The Yakuza twins tied with five confirmed kills. They would’ve gotten more, they said, but they were busy collecting the fingers and toes of their kills. Um…yikes.
Sterling got eight. Elle’s lucky number?What a coincidence. Romantic gesturing jerk.
Kaye got exactly ten without breaking a sweat. I hang her a ten. Damon stops her from even giving me five. At my pout, she winks at me instead.Hey, I’ll take it.
Then Idris smiles, asking for a drum roll for the highest kill count. No one obliges but me and Dad, slapping our palms against our thighs. Guess everyone thinks they’re too cool.
When our claps slow, Idris announces the winner, “Darius!”
Darius? Sounds rigged as hell. But there’s proof. Idris reads out that Darius has thirteen confirmed kills, all silent and surgical. Which makes sense. Heard the dude was a combat medic. One that can kill, apparently.
“I was assigned to the Marines,” he muttered to Damon when I caught them between my crying session and dragging myself to the firepit.
Idris claps Darius on the shoulder, saying, “I bet your son would be so proud that his dad had a great hunt tonight.”
But Darius just brushes the contact off. Idris is still smiling like he doesn’t mind.
I do. Darius seems like a dirtbag.
Shrugging, I chalk it up to brothers being weirdly competitive. Mine sure as hell are.
Sadly for me, I’m at the bottom of the list, just like the order I was born in. Damon’s the golden heir. Sterling’s silver with the hair color to prove it. And I’m the bronze medal no one wants to show off.
Nice guys finish last, I guess. ‘Cause my two brothers? Fucking dastardly. It’s why I lost my two baes to them in the end. Damon and Sterling stuck around them like bees on flowers, giving the girls no choice in the matter, while I tried to do the right thing. I let the girls go and let them make their own choice. Guess I should learn my lesson by now.
How does a Song-Smith catch his girl? Harass ‘til we get her ass.
But if Damon and Sterling heard those words from me, Damon would dox me to the world, and Sterling would have nine kills for the night.
I glance over at Sterling. He doesn’t react at all to Darius winning. His full attention’s on his fiancée, who’s whispering and giggling so softly it feels like a knife twisting in my chest.
So when a hunt that’s only-for-fun is announced, I skip it and stick to the firepit.
I dig out my flask just as Idris walks up to me.
I eye the fella. He’s rugged in a rich-boy way, with his natural tan, perfectly cut dark hair, and jawline sharp enough to offend. Helooks like a model that earned a master’s degree in political relations just to flirt better.
“Cold out, isn’t it?” he says, taking a seat beside me.
“Good thing I’m hot,” I say. “Otherwise you’d be obligated to warm me up, and honestly, I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of responsibility.”
He laughs. “I was told you’re fun.”
“Depends who you ask.” I shrug. “Elle likes me. Sterling calls me a cockroach. Damon’s said I’m a walking liability. And Kaye said I talked too much during head.”
“That sounds believable,” he murmurs, amused. “No offense.”
“None taken.” I hand him the flask.
He takes a swig and doesn’t even wince at the burn. Okay, he can stay.
“I’m sorry about how sour Darius has been tonight,” Idris starts. “He hasn’t been apart from his son until recently. He may also subscribe to the belief that being born first makes him the boss sometimes.”
“That explains the look on your face,” I tell him.
“What look?”
“Theyoungest kid in a fucked-up familylook. The one we get when we’re born dead last and spend our whole lives ranked there too.”
