Page 82 of Chaos Crown

Chapter Eight

Roan

Ivy burrowed into Legend’s side, the picture of content with her head on his shoulder and fingers running up and down his chest. His tight arm around her looked less like a lover’s embrace, and more like a precaution to keep her from jumping out of the car at the next red light. If that’s what she was thinking, her face gave no sign. I couldn’t tell what was going on in her head.

“Are you going to kill our mothers?”

The car jolted forward, rocked by Jacques’s sudden jolt to the gas. We got away with two hostages in the trunk, but only barely. Right then, we were circling the back roads while we figured out where to lay low until our names were cleared. A heavy silence choked the car the entire time.

Jacques, Arsenio, Cairo, and Legend glared at me.

“What?” I said, unrepentant. “We all want to know. Won’t find out until we ask.”

Ivy laughed. “That’s what you’re all thinking right now? Oh my goodness, you five are ridiculous. Of course I’m not going to kill your moms. You’d break up with me.”

She genuinely sounded like that was her only problem with that option.

“That’s the only reason?” Jacques asked, echoing my thought.

She shrugged. “I have no loyalty to them, but I am loyal to you. I’m not going to harm them. I’m just going to take back what’s mine.” Hooded eyes met ours in turn. “That won’t be a problem... will it?”

“No problem for us.” I didn’t have to think about it. “Whether you run the town or they own the town, the job’s the same. We protect what’s ours—Bedlam and you.”

Ivy moved from me to the others.

“That’s right,” Jacques said.

“You will never not belong to me,” Arsenio added.

“I’m a rich man either way,” Legend said. “What do I care if there’s a little less from her half of the inheritance?”

Everyone spoke up except for Cairo. He stared at the window—no longer acknowledging us or the conversation. Ivy visibly tensed.

I changed the subject. This required a deeper conversation, and industrial tools to remove Cairo’s head from his ass. None of that was happening in that cramped car with a full trunk.

“Where are we going to go? Hunter’s Crest? They have vacation cabins on the outskirts,” I said. “We can rent one under fake names.”

“Too risky,” said Jacques. “You have to show ID to get a cone from an ice cream truck these days. We don’t have fakes, or enough money to bribe a receptionist not to care.”

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