The Knight (Stolen Duet 2)

This morning, my father and godfather sat me down and told me that I would not only protect the family but the girl who consumed my every waking thought. I will give her my name and my life if need be. He went as far as to threaten my crown, but I knew it was to keep Theo in the dark about my feelings for his teenage daughter. I was taking her with or without her father’s permission. My father had known all along and had found a way to give me what I wanted without bloodshed. Theo accepted everything my father offered him with the promise that I wait until she turned eighteen before I actually touched her.

I may not have been able to keep from feeling for his kid, but I was still very much aware of my physical boundaries. Theo told me he would be bringing her to the party tonight. Of course, I hadn’t bothered to let him know I already invited her. I was too close to making her mine to screw it up now.

The party would be starting in a few hours so I made a few calls. It wasn’t just my birthday party or transfer of power. It was also an engagement party, and my kid fiancée would need a dress. I smiled again as I took a drag from my blunt.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” Lucas spat with a grin. I was so caught up in my head that I hadn’t noticed my two best friends approaching. They hadn’t been allowed at the brownstone when Mian lived here, and now that she was gone, they almost never leave.

“I’m engaged.” They both laughed it off without even considering that I might be serious. “I’m not joking.” I enjoyed watching the grins on their faces slowly fall and smiled harder at their matching expressions of horror.

“Dude… why?” Z questioned. It wasn’t often Z didn’t have a smile on his face. This was one of those rare moments.

“She’s a birthday gift from pops.”

“So, basically, he’s making you marry some girl?” Lucas was the shrewdest of our group, and while most cowered under his interrogation, I met his gaze.

“Sort of. He’s protecting his interests.”

“Why aren’t you upset? Is she hot?” Z’s grin was back full force.

“Wait…” Lucas’ eyes narrowed. “Is this fiancée the mystery girl you won’t tell us anything about?” I passed him the cannabis-filled cigar since he looked like he needed it more than I did.

“Holy shit,” Z exclaimed. “It’s her, isn’t it?” His bright green eyes shone even brighter with mischief. “You got her knocked up, didn’t you? All that in-house pussy you’ve been secretly getting finally caught up to you.”

If he weren’t my best friend, I would have decked him. He threw up his hands and backed off at my look. “She’s not pregnant,” I answered eventually. “I never touched her.” But my dick sure wishes I had.

“What’s her name?” I shook my head at Lucas’s question. “We still can’t even know her name?” Mian has been my secret for six years, and I selfishly wanted to keep her that way for a little bit longer.

“She’ll be at the party tonight. You’ll meet her then.” To save myself from more questions, I made excuses about shit to do and left my friends on the stoop smoking the last of my stash.

I was five minutes from Crecia when my phone rang. There was a sinking feeling in my gut when I read the name on the caller id.

“Hey.” I figured now would be the time Theo would threaten me regarding the well-being of his daughter… off the record. It was cool. I had a few things to say too… off the record.

“Son.” I sat up straighter at the unfamiliar grimness in Theo’s voice.

“What’s going on?”

“I wanted you to hear this from me before…” His voice trailed off, and all I could do was listen to the broken cries of a man I considered indestructible. It was the moment I knew whatever had broken him would do the same to me. I was already doing the impossible and trying to take back words I hadn’t even heard yet. “Your father is dead, Angeles.” There was a brief pause as my mind replayed these four words. “I’m sorry.”

And just like that, the line died.

Soon after, my phone was ringing again. This time, I answered without checking because I already knew who it would be.

“Oh, God. Angel,” my mother wailed. “Arturo is dead!” Before I could speak, she cried words I never expected to hear. “I killed him. I killed him! God, please help me.”

The line didn’t die this time, and my mother’s screams continued. The emotions you’re expected to feel when someone you love is killed—sorrow, anger, vengeance—eluded me. I was numb. I don’t remember hanging up on my hysterical mother. I don’t remember the next five minutes. I don’t even remember walking up the stairs and finding my father lying in a pool of his own blood.