Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Nope!” Maya murmurs from the daybed. My eyes drop down her body. Loose boyfriend jeans and a sports bra, earbuds hanging from her ears. “She left about five minutes ago. Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” I snap, turning to leave.
“King?” Val reaches for my arm.
I pull it away. “What, Valdis?” She hates her full name, but it fucking suits her. Goddess of Death—she was named appropriately.
“Never mind,” she mutters, sulking. I slam the door once I’m back out in the open. She should know better than to try any bullshit with me. I care about very little, and I like it that way. Usually we would be all in our houses, but because we have an early departure in the morning, we’re already in our RVs. All of us have homes built here, in our suburb, but we also own houses in other places. Aspen, LA, Australia, Rome. We always have a place to go when and if we ever need it.
I go straight for Delila’s RV, bypassing everyone else’s. Pure white crystal chandeliers hanging from her roof—all of that type of shit. Swinging her door open without knocking, I catch her mid-walk, a silk robe on with white and pink lace panties and bra. She leans back on the counter, her robe spreading open wider while tilting her head. “What have I done now?”
“You know what the fuck you’ve done. This isn’t part of the deal, Delila. You don’t run boss bitch on The Brothers, and you damn well know it. Get rid of her.”
Delila’s eyes slant. “It’s interesting that you want her gone so bad, King. Considering who she is…”
I chuckle, licking my bottom lip. “I don’t give a fuck who she is. We don’t need another fifth. She can do one show with us. One. Put her on the fucking Chinese poles for all I care.”
Delila’s eyebrows raise. “Really? Interesting.” She brushes me out, closing the door slightly. “I’ll take that show, King, but mark my words. You’ll find that she is the missing piece you’ve needed.”
I slam the door myself, frustrated with how things have slightly altered. Pulling out my phone, I dial my old man.
“I’m calling a huddle. Your brothers will all meet us there,” My father said, loosening the tie that was around his neck. He tossed it onto the kitchen counter. “My office in an hour, and King?” He muttered, gaining my attention. “Get rid of the sad fucking face.” He disappeared out of the kitchen, and I silently flipped him off, spooning another serving of granola into my mouth. Dad calling a huddle wasn’t unheard of. Midnight Mayhem was back in New Orleans, so that meant pack huddle. Most kids would be fucking ecstatic to be home to see family, nope, not fucking me. I wanted back in my RV and back with my brothers faster than anyone. I hated this time of year. Three days before Halloween. It brought back heavy reminders of bullshit that I didn’t need reminding of.
I emptied my bowl into the sink and put it into the washer before making my way down to my dad’s office. It dripped in opulence and power. You walked into my father’s office, and you knew a bad motherfucker owned this joint.
And he was.
The worst.
My father was the head of the Romanian Mafia, and so was my grandfather and his father and his grandfather and so on. We had tight alliances, but our strongest was and always would be with the Russians, or more importantly, the Romanov’s. Vladimir Pakhan Romanov is the Krestnii Otets of the Russian Bratva; he’s also my father’s oldest friend.
I kicked the door closed as I entered, surprised that Kill, Ky, and Keaton were already seated with their fathers behind them.
“What’s going on? Do we have another task?” I asked, looking pointedly at my dad. “I fucking hope so, because I’m in the killing kind of mood.”
Dad leaned over, pressing the palms of his hands against his executive style mahogany desk. “Just a quick one before you’re back on the road.” I watch as he reaches for a Brazilian cigar from the humidor and places it between his teeth. “Figured you might need the distraction.”
After folding all of my new clothes and putting them away in the small dresser that’s hidden in the closet, I flop back onto the bed and look around the small room. There’s nothing to it but a bed and a marble door that leads to the closet. I’m at the back of the RV, though, so the entire back wall is glass. I’m guessing it’s tinted, so people can’t see in; only, I can see out. The bed is my favorite—wide enough to fit five people comfortably and plush enough to liquefy your day into dreams. I have to admit, even being around all of the extravagance of the mansion and the riches of the atmosphere, I’m still taken aback by this RV. I originally came from money, so I know wealth when I see it, and this is wealth. These boys are rich, and every single person who performs in Midnight Mayhem oozes lavishness. I see it. This isn’t a normal carnival type vibe. There are no ex-cons or drunks. These people aren’t on the road to run away from something or someone; they’re on the road to chase people for the fuck of it. They’re here to make the mundane feel exotic, if only for a couple hours.