Page 185 of Priest and his Anarchist

“Interesting. And you didn’t think it was dangerous for her?” Even as the words pass through my throat, my fist clenches, and the veins in my neck hammer against my flesh.

“Which brings me to my next confession…” Nate adds. “Perdita and the tent.”

I choke on my laugh. “Slick. I’ve got to say, I wasn’t shocked that you took her back and dropped her in the one place where you knew she couldn’t be touched by me.”

Perdita has a rule and the only rule that’s ever mattered. Our people are safe there for a reason. The island works because we have rules, and we’ve always stuck by them. One of them, andthe main one, which is why the island exists the way it does, is that a King cannot hurt another King. It’s why they’re all still alive.

Lost Boys? Not Kings.

The Prisoners? Mostly not Kings…

“She wasn’t just running the entertainment.”

My eyes fly to him. Any second, the cigarette would swallow my finger, but I didn’t care. I wait. Like a lion does his food.

“She was below deck.”

I already knew this.

“Helping Vaden through level two.”

“You what?”

My eyes bounce around the table before landing on Vaden. “Ah, I see…makes sense now.”

“You weren’t holding the gavel when it happened, and the conversation never came up. If it had, I would have told you. You know how it goes.”

I slowly lower back down to my chair, eyes remaining on Vaden. “Yeah. I do.” Heat rushes in my ears, and I slowly close my eyes, taking a moment to rein in what I’m guessing is rage. Undiluted rage. Not because Vaden held something from me, because that came with the territory, and as he said, I didn’t have the gavel at that time, which meant he had to take orders from my father, but because of her.

Because she was below deck. Which only means one thing…

“She’s a trained killer.”

Nate holds my stare. “The very best we’ve seen.”

“That should surprise me, but it doesn’t,” Halen murmurs, leaning back against her chair.

Her training in Del Morts isn’t a secret. The girl has throwing stars harnessed around her thighs. No one talks about what happens beneath the surface of Perdita for a reason. Because nothing good ever happens there.

“Wait, but the prisoners under there are the worst. How’d that go?”

Brantley’s voice filters through the tense space. “She played poker with them on Sundays. What can we say…she’s charming like her father and deadly like her mother.”

“—and conniving like her other father,” Dad adds through a sip of whiskey. He lowers it onto his knee. “Sorry, son. I planned to have this conversation with you about that at a later time, but it’s been one thing after another since you’ve come on, and I wanted you to warm up to your other duties before dropping this one on your lap.”

I clench my teeth. “I have large thighs, Dad. Pretty sure my lap could have taken it.”

He snickers. “Smart ass.”

“For the fucking record, though?” I am sure to hold the room, waiting until each of them has their whole attention on me. “I’ve loved Luna since the day I first saw her. I know that now. When I told you to draw up a marriage contract, I allowed you to think it was best for her own safety, because I allowed you to think she needed the force of my hand to keep her alive or I’d kill her when I found out that she was a twin, which by the way, I knew. All along.” I could reword my following sentence, but without her here, I no longer care to sugarcoat shit. “I would have slit that girl’s throat a second sooner if I ever had my hands on her, so trust me when I say, Lunaisthe love of my fucking life, and if I ever hear another word out of anyone’s mouth mentioning that fucked up bitch around her?” I flash a wicked smile. “I’ll throw your ass in Wonderland. Won’t I, Stella?”

Stella grumbles, crossing her arms in front of herself.

I make them wait. “I made her my wife to protect her once she left the safety of Del Morts. All along. I knew if she were mywifenot a single motherfucker would lay a hand on her, so how does it feel? To be played at your own game and knowing thatin your old age, you were too busy playing checkers while I was playing chess.”

I light the end of the cigarette. “Moving on, now that we’ve got that out of the way.”

Pop’s in the room’s darkest corner, his hands buried in his pockets.

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