"Yeah, well, your boss is an arrogant prick." The words come out before I can stop them, but what's the point in censoring myself now? I'm about to sign my life away to four men who used to say they'd do anything for me just because I existed. "Can I go in? Or do you need to feel me up again?"
He chuckles, a sound like gravel in a blender. "Nah, you're expected. The Kings are waiting."
Of course they are. Kade's always been patient when he knows he's already won.
The path through the warehouse feels shorter this time, or maybe I'm just more resigned to my fate. The bass from the club that apparently goes at all hours pounds through the walls, vibrating in my chest like a second heartbeat.
One that's about to belong to someone else.
Foursomeones.
The throne room doors are already open when I arrive, like they've been watching me approach on the cameras. Knowing Cyrus, they probably have. The four of them are sitting in those tall chairs, which are facing the entrance this time. The theatrical masks are gone today.
Guess there's no point in pretending anymore.
Kade looks like sin incarnate, lounging on his throne with his usual "I don't give a fuck" arrogance. His gray eyes track my movement as I approach and his lips curl into that smirk that used to make my heart do backflips. Now it just makes me want to slap him.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
Cyrus has his laptop balanced on his knees, typing rapidly on the keyboard even as his eyes flick back and forth between me and the screen. Always multitasking, always ten steps ahead.
His glasses catch the throbbing white light from the club beyond the one-way glass, transforming the lenses into pulsing mirrors that reflect my own desperation back at me.
Beautiful, broken Jinx sprawls in his chair like a Renaissance painting, a statue of a young god. But there's something in his blue eyes that wasn't there three days ago. Hope, maybe. Or maybe I'm just projecting because I need at leastoneof them to not completely hate me.
But when I meet Jinx's eyes, he perks up and his lips part slightly, like he's praying for me to say something, anything, but afraid of what might come out of my mouth. I don't give him the courtesy of a smile. He's part of this bullshit whether he wants to look at me like a lost puppy or not.
And Tank…
Tank sits rigid in his chair like he'd rather be anywhere else. The gas mask is gone. He's wearing a solid black bandana over the lower half of his face now, and for a moment, I seemyTank.
Then I notice other changes. Subtler ones beyond his impossible size. The black-and-gray tattoos of feathers and snarling dog skulls covering the scars on his muscled forearms and hands, disappearing beneath the edges of his sleeves and fingerless gloves.
Tank was always terrified of needles. He had obvious medical trauma from whatever had happened to him, and whenever theother boys would experiment with stick-and-pokes—I even have a faded heart on my ankle, courtesy of Jinx—he'd be nowhere to be found.
Thatrips my heart out of my chest.
So does the realization he isn't hiding the other scars on his face behind his hair anymore. It's even partially swept back, almost like Kade's, and his dark eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Tank doesn't look happy to see me here at all.
"Look who came crawling back," Kade drawls, and I want to set his eyebrows on fire. "Miss us already, Princess?"
"Fuck you." I stop in front of them, chin raised even though my knees feel like water. "You know why I'm here."
"Do I?" He leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying me like I'm a germ under a fucking microscope. "I want to hear you say it."
I grit my teeth. He's going to make me say it. Of course he is. "I'll do it. Your deal. One year for Todd Waterson's death."
"See? Was that so hard?" His smirk widens, and I seriously consider if one year of being his pet is worth the assault charge I'd catch for breaking his nose. Again, apparently, based on the slight crook that wasn't there four years ago. I hate that it somehow works on him. "Though we need to clarify some things first."
He snaps his fingers and Cyrus pulls out a fucking manila folder from beside his chair. Because apparently we're doing this like a legitimate business transaction instead of the insane revenge plot it actually is.
That's actually the least surprising part about all this. Kade wasalwaysdramatic. For some reason, the fact that hasn't changed at all is a weird comfort.
"Is that a contract?" I laugh, but it comes out bitter. "You think a contract for hired murder is legally binding? What are you going to do, take me to court and sue me if I breach?"
"Oh, this isn't for legal purposes." Kade takes the folder from Cyrus, pulling out what looks like an actual professionally drafted document. "This is purely for our pleasure. I want you to know exactly what you're agreeing to. No take-backs, no misunderstandings, no 'I didn't know that was part of the deal' bullshit later."
