by S. Massery
Cocky son of a bitch.
I hurry upstairs and yank my bag out of the closet. I stuff clothes into it, my toothbrush, underwear, then carefully extract my stolen items from Jameson’s office.
Papers he might notice are missing… so it’s best that I’m leaving with no planned return trip. Just holding them in my hands hurts. A painful reminder I was able to shove out of my mind this morning. There’s a feeling growing in my stomach that I’m not ready to face yet.
I shove everything in the black canvas bag and zip it closed, at the last second grabbing my boots. The guy waits for me at the bottom of the stairs, his firearm drawn and at his side.
“Chill out,” I mutter. “They’re all locked in a church, remember?”
“Did you get what was so important to you? Shoes?”
I roll my eyes and lead the way out—well, until we get back to the parking garage. Then Blue Eyes takes his time clearing the way and hustles me back into the car.
“Where are we going?” I ask. “Rather, where did my brother tell you to drop me?”
They don’t answer, and I cross my arms again. Fuck them. And Colin, for that matter. I had things handled.
Dad was going to urge Colin to get out of the city, maybe to have his own life outside the Mafia, and I was going to be protected. In danger constantly, surrounded by people who hate my last name, but…
Aiden had managed to keep me alive so far—or so I thought.
My chest tightens.
Fuck Aiden, too. Staying mad at him is the only way I’ll be able to handle living in limbo—whether he’s okay or not. He was fucking shot, so he can’t be great.
Doubt creeps in. Do I want him to be okay? Or do I want to be free of him?
I touch the ring and try to ignore the lump in my throat.
He’s going to be okay—and I will be, too. The question is, where will these men take me?
I don’t have to wait long to find out. We pull up to my family’s Brooklyn house only a few minutes later. It looks exactly the same as before. I’m not sure why I expect it to be different.
Maybe because I’m different.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. I lean forward.
There are way too many cars on the street. Yes, it’s Brooklyn, but this is abnormal. Most people go to work and leave spots open. It’s a quiet neighborhood.
Blue Eyes opens the door and holds out his hand. I take it grudgingly, moving my skirts out of the way, and swing my bag over my shoulder. No way am I giving him all my possessions, plus the boots. It doesn’t matter that we’re on the doorstep of my family home. He doesn’t seem inclined to take anything except my hand, anyway, and immediately releases me when I’m on my feet.
I push through the front gate. The last time I was here, Kai and Colin were with me. We had just run into Amelie Page for the first time a few streets over, and she… damn it, even then she knew I had a sort of fascination-slash-longing for Aiden.
She saw right through me.
My throat blocks.
I consider knocking on the front door for half a second, then think better. I shove the door open and stride inside.
I stop dead.
There are so many people. Family and friends I was raised around. They all turn toward me, perhaps startled. The three assailants/kidnappers/saviors come in behind me. A quick glance back reveals another dark SUV with the three remaining men. They hop out and circle around the sides of the house.
Job’s not done, apparently.
I feel ridiculous standing before them in a dress. With a fucking tiara on my head. Actually… I raise my hand and touch the cool metal. I’m surprised it didn’t fall out when I was upside down over my kidnapper’s shoulder. Amelie’s way with pins must be magic.
“Where is my brother?” I ask into the silence. I push aside my apprehension that they’re all judging me.
I was about to marry Aiden, after all. From their standpoint, I didn’t put up much of a fight. So, they might hate me, but then their gazes avert. The following silence isn’t awkward or filled with tension—both things I anticipated.
No. I stride farther into the house, and the people part for me.
Another thing that has never happened before.
Turner steps out from the crowd, his eyes wide. “We were informed of Lawrence’s will earlier today.”
I nod slowly. That, at least, makes sense. “Okay… Colin is in charge? Is that why he suddenly decided I needed to be home?”
“No.”
I rotate to find my brother in the doorway, looking like absolute shit. His white collared shirt, a poor attempt at dressing nicely, is wrinkled and buttoned improperly. He runs his hands through his hair, and it stays spiked up in his fingers’ wake.
“What do you mean, no?”
Colin shrugs helplessly. “It means I’m not the fucking one in charge, Gem. You are.”
The world screeches to a halt. All I can do is watch my brother in disbelief.
No, no, no.
“I…?”
None of the older women are here, I realize suddenly. They’re still away. It’s mainly men and fighting women. No one who married into the family, no one with children. Definitely no children.
I stare around at the familiar faces, and that off-balance feeling that’s been plaguing me all morning suddenly disappears.
I tighten my fingers on the strap of my bag.
“Okay. Right. Did you all show up because…”
“We knew Colin would try to bring you home,” Marius offers. “And we all wanted to be here to support you.”
“Because you’re okay with me running the businesses.” I narrow my eyes and glare around the room. “All of them.” Even the illegal ones. “Even though I was literally moments away from marrying Aiden DeSantis.”
“Yes,” one says.
It’s echoed around the room, a chorus of yeses. Some say my name. Some lift their fists into the air. And then I’m left facing my brother, who seems to be relieved at my reaction.
