Page 46
For the first time in days, I feel something like hope. “At least it’s a place to start.”
“Hell yeah, fuck yeah,” Pace agrees quietly, unzipping his backpack.
“Wait,” I watch as he places his laptop on the desk and opens it, “are you in this class?”
“Yeah.” He frowns. “Apparently, at least one credit in the language arts is required to graduate.”
Yeah, that sounds familiar.
I glance around the lecture hall. More eyes are on us than on the professor at the front of the room. We’re slipping into uncharted territory–the new Baron King sitting in class like a regular student, getting handed mysterious documents by Pace Ashby, an East End Prince. Whispers ripple through the rows. I ignore them and look back down at the reports.
It’s been more than a week since Timothy kicked us out of his hospital room like we were strangers. A week of waiting to see how Arianette handles Timothy’s rejection. We’d both been worried she would retreat back into her mind, holing up in tight spaces, talking in riddles. She’s been quiet, but not distant, spending time taking care of the kitten now that Mateo is gone. Hunter’s with her right now in dance class, hoping the movement will keep her grounded. We’ve been keeping her close: Hunt sticking to her like glue during the day, while I keep her in my bed at night, but it’s obvious Timothy’s coldness cut her deep.
I hate seeing her struggle through the ups and downs, and we’ve been no closer to finding the Guardian now than we were before the King almost bled out.
The professor turns on the smartboard, bringing up the syllabus, and I resign myself to another fifty minutes of torture. Pace leans back in his seat, already typing on his laptop like he actually gives a shit about the class.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, tucking the papers into my bag. “I appreciate it.”
He shrugs, eyes still on his screen. “It’s important to all of us that this asshole–whoever the Guardian is–gets taken down.”
The last thing I need is Pace Ashby’s approval, but knowing BRN isn’t fighting this alone feels better than I expected. I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, feeling the weight of the new ring on my finger. The stares, the whispers, the pressure–it’s a lot. But this? These papers? This finally feels like a string to pull on.
“I saw what you did to Mateo,” he says quietly. “Your girl was getting to him. Why’d you step in?”
“He was fucking with her.” I shift in my seat, lifting my boot to rest on the empty seat in front of mine. “And I was tired of hearing his bullshit.”
“Seems to me like he was about to tell her something you didn’t want her to hear.” He spins the laptop toward me, where a black-and-white video is playing on the screen. Mateo is bound to the chair while Arianette stands over him, knife in hand. The volume is muted, but I don’t need to hear the words to know what is being said.
“Aren’t you? Deep down? You’re still just a pretty fuck toy they pass around, mark with their knives and needles, thinking your pussy is special. They just don’t realize you belonged to us before they got the chance.”
“I know who I belong to.”
“Do you? Do you really think we didn’t dirty up the King’s prized possession first chance we got?”
The minute he started talking like that, Mateo was done for. I’d been standing on the other side of that door, listening to him talk, waiting for the second he stepped over the line.
On screen, I watch where I wrapped my hands around Mateo’s throat and snapped his neck. Fuck, it felt good killing him. It felt even better burying myself in her right after. Feeling her warmth as we rode out the adrenaline from ending a life.
My hand snaps out and shuts the laptop, already knowing Hunter cut the feed.
“What’s your point?” My eyes flick to the professor at the front of the room.
“No point,” he says casually. “I’m just curious to know if you’re looking for the truth, or if you’re letting your emotions get the best of you?” He pushes up his sleeve, and I see the scars on his forearm, the ones he gave himself to mark the days passing in the Pen. “Because you’re a King now. Emotions take a backseat.”
“What do you know about being a King?” I shake my head.
“I grew up in a house with one, and let me tell you, he definitely allowed his emotions to corrupt him.” He taps his fingers on the desk.
I only know rumors about what went on in the Purple Palace under Rufus Ashby’s rule. But I do know that in the end, he was a lonely, bitter predator.
“I understand what it’s like to want to take care of the woman you love, but ruling a territory means you have to do the dirty shit no one else wants to in order to get stuff done.”
I narrow my eyes. “You have no fucking clue how things are run in the House of Night, or how I plan to run it.”
His jaw clamps shut, and I think he may drop it, which he really fucking should, but nope, he’s a dumbass and keeps talking. “Look, DK, I know you’re a solid guy that got thrust into this world, but I think you may be the perfect one to figure out what’s going on. You’re streetwise. You know how to hustle. You aren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. You don’t hesitate, and that’s something a true leader has to possess. You’re not afraid to take someone out that needs to go, like Mateo. That’s something Timothy Maddox hasn’t had to do for a very long time, if ever.” His eyes dart to the tattoo over my eye. “Protect your girl, but also fight for the people in Forsyth that don’t have a voice, like you didn’t before you got recruited to BRN. Like Stella.”
Part of me wants to flip Pace off for lecturing me on my role, but he’s right. He’s lived it from the inside for the past twenty years, where I’ve been playing dress up in a mask and robe for six months, trying to catch up to something festering inside Forsyth for decades.
