Page 131 of Cursed to Be Mine
Life as a sup fuckingsucks.
Sniffing, I rub my face against him, telling myself it’s over now. We’re alive, and we have all of tomorrow and the rest of our lives to create better days.
My throat tightens as the elevator doors ding open and all the other shit we have to deal with shatters our perfect bubble.
Shit like Antonio still being alive and the impending war with the Death Hunt.
How Khalid still has Talon to kill...
He kisses the top of my head, and I dig my fingers into his shirt, wishing we can carry on existing just in here with no outside forces ripping us to shreds, but life isn’t a fairytale.
It’s broken and cruel.
“You okay?” he murmurs as he tilts my chin up to look at him.
I nod, my eyes on his.
I will be.
Because he is there, and I am here.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to step out of the elevator, only to immediately stop, my eyes widening at the men standing in the parking lot looking at me.
Six men, their power a palpable crawl across my skin, their judgment a slighter version of Ma’s old voice. His brothers. His family.
I hate families.
My heart jumping in my chest, I don’t care to stop the doors as they slide shut.
“Kira?” Khalid murmurs as he moves to look at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Those are your brothers,” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve not met them…”
“No.”
“This is a hell of a time to meet your family.”
He grins. “You could’ve met them a couple days ago instead of –”
The doors ping open.
“– sucking my cock.”
My eyes widen as the air freezes. I pray for the doors to shut again, but ringing laughter shatters frozen time and the faith that it will happen.
Maddox steps into the elevator, invading our bubble.
“Given all the noise you were making,” he says looking right at me, “Kali must have one fucking small cock. You need a proper one to fill –”
He laughs as Khalid places a whole hand over his face and shoves him away. Swatting his big brother off him, Maddox grins at me. “Welcome to the family, beautiful.”
My cheeks blush, and I am intensely aware that I’m half-naked among these gods.
“Khalid,” one says, his voice sharp and chilling, but as we turn, the doors slide back shut.
