Page 4 of The Cousins and the Brunette

My hands clenched at my sides. “Elites living in luxury while we scrape by. They didn’t even lift a finger when Mom and Dad were gone.”

“Maybe they had their reasons,” Kay suggested gently.

“Or they’re just selfish jerks.”

“Yeah,” she said, dropping the subject. “Found anything else?”

“Yeah, a few more cans of soup. Should last us a bit.”

Her smile returned, bringing a rare warmth to the bleak surroundings. “Good. I like soup, but I wish we had bread to go with it. I miss bread…”

Her wistful tone tugged at my heart. I’d give anything to provide her with more than just the bare necessities. But wishes didn’t fill empty stomachs.

“We’ve got what we need for tonight. We should go before sundown.”

We left the warehouse, not safe after nightfall. We walked through the streets, avoiding the more dangerous areas we knew all too well. The moon cast a pale glow over the cracked pavement, illuminating our path with a ghostly light. In the distance, the hum of machinery and the muffled voices of late-night workers repairing the city’s infrastructure reminded us of the city’s restless energy.

I stopped and pulled aside a loose piece of metal to reveal our hideout, a small, abandoned maintenance room tucked away beneath an old, crumbling overpass. I opened the door and gestured Kay inside.

“Home sweet home.” Kay moved into the small room, settling into a corner on a pile of old pillows and blankets.

“Yeah.” I stayed in the doorway for a second, looking about to be sure no one followed us or saw where our hideout was located. My muscles tensed, ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice. This was our world now – a constant state of alertness, where letting your guard down could cost you everything. Only when I was satisfied did I relax, and move inside, then shut the door.

Our home was barely more than a glorified closet, but it was ours. And in this unforgiving city, having a safe place to rest was a luxury we couldn’t take for granted.

I sat beside my sister on the makeshift bed. Inside, the air was cool and still. I struck a match and lit a few candles we had scattered around the place. Then I dug through my backpack and pulled out two soup cans. With a quick twist, I popped off the lids and handed one to Kay. My stomach grumbled loudly. We ate the cold soup in silence, savoring every bite. When we finished, I took the cans and placed them in a bag.

“Now, get some rest.”

My sister curled up and drifted off. I stared into the darkness. No matter what it took, no matter the cost, I would protect her. She was my world, and I was determined to give her a future, far from the cruelties of New Boston.

Chapter Two

JOEL AND THE HOUSE OF CARDS

The Porters’ mansion, a bastion of New Boston’s elite, loomed over the cityscape like a declaration of our dominance. It stood tall and unyielding, its opulent spires impaling the sky, each window reflecting the glint of ambition and power. In the heart of this grandeur, we reigned supreme—three cousins bound by blood and fortune.

My two cousins, Sebastian and Braxton and I had gathered in the expansive living room, where crystal chandeliers threw prismatic patterns across the marble floors.

I shook my head. “Look at us. Kings in a world teetering on the brink.”

More like pawns in a cosmic chess game where the rules kept changing. And I was trying to hold onto my crown while the board crumbled beneath us. Funny how power felt so fragile when you were this close to losing it all.

Sebastian stood by the grand piano, his fingers idly touching the cool, polished surface. He was always the picture of sophistication, clad in a tailored suit, making him a dark, calming presence. His hair, neatly combed back, deep brown eyes, and a clean-shaven face. The gentle set of his jaw suggested a man born for contemplation.

“More like jesters if we don’t act fast,” Braxton retorted, his baritone voice cutting through the serenity of the room like a blade.

“Perhaps,” Sebastian nodded, his tone even, as if every word weighed for its full value.

I clenched my jaw. “Our legacy is at stake.”

Legacy. Such a grand word for what amounted to a house of cards we’d built on quicksand. But it was our house of cards, dammit, and I’d be damned if I let it topple without a fight.

Braxton lounged on a designer sofa, one leg tossed over the armrest, his sandy blond hair tousled as though he’d just come from riding the waves rather than corporate conquest. His attire—a casual blend of high-end fashion and careless ease—belied the sharpness of his mind. His shrewd brown eyes met mine and he wore a perpetual grin.

“Ah, legacy. Such a heavy word for such light pockets at the moment, cousin,” Braxton grinned.

“Light pockets?” I scoffed, pacing before them. “Thanks to Chad Shoemaker’s betrayal, we’re standing on the edge of ruin. Sold our Nant-bot tech to a rival group, he did—the bastard.”

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