“Yes,” he says. “God, yes.”
I nod and take a deep breath. The possibilities stretch out in front of me in a maze of opportunity—but I learned something being with Aiden. And it’s that there is only one thing I can control: our reaction to the war that Jameson is bringing.
And there is a way to bring it to its knees.
“First order of business…” I glance around. If I can’t trust everyone in this room, I’m doomed. Suddenly, my snooping seems okay. Validated. It was as if I had a sixth sense about returning home—and now I have the key to solving our problem.
“I have a plan to end the war,” I tell them.
Murmurs break out.
“Silence,” I order.
They obey.
Chills break out across my back. Except, now’s not the time for revelry—that can come later. After.
When I have a chance to breathe. And process. And stop my heart from aching.
“What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room.” I stride toward Colin and clasp the back of his neck. He mimics the movement, his fingers sliding under my hair. We used to do this when we were kids and had something important to say. It was like we were locked in on each other, and I get that same rush of energy now.
We stare at each other, and he inclines his chin.
He really isn’t mad.
I keep my gaze on him. It’s easier to tell just him, instead of a roomful of people.
“I’m sorry I accused you of murdering Wilder,” I say softly. “I didn’t even ask because I just assumed it had been you. But I was wrong.”
Colin’s eyes widen, and his fingers tremble on my neck. That admission… that would be enough for him. His forgiveness is quick and easy, like I didn’t admit to thinking him capable of murder. Well, he is, but he wouldn’t be so dumb as to kill the DeSantis heir.
I think of all the lies I’ve been chewing on.
“The DeSantises have been deceiving us,” I say, loud enough for t
he room to hear. “Wilder’s death was an excuse for war. They needed a reason to make it our fault. To justify the hits we’ve been suffering. But Wilder is alive and well, and I have proof.”
The room breaks out into shouts, everyone trying to talk over each other. Everything fades for me, though, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
The awful truth is out in the open now.
Aiden was marrying me to protect me. Lie.
He cared about me. Lie.
The emotions I’ve been shoving down since yesterday afternoon thunder over me. The transgressions stack up against him, and bile churns in my stomach.
He lied to my face about Wilder’s death. Refused to stop hunting my brother.
He killed my cousin in the name of this terrible DeSantis revenge.
And he tricked me into developing feelings for him. But all I’ve ever been to him is something to possess. The doll to sit on his shelf and look pretty. A collector’s item to reveal at parties. Look what I tamed: the last of the Wests. He would’ve made me watch the extinction of my entire family… for nothing.
And I might’ve been blind enough to forgive him for it.
I guess his love was just another deception, too.
TO BE CONTINUED IN STOLEN CROWN
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Sneak peek at Wicked Dreams
(Fallen Royals, #1)
Margo
Impossible truth #1: My foster parents decided they didn’t want kids anymore.
Maybe I should’ve suspected that. Their jobs were keeping them so busy: they stayed late at work, they left the house early. They were irritated when they were home. I figured the three of us were easy keepers, so to speak. We did our chores and stayed quiet.
Impossible truth #2: The social worker found a new home for me.
That’s not the impossible part. The impossible part is that it’s back in my hometown, just three streets over from where I used to live.
Before Mom got addicted to drugs.
And before Dad got arrested.
Impossible truth #3: I’m going back to private school.
Part of me is elated that I’m going back to familiar territory. But the majority of me is terrified. I’m sure things have changed, that the people I went to elementary school with have changed, but it’s going to be... safe.
“Hurry up, now,” my social worker calls. Angela stands on the edge of the new home’s lawn, waiting for me to get out of the car.
I take a deep breath and open the door, hauling my bag with me. I was lucky enough to get a real backpack. Each other move had my stuff in garbage bags.
“Let’s go, Margo.” Angela taps her watch. “We’ll make sure you feel settled, and then I need to get to an appointment across town.”
The house is giant. Bigger than my old home used to be, that’s for sure. I think my eyes bug out when we walk up to the door, and it’s all frosted glass and dark wood.
“What are their names?” My voice comes out scratchy. I spent the night prior crying, and my throat is on fire. I got close to my foster siblings while with the other family. We thought it would be a permanent thing, because that’s what they always told us. No mention of adoption, of course, but we were guaranteed another eleven months together—until I turned eighteen.
Guaranteed. Ha. Joke’s on me.
“Robert and Lenora Jenkins,” my social worker says. “You’d be their first… no, second foster.”
I suck in a breath. “I don’t suppose I should ask what happened to the first.”
She purses her lips and rings the doorbell. “She aged out.”
Once you hit eighteen, you’re out.
The door swings open, and a tiny woman stands in front of us. She has dark-brown hair and bright-blue eyes. Her lips curve up into a smile, and she steps aside. “Welcome, Margo! It’s so nice to meet you.”
I smile back. “Thanks.”
“Angie,” Lenora greets. “Please come in.”
We walk into their large foyer. The need to run away hits me, and I eye the door.
