I decide to play it out, because she wouldn’t expect it of me. “Then we have a deal,” I say, ready to wrap this shitshow up.
“For now,” she says ominously. No doubt, a little realignment in the future will provide her a nice opportunity to bring up whatever favor is brewing in her eyes.
I’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.
The first thing I do when I stand up is retrieve my pistol, holstering it beneath my jacket. The second thing I do is turn on my phone.
52 unread messages.
15 new voicemails.
“Shit,” I hiss, already knowing something is wrong. I thumb open Tristian’s name first, watching his messages ping through, but all the words are a murky blur. Mostly, I just see the number.
T: 237 237 237 237 237 237 237 237 237 237 237 237 237 237 237
“Mayhem…” I bolt out of the warehouse so fast that Things One and Two assume a defensive position, like they’re expecting an all out assault. Guess I can’t blame them. It makes it really inconvenient when I get to the dilapidated, sorry excuse for a garage and find they’ve blocked me in.
“Motherfucker!” I growl, kicking the tire of their big, dumb, completely fucking predictable black SUV. I can hear them hoofing it behind me, probably confused and on high alert, but I don’t take this into question when I double back, belligerently demanding, “Move your five-door fucking cliché! I have to get out of here!”
“What is wrong with you?” Yolanda’s face screws up in baffled fury. “You said this was neutral territory, that no one would—”
“My…” Lady. Queen. Basically, wife… “Story! She’s at the hospital having the baby. I’m missing it!” I bark, fully prepared to push that SUV out of the way myself. God, please let her be having the baby and not something else.
But Yolanda’s face goes blank, eyes flying wide, and suddenly she’s the one stepping into action, grabbing my arm and directing me toward the cars. “Get in,” she says, wrenching the passenger side open. To The Things, she snaps, “Hurry up! And stow those rifles.” I’m panic-rushing so fucking hard that I obey instinctually. Someone’s telling me to sit so I can get to where I need to be—I fucking do it. Yolanda has us tearing out of there before I come to my senses. “You’d be a menace to the roads,” she explains, shooting me a quick look as she speeds toward my territory. “Tell me where to go and let me do the work.”
I rattle off the name of the birthing center, which means functionally nothing to someone who’s not native—and probably less to someone who is. Luckily one of the Things is ready, shoving up from the back seat to slam his phone into the dash holder. A GPS map comes up, guiding Yolanda to the place.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to reach Tristian or Rath, and having zero luck. “Fucking fuck of a motherfuck!”
Yolanda shushes me. “It’s just a few more minutes. I’m sure everything is fine.”
My voice is strained as I explain, “Story isn’t due for another week, at least.” I’d made plans to pull back with work starting tomorrow in preparation, staggering responsibilities with the Kings I don’t totally fucking hate. That means Tristian is probably freaking the hell out, Rath is likely lost without someone calm to direct him, and Story…
God, she must be losing her shit.
“Yolanda, I mean this with all due respect.” I turn to her, completely aware of what my face is doing. “If you don’t drive faster, then I’m going to shoot someone.”
She slams her foot down on the gas, sending Thing Two lurching back into his seat. “This is your first?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say distractedly, thumbing through the texts.
She makes a pensive sound. “Is it true what they say? You share your woman with two other men?”
My face screws up, because it sounds dirty when it’s said like that. “She’s not a goddamn gaming console. We don’t pass her around like an object. We’re family.”
She doesn’t seem offended by my tone, which doesn’t bode well for me. She must really want something big. She also seems to notice my skepticism. “I respect a man who knows the value of family, Payne. And I mean the real value of family. Not this pompous legacy nonsense all you Kings have such a hard-on for.” She glances back at the Things, snorting, “Kings. Can you believe it? Bunch of arrogant, privileged pricks who need to fantasize about leading a monarchy to feel important. Where I come from, we just call them politicians.”