Page 13 of The Lost Kings

Gio

D ad told me that Kyle was in private security and because of who he protected it warranted extra people to be stationed around the manor. Armed people, men and women who wore tactical gear and had helped train Presley how to shoot those weapons.

When we realized how much Presley was being taught, both King and I asked if we could train as well.

It took a while, but our parents finally gave in, and while we didn’t get to train with half the artillery that Presley did, I was never jealous.

Especially not when I saw how many miles Scotty forced her to run around the property, or how long she had to box without gloves or any kind of wraps.

Mostly I felt bad for her, and it angered me, but I’d never been envious.

Not until now.

“Dude, there’s no way her dad is training her to drive that.” I gasped, wide-eyed as the gleaming Dodge Hellcat rumbled down the road.

Kingston didn’t say anything, but he’d watched the taillights disappear as it exited through the main gate.

I jumped down from the cement half wall and ran toward the opposite end of the fence line, where we could see the street that circled our manor but wasn’t inside the boundary line.

It was often used when my mom and dad had big renovation projects done on the manor.

There were four feet of solid brick that encompassed our property.

Above that was two feet of iron fastened to the top, but we could see through the slats.

“There they are!” I pointed, seeing the car come back into focus.

Presley’s dad was in the passenger seat while the window was rolled down; his smile was probably something that would stick with me for a long time.

I hadn’t ever seen him smile like that. The car wasn’t speeding, but then through the window I saw Kyle say something and Presley downshifted, and the car shot off quicker than a bullet.

“That’s way too fast for her,” Kingston shouted while we both moved down the fence line to try and keep up with them.

A tight curve was up ahead, and my heart began to thrash in my chest like a fish out of water. “She isn’t slowing down!”

My brother’s fingers wrapped around the iron in a tight grip as he watched the car, and I moved farther down the fence until I found a spot that we could probably climb over, that is if we had a way to soften the fall, but even if we didn’t, would a broken arm be that bad as long as it meant we could stop whatever it was Kyle was doing with her?

We both seemed to hold our breath as we watched the car slide to the side and glide over the gravel. Dust kicked up, and rocks flew behind the car, but within seconds, the car straightened and increased in speed.

“Did she just drift?” I asked, feeling confused and mildly alarmed.

“Pressy finally did it!” A familiar voice sounded behind us, and both my brother and I turned to see Carter walking up. She had her hair in a tight ponytail with shimmery strands of blue and gold intertwining with her reddish-brown hair .

Kingston turned back toward the empty road. “What do you mean she finally did it?”

“She hates that nickname, by the way,” I reminded our stepcousin because if Presley heard her call her Pressy again, she’d probably punch her.

Carter’s existence in the manor was always a little confusing.

While Presley felt like family, Carter actually was.

Her mom, Mallory, was our mom’s stepsister, but Carter’s dad, Decker, was Kyle’s brother by blood.

So, Presley and Carter were cousins by blood, and Carter was ours only by marriage and yet throughout our lives we did way more with her than Presley did with her.

Carter stepped closer, getting a better view of the road. “Presley has been working on drifting for over a year, took her forever to get that. Uncle Kyle took me a few times when they came to visit us in LA last year, but I got really bored with it all.”

My confusion only deepened. I’d lived around Kyle and Presley my entire life, and I had no clue either of them was into cars like that.

“Why would Kyle teach either of you?”

Carter’s expression crumpled into total confusion.

“Uncle Kyle used to be into street racing. He was really good, actually. My mom and dad said he won like every race he ever participated in. It’s partly what got him in trouble.

They never told me what that meant, or what sort of trouble, but I just assume everyone we know has had some brush with the law at some point. ”

Dad hadn’t…as far as we knew at least. Mom once told us that he’d been really close to having a professional hockey career, but they never explained why that didn’t work out, other than the community needing help with El Peligro.

I know the gang our grandpa once led was somehow involved, but I wasn’t sure how.

Carter let out a sigh before pulling out her phone. “I’m shocked Pressy never told you two. Makes me wonder what else she hasn’t shared.”

