Cruel War (The Gilded Sovereign 1)

“I came back to finish off what you started,” the man utters, pure hate filling his words, and I’m even more confused. I’ve never seen him before.

“You should never have come back here. I told you—”

“You no longer rule my life,” the stranger bites out, interrupting my father. His rage is like an entity of its own. I want to go out there to face this asshole, but I know Dad will lose his shit, and I’ll be grounded.

Frustration gnaws at me, anxiety twisting painfully in my stomach. My gut heavy, filled with the pain of not knowing how to help them. I can’t let them know I’m here.

“Alexander.” This comes from my mother, who I realize was the person I heard leaving the bedroom moments ago. “Why are you here? You walked out, left us,” she tells him in a calm tone, ever the peacemaker.

“You forced my hand,” the man, Alexander, says.

“We did no such thing; the Sovereign is sacred.”

“Sacred my fucking ass, this ends tonight.” Alexander’s words are filled with rage.

I sneak a peek around the edge of the wall that’s hiding me. When my gaze lands on the scene, I have to fight the urge to shout. The man is now pointing the gun at my mother who doesn’t look scared at all.

“You’re really going to do this?” She asks him as if they’re old friends. As if she knew he was coming here and that he’s only waving a fucking gun around for the fun of it.

“This wasn’t the life I wanted. It’s wrong, this fucked up society you think governs the country, the world, you’re all using it for your own benefit, not for the average man out on the street,” the man utters with loathsome undertones.

“That’s it, son,” Dad speaks, and I’m torn back to the present. “Etienne, are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” my best friend grins playfully, and I know he’s as excited as I am for this.

“Once your birthdays roll around, you will each receive a copy of the book. It’s not long now that each of you turns twenty-one, and you’ll have access to contacts anywhere in the world,” Philipe tells us with a satisfied smirk.

“I think we should have a party this weekend since I’ve already invited a few people,” I inform him. My brother is older, more responsible, and even though he’s a lot more level headed than I am, there are times he lets loose.

The moment he left, he built a life outside the stuffy suits we’ve grown up with. Every time we’ve had an event at home or at the school, it’s been formal, black tie, which is bullshit.

My brother nods. “Perhaps. I’ll think about it.” The green of my brother’s eyes shimmer with curiosity at my sudden need for a party, but I know what’s bothering him right now—wondering if he can ever fill our father’s shoes.

“Don’t fuck up the house,” Dad warns us as he inks Etienne on the bicep. The ink is dark, mingled with the crimson of blood. I watch mesmerized by the movement and sound of the gun whirring.

“Are we adding any more Sovereigns after Etienne and Tarian?” I question. Even though we’re the main part of the Sovereign, there are more across the world. Each of the men who join are well-known—senators, presidents, actors, and musicians.

They use the contacts we’ve collected over the years to move up the ladder, so to speak. We own everything: government, law enforcement, even the Cartel answers to us. If we don’t sign off on it, a deal doesn’t happen.

Philipe shrugs, glancing between Dad and me before responding, “I don’t believe so. For now, the four of us will become the new leaders, and the rest of them are required to obey the orders that come down from the head of the table.”

In each country, the Sovereign have their own societies; some cities have up to twelve: all between the ages of twenty-one and thirty. The older ones are Elders, leading the younger. But here in America, we rule them all. We set out the law, and they follow.

I’m lost in thought as I hear the buzzing of the needle, which soothes the tension in my shoulders. Responsibility comes with having the tattoo, being one of the Crowns. Even though I enjoy parties, and I do stupid shit at times like fighting at Billy’s, there’s always something that brings me back to the dungeon, to the church.

Knowing I’m part of something my ancestors started so many years ago is jarring because I have to uphold the Lancaster name. Even though Philipe is also at the table, I feel as if I have a lot to prove being the younger sibling.

I glance at Etienne, watching as the needle dances along his skin. Thankfully, I have two of my best friends along for the ride. I don’t know if I ever could have done this alone.