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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

VALE

“Where are we going?”

I’m finally curious. My surprising rush of baby fever has passed. I can see a future with Nash, so now I’m focused on staying alive.

“Sire’s place.” Nash aims this big SUV down a narrow alley off the popular King Street in historic Charleston.

Pressing an app on his phone, the gate to a parking area opens, and we pull in. He kills the engine, then grabs his gun and our bags.

I could get all snarky with comments, but this chase is starting to feel too real.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

Holding Nash’s shoulder, my heart races as we enter a secure door using a code and climb a narrow stairwell. At the top, Nash presses a doorbell. After a minute, I hear a click , and the steel door opens.

“Well, let me be my brother’s keeper.” Sire fills the threshold, grinning at me. “Look at what his pretty cat is dragging in.”

Dressed in grey cotton pajama pants and no shirt, Sire has more ink than Nash. From some on his handsome face to his thick neck, all the way down to his drawstring, he’s covered in vivid tattoos and defined muscles. He looks menacing yet radiates calm, like a big, evil angel.

“Sorry for waking you,” I state the obvious. With Sire’s mussed hair and the late hour, he wasn’t expecting us.

“It’s fine!” A woman chirps from inside. “Stallion, let them in.”

Stallion?

I smirk, intrigued by Sire’s amorous nickname, as we brush past him.

Nash holds my hand, leading me into a modern, two-story penthouse loft atop an old brick mercantile building.

“Hi!” A stunning woman, much younger than me, rushes my way. “I’m Wren!”

Her gorgeous raven waves are piled on her head in a messy knot. She’s wearing a man’s white button-up that fits her like a gown, contrasting with her dark, glowing, tawny skin. Her eyes sparkle like she’s thrilled to meet me as she yanks me into a hug. “You must be Vale.”

“You must be burned if you’re here,” Sire adds.

“They spotted us at the club,” Nash answers. “We lost their tail, and here we are.”

Instantly, this connection warms me. “Nice to meet you, too,” I sigh in Wren’s long embrace.

“Please,” she offers. “Have a seat. I’ll pour some drinks. We have lots to share.”

Share? I suddenly sense it. Wren’s a queen.

Reverently, she lifts on her tip-toes, offering Nash a kiss on his right cheek. Nash respectfully pecks her back, and that’s when I notice Wren’s piercing on her left cheek. It’s a diamond Monroe piercing just above her puckered top lip.

Sire watches their greeting as he sits, reaching his tattooed hand out for Wren’s. She takes it, and he kisses her fingers, lightly tonguing her interdigit with a knowing smirk on his lips before she giggles and pads past him in bare feet to their kitchen.

Nash pulls me to sit beside him on the sofa. “This chase is getting old,” he seethes. “I want blood.”

Sire sits like a king in his black leather chair, his arms covered in angels and crosses, draping over the sides. “Could be a blessing.” The gold cross around his neck catches the lamplight.

Nash huffs, “This isn’t divine.”

“It isn’t?” He lifts his chin. “If people do not believe the first sign, they will believe the second.”

“Stop preaching.” Nash wraps his arm over my shoulder. “You’re not the ones being chased.”

“No, you are.” Sire nods at us. “And we’ll use it to our advantage. We’ll protect you while you draw them out of hiding, then we take them out. One by one.”

“Yay,” I murmur, “I’ve always wanted to be a target.”

Nash hugs me tighter under his protective arm. “I got you, poison.” His lips brush my hair as Wren joins us with four shots in hand—vodka, always.

I like this tradition.

She serves us before Sire pulls her to sit on his lap. “Thanks, Angel.” He kisses her, way too long and hot, before taking the glass from her hand.

Then he raises it, we all do, and Nash whispers, “Don’t say it,” and I pout, loving my toast as we toss them back.

“So,” Wren beams, “is it official? Did you get The Queen’s approval?”

I pull away, turning to Nash. “Did everyone know about me but me?”

“We always knew about you.” Sire chuckles. “It just took Nash way too fucking long to add it up. Kind of sad for such a genius accountant.”

Wren shrugs her dainty shoulders. “Don’t feel bad. I just found out, too. As a new queen, there are a lot of secrets to tease out of them. It’s not personal,” she assures. “They were raised to hide, so it takes a while for them to come out.”

“Oh, I come .” Sire seeks her slender neck, biting it and letting us see his tongue lash her flesh.

It sparks my core, heat tingling my nerves, the recognition of another beast. It’s the same way Nash devoured me at the country club that day.

Wren sighs, “We have guests.”

“That’s my brother and his future queen,” Sire rumbles against her flesh, his hand cupping her pert breast, his tattooed fingers pinching her nipple under the shirt. “You know our bond.”

