Page 2 of Insanium
If it weren’t for today being my last day home for a while, it wouldn’t have been that unusual. We always hung out when they weren’t off planning world domination with our cousin and their gorgeous specimen of a best friend. And I never minded their company. The twins were among my favorite people to walk this big, rounded earth. Second in line after our mother dearest, and right before our adoptive father, who was one spot ahead of our cousin Ciaran. The best damn friends a girl could ask for completed the list just after Maverick. Dolly Parton had an honorary placement right beneath them. I didn’t know her, of course, but I liked to pretend I did.
“Now, I know you guys love me and everything, but I’m guessing you didn’t come in here to remind me of that.”
“We came to get one last look at you beforeJudicium,” Ky replied.
“Really? I didn’t think I was going to be offered a makeover.”
“That isn’t—”
“And if I am, I will be offended to the highest level. A blind man could see I’m stunning.”
“Kennedy,” Charon implored in that way of his that indicated he was all about business.
“Listen, I’m fully aware of what I’m stepping into. Our family’s made darn sure of that. You two went through this, plus more, and are still as beautiful and demented as ever.”
“So, you noticed?” Ky questioned rhetorically.
I could tell he was quite proud of himself, and Char too, as he damn well should’ve been. They exchanged a look—a silent conversation with some twin-speak they’d perfected over the years—before turning back to me, their nearly identical faces set in determined lines. Kyrous broke the silence with a statement that resonated deep within me, “Then let’s ensure you come out of this not just intact, but legendary.”
Oh, how his words struck a chord. They coursed through me like a dark symphony. The world we lived in viewed me as a pampered rich girl, a little loopy perhaps, always nestled safely in her glass tower.
Sure, I lived a charmed life. And maybe there was a twist of madness in my method. But wasn’t it often said that madness brushed the edges of brilliance? I’d take that, twist it, and wear it like a crown.
This was my sole path to the Devil’s Playground.
When all was said and done, I was going to be the star of the fucking show.
Chapter Two
The night before had been dubbedThe Last Supper. Kyrous had come up with the label. As much as the humor of the situation tickled me, the reality of saying goodbye to him and Char laid a bittersweet layer over any laughter.
I was really going to miss them, enough to make my eyes sting with tears if I thought too long about it. But the drive to stand firm behind them in whatever wild schemes we’d face in the future fueled me. This wasn’t just a game or trial of judgment; it was a promise to my brothers that I was no sideline sister or liability. I was in this to ensure we always held the upper hand, however I could.
Mom caught the flicker of emotion across my face and sent me a questioning look. I responded with a playful wiggle of my fingers and a mischievous wink before looking out the window. The SUV hummed down a serpentine forest road, cutting through the thick wilderness en route to the ominously named Black Widow Estate. Isolated miles from civilization, the estate’s whispered history taunted my curiosity.
It had once served as a playground for the founders of the Infernal Syndicate, a place where a macabre game had been brewed. Participants back then had to align with the deadliest of predators, gambling on fleeting alliances, wondering if they’d be betrayed for a juicier target—all in a savage dance of survival. After those brutal beginnings, the estate had been thoroughly revamped and reimagined for the latest season ofJudicium.
The thrill of stepping into such a storied arena was almost palpable. I couldn’t wait to throw myself into the mix and twist the game to my tune. This was exactly the kind of challenge I relished. An opportunity to dazzle, disrupt, and dominate.
My mother’s soft voice cut through the silence, carrying a mix of concern and inevitability that immediately put me on edge. “Once Kyle finds out you’re in the Game of Judgment, he’ll be watching your every move. You know how he enjoys his little power plays.”
Ugh. Just the mention of that sad excuse for a man could darken any sunny day. How Ky and Char managed to deal with his constant scheming and never-ending bullshitting was beyond me, especially when I was clearly the superior actor among us.
“Let him watch,” I replied with a scoff. “If Ky and Charon haven’t already shown him he’s backed the wrong horse, I’m about to make it crystal clear. He’ll see exactly the mistake he made in trying to screw us over.”
“That’s my girl,” my father’s voice rumbled with pride.
“Dante,” Mom chided, light yet firm.
“Sorry, that’sourgirl,” he corrected with a hearty chuckle, meeting my eye in the rearview mirror with a grin that sparked one of my own in return.
He was the true definition of a stand-up man. Dante was the rock upon which my mother had rebuilt her shattered life after bitch-ass Kyle had discarded it like a played-out game. He hadn’t just filled in the gaps; he’d rewritten the blueprint, taking us in not as an obligation, but as a cherished family. To the outside world, I might have been his niece and stepdaughter, but in every way that counted, I was simply his baby girl.
He raised and guided us with all the fierceness and love of a true father, shaping not just a family but warriors ready to face any battle. I was going to miss him and Mama, but this was just as much for them as it was for Kyrous and Charon.
Dante pulled the SUV to a stop in front of a pair of towering iron gates. Through the cold, twisted bars, the imposing Black Widow Estate lay shrouded in shadows up a long, paveddriveway. The dash clock read 7:30 PM, leaving me with a precious ten minutes to get inside. I patted the side of my leg, reassured by the firm press of the blue knife hidden within the discreet pocket of my pants. We weren’t allowed baggage or a change of clothes, so I’d gone for fashion and practicality.
My legs were clad in black skinny jeans, torn just enough to add a bit of edge without sacrificing mobility. They hugged my form, allowing for maximum movement, which I’d need if I was going to dance with danger as planned. I’d chosen a dark plaid shirt to pair with them, over a tank top. It was loose enough to allow for quick movements but fitted enough to show I wasn’t just some waif to be underestimated. My feet were snug in a pair of sturdy black combat boots, laced tightly up to the ankles, comfortable enough to run, fight, or stand my ground for hours.
