Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Coeur-de-Pierre is a postcard from hell. Stone buildings, narrow streets, a church steeple piercing the gray sky. Beautiful from a distance.
But I know this place is rotting from the inside out. Every smile hides a threat. Every handshake is a deal you didn't know you were making. People here don't live; they survive, clawing at each other for scraps of power. Power for what? La Maison du Mal was built here, but its evil wasn't bred here. We just come back every year and pretend to remember our history. My father talks about me stepping up soon, taking over his role. I can't think of anything worse than turning into him.
“Come on,” Camille tugs at my sleeve. “Everyone's waiting.”
Fucking great.
We pile into the waiting cars, Camille dragging me into hers. Her blonde hair falls perfectly to the side of her face as she tosses it over her shoulder. Coeur-de-Pierre may be lifeless, but we feed it well. The people here thrive. They're just the worst parts of humanity.
Camille slips onto my lap, and I lean back, my hands resting neutrally on her hips.
Her arms hook around my neck. She's grown since I last saw her. Filled out. If she was my type, I’d say she was perfect. She isn’t.
“We're to get married one day, Delacroix.”
I give her nothing, my eyes dropping to her lips.
She rolls her hips against me, desperate for a reaction. Anything.
Nothing.
It takes more than a pretty face and a good body to get my attention.
“Are you going to marry me one day?” she bats her eyes at me as if that shit would work.
No. “Yeah.”
It's what I've always been told. It's part of the plan.
She kisses me. I feel nothing. A void. No pull, no spark. She's just a reminder of the prison waiting for me after graduation.
The town rolls past the windows. Cobblestone streets, ancient buildings with shutters the color of dried blood. Locals pause to watch our motorcade pass. They know who we are. Everyone here knows.
Camille won't shut up. She's rambling about the charity gala her mother's hosting and the dress she bought for me to see her in.
I tune her out, focusing on anything but her.
“Are you even listening?” Camille's voice cuts through my thoughts.
My eyes shift to her. “Yeah. Gala. Dress. Got it.”
Her pout could rival Khloe's. “You used to be more excited to see me.”
I don’t remember ever being excited to see Camille.
We turn down a narrow street, pulling up to the estate. Not our house. My father's house. The Delacroix fortress is all stone and iron gates, but it’s to distract you from all the secrets. They live in the rot of the earth, festering through generations.
Guards flank the entrance and nod as we drive past.
“I'll call you later,” Camille says, squeezing my hand. “We need to talk about our future.”
Our future. Like I have any say in it.
“Sure.”
She kisses my cheek before sliding out of the car. I watch her walk away, hips swaying in that deliberate way girls do when they know they're being watched.
Atlas leans over from the other car. “You're fucked, man.”
“Nah, I'm not.”
The front door of my father's car opens, and he climbs out like he owns the fucking world. In some ways, he does. In others, he's just another monster who wishes he did.
He takes Khloe's hand, and she looks up at him like he's the greatest man alive. I read somewhere that a father is a girl's first love. I'll make damn sure Khloe never falls for that shit. The last thing she needs as a first love is Alderic fucking Delacroix.
Coeur-de-Pierre is a ruse. A quiet life away from our real one, but no one really exists here. It's just a place we return to, a place to touch base on family business.
This year is different.
Atlas disappears the same way Camille did, and just as I’m about to slip out, my driver’s voice stops me.
“Asher.”
“Yeah?”
“You alright, son?”
He's the only one who ever asks like he means it.
“Always.”
It's a lie. Just like the rest of my life.
The leather of his seat creaks as he turns, but I don't look at him. I don't need to. I know he's about to drop some hard truths. “You going out tonight?”
I straighten the Rolex beneath the cuff of my hoodie, finally meeting his eyes. “Yes. Why? Got a cute date?”
He's not a man of many smiles, but he gives me half of one. “You wish.”
I don't. I trust him more than anyone, even Atlas, who still thinks with his dick.
“Remember, Asher, this is different. It's not as easy as it is in the States. There are eyes everywhere here. People might not know what's growing in their own backyard, but they've whispered about it.”
“Don't worry, old friend. I know what I'm doing.”
Do I? I can say it as many times as I want, but that won't make it true. All I know for sure is there's a war coming, and I have to be ready.