Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“Wha— Hey!”
They were on us in a flash, hooking our waists, shoving us back, and tossing her over a shoulder in Amy’s case.
Alfie flashed a shy smile as he gripped my wrist in iron. “Sorry about this, Rainey Day.”
“Cairo!” Paris pelted her brother with curses that would make a grown man blush. “You fucking wait.”
Cairo cupped his ear. “What’s that? I’m not fluent in empty threats. Explains why you’re out on your ass as promised. Fonsie!”
Alfie jerked. “Me, sir?”
Sir?
“Not that one.” Cairo dumped the girl off him and patted his lap. “She sits here.”
“I sit— Wait, get off!” Alfie half wrenched my arm out of the socket dragging me to Cairo.
“Hello, hello, hello, Bedlam.” The unmistakable voice of Dante poured out of the speakers, covering my shouts.
“What are you doing?!” Alfie swept me up and dumped me as ordered on Cairo’s lap. He secured me around the chest and under the knees. I wasn’t going anywhere.
I shoved against his shoulder. “Let me go! Let go!”
“Hush, Rain. You and I are going to fuck eventually, might as well be tonight. We’ll go upstairs as soon as my win is announced.”
I gaped at him. I had my answer. This guy was not real. I must’ve stumbled to the motel after orientation and passed out on the bed. This was one of my many vivid nightmares.
“It’s Rainey, and you and I will fuck when America slips into the sea and we begin worshiping King Neptune.”
His grin sharpened on a razor edge, filling me with the same strange feeling. “You can call me King. Everyone else does.”
The previous occupant of his lap raked me up and down, her poisonous glare flaying me.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I snapped. “You want me off, help me.”
“Don’t talk to me, bitch.” She stalked off, shoving people out of her way.
“—all been waiting for: this year’s Kings of Ruckus.”
I bent my nails back digging them in his arm. “Let me go n—”
“Stop,” Cairo said. “Or you’ll regret it.”
The sentence stuck me through, releasing my grip from his arm and stilling me.
A hardness existed in his voice. A sound like the crack of a whip. Merciless and unforgiving.
I believed him. He would make me regret it.
“—you all know how it works,” Dante continued. We were a silent, obedient crowd hanging on his words. “The Ruckus Kings host the Royale. They choose the venue. They supply the sacrifices. You leave your inhibitions in the sock drawer where they belong.”
Dante Last-Name-Unknown was something of a staple in Bedlam. Today, he was a digitally altered voice over the airwaves, passing news no one dared talk about in public, blasting underground bands, and once a year, heralding the start of Ruckus.
Decades ago, before the internet, Dante was a byline in the newspaper that showed up on people’s doorsteps during the night. Obviously, the person back then couldn’t be the same man now, but somehow and someway, the torch was passed on, and Ruckus Royale reigned.
His docile captive, Cairo tucked my head under his chin. His touch was almost loving, skating his fingers up and down my arm. If it wasn’t for the notes of possession in the firm grip on my knee. Cairo barely knew my name, and already he thought he owned me.
“We’ve got six Kings of Ruckus this—”
Bang!
“Hey! How— How did you get in here?”
I lifted my head, brows snapping together. The panic in his voice was not fake.
“Stop! You can’t do that!”
Feedback ripped through the speakers, making me cry out.
“Hello, hello, hello, Bedlam.” An entirely new voice filled my ears.
“Get away from there! You can’t do this!” Dante’s shouts faded to nothing.
“It’s your friendly neighborhood Bedlam Boys, here to announce the Kings of Ruckus. Bow down, peasants. I’m serious.” A chill crackled his speech. “Bow.”
The order no sooner left his lips than everyone dropped to their knees. Stiffly I turned to Cairo, heart yammering to fill this silent room with noise. The smile on his face was terrible to see.
“Your Kings this year are who they have always been: Arsenio Creed, Cairo Sharpe, Roan Banks, Jacques Stone, and Legend St. James. You’re all invited to our celebration, if you can find it. Nigri colles viduae.”
The broadcast ended.
“There you have it,” Cairo said. “One week. See you there.” He hefted me up.
“Where?” someone asked. “Negri what what?”
“Was that the clue?”
“What’s it mean?”
“What language is it?”
Cairo carried me through the parting crowd, ignoring their requests for information. They were dismissed as easily as the girl on his lap.
My mind spun while he ascended the stairs. At the back of my mind, I wondered why Cairo was sitting on his throne alone, now I knew. The other boys were out ambushing and unseating Dante. A man the cops have fought to root out for decades, each new captain taking on the mantle of catching the rebel no one has ever seen. And they found him just in time to end a hundred-year tradition.