Wren moans softly, and with the corner of my eye, I catch Nash licking his lips. His fingers clutch my shoulder tighter. He can’t hide the slight roll of his hips beside mine, too.

He’s getting aroused by their desire . I am, too.

I suddenly feel warm with Sire and Wren. I feel like we belong. Like together, we’ll always be safe. More than safe.

Nash said the mafia life is a gilded, barbed, and bloody cage. I don’t doubt it is. But now I know … it can be an erotic one, too.

“We need to do this soon,” Nash orders, icing the hot vibe. “If Vale and I agree to be hunted, to bait Turner’s crew to find us, I need her protected. Now .”

Sire lifts from Wren’s neck, nodding. “Give us two nights to prepare her test.”

“Wait,” Wren blurts. “You kings aren’t in charge. The queens are.” She turns her topaz eyes to mine. “Woman to woman, is this a good week?”

“Yes.” I grin, immediately loving Wren for understanding.

The first night on Nash’s boat, I put on a birth control patch, along with a motion sickness one. My menstrual monster won’t be here for a few weeks.

“Then it’s perfect!” Wren bubbles. “We can use the new room. Right?”

She asks Sire, but Nash answers, “Let the kings handle the details. Delta’s is our most secure location. It’s crawling with our men, but we need to find the right night.”

“Tuesday,” I suggest. “It’s one of the store’s slowest. I could tell Stacey it was dead, so I closed the store early.”

“Can everyone be there?” Wren asks like an eager party planner, and I can’t lie.

The question rouses me in ways I never felt.

Everyone?

“You mean like Jace and Grant?” My pulse starts to thrum. “Axel and the other kings, too? And the queens?”

Wren rolls her lips, not saying a word.

Sire lowers his stare at Nash, making Nash thunder, throwing his chin up. “Fuck! Brother, you better stop me from murdering someone.”

Sire laughs. It’s deep, dark, and delicious. “This test is more for you, my brother, than our beautiful, new queen.”

I turn to Nash, admiring his profile. Jealousy, passion, possession, protection, rage: they all strain his sexy, sadistic face and those lush, snarling lips.

Aw, he’s capable of murder for me. Again.

Yes, I’m clearly fucked up, too, because I find it romantic.

I put my hand on his chest, swooning at how his heart hammers under his tight, black T-shirt. “We can do it,” I ease. “We can pass the test together.”

“Sire was the same way.” Wren swings my eyes back in her direction. “It’s cute how the kings don’t want to share until they realize how much their queens like it.” She winks, her youthful aura morphing into a very wanton one. “They made me love it,” she confesses, “and that made my king crave sharing me even more.”

“I think I’ll love it, too,” I confess.

“Goddamn,” Nash mutters his favorite word, dragging his hand over his trimmed beard. But I hear it in his tone. His anger fights his arousal.

“Let’s get this done,” Sire demands, reading his brother’s war. “We need to anoint a new queen before another gets married.”

“Wait? What? Another gets married ?” I turn, confronting Nash. “Does he mean Alena?”

I’m about to lose my shit, as Nash explains calmly, “By default, as my daughter, Alena is a queen. She’ll never know it. She’ll never be initiated, and she’ll always be safe.”

Once more, doubt smacks me. I don’t like lying to Alena. It feels unnatural.

But now I understand what Nash means about being a valuable asset. Too valuable.

I know about The Queen at the club. I know about Axel’s law office. I know what Nash has done to victims on his boat. Axel, too. And now I know where Sire lives. I’ve never visited Jace and Grant’s homes, but they said they live on Sullivan’s Island.

If Turner and his men were ever to kidnap, traffic, and torture me, how long could I keep secrets protecting my king? All of the kings?

“I haven’t met Alena yet,” Wren offers sweetly. “But Sire protects her, too. He’s performing her service, and I can’t wait. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding.”

“Hold on.” I put my hand up to stop the race of logic mowing me down. “You?” I stare at Sire. “ You’re the one who baptized Alena?”

“It was my honor,” he answers.

“So you’re a… you’re a priest ?”

Sire laughs, throwing up his chin, exposing the winged warrior angel on his neck. “No priest is allowed to love as I do.”

“He’s a non-denominational pastor,” Nash explains. “When I met him, he had a copy of the Holy Bible, the Torah, and the Quran open on his cell bed. He studies all religions.”

I stare in awe because Sire doesn’t look like a pastor, but now I can see how he can switch from a very sinister to a deeply soulful man.

It makes me feel safer, sleeping in Sire and Wren’s guest bedroom with Nash wrapped around me, his Beretta ready on the nightstand. I have more than seven men protecting me. More than The Queen and other queens like me.

I have a future that feels like divine fate.