by Amo Jones
“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.
Going back to Killian’s to grab all of my things was nerve wracking. I didn’t want to bump into him and part of me knew that I probably would. Killian wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make me feel awkward.
Only he wasn’t there, and his house sitter had already packed up all of my things and left my suitcase at the bottom of the stairs.
“That’s everything?” Kenan asks, picking up my suitcase and putting it into the trunk of the Range Rover.
“Yeah.” I slide my glasses over my eyes, taking my AirPods from my pocket. This trip is going to be long.
Arriving at the airport, we all shuffle onto the 747. I stay close to Kenan and Val, who are following me up the stairs like protective, loyal wolves.
“Hey!” Val reaches for my hand as we enter the cabin. “Ignore it.”
It takes me a few seconds before I figure out she’s talking about Killian and Callan. Their names rhyme. How have I just realized this?
I don’t say anything as she passes me and heads down one of the aisles. I make my way down, passing the lounges and scattered seats. I pass the middle bar before pausing when I notice that all of the people I want to avoid are in the back.
I turn and take a seat on one of the curved lounges with seat belts attached to it. This plane is in the extreme section of opulence. It’s hard to handle.
Kenan drops down beside me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, Ken. You can stop checking now.”
He scrunches his face. “No! No to Ken.”
“What?” I deadpan. “So you can give me ridiculous pet names but I can’t give you one?”
He chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. It has grown out a lot since I first met him, falling over his face.
“I need to give you a haircut.”
Kenan winks. “Deal.”
He relaxes back in his chair and I squeeze my belt on, tucking into my oversized Givenchy hoodie. Callan laughs out loud. I find my teeth grinding together, so I pull out my AirPods and do one last scroll through Instagram and Facebook.
I wish I didn’t.
I pause on Callan’s photo that she took of Killian. He’s flipping off the camera, his eyebrows pulled in. He’s peering right at the lens. The photo is close and looks like it’s taken from her sitting on top of him.
I quickly close Instagram and pop my pods in before flicking through my playlist on Spotify.
I press play on Halsey “You Should be Sad.”
I jolt awake to the plane now dark, with nothing but neon lighting that lines the pathway to get from one end to the other. Removing my belt, I take out my pods and toss them across the chair. Walking to the front of the plane, and pointedly ignoring the whole back, I make my way to the bar in the middle. Kenan is talking with Val, who is drinking. They’re seated at a small booth to the right side of the bar with cards stretched out between them.
“Sass! Sit!” Val calls out. I grab a bottled water and slide in beside Ken.
“What are you playing?”
“Sixers.” Val grins at me.
I freeze with the bottle just short of my mouth. Perse told me about this game. You would never catch me playing it.
“Wanna play?” Val asks, dealing out their hand.
I shake my head. “Pass. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
Kenan tilts his head. “You’re still hungover. You need the hair of the dog.”
“The hair of the what?” I ask, confused.
“The hair of the dog. It’s a saying. To cure a hangover, you need to shoot something strong. Try it.”
“Pass!” I repeat, sliding out of the booth. “You two have fun.”
They wave me off as I make my way back down through the aisles of seats. It’s so dark that I have to keep my eyes fixated on the soft blue light that leads you down.
A hand comes out to my arm and tugs me down. I shove up off his chest. “Get off me,” I seethe, shoving him away.
He tears his hoodie down until it rests around his neck. His hand comes to the back of my neck, forcing my eyes onto his. My throat clogs from being under his palm again. I hate it. I hate him.
“You’re a fucking liar, Little Dragon.”
He releases me and I fall onto the ground.
His hoodie goes back up and his head tilts back to the ceiling as if that little encounter didn’t happen.
I want to yell at him. Punch him. Do all sorts of shit to him, but instead, I go back to my seat and curl up with a playlist.
Landing back in New Orleans was bittersweet. I’m happy to be home, back on US soil, but I can’t shake the hostility I felt back in Kiznitch off my back. If I knew what I had done, I could correct it, or at the very least talk about it. I hate when people don’t communicate their problems. It never settles when you do that. It’s froth that never liquidates, remaining on the surface.
