Page 83 of Jace
Ruby has combed through everything online about the jerk. The poor queen. I owe her a night of embarrassing tales about young Axel.
Like the time Sire bet Axel that Axel couldn’t suck his own dick. Well, Sire lost, because Axel, the limber, long-dicked fucker can.
But our poor mom. She walked into Sire’s bedroom, thinking we were learning yoga, and walked out, calling over her shoulder, “Lord, you boys would scare the beard off Jesus.”
Yeah, think I’ll tell Ruby that story as payment for her dedication. I know she won’t give up while me and Vivian are trapped in a pompous paradise.
It hasn’t been the worst way to distract the men while the queens scour every property they own.
But what if there’s another file somewhere? What if we score all three servers from the shithead’s cousins, but David still has a copy of the video and releases it?
That’s when I’ll shackle him to a wall in our hidden bunker and torture him for a year. Killing him right away would be no fun and not fair.
Vivian and every woman like her deserves to feel the magnetic poles of this planet shift to where there are fewer assholes like him, preying on women.
Speaking of…
Brake lights fill my vision as the row of luxury automobiles queues to pass through the security gate to his parents’ estate.
Politely, I wait, flicking my glance to the rearview mirror.
There it is again.
The same sinister black Rolls-Royce Wraith. I noticed it three days ago.
As the line of cars passes through the security gate to the property on my right, and with the ocean on our left, there’s only one way to go.
Figure out who the fuck is following me.
As soon as the rose gold sedan chauffeuring Vivian and the bride is safely inside the gate, I accelerate, passing the last vehicle waiting.
Testing my theory.
Yep, like a snake, the black car slithers behind me.
I have two guesses and seventeen rounds in my loaded gun for who it may be.
After a half mile, I spot a mega mansion being built. Whipping into the empty driveway of the construction zone, I throw my car into park. From my shoulder holster, I take my gun out and hold it low, concealed against my right thigh. Opening my door, I rise, turning to confront the sinister car idling behind mine, its rear passenger window sliding down.
This feels like a stunt Ruslan, our father, would pull.
It’s what he did with Loch.
Stalk him until he could confront him alone.
Sheremetev knows better than to try to negotiate with us. After what he did to our sister, it would be the shortest conversation in history. Him—opening his mouth to speak. Me—putting a bullet in it, ending his reign of terror.
“Come on out, Ruslan.” I lean against my car. “I ain’t afraid of the Bratva boogie man.”
The rear door opens, and a stocky soldier with no neck emerges, tugging at his tight black suit, his English decent. “The Pakhan would like to speak with you.”
Yep, it’s Daddy Dearest.
“Yeah, well, I’d like to have a day of ice cream,Pretty in Pink, and fucking pussy, but I gotta get up for it, and so does he. Tell him to stand and face me.”
The soldier darts his eyes down, clocking my father who must be sitting there, before he aims his stare back at me.
“He… uh…” The soldier hedges. I’m making his job hell, but that’s what he gets for choosing a life of crime. “He’s waiting, sir. Don’t make me force you.”
