I was dizzy, and when I pressed my palm to my temple, everything resonated viciously. “‘Already married’? You expect me to marry someone?”
“It’s the path to peace with the Valentines,” my father said. “A way to bring hope to this country. The only one eligible to wear the crown . . . is you, son.”
He’s asking me to become the king. I eyeballed him, then the others. Richard looked somber; Larchmont had gone back to scowling. That’s why Larch was so pissed at me. I glanced at the church. He’s jealous he can’t take the crown. He thinks I’m lucky this is happening to me. They were all discussing this behind my back.
Nova was wide-eyed but not surprised.
Everyone knew.
Her hands were clasped over her lips.
Lips I’d kissed.
She knew.
I wiped the blood off my mouth and stormed off.
- CHAPTER EIGHT -
HAWTHORNE
I walked through the church, ignoring my mother as she called out to me. Aware of all the eyes but not giving them the satisfaction of my attention.
How could this happen?
I asked myself that a hundred times as I exited the building, marching down the long stairs out front. More eyes burned on me in the open and I zoned those out, too. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I didn’t care.
In minutes they planned my life out behind my damn back, I thought angrily. They did it without asking my input.
“Thorne! Wait!” I felt Nova’s presence as she drew closer.
I continued walking, my strides getting faster.
“I’m not going to stop following you,” she said. “Please, just slow down and talk to me.”
Cars zoomed by on the busy street, forcing me to stop if I didn’t want to take several tons of metal to my organs. The knuckles on my right hand were throbbing, reminding me of the fight. My jaw ached as well—I could still taste my own blood.
“Thorne,” she said, softer that time.
I looked at her over my shoulder. “You should leave. Why would you want to hang out with a violent fool like me?”
“I don’t think of you like that,” she said.
“You shouldn’t think of me at all.” That made her step back—a small movement, but I saw it. Behind her I spotted two people perched on the top step of the church. Even at a distance I could make out the severe, angular silhouettes of her parents. I gestured at them. “You’ve got people waiting for you. Go do some more talking about me with them. Plan more of my life.”
The wind tugged at the veil pinned in her hair; she grabbed it, clutching it fiercely, like she needed to hold something. “For the record, I didn’t realize you had no idea this was going to happen. When you said yesterday that you didn’t make the laws and had no plan to, I thought you were being coy.” With a wishful, sympathetic look at me, she reached out to brush her fingers over my forearm. I felt her nails through the fabric. “And I can’t help but think about you. It’s just like you said earlier. You’ve been in my head since we first met.”
The thick, curdled anger in my blood smoothed away. Even after I’d been picturing her hiding in the shadows, plotting with her family and mine about setting me on the throne, her admission was so damn enticing.
Before I could respond, Nova turned and hurried back to the church. When she reached her parents, her mother put a possessive arm around her slim shoulders.
I couldn’t see Valencia’s face well, but Kurtis’s lips were stretched in a frown. I held his stare for a second. Had he expected me to relish becoming the king? Was he, like his sons, jealous that I’d been born with the right blood through no effort on my part?
I twisted so I could keep walking to the Rizenburgh. It wasn’t far, the needle tip rising into view as I traveled the few blocks toward it. The doorman did a double take at me as I passed through the automatic glass doors. What’s his problem?
When I approached my room in the hallway, I noticed a figure standing outside it. He was a broad man, arms crossed like a pretzel over his chest. Rush hadn’t been working for my family for very long, but he’d proven to be a good-hearted man.
Months back, he’d been a member of a gang called the Deep Shots. We’d put them on our payroll, happy to increase our hold on the city streets of Providence, where most of our less savory businesses were.
Except the tension between us and the Valentines had caused dissension in the ranks. Many of the Deep Shots felt they would be better off with another employer—one who would reward them, even encourage them, for getting their hands bloody. They thought no one was off-limits . . . not even innocent young women.
But Rush didn’t agree.
