Page 130 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
It occurs to me that I won’t be going to my senior prom. Not that I’d planned on it anyway. Me and school functions have never meshed well. But I’d like to think of this as a sort of dark promenade, something dressed in violence and vengeance, and it suits my black, twisted heart so much better.
I come downstairs like it really is prom night, finding all four men waiting for me at the bottom. I love the way their leather vests act as a sort of uniform. And of course, they’re all wearing denim, boots, t-shirts that are just a tad too tight. Ink, muscles, bullshit.
Also, four entirely different expressions.
Beast smiles at me and lets out a low laugh.
“Look at that, married to a blonde,” Beast says as I pause halfway down the stairs, my right hand resting on the banister. I’ve got an expensive wig on, one made of human hair. That’s creepy as fuck, right? To wear somebody else’s hair. Anyway, I borrowed this particular wig from Amber Clearwater.
Now that I know she’s getting married to Big Jack, I look at her in an entirely different light. Crown didn’t want her; he wants me. Not that I would’ve held his want against her in the first place (if he ever had any). I don’t blame women for the sins of men.
“You look far too pretty for this assignment,” Crown offers up, and I decide to take that strange remark as a compliment. There’s a sense of regret in his voice, too, as if he’s somehow failed us both by not locking me up inside a cage of chrome.
But I know they’ve all seen it, how I look at my father with equal parts love and hate. I can’t separate one emotion from the other, no, but I will never trust that man or have a close relationship with him, and they know it. He’s the hindsight that they don’t need to experience to get right.
“I’d still feel better if you took a prospect in with you.” Sin tucks his right hand in his pocket, using the other to sweep over his carefully styled hair. I love that he slicks his faux-hawk up all nice and pretty, even if all he’s going to be doing tonight is escorting me to a college party and then slaughtering people at a contentious casino.
“This will give me more cover; it’s safer and you know it,” I promise him, coming down the rest of the stairs and finding the four huge men in a half-circle around me. They range from tall and imposing (Sin) to gargantuan (Beast) with Grainger and Crown in between. I love it, too, like being surrounded by a hedge of leather-bound terrors, the honor guard that I always wanted but realized wasn’t actually mine.
Until now.
Now they really are mine and nobody else’s.
“Thank you for letting me steal the four of you from Cat,” I say coquettishly, blinking through my falsies and biting my lower lip in a way that makes every single man surrounding me curse and rub at his face or, as in Grainger’s case, yank at his hair with his fist.
“If you die tonight, I swear to fuck …” he starts, pausing as Reba comes out of her room upstairs and heads for the bathroom with Fem at her heels. As soon as my dog spots me, he comes careening down the steps two at a time to sniff my crotch. I don’t think he likes the wig or the contacts, but the smell is mine, at least. I shove him away with a curl of my lip.
“Gross, don’t,” I command him, and he slinks off to curl up in Crown’s precious leather chair.
“What on earth …” Reba starts, coming down the stairs to look at me and acting like the men don’t even exist. You tell me how many other petite Southern belles whose worst curse is ‘oh Fudgsicles’ can stand up to armed men who murder people for a living. Not many, I take it. “You look just like—”
She doesn’t have to finish her statement. We all know exactly what she’s talking about.
I look exactly like my sisters. Coloring aside, we were, apparently, clones of one another, and I just didn’t recognize it. Please, please, please let me have a girl. One that looks like Queenie and Posey. I place my hand over my stomach, and everyone notices.
Surely, I must be nuts to traipse into that casino pregnant. But my life is mine, and I want to do this. The baby can go along for the ride.
“Where are you off to?” Reba asks as Grainger cants her a sharp look.
“Get fucked, Keller. None of your damn business.”
She narrows her green eyes but refuses to acknowledge his statement.
“Out?” I query back, because it’s the only thing I can think to say. She gives me a harsh look that’s actually worse than the ones my men were giving me. It’s a very clear warning.
