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Destructive King (Mafia Royals 3)

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“IZZY EUSTICE ABANDONATO!”

“And there it is.” I snapped my fingers. “Middle named by Scary Dad. Have a good night, sis.” I winked as she shot to her feet, reaching behind her and pulling out a knife from the waist of her jeans.

Mom reached for her wine with a dramatic sigh. “Put the knife down, Iz.”

I made a face at Iz once I was behind Dad and then strolled out of the room and into the cool night air.

I was about halfway to the pool house when footsteps sounded behind me. I hung my head. “Iz, if you’re planning on sneaking up on me, do it better!”

But when I turned, it wasn’t Izzy.

It was Annie.

Slightly out of breath.

Her cheeks flushed as her eyes met mine. “I figured my chances of survival increased if I followed rather than stayed.”

“Me? Safer?” I flashed her an angry grin. “Not a chance.” I took a step toward her. “Did you forget our little… bargain?”

“B-bargain?”

“We aren’t necessarily… friends.” I tilted my head. “And yet you keep acting like that’s still on the table despite what I say.”

“But—” Her eyebrows drew together as her forehead furrowed in confusion, and then she sucked in a deep breath and steeled her expression. “I don’t need to be your friend to stay safe from Izzy wielding a knife, and I sure as hell don’t need a friend to learn how to defend myself. I’m not inviting myself into your stupid pool house because I want to eat popcorn and brush your hair.” She shifted her weight on her feet. “It’s not that.”

“Then what the hell is it?”

“I’m lonely!” she yelled and then covered her mouth with her hands like she’d just admitted to kicking puppies.

And something in my chest cracked.

Because I knew that look.

I knew that feeling.

I’d been lonely for the last year.

Existing but refusing to enjoy my actual existence.

Waking up every day, wondering when things would begin to feel different. Lying to my friends that I was okay, lying to my family that I wasn’t still in severe pain, my heart in need of triage.

So lonely?

I understood loneliness probably as much as I understood rage.

If rage was my soulmate.

Loneliness was my heart.

“Come on,” I barked. “Can’t have my dad seeing us argue by the pool again; he’ll just push me in and try to drown me.”

She gasped.

“I’m kidding, Annie.” I stomped toward the house and pulled open the door. “After you.”

She moved around awkwardly, wringing her hands in front of her as I grabbed the Apple TV remote, and tossed it to her. “Watch whatever, drink whatever, but if you touch my fruit snacks, I’m going to end you.” I started running up the stairs, only to stop and look back. “And if you even think about turning on Hallmark or some shit where they’re all in a small town, and someone owns a damn goat farm, there will be blood.”

I left her gaping after me.

And hated myself a little bit more as I stripped in my bedroom, made my way into the bathroom, turned on the hot shower, and remembered the last time I was in there with her.

Naked breasts sliding down my back.

Legs wrapped around my waist.

Hot mouths with velvet tongues tasting and retreating.

I leaned my forehead against the tile wall and reached for myself. I imagined Claire. Her lips, her smile, even her laugh.

And slammed my free hand against the tile over and over again when each time, Annie’s face took her place.

The guilt resurfaced.

The need for revenge.

But this time, I didn’t stop.

I gripped myself.

My lust and anger boiling out of control, spilling over into the chasm where my heart used to be one.

And with one damned whisper, uttered her name. “Annie.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Life is constant uncertainty. The only certainty is death.” —Sadhguru

Ash

I watched her sulk. The only difference was, this time, it was my job to be as physically close as possible, so nobody gave her shit. Only I’d run off to grab a coffee and decided that not a lot could happen across the lawn; besides, it had all been part of the plan, right? Count her tears, measure them against her, strike with finality.

Instead, I was intrigued.

And if completely honest, pissed at myself for my own damn mistake this last week, and chicken shit for not admitting it.

She wasn’t the same girl she had been last year, and it bothered me that she was stronger than I was used to.

I meant what I’d said.

She was alone here on campus. I wanted her to experience what that felt like, the utter abandonment of everyone and everything you loved, the security, the knowledge, but instead, I was watching her.

And she smiled.

Over a fucking donut.

Minutes ago, she’d been the weak sniffing creature I came to expect before she left for Italy, and then she’d straightened her shoulders, marched to the cafe next to where I picked her up on weekdays, ordered a donut, and was in the process of making it her bitch.



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