Page 3 of Crown Jewels
“I didn’t hide it.” I rolled my navy eyes up to Edgar’s hard stare. “You didn’t ask.”
Assumptions would fuck you over every time.
While Edgar was pissed, Armen was suspicious. “Who taught you this?”
He was right to be suspicious. Armenian wasn’t a language one could find easily. Even Google translate was limited.
I responded to his question with two words. “D’yavol smerti.”
All four of the Armenian’s eyes went wide as audible gasps were sucked back.
“You lie.” Hyak spat out.
“We should shoot them,” Ruben reached into his coat and pulled out a 9mm, “and dump their bodies in the river.”
I tipped my head and asked, “You sure you want to do that?”
Everyone in the underworld knew the nameD’yavol smerti.He was their boogeyman. The hitman who was called to take care of someone. He specialized in offing scum like them, and he’d offed a lot of scum. I knew him as Preston Whitley, my father’s problem solver.
Armen shook his head, “You do not knowD’yavol smerti.”
“Maybe?” I braced my forearms on the table and leaned in closer to him. “But what if I do?”
The truth was that Preston was more than my father’s friend. He was my future father in-law. My family not only controlled my home town, but they ran a society called The Order Of Ravens And Wolves.
It wasn’t the kind of society movies talked about at colleges and such, but one that you were born into. In other words, we didn’t have a choice. All the boys were raised to run things. Our fathers were called kings, and we were knights, and my father was the King of Kings.
One of the duties we had, was picking our future bride. I chose Preston’s daughter Trina Whitley when I was seven and we both liked the same cartoons. I had absolutely no interest in her now.
I hadn’t even talked to her in five years. But that contract was still there, looming over my head along with the expectations my father had for me. All of which I would avoid for as long as I could.
Unfortunately, my father only gave me four years to do what I wanted. And that four years would be up in five months. Running wasn’t an option, he would find me. We had people everywhere.
Refusing also wasn’t an option. No one refused the King of Kings, not even his own son. Not to mention my grandfather had ways of making people cooperate. All I could do was enjoy my freedom while I had it.
Armen and Edgar exchanged a look but said nothing.
I was tired of this and wanted to get home. Emma’s show was about to start. So, I said something to Armen that I knew would bring the game to a grinding halt. “Should I call him or is your man going to keep waving that gun in my face?”
Not wanting to risk it—which was the smart choice—Armen signalled Ruben to put the gun down. “The game is over, leave.”
That was when Mitch decided to pay attention. “The game isn’t over, we still have money to win.”
“Drop it.” I hissed at him.
“Fuck that. We’re on a roll.”
Wewere not on a roll,Iwas on a roll. But based by the look on his face, Mitch wasn’t going to back down. Meaning there was only one thing to do.
My fist cracked off the side of his head, knocking him out of the chair, to land unconscious on the floor. That little one hit trick I could thank my uncle Mason—the former MMA fighter—for.
I stood up, threw Mitch over my shoulder, and looked back at the Armenians. “I trust my winnings will cover his debt?”
Armen waved at the door. “Just get out.”
EMMA
Was true happiness possible, or was it all a lie? A gift wrapped up in shiny paper to make us want to survive another day. Like the kisses my father used to place on my forehead to trick me into thinking he wasn’t an addict, and that our family wasn’t broken. Were those fake moments the only thing I would ever have?
