In Peace Lies Havoc (Midnight Mayhem #1)(68)

Maya rolls her eyes. “You should be lucky. There’s obviously a reason why you’re still alive.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good thing anymore.”

Maya pauses. “You have real feelings for him?”

I freeze, my eyes flying to her. “What?”

“Oh, holy shit, you do.” She enters my space, her hands coming to either side of my cheeks. “You can’t, Dove. You have to protect yourself. Whatever he’s saying, you can’t trust.” I want to tell her that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But she’s right. I may have grown something for him over the weeks that we’ve been around each other, but it’s hard not to when I know what he feels like between my thighs. And I know what he tastes like.

“Maya,” King interrupts from behind her and she pauses, but doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t scare her, which is interesting considering he scares everyone else I’ve met. “Get out.”

Maya’s eyes turn lazy. “Come see me after the party.” Then she turns around and glares at King. “Because she will return.”

“Maybe,” King