Page 89 of Ruthless Kings of Havoc

“Me, too.”

“Zander?”

“What?”

“Don’t turn on me, too.”

Zander’s chuckle is filled with pure merit.

“If I turn my back on you, my friend, that means I’m trying to save you, not kill you,” Zander declares. “But seeing as I’ve never experienced the need, I guess I’ll be loyal. You are a good friend. Despite your cocky attractiveness.”

“I’m not cocky.”

“That’s not what your model mates say.”

“I act differently during photo shoots.”

“Until Dolcezza’s in the picture.”

“Ugh. Stop analyzing me.”

“Never,” Zander laughs, but it’s rather weak in sound.

“You sound tired.”

“I am,” he agrees and yawns. “Fuck, let’s sleep.”

“Hmm…” Ares replies. “Night, psychotic fucker.”

“Learning terminology from Sweet Dynamite will get you killed.”

“I’ll die happy,” Ares chuckles quietly.

“That’s something we both can agree upon,” Zander approves. “Night, Ares.”

The silence descends upon the room, and it’s the quiet inhales and exhales that welcome the time that passes.

I watch for thirty minutes before I creep out of my hiding spot. I’m sure they both knew I was present but didn’t feel the need to say anything. They may not act like it, but deep down, they respect my job.

Respect the sacrifices I make to try my best to keep them safe.

Ensuring the alarms and hidden cameras are functioning, I slip out of the room through the closet exit—the hidden passage behind the standing mirror.

I knew V would be the first to try to figure out if there was some hidden passage there. She always has been extra curious. That’s exactly why I put a special lever that ensures it stays locked unless clicked a certain way.

Walking into the cool breeze, I head to the side of the building and into the garden, knowing who will be sitting on the stone bench that faces the vast view of perennials of red, purple, blue, and pink. They’ll soon wilt away with the last bits ofwarmth departing now that fall is in full effect, but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge their beauty in the depths of the night.

“Whimsical, isn’t it?”

My head leans over to the right, acknowledging the man who’s now standing next to me. It’s eerie how he was able to reach me without making a single sound, proving he’s far more skilled than I’d like to acknowledge.

Just like he doesn’t want to admit it.

“At two in the morning, yes,” I answer. “Should I even ask why you’re awake?”

“Should I ask why you’re not asleep?” he counters and proceeds to walk toward the bench.

I have no choice but to follow, the two of us taking a seat and observing the fountain of water that begins its theatrics now that it senses our presence.

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