Cruel War (The Gilded Sovereign 1)

“What the hell was that?” Rukaiya’s voice breaks the trance I’m in, but it’s as if Ares has magical powers that keep me grounded, I feel like I can’t move my feet. His words weren’t an empty threat. I have a feeling that when Ares says he’s going to do something he doesn’t back down.

And I might be crazy, but right down in my gut, everything clenches at the thought of Ares touching me in places I haven’t felt pleasure in a while. Maybe that’s why my body is hot from the interaction, it’s been too long.

“He’s an asshole,” I tell my best friend, and it’s as if he can hear me because he turns to regard me once more. The other two guys flanking him both glance over their shoulders, too, and I swear on my life, I see their eyes glow with something supernatural. Shaking my head, I attempt to clear it of the crazy thoughts and look at my best friend. “Let’s go to class.”

9

Ares

The moment I step foot in the house, I hear it. Fucking music blaring as if we’re at a concert. I spent years wishing I could be like Philipe: go to concerts, meet bands, and live the party lifestyle. He’s constantly heading out to different events, which bodes well for me because I get VIP tickets to all the events.

I hit the stairs to the first floor where his room is located and shove open his bedroom door. I’m met with the sight of my brother getting head from some blonde bimbo. She’s so engrossed in her task that she doesn’t notice me slump myself into the burgundy leather wingback chair at his desk.

His gaze meets mine, a smirk playing at his lips, and pleasure written all over his face. He grips her hair, fisting the long golden strands, and shoves his hips upward, causing her to gag and gurgle around him.

“Stop being a dick,” I bite out, and the muffled scream that comes from his companion causes me to chuckle. He comes hard, with a groan of satisfaction that bounces around the room.

When he’s done, he jerks away from her as if he were in a daze, and now, he’s finally seeing her clearly. She shifts toward me, her blue eyes widen in shock, and I can’t help but offer her a little wave, making her blush a bright red that would put apples to shame.

“Get out, we’re done,” Philipe tells her, zipping up his jeans.

“What?” Her face is a picture of shock and annoyance.

He rises, rounding the chair, and finds her purse lying on his bed. Tossing it toward her, he offers another smile. “I said, get out. We’re done.”

I watch the show, intrigued by my brother. Even though we’re not that far apart in age, he’s an asshole of note; whereas, I’m kinder to the girls I bring home. Sometimes.

“You’re every bit the asshole they told me you would be,” she throws back in an attempt to insult Philipe, leaning in to press her manicured fingernail to his chest.

“And you’re every bit the cock hungry whore I heard you were. Now, unless you’re going to suck my brother’s dick, I suggest you get out,” he taunts. Ignoring her fury, he turns and heads to his desk. I watch the blonde huff from his bedroom, slamming the door so loudly, I wonder how it hasn’t come off its hinges.

“Well, that was entertaining,” I chuckle. “You should come home more often. It’s not every day I see a girl running from the house in tears.”

“Like you don’t break any hearts,” he tells me as he glances over his shoulder at me, and I shrug in response since he’s right. “So, how was Dahlia’s introduction to the Sovereign? Did you take her to the church?”

“I haven’t taken her to the church yet, but she knows something is up. We saw her at school again today, made introductions. She’s a feisty one.”

“And that makes your dick hard.” It’s not a question, so I don’t offer a response, but he’s not wrong. I loved the way she fought back. “Take her to the church, find out more, we need as much information about her as we can get. I reckon that the grandmother of hers has been spewing lies.”

“She’s definitely not scared of us… yet.”

“You think?” He arches a brow, settling in the chair opposite me with a cigarette hanging from between his lips. A flick of the lighter burns cherry red, and soon, there’s a scent of smoke wafting in the air.

“Dad will kill you if he knew you were smoking in here,” I tell him.

Philipe shrugs nonchalantly. He’s always just done whatever he wants. I’m not shocked, but when he turns to me, he tugs off his shirt, showing me the dark ink on his left pectoral. The crown that sits there forces me to my feet, and I’m inches from him.