In Peace Lies Havoc (Midnight Mayhem #1)(61)

His eyes pierce through mine, pulling me out of my memory. “Good. You have one place for love, and that place is not for little Dove Noctem Hendry.”

“No one said shit about love,” I quip, one eyebrow cocked. I pat his shoulder in assurance. “We’re still playing the game, only we’ve changed a few of our moves.” My eyes fall around the three of them. Lie.





King is still talking with the three men when Killian finally returns, with his mother behind him.

“Hello,” she answers, placing her hand out to me. It’s the first time I notice her bright eyes. Blue teal, rimmed by black rings. “I’m Drayar. Killian’s mom.” Her eyes slowly drift to him before coming back to me. Her smile is in half, not authentic. I already know she hates me; I just don’t know why. It’s not like I’m dating her son.

My hand finds hers, and she squeezes stiffly. “Dove.” Suddenly, my words are tangled in a jumble word scrabble in my head, and I’m back on the yacht, unable to form the right letters to construct a single word. I don’t want to speak, because my mouth is closed shut.

“Hmm,” Drayar murmurs. “Stick around if you want, child. Though I wouldn’t advise it.” She starts walking away, her back turned to me, when I follow the trim line of her spine and land on her tailbone. I notice the same star tattoo that the boys have is over her lower back. I stand in silence, wanting to ask the question I’ve had at the edge of my brain since meeting them. The night moves along, and Killian takes me under his arm, walking me near the fire. He takes a seat on the ground and looks up at me. “Are you going to sit or stand? Because it might be a long night.”

My eyes find King who is watching me from the other side. They’re actually all watching me. I instantly sit beside Killian, wanting to hide from the attention I’ve so effortlessly attracted.

“Why am I here?” I lean into Killian, searching his features for any telltale lies. It’s no use, though. These men are armed with the talent to lie. Being illusionists, telekinetic, and whatever else it is that they do—Killian, I’m almost certain, has some sort of hypnotic powers—but I try to find the lie between his truths.

“Would you believe me if I said we had been planning to have you here for years?” His voice is dipped low, and I’m drawn to the way his bottom lip’s dimple sinks in.

“No,” I answer through a whisper. “Because that would mean you all knew me before I was picked up and put in that cell, which goes against everything I know, which in essence, makes me uncomfortable.”

“We don’t care about your comfort, Little Bird.” Kyrin takes a seat on the other side of me. I instantly shuffle closer to Killian. Kyrin makes me uncomfortable. His eyes are untrustworthy. I can almost judge all four of them by their eyes.

Kingston: Strong, assertive, broody, intense. Liar.

Killian: Playful, devious, trickster. Liar.

Keaton: Confident, skeptical, careful. Liar.

Kyrin: Manic, Rage, anger, resentment. Liar.

See, I may not know these boys as well as I want to, but I’m beginning to think that they may know me. And maybe I’m wrong and I’m seeing what they choose for me to see, but I look between the truths and lies, and I’ve noticed that even through all of their faces, the one thing that does not change outfits is their eyes.

Kyrin stirs something inside of me that shouldn’t be tampered with, which is why I trust him the least out of all of The Brothers, which is also why I find myself moving away from him just as fast as he sat down.

“I’ve figured as much,” I answer as music starts playing. The rest of the night goes uneventful. People stare, and I watch them back. I notice the atmosphere shift the later it gets. The more the fire burns, the more people drink, the more people start to open up.

Music is playing like a trance when Drayer begins to dance in front of the fire. I’m in awe, trapped in her performance, as her body moves like fluid waves against angry flames, licking through the dark night. I’m unable to move away from her as her back arches backward, and her hands flail out beside her. King must have sat down at some point because his voice is behind me in an instant.

“Want to talk?” he whispers, his lips softly touching the nape of my neck. Yes, I want to say, but the stubborn part of me—the bigger part of all my five-foot-four—wants to fight him. My attitude is as hot as my hair. I never got picked on as a child for having red hair. I remember my dad always saying, “The world can’t handle redheads. That’s why God only created a small amount.” I understood. Sometimes, but otherwise, I was a fairly chilled out child.

Until I wasn’t.

Right now, I want to be the child who isn’t.

“Sure,” I answer, standing. I follow him as he leads me away from the crowds of people and up the porch steps of the house. I turn around to have one more look at Killian’s mom when I notice everyone watching me—sans Kill’s mom. Chills break over my spine from the uncertainty of the atmosphere, but I follow Kingston anyway. I always go back to the fact that if he wanted me dead, I would be.

We continue inside and then out the front door again. Aside from the valet driver, who is standing far away from us, it’s just King and I.

He drops down onto the step and looks up at me. I try to ignore the way his muscles flex when he leans on one arm, or the way his eyes speak to my soul without any words being spoken. Or the fact he’s scary as shit, but I can’t help but be drawn to the beast.