Page 177 of Priest and his Anarchist

“Is Madison okay?”

“Yes.” The cushion of his thumb taps at my lip. “She’s going to be fine, thanks to you.”

“What’s happening, Priest? You need to tell me, or I don’t know what to go in there like.”

His mouth opens and closes. I trace the lines of them when his jaw bounces. “Pretty sure you can follow my lead, Madness.”

“Pretty sure I’ve been doing that since I was seven years old, and where did that get me?” I raise a brow up at him, my muscles aching from fatigue.

“You want me to answer that?” He raises both brows in challenge. The tip of his boot connects with my pointed heel. “’Cause last I checked, it got you right here. In the place where no one else can stand.”

My heart slows and my eyes close. “Walk. I’ll follow your lead.”

“Good girl.” He kisses my hand, leading me to the living room while I fight a yawn.

“Just to be clear, I’m not into the praise thing…”

“You don’t think I know that?” He smirks over his shoulder. “Why do you think I spent all your life bullying you?”

Now it is my turn to keep my mouth shut. I still am not sure what I’m about to walk in on. The more I try to unpack what happened tonight, the more confused I become, so I do the thing—the one thing—he has asked me to do.

I trust him.

I bang into something hard and my hand flies up to his back. “Ouch!”

“What the fuck is this?” Priest jerks backward, and panic rises in my throat. I knew it. We can’t all just be at peace. “I’m going to kill you.”

Oh shit. I sidestep away from the wall of muscle and follow his sight, preparing for the worst. Right in the corner of the family room is a tree with branches that touch the ceiling in a variation of black decorations—and Halen.

She smiles wide at us. “It’s Christmas, Priest! Stop being a grinch.”

Someone flips a switch and in a glitter of goth, the tree illuminates in an array of silver beads. Decorations style the room with a range of black wreaths, metallic chrome globes, and a Santa statue decked out in a black suit with tattoos all over his skin.

My teeth catch my bottom lip to stop the smile from spreading.

“See! Luna likes it!” Halen points to me, her green eyes bright, as if she’s seeing me for the first time.

“Yeah? Well, she hit her head pretty bad, so I wouldn’t take it to heart.”

“Aw. I’m wounded.” Halen pushes her brother out of the way, moving toward War, Vaden, Brantley, Bishop, and Stella. “Look,” Halen starts, her eyes falling with her shoulders. Tupac and Biggie rap in the background, the obvious scale of tradition and signature EKC balancing a thin line. “I’m really sorry, Luna. I thought you?—”

“—tried to kill you?” I cut in before smiling. “It’s fine. I would have been the same.”

“No, you wouldn’t have…” Halen mumbles. “But either way, I’m disappointed that I always held it against you. If that was something you did when you had—ya know—it still wasn’t fair of me to use your mental condition as a way to distance myself from you. I was, I guess, scared. I’m really sorry.”

Halen is a lot of things, I assume, since she isn’t only Bishop and Madison’s daughter, but Priest’s sister. I’d watched her over the years when I could, and she seemed strong, smart, butfilled with emotions. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t worry me the few times that I had thought about her. The volatility of human emotions could be the downfall of the Kings if we weren’t careful, but times like this. When everything has been so dark and sad, is when we need the ones like Halen. The ones like Saint, Vaden and Stella’s mom, because they’re the ones who pull us all back into the light when things get to be too much.

The ones, I guess, like me.

“I forgive you, Halen.”

“Okay.” She shakes herself off, swiping two tall martini glasses from a tray when a waiter passes by.

Liquid ink floats in the glass. “What is this?”

“My brother’s soul. Thought you might like to see how it tastes before you, ya know, draw that shit home, but by the looks of it…” Her head tilts. “You’re with him whether you like it or not.” I choke on the drink, allowing the sugary cherry flavor to slide down my throat.

My tongue laps up the residue on my lips. Tequila. Well done.

---