Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
People are shouting. Screaming. More bodies swarm my bedroom, but these are older men. Bodyguards. My vision blurs too much to count how many are here, but our security detail quickly separates Phoenix and Justin, wrenching them to their feet.
“What the fuck, Justin?!” I scream at him from the ground.
Justin’s nose flares, and he points accusingly at my little brother. “That shit started it, Tom.”
“I highly doubt that. And that shit is my little brother.”
“Our little brother,” Eliot says, storming into the room while buttoning his pants. He was probably getting head in his bedroom as chaos reigned in mine.
Phoenix is trying to wrestle out of my bodyguard’s restraint. “I won’t! Okay, Ian. I’ve cooled the fuck off.” He hasn’t cooled off at all, and it shouldn’t make me smile. But I love how hot he burns. His intense eyes keep darting over to me.
Ben glowers. His bodyguard has a protective hand on his chest, preventing him from charging Justin. “Tell them what you said to me,” Ben growls. “Tell them, you fucking coward.”
“Speak,” Eliot sneers.
Justin raises his hands. “I didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”
Fuuuuck. He went after Harriet? “Get the fuck out,” I snarl.
“Make that everyone,” I hear Beckett from the doorway.
Then Charlie yells from the hall, “Everyone out! Party is over!!”
Justin doesn’t move. Not with Eliot obstructing his pathway out the door. Eliot’s bodyguard and mine—the Wreath brothers—are on the tips of their toes, ready to pounce between us and Justin.
Spots dance in my vision, and I’m trying to focus back on Phoenix. I can’t until he’s inches from my face.
“Tom?” His palm hovers near my jaw, and his voice carries alarm. I think he looks distraught? At least, I’m going with that.
“I’m fine—” I start.
“Repeat it,” Ben snaps at Justin, cutting our attention to him. “Repeat what you fucking said.”
Is Ben worried I’ll think he overreacted if I don’t know the exact details? Because anyone going after Harriet is justification enough to lay them on the floor. And yeah, this is coming from me. I’m the only one who gets to pick on her.
Justin’s muscles flex. His skin purples on his jaw and cheek, and his lip has been badly busted open. He wipes at his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. His shredded shirt dangles off his shoulder. Ben’s tee didn’t fare any better. I can see my brother’s left pec and all six abs. Some reddened spots mar his torso, but his face isn’t beat up like Justin’s.
“I made a joke about the short blonde with the big rack,” Justin admits. “It was a joke.”
Ben glowers. “‘Put her on the counter and she’s at the perfect height to motorboat me.’ That’s what you said, you motherfucker!” He has to scream the words because the Wreath brothers are pulling Justin out of my bedroom. They’re trained to deescalate. I can’t tell who wants to kill Justin more—Ben or Eliot.
Probably Eliot. He’s the one who follows our bodyguards out and threatens Justin’s entire Dupont lineage.
Ben stays in the bedroom.
Phoenix is breathing hard, his glare pinned to Justin’s back. But he isn’t abandoning my side. The commotion dies down as more of our guests leave. I collapse on the foot of my bed.
My eye waters, throbs, and it hurts to blink.
“Tom?” Ben’s chest caves in a heavy breath.
I sit up lightning-fast so he doesn’t think I’m mortally wounded. “I’m fine, dude,” I say with a raised hand. “All in one piece.”
He looks around our bedroom, blinking a ton like he’s coming out of an angry fog. He has the shortest fuse of all my brothers. Ironic, really. Since he wouldn’t hurt a fly. People aren’t off-limits, though. At least people who deserve his wrath.
He picks up glass shards on the floor. From my painting. The ornate frame is bent, and the canvas is clearly ripped. I don’t care as much as I care about him.
“Hey,” I call out to Ben. “It’s not a party unless something gets broken, Ben Pirrip. You should have seen when we burned our couch.” I laugh. “Good times.”
Phoenix might be doing an eyeroll. I can’t tell through the hazy vision. “Your friends are pieces of shit.”
“Ex-friend,” I say. “He is permanently banned from every guest list from now until eternity. And in my defense, Justin had a girlfriend last I remembered. So maybe they broke up and he megamorphed into a monster-size asshole.”
Ben places all the glass shards on the dresser.
“Leave it, dude,” I say. “I can sweep it up, and we have a cleaning service coming in the morning.”
“Your painting—”
“It was meant to be destroyed,” I cut in. “It’s called Destruction. You don’t need to get me another one.”
He nods, but his shoulders look painfully constricted. His continued panic is a shotgun blast to my sternum.
He’s fine, I tell myself.