“Robert is upstairs. Margo, do you want to come with me and I can show you your room? We can go grab him together.”
Angela follows us up the stairs, clearing her throat every time I pause to study the pictures. Their other foster daughter looks like Lenora. Dark hair with soft bangs, big blue eyes. She’s petite, too, framed between Lenora and a taller man.
“Margo,” Angela whispers.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Lenora glances back, and her face falls.
I stiffen.
“That’s our daughter,” she says. “She passed away a few years ago.”
Death is an ugly thing.
She shows me to my room, and I drop my backpack on the full-sized bed. It’s a nice room, simple enough. I just need to keep reminding myself: Eleven months until freedom.
Robert comes out of a room down the hall and grins at us. “Ah, you must be Margo! Lovely. Lenora showed you your room?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble.
They seem like regular rich people, all sweaters and comfortable pants that look more expensive than my entire wardrobe. Their smiles seem genuine, and I pray that there isn’t any malice lurking under the surface.
We all sit in their living room.
Angela clears her throat again. “Margo just turned seventeen two weeks ago. We have about eleven months before she ages out of the system. You have kindly agreed to enroll her at Emery-Rose Elite School—”
“Robert works there,” Lenora says, reaching out and patting my hand. “It’s a good education, and the tuition was free.”
“Thank you.”
Angela glances at me. “Well, Margo was originally there on scholarship when she was younger. Is that correct, Margo?”
“The elementary school portion.” I shift back in my seat. “They accepted me back even though I’ve been in public schools?” Nine of them, to be exact.
While the last family was good to me, and I was there for two years, there was a period of about five years where I bumped around different families and group homes, and the changing location meant changing schools, too. I tried my best to make it seamless, but jumping into new curriculums every year has pushed me a little behind, I’m sure of it.
“Yes,” Angela says. “Congratulations, hon. You’re going back to Emery-Rose.”
I swallow. My stomach is a mess of butterflies. “When do I start?”
“Tomorrow,” Robert says. “They only just got back last week, so it’s perfect timing. You’ll be starting as a senior, although they mentioned you may need to do extra work to graduate with the current seniors.”
I blow out a breath. It’s the same class I went in with. I draw up faces of kids I used to know, wondering if they’re still there.
After a few more questions from my social worker, she stands and brushes off her pants. “Margo, call me if you need anything. Same with you, Lenora and Robert.” She hands them her card, and then she’s out the door.
We’re left in silence.
“Are you hungry?” Lenora asks. “Tired?”
I nod. “I think I’m going to lie down, if that’s okay?”
“Of course, honey. I’ll knock when it’s time for dinner.”
As far as new homes go, the first day is always the worst. It’s like learning a new dance, and no one really takes the time to teach you the steps. New schools are the same, except… everyone seems to know I’m the foster kid.
It’s going to be worse tomorrow. They’ll probably recognize my name. I’m sure there was a story when I vanished. My best friend at the time, Savannah, wrote me exactly one letter a week after I moved schools. She asked me if the rumors were true, if my mom was a coke-whore and Dad was her dealer.
I never answered.
I close my door and flop onto the bed, unlocking my phone. There are names I could stalk to prepare myself for tomorrow, but preparation never did me any good. Instead, I close my eyes and try not to think about where Clair
e and Hanna, my foster siblings, ended up.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake with a start. I’m filled with a restless urge and a gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach. I look out the window, contemplating the climb to the ground.
They didn’t wake me for dinner, which isn’t surprising. I slept hard, the first good sleep in a long time. There were no dreams, no nightmares. Just… sleep.
I push open the window and slide the screen up, leaning halfway out. The house is brick, but there’s nothing to grab on to. Nothing I can see, anyway. I pull myself back in and close the window, lowering myself to the floor. My phone’s glow illuminates the room, the buzz of a text harsh in the silence.
Unknown: Heard you were back.
I tilt my head and give it a few seconds. Then I type back.
Me: Yes.
Unknown: Watch out.
I shiver and slam my phone back on the nightstand, facedown. It buzzes again, but I ignore it and crawl into bed. I block out the texts and the hunger, closing my eyes.
Sleep takes a while to come back. Before I know it, my alarm is going off.
Robert intercepts me on my way to the bathroom. “Coffee and breakfast downstairs.” He’s already dressed. “Did Lenora show you the uniform? It’s hanging in the closet. The white shirt and dark skirt or pants.”
I nod, not quite awake enough to speak, and fumble my way to the bathroom. I brush my hair back, braiding it with quick and nimble fingers. And then my face… mascara and concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes, a shade of pink lip stain on my full lips. I practice smiling in the mirror.
It falls short. I can’t keep the tremble out of my hands.
I add eyeliner.
I get dressed quickly, sliding on my boots, and meet Robert downstairs. He slides a mug of coffee at me, and I smile at him.
“Figured getting up this early is hard enough without caffeine,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll get your classes squared away first. Hopefully you’ll just miss homeroom, and we’ll get one of the kids to give you a tour.”
I nod. “Okay.”
