Page 24 of Princes of Carnage

I bypass the stove for the fridge, pulling out the container of leftover takeout from a couple nights ago so that I can throw it in the microwave.

The smell of spiced lamb fills the kitchen, and my stomach growls in anticipation. I dump leftover garlic sauce on the gyro lamb and rice platter and then go sit in the living room to shovel it into my mouth.

It’s hot and good, but I don’t enjoy it the way I normally would.

There’s just too much shit on my mind right now. Running the gang on my own, taking over for my dad, was already a lot, and now there’s this new development that I still haven’t fully processed.

Dad used to say that a good leader was prepared for whatever they had to be prepared for, but that feels like one of those easier said than done kind of things. Because shit just keeps happening, and it feels like all I can do is react to it when it happens, always a half step behind. Trying to do my best to not make shit worse and keep it from blowing up in my face.

I can’t help but think about how Dad would handle this. If someone was fucking with his people, trying to attack his gang from the shadows.

Would he have dealt with it the way I did? Would he have tried to fight back head on somehow, instead of doing damage control?

I wish I’d spent more time talking to him about this shit. Asking him what the right things to do would be in various situations. But of course, he was determined to keep me safe, so he didn’t let me get my hands dirty as much as I wanted.

And now it’s too late.

Too late to do anything other than my best, however much that’s fucking worth. All I can hope is that I’m doing okay. That I’m doing justice to the legacy he left me.

I always miss him, especially when I’m doing work that once would’ve been his, trying to live up to his memory, but right now it’s like a physical ache in my chest. I wish more than anything that I could talk to him, get his advice. Or just… see him. Hear his voice.

Being in this house is like being close to him, but being so fucking far away at the same time.

Thinking about that makes me miss my Uncle Casey too. He died in jail, and the grief of it rocked my dad hard. It was one of those things that he never let go of, and I know he took that sadness and anger about his brother’s death to his grave.

It feels like I’m always losing people. My mom died a long time ago, my uncle is dead, my dad is dead. I have no blood family left. It’s just me. Me and all the people looking to me to figure things out and guide them in the right direction.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

My chest squeezes with a feeling that makes me drop my fork back into the take-out container. It feels like loneliness, crushing and intense. Like I have no one, and I’m just… adrift. Floating out in the world alone.

Nico’s words come back to me all over again, about how I don’t have anyone to watch my back. No one that I can trust completely. He was more right than he knew.

Thinking of Nico turns my thoughts back to our meetup today. I know he took some kind of pleasure in dropping the marriage shit in my lap unexpectedly the way he did, and I have to wonder if he actually thought I was going to agree.

Despite the fact that I was defending the idea and my decision to go along with it to Emmett not that long ago, I still haven’t fully wrapped my mind around the idea yet.

There’s going to be a wedding. I’m getting fucking married.

Is that what my dad would have wanted for me? A marriage that ties me and mine to a gang that have always been rivals of Enigma? A marriage without love?

Thinking about it makes my stomach and my chest hurt, so I push those thoughts away. There’s no point in dwelling on it. What’s done is done. I agreed to marry Nico, and my dad is dead. So there’s not much that I can do even if he would disapprove.

I flop back against the couch cushions, trying to relax. Even here, at my home with dinner in front of me, I’m on edge. I feel the same way I did a few days ago, when something in me just couldn’t calm down. When I was just antsy and agitated, everything weighing heavily on me.

Getting fucked by Phantom helped then, and for a second, I’m tempted to go back to Le Bal Masque to try to get another fix. Nothing clears my head quite like those encounters with the masked stranger. Between the endorphin release, the orgasms, and being too worn out to overthink afterward, it always works wonders.

But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to become too dependent on it, running to the club whenever there’s a problem. Because there’s never any shortage of fucking problems.

Instead, I get up, dumping the remnants of my food and the container into the trash. I chug a glass of water and then make my way upstairs to my bedroom.

I settle on the bed and pull open the drawer of my nightstand, rummaging around until I find what I want.

My fingers close around a dildo. It’s one of the biggest ones I own, thick and long and hard to take. But that’s what I want right now. What I need. I need to push myself so I have a reason to turn my brain off. I also grab a mini wand vibrator, so that I can have something to warm up with.

Letting out a slow breath, I lie back on the bed and shove my pants and panties down, kicking them off so I can spread my legs all the way. I tug off my shirt too, tossing it aside on the floor.

Trapping my lower lip between my teeth, I start with my fingers, touching myself, rubbing over my clit.

---