“Fuckme,” Carson groans, shoving his fingers through his blond hair and glaring at our quiet, eternally broody friend who’s just appeared like a fucking apparition out of nowhere. “Will you stop doing that?”
Gideon’s dark brow furrows. “Doing what?”
“The fucking jump-scare shit!” Carson hisses. “Foronce, could you just announce your presence like a normal human being?”
“That's what I did.” Gideon shrugs and then nods his chin at Carson. “Your pants are ripped.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Carson grumbles.
“That’s what you get for wearing designer shit in the goddamn countryside,” Seb snickers under his breath.
“Fuckthis hillbilly place,” Carson mutters, glaring again at the rip in his pants.
I glance at Gideon and we both shake our heads wearily. Carson and Sebastian might be city kids, but Gideon and I clearly agree that coastal southern Connecticut, aka The Gold Coast, is hardly “the countryside”. And ten-thousand-square-foot designer homes set on four acres of manicured grounds and gardens are notcloseto “hillbilly shit”.
Carson sighs. “Remind me whywe’rehere now that you’re the king and all? Don’t you have underlings for shit like this? And, hey, speaking of underlings, when do I get some of my own?”
“You’re welcome to go wait in the car whenever you like,” I grunt.
“Or just, you know, not come,” Sebastian adds with a grin.
Carson flips him off, and Sebastian chuckles as he wraps a muscled arm around our friend's shoulder and taps his forehead to his.
“To remind you, we are doing ‘shit like this’ because it’s fuckingfun.”
Carson brightens. “Oh yeah, there’s that.”
Seb’s right.
All four of us are different flavors of fucked up and broken. But one thing that we have in common is adeepappreciation of, and fondness for, blood and violence.
Sorry-not-sorry.
I glance at Gideon. “Anything?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Just the one security guard at the front gate, like we already knew. And Miss O is going to text when things are set up there. No surprises.”
No surprises isalwaysmy preference.
My mind has started to wander when Gideon quietly clears his throat.
“Speaking of surprises…”
I glance at him. “Yes?”
A faint smirk hovers in the shadows of his mouth, his stormy blue eyes glinting in the moonlight as he pushes his dark hair away from his face.
“Are we going to talk about the surprise attendee at the party the other night?”
Yeah, go ahead and add that to the list of reasons why Gideon, much as I love him, can creep me the fuck out. It’s like the motherfucker can read your goddamn mind sometimes. Because yes, that's precisely what…or should I saywho…my thoughts had been wandering to just now.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re?—”
“Vaughn.”
I exhale as he looks at me impassively. “What.”
“I know you’re the king, and believe me, I have no interest in your throne. And these two…” He nods his chin past me to Carson and Seb, arguing about how exactly it is that babies come into existence in the Barbie-verse, pointing out that Barbie’s little sister, Skipper, actually comes with a baby to look after.