He’d shown his loyalty to my family, risking his life to protect Costello and his girl, Scotch, when letting them die would have been easier. He’d quickly climbed the ranks and ended up as one of our most trusted bodyguards.
“Hey,” he said, nodding at me as I approached.
“How much is he paying you to spy on me?” I asked, sliding out my key card.
Rush laughed self-consciously, his nails chafing the side of his thick neck. “Not enough.” When I stared at him seriously he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Kidding. I’m not spying on you, Maverick didn’t ask me to. My job, as always, is to keep you safe.”
“Right now I don’t need safety, I need to saturate myself in whiskey.” Grabbing my hotel door handle, I unlocked it, the green light flashing. “Alcohol: the cure to all ailments.”
Rush chuckled, and when I didn’t shut the door immediately, he got the hint and followed me inside. I headed to the minibar and yanked out the bottle of Seagram’s and a can of ginger ale. After filling one of the glasses that had been left by the staff, I filled a second and offered it to Rush.
He took it, but he didn’t drink. “How was the funeral?”
It was a complicated thing to answer. In my pissed-off state I was tempted to say, Oh, you know, got the news I’m expected to become the king of a country I just visited for the first time yesterday!
I went the easy route instead. “Grim. Depressing. There was a dead body in a casket, how do you think it went?”
He sighed and took a deep drink from the glass in his hands. I lifted my glass high in a quick salute before downing the contents in one gulp.
“So nothing else happened?” he asked.
Disbelief rocketed through me. “Do you know about the plans for the crown?” If everyone had been told before me, I was going to lose it.
Rush knotted up his forehead. “What? I just assumed something must’ve happened because you’ve got dried blood on your mouth, man.”
Touching my jaw, I chuckled dryly. “I forgot about that.” Now I knew why the doorman had looked so surprised. “Yeah, the funeral was a little wild.” I refilled my glass, eager to let the warm buzz smother my poor mood. Of course Rush didn’t know, why would anyone have told him what was going on? This political intrigue was meant for the inner circles of my family and the Valentines. Bu
t Rush would learn about the plan . . . as soon as I told everyone a very flat no.
I wouldn’t agree to this insanity. Did anyone seriously expect me to?
Pushing down the part of me that wanted to dissect the dangers of not complying with something so paramount that both my father and Kurtis had agreed to it, I opened a second can of ginger ale to mix with the Seagram’s.
Marriage. Please. What a thought. And to whom? It doesn’t matter.
“You planning to get shitfaced?” he asked me as I worked on my new drink.
Forcing on one of the big smirks I was known for, I swallowed audibly. “I don’t get shitfaced, I just have a good time.”
“What’s on the good-time agenda?”
“First, I need to get out of these depressing clothes.” Abandoning my empty glass, I headed over to my suitcase, digging through it for something clean. Under some folded denim I saw the tip of my pistol.
It reminded me of when I’d stumbled back to the hotel last night. How much I’d been floating on a high over kissing Nova. Rush had been outside my room then, too, but he’d just given me a knowing smile and told me he’d left my weapon in my suitcase under some jeans. My father had, amazingly, relayed the message to him about how I wanted my gun at some point after I’d gone wandering off.
If only dear old Dad could relay important messages to me directly. I grabbed the gun and took it into the bathroom with the new clothes hooked over my arm. The room was huge—only the best on the family dime—and I was able to drape my outfit on the counter and still have an entire second sink to myself. Leaving the door cracked so I could keep talking to Rush, I ran the water, splashing my face multiple times.
It felt disjointedly good to half drown myself. Gasping, I hung my head, watching the droplets spatter rhythmically into the drain. My head came back up; I studied my mouth, noting it was only a little tender. Larchmont hadn’t hit me as hard as I’d thought, or maybe I was tougher than either of us guessed.
I tugged at the skin under my eyes. There were little red lines snaking through the whites around my irises. I was so damn exhausted.