Once we’re in one of the cars that are driving us to the main property in New Orleans, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I reach into it, noticing an unknown number. “Hello?”
“Saskia?” Brian, Hope’s husband, breathes through the line. “Have you seen Hope?”
“What?” I look round the car. “No, why?” I lower my voice, unsure again about the energy that’s around me.
“She left for Kiznitch two days ago and now I can’t get a hold of her.”
My eyebrows knit. “I—” I pause. My blood turns cold. “I’ll call you back.”
Scrolling through my contact list, I open up a text to Killian.
Me: That night. What happened?
I wait. And wait. Until we’re bouncing down the long driveway to the plantation.
I open up another text.
Me: My godmother is missing.
Chewing on my lip nervously, I inwardly scold myself for opening up to Killian so easily regardless of the fact that I’m almost certain I can’t trust him.
Why is it that no matter how hard we try, we find ourselves back together? It’s like we’re a tragedy with no destination.
Kill: Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me? He finally replies. I swing open my door and make my way through the clearing behind the main house that’s on the property—also known as one of The Brother’s houses. I don’t know which one, to be honest. I thought it was Delila’s, but her mansion is at the back.
Running my hands over my arms and desperate for a shower, I’m jogging toward the RV when Delila calls out to me from behind.
“Saskia?”
I turn around, not wanting to see anyone right now because I need to find Hope. “Yeah?”
“Come with me.” She gestures, curling her fingers and heading toward the side of the main house that shelters the rest of the property. I want to say that it’s King’s house, since he’s the son of Kaius.
The night is cooler, the dark sky bleeding into the sunset.
“Where we going?” I ask, following her footsteps. We must walk for twenty minutes before another small path leads off the dense forest. Flower beds line the pathway with Dragon flowers, blossoming perfectly. I watch as the wild forest slowly melts into a modernized home built from glass and dark mahogany wood.
I pause.
Vines of roses wrap around the two pillars at the front near the door, the walls glass and the wood that holds them together dark. There’s a small white rocking chair at the front with a small mink blanket covering the top.
Delila watches my reaction.
“What’s this?” I ask, going back to her.
“This is the Dragavei house. In other words, yours.”
My eyes close. “Delila, I need to ask you something.” I think I’m in shock. “How am I a Dragavei?”
Delila tilts her head, studying me. “Your mother.”
I go back to the house. “But growing up, we didn’t have a life like this. Mom, she wasn’t rich. I actually thought that when you came to visit me, that I would have to pay their dues by doing Midnight Mayhem’s cleaning or something. My parents were nothing special in this world.” I shake my head, laughing. When Delila doesn’t answer, I quickly look back at her. “Please don’t take that as I’m ungrateful for this, because I am. I know that you can’t talk to me about everything, but I still have questions.”
Something flashes over Delila’s eyes. I couldn’t decipher what that was and before I could, it was gone. She smiles at me. “Well, I guess you’ll start learning that there was more to your heritage than what you’ve been told.”
She steps forward, dropping the keys into the palm of my hand. “Your family trust and credit cards are on the counter in the kitchen. I would really prefer if you stick with your team while we’re on the road, but this is your home now.”
I chew on my lip. “Thank you.” I’m still overwhelmed.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Delila murmurs, walking away. “Money isn’t something that you should be thankful for.”
That’s something someone rich would say.
I finally make my way up the porch, squeezing open the door. Lemon and lavender with cedarwood engulf me instantly, and I step inside and take in the wholesome architecture. White stairs lead up to the second level, and a kitchen sits at the back. Red bar stools are tucked beneath the island with equally red light fittings that hang from the wall. The dining room leads off the kitchen and tucked at the back is the lounge room. A comfortable three-seater and two-seater are facing each other with an open fireplace sitting in the middle. There’s a large flat screen TV hanging on the wall above the fireplace, and plants scattered around in modern clay pots. There are open sliding doors that join the lounge to the porch outside, so I open them wide, inhaling the crisp air as a burnt orange sky is slowly swallowed by the night. There’s a large fire pit in the middle of the backyard with LED lights that hang delicately around the porch, reaching out to the firepit. There’s even a complete outdoor setting and an inbuilt BBQ.
