Страница 63 из 83
Nate
When I say shit to Tillie, it spills out. There’s no fucking filter that it goes through first to have a second thought on what I say or even how the fuck I say it.
I fall onto the bed. The queen bed that I always take whenever we’re at the cabin. Bishop, Brantley, and I are the only ones who always have a bedroom when we get here. We don’t have to fight over the other four rooms. It’s furnished with a queen bed and a fireplace, no TV. The whole point of being out here is to get away from the world. A fucking TV just replaces your world and gives you a false one. But Hector battled for the one downstairs so that got put in.
I kick the blankets off my body, my eyes drifting out the large windows. I prefer my room to Bishop’s because of these windows. They’re tinted heavily so the morning sun doesn’t assault you as much as if they weren’t. Should I have let her in here? I settle on no. We have too much on the line, including going against our fucking Godfather. Bishop is still not on board and refuses to allow us to conduct a plan to kill Hector. I get it. Not only is Hector his old man, but he’s the fucking Godfather. You can’t kill someone like Hector without triggering the fucking apocalypse. So he has asked for time. Time to build an army against Hector, a case, but the only thing about building an army against Hector is the fact that we have to share our reservations. To our enemies, that’s a fucking weakness.
I rub my hands over my face and then grip onto my cock. I should just sneak into Tillie’s room and fuck her to sleep. But I won’t. Instead, my hand dips under my briefs and I slip my thumb over my wet tip, squeezing roughly and thinking about blood dripping down her thighs.
The sun pounds down on me as Eminem raps through my earbuds. I pick up my pace, ru
Tillie is standing over my head, blocking the sun. “Hungry?”
I look at her pussy. “Starving.”
She rolls her eyes and leaves. I roll onto my side. “Hey!”
She doesn’t stop, because she never fucking does. “Breakfast is ready, Nate.”
I chuckle, ripping my shirt off and tossing it across the grass. I make my way inside, stacking pancakes on my plate with bacon. I love her cooking. I don’t know what it is, but when Tillie cooks, it’s like she creates fucking magic. I push my fork into the cakey fluff and swipe it into the maple.
“You sleep well?” I ask, winking at her.
“Fine.”
She drinks a bottle of water, wrapping her arms around her body protectively. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but I already know. She wants justice served and I don’t have it in me to tell her that that might take a little longer than she was expecting.
Instead, I lean over, wrapping my fingers around the legs of her chair and pull her toward me. “Talk.”
Her eyes come to mine, and then she smiles, flashing me every fucking fake emotion she possibly could. “I’m fine.”
I laugh. “No, the fuck you ain’t…”
“Nate…” Bishop growls beside me.
I wave him off, going back to my pancakes and watch as she leaves the room.
“We need to talk about what’s going to happen on Friday…” he continues.
I lick my front teeth. “Why would he call a meet so soon?”
Brantley shoves his empty plate away, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “It can’t be good, and he specifically asked for Tillie to be present.”
“Bishop,” I growl, and the table falls silent.
Bishop’s eyes come to mine. “I know, brother, but I can’t. We can’t be reckless with it, either. You will get your revenge, but give me a minute.”
I swing my head back, my eyes catching the roof. Did he give my fucking i He kisses his two fingers and throws them up slightly. Baby Kay. It’s our thing. When she passed, it was our thing to do that. “Fine,” I grumble, swallowing the entire contents inside my glass. “But we need a plan and we need one fast.” I want to say that I want my shit ended on Friday. I want to fucking hand his ass to him on a silver platter, but I know it won’t happen. Not only because Bishop is being sensitive about it, but because he’s right. It’s going to take more than us wanting revenge to actually obtain our revenge, and we are Kings. The mother fucking Elite. The monsters people whisper about in fear because they’re too afraid to say our name out loud. He will get his retribution. It’s coming, but when it does—my eyes snap to Bishop, who is already watching me. Is that why he’s stalling too? He’s not ready? Because when we do go through with a plan, it’ll be Bishop who will be taking the throne. “And then there are The Rebels, rubbing up against Tillie…” Eli reminds us, and my eyes flash with rage. Bishop sits silently across the table. “That’s a plan that needs to go into motion. Remember, everything that we do from here is for our plan.” Bishop’s phone starts ringing and he snatches it off the table, his eyebrows furrowing. He swipes it and presses it to his ear. “Yeah?” Silence. I lick the maple syrup off my fingertips slowly as we all try to listen in. “Why?” he asks, his eyes narrowing in on me. “Yeah. Okay. Are you going to tell me why the erratic schedule with this meet?” Must be Hector, my eye twitches. “Alright. I’ll wait to hear back.” Then he hangs up before a “I’m just going to say it,” Ace mutters, tossing the crust of his toast onto the middle of the table. “I’m too old for this shit and totally fucking get why Saint bounced.” We don’t speak, and Brantley flinches at the mention of that name. He and Saint were cool, so I know it has nothing to do with that. Weird motherfucker. “Saint is fine…” Bishop nudges his head. “He’s happy.” “Well fuck, I want me some happy too!” Ace smirks, just as Bailey comes padding into the kitchen, groaning. She flicks the coffee pot on and leans over the sink, her mess of hair sticking up all over the place. “You all right there, Bails?” I ask, smirking. She flips me off.