In Fury Lies Mischief (Midnight Mayhem 2)

“What’d he do?” I grind out, taking the two shots off Kenan and shooting them back.

Kenan pulls out his phone, snapping a photo of my back and laughing, handing it to me. Property of Trickster. Was tattooed in cursive text above my Kiznitch star.

Inhale. Exhale. Killian is in the corner, where Callan is hanging off his lap and Maya on his other side.

“Are you going to go yell and throw shit at him?” Kenan asks just as Perse comes up behind us. “Because if I get to pick what you throw, I’d say fire would be good.”

She hands us both a shot with fire flicking inside of it.

I remain fixed on Killian until he brings his cold eyes to mine. I blow out the flame and wait a few seconds for it to cool, before shooting the liquid back. “Nope. That’s what he wants.”

Perse shakes her head. “That’s what I was going to talk to you about. I expected more from Maya, but Callan?”

I shrug, sighing as the alcohol warms my blood. “I didn’t expect any better from any of them honestly.”

“But—” Perse says as we make our way to the opposite side of the bar. She pulls out a stool and Kenan and I both follow suit. “Something has happened to make him be this way,” Perse says. “He wouldn’t flip like this for nothing.”

I ignore her, my eyes on the bartender.

“A shot?” he asks, his lips curving in a smile.

“Plenty,” I say, tilting my head. “Tell me.” I lean forward, picking up the shot and allowing it to dangle between my fingers. I’ve never been one to manipulate men with my looks, but that’s not to say that I don’t know how. “Are you Kiznitch?”

His grin deepens, his dimples popping out. I flinch. He reminds me of Killian. He will do. “I am.” He moves the robe aside and the Kiznitch tattoo over his hip steals my attention. The exact placement as Killian, only on the other side.

“Hmm,” I murmur. “Interesting.”

Delila interrupts our chat by taking a seat beside Perse. “Kaizer, do you have a death wish or do you purposely like pissing off your cousin?”

Cousin?

Kaizer laughs, his head tilting back as he lines up a row of shots for us. “He looks pretty busy right now.” His eyes fly over my shoulder.

I turn, following his line of sight. Killian. He’s shooting daggers at Kaizer. “Wait.” I turn back to Kaizer. “Killian is your cousin?”

Kaizer leans forward, his arms flexing under his weight. His face is an inch away from mine. “You surprised?”

I pick up my drink. “Well, no, actually.” I shoot it back.

Perse turns to face Delila. “Do you know what happened with Killian and why he’s flipped all of a sudden? Or should we add him to the list of psychopaths that Kiznitch breeds?”

“I fucking knew it.” Kaizer grins. “You’re Saskia.”

I offer him a small smile, leaning back into Perse.

Delila looks right at me. “No.”

I deflate. We drink more. And more. We dance to music. We laugh. And then later that night, Val drives us home.

“Are you sure you’re alright with me staying with you?” I ask Kenan.

Kenan flops onto his stomach, his eyes on mine. “Shut up, Saskia. Of course. And I would totally try to fuck you right now, but I actually value your friendship more than I need to try out my fantasy.”

I shove him playfully, turning back onto my stomach.

“I don’t know what I did,” I whisper softly. Before I can hear Kenan’s reply, my eyes are closed and I’m pulled into a deep sleep.

Fury ate mischief.

“What time do we fly out?” I ask, sipping my coffee. My head pounds from all of the alcohol I consumed last night, and the last thing I want to do is be stuck with Killian at 30,000 feet in the air.

Kenan tosses a buttered toast across the table. “At ten, so eat up.” I pick up the toast and take a small bite, looking around his house.

“Your family plantation is nice.”

Kenan smiles, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Wish I could take credit, but I’m afraid that scary motherfucker right there.” He points toward a painted portrait of a middle-aged man dressed in soldier attire. He resembles Kenan in a way. Loud features but timid eyes. “Would probably haunt me if I did.”

I chuckle, guessing it’s his great-great-times however many-grandfather. I didn’t know much about Kenan’s family line, but my knowledge on my own is limited, so I don’t find it strange.

I pick up my phone and dial Hope again. When it goes straight to voicemail, I flip my camera on and snap a shot of Kenan’s back turned to me, his ripped muscles flexing as he flips bacon in the pan. Grinning, I click the plus sign on Instagram and choose a filter. I type out the caption His meat with a water splash and bacon emoji before pressing upload. We both slip into conversation while we eat breakfast.