I already know that this will be my favorite place.
I make my way back inside, quickly checking out the bedrooms upstairs. Three spacious and modern style—all furnished and decorated to fit the overall theme of the house. I head back downstairs, checking the double door stainless steel fridge. Everything is stocked up, as though someone was tasked to make sure it was ready for my arrival.
I take out an iced-coffee and peek through the papers that are on the dark marble table. Figures after figures peer back at me.
I didn’t even know this much money could exist. Did every family have a trust account? Likely. Am I the only Dragavei left?
I lean back in my chair, overwhelmed. How could my mom have all of this money and allow us to live the way we did in Kiznitch?
Confused, I tuck everything away and pick up the credit cards, pushing them into my back pocket. Once I’m back upstairs, I hit dial on Brian again. I won’t be sleeping until I know where the hell Hope is and that she isn’t the person Killian hurt while we were in Kiznitch.
Brian answers on the fifth ring. “Saskia? We found her. She’s okay.”
“You found her?” I breathe out, leaning back on the chair. “Is she okay?”
“She will be okay. She had issues in customs, and they wouldn’t let her out of the country. She’s on her way back to the Keys now and said that she will call you.”
“That’s good! Okay, give her a hug from me when you see her.”
“I will.” His tone is normal, unnerving. Same old Brian.
“Bye!”
I hang up after being so overwhelmed. Massive sigh of relief, taking in my new bedroom with new, relaxed eyes. The master bedroom is classic and cold. Pure white walls, a floor-to-ceiling glass window that overlooks the front of the house. An ensuite with a claw tub and rainforest shower. Everything is white and clean and unlived in.
After having a quick shower and finding the Egyptian black cotton towels, I slip into my new bed and drift to sleep.
It’s said that every single person will meet someone who will test them. When I say test them, I mean this one person is directly planted in that other person’s life specifically to test them. Saskia Dragavei is that person for me.
“How do you know what she told you is the truth?” King asks, sliding the glass
of whiskey over to me.
We’re in his plantation house that’s on the property. I have one here, too, but rarely use it. When we’re not traveling, I’m back in New York. My dad would spend a lot of time there when I was a kid, taking me with him, so I found a deep connection to the city from a young age. As soon as I was eighteen, I purchased an apartment there. We don’t get much time off or away from this life, but when I do, I spend it there.
“Because Delila doesn’t talk shit.” I shoot back the whiskey and reach for the bottle, pouring another.
“True,” King agrees.
I swallow past the bile in my throat. I should have known. I should have been smarter. I should have known.
“What are we doing about it?” King asks. “Perse picks up on this shit and she’s already grilling my ass about your sudden change toward Sass.”
“So tell her.” I gesture toward the hallway with my glass. “Might make her understand more and stop fucking shoving past me every time she sees me. Bro code ain’t got shit on girl code. Chicks are feisty as fuck.”
King chuckles. “Nah, no way. I’m not bringing her into this. She’s too close.”
I understand why King wouldn’t want her involved. She is too close, not just to Saskia, but to me. She would inhale everything with her heart, not her brain.
King leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “And how do you feel about it?”
For the first time in all of my life, I don’t want to trick anyone into thinking that I’m telling the truth. “I feel fucked up about it, dawg.”
The amount of times that I’ve noticed Delila looking sad lately is around one-hundred. When I came into this, she was always so classy, prim and witty. Now, she’s like a shell of the person she once was.
“I thought I’d give you all an update on the dates that we are looking to go back on the road. I know that a lot of you are disappointed that we didn’t get to finish the international tour—”
“—we’re mainly wondering why it started in the first place?” Maya snaps. Only Maya would step to her mom like that.