We must have remained quiet for too long because Carter got bored and wandered off.

Kingston was glaring at the road again, but I knew he was as frustrated with Carter’s comment as I was.

Presley, King, and I, we shared everything.

We never kept secrets from each other, so her being able to drift around a corner in a Dodge Hellcat had me wondering what else she wasn’t telling us and why.

It was after dinner when King and I decided to sneak out our loft window and walk the small pathway along the top of our roof, down to the west wing of the manor.

The tall glass windows were covered in gauzy white curtains, and beyond them, you couldn’t make anything out.

King pulled out a small knife and slipped it through the small gap, sliding up the golden hook that kept the panes together.

I gently pressed against the glass and crawled inside.

My foot landed on her cushioned window seat, then her carpeted loft.

Ours had a couch and extra gaming stuff, along with a place for me to map out stars, but her loft had craft supplies scattered along a long table.

She didn’t have a lot of time to spend on her crafting, but I liked that she had a whole loft dedicated to when she could.

There were pieces of barnwood scattered over the table and scraps of rope.

I knew she’d be creating a picture frame or two based on the printed images of the farm and the Highland cows she loved so much. There were a few pictures of her family, and then several of me and Kingston too.

“Elvis?” I walked over to the stairs that led down to her room and took them two at a time. Kingston was right behind me as he skipped the last step and landed in front of Presley’s queen-sized bed. She had on a pair of headphones while she flipped through one of her school books.

Kingston took the book from her, which had her tearing at her headphones while spinning around. “Hey!”

“We need to talk.” I slipped out of my slides and sat on her bed.

My brother did the same, sitting opposite of me .

Presley rolled her eyes but moved her books out of the way for us to sit. The comforter was a teal color that matched the barn wood theme she had going throughout the room. Presley was a cowgirl born without the ranch or cows and that reality never stopped devastating me.

“You could have sent a text.” She set her headphones on the shelf behind her bed and then pulled her knees up under her chin before facing us.

Kingston ignored that and launched into things faster than I anticipated. “Since when do you race cars?”

Her eyes always reminded me of tiny flames.

Not the red or orange part of the flame, but the hottest part, the blue that revealed total combustion.

Her eyes were like that, wide and always completely undoing me in ways that I didn’t think were possible but now they were framed with thick, black lashes that I never remembered being so long.

“What are you talki?—”

I cut her off, because irritation scratched at some place in my chest. “We saw you today, and Carter did too. She told us that you’ve been trying to drift for over a year.”

“Carter said that?”

Kingston flicked his eyes across the room toward her closet and suddenly got up.

She quickly untangled her feet and followed him. “What are you doing?”

“We don’t keep secrets, Presley.” King pushed her closet door open and flicked on the light.

“What are you looking for?” Her eyes searched the space, but I didn’t miss how she kept focusing on the shelves.

King noticed too and moved toward them. “What else, Elvis ?”

She stepped in front of him with her eyes narrowed. He never called her Elvis unless he was trying to irritate her, which she only proved with her tone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you hiding? ”

“Nothing!” Presley cried, but King jerked open the drawer and began pulling out the clothes and throwing them on the ground.

“Kingston!”

I started looking through the other side of her closet, already knowing pretty much everything that was in here. Being around someone your entire life meant you knew what their blankets, sleeping bags, slippers, and clothes all looked like.

Presley grabbed my brother’s arm and held on to it as he pulled on a drawer and something loud thumped inside it. He paused and quickly glared down at her before reaching inside.

“Wait…just?—”

“What is this?” He pulled out a gun…

Presley ran a hand over her face. We knew she’d been training with weapons, that was no secret, but we were informed that all artillery would be kept in designated weapons’ rooms, where they’d be locked up and managed by someone with a key. Why would she need one in her closet?

“It’s mine,” she argued, reaching for it.

King pulled it back, anger twisting his words into something harsh. “You’re twelve years old, why the hell do you have it?”

The fire in her eyes burned as she stared at him. She looked like she wanted to fight him.