Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“I told you. He’s fighting with Dahlia.” Jude slides my meds over with a bottle of water.
My mother, everyone.
Always making sure I take my pills—even when she’s disguised as a six-foot-five serial killer.
He’s probably Julian’s spy, the devil’s advocate part of my brain whispers.
Zip it, demon. Don’t you dare talk about my bro Jude like that.
Seriously, Jude hates Julian more than anyone and barely gets along with him. Different strokes for different dysfunctional families, I guess.
“But that’s something to celebrate, not mope about.” I grin and swallow the meds. “Yo, Kane! I can find you someone way better than Destiny!”
He shoots me a death glare over his shoulder. “Shut it, Pres.”
“Come on, you can’t possibly be a grumpy little shit because of her. She screams double agent. I have sources. I’ll have proof of her espionage any day now.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He dumps stir-fried rice on our plates with so much tension in his shoulders, it’s almost impressive that he doesn’t snap.
“Hey, what’s with the sad-orphanage presentation?” I point my fork at him. “Why are we being punished for the emotional damage inflicted by Dior?”
“Shut your mouth and eat.” He turns to the stove.
I make a face at his back. Jude quietly shakes his head at me like I’m a toddler holding a grenade.
I honestly don’t get why Kane is sulking. So Dinah is gone? Good riddance, for all I care. I never vibed with that girl.
Because she slept with Marcus, my inner demon whispers, cackling maniacally.
Nooo.
It’s because she’s untrustworthy and sketchy as fuck. And Kane knows it but refuses to see it because he’s smitten like a Disney princess.
It has absolutely nothing to do with that degenerate Marcus I refuse to think about.
We on the same page, demon? Good.
Kane fusses with whatever’s sizzling on the stove, half naked, with just joggers hanging low on his hips.
Kane actually hates getting naked. He’s always the first or last to shower and dresses faster than the speed of light. That’s because he doesn’t like people seeing the scars tangled with his serpent tattoos.
Around Jude and me, though, he doesn’t care. We’ve seen each other’s scars since we were kids. We were there when some of them happened—like Kane’s fresh lashes, courtesy of his dad’s punishments.
Eventually, we stopped asking and just offered silent support.
But that’s not why I’m watching him while chewing my food as if it owes me money.
Objectively speaking, Kane is attractive—handsome in the “neighbor who ruins the curve” kind of way. Not ethereal like me, obviously, but still easy on the eyes. Hot body. Massive dick. A certified panty-dropper with the ladies.
And yet…my cock doesn’t even twitch. Not a salute. Not a hiccup. Absolutely dormant.
Unlike what happened five days ago.
I shift uncomfortably because, apparently, just remembering that unorthodox incident is enough to make my traitorous dick stretch and make its presence known.
I tear my gaze from Kane and study Jude, who’s stuffing his face with rice. Jude’s rugged, the opposite of my pretty-boy aesthetic. We’re like a duo from a punchline—Prince Charming and the Resident Bad Boy.
And, okay, Jude is similar to Marcus in build, but not the face.
Marcus has that angular, predatory businessman look. Jude’s more “I hate everyone. Don’t talk to me.”
Yet still…nothing.
I even checked—purely scientific research—while Jude was showering after practice. Somewhat creepy, yes, but I needed data.
If I were into men, wouldn’t my dick choose one of my besties? They know my shit. I’d die for them. They’d die for me. Together, we’d be the most powerful threesome humanity has ever seen.
But nope.
My dick has friend-zoned Jude, Kane, and every other guy in existence into the next millennium.
Trust me, I also checked out the team during my creepy session, and nope. Not even a pity pulse.
But at least the “Am I broken?” crisis was lessened, because I remain the most beautiful specimen of the Vipers.
Thank God for small mercies.
Another part of me was relieved it wasn’t Jude or Kane, because that would mean I’m only now discovering I like men.
Which would add to my list of personal catastrophes.
Not to mention Vencor’s delightful tradition of killing gay members. Not metaphorically. Actually killing them.
Kane’s uncle, Kayden, barely escaped execution after being caught in a tryst with his student. He was excommunicated, not murdered, because being a Founding member and owning half of the Davenports’ shares buys you a second chance at breathing.
Still, Kane has to meet him outside the borders like he’s visiting a banned wizard.
I really don’t need to add “gay tendencies” to my rap sheet when Vencor already thinks I’m unfit to lead.
Too reckless.
Too impulsive.
Too mentally unsound.
Too…broken.
Honestly, I’m not sure why Dad keeps backing me in the race to inheritance, going against everyone—Grandpa, Grandma, and all the other leaders. He should just disown me or let Uncle Atlas have the leadership. I sincerely don’t give a fuck about inheriting an empire built on blood where I was only born to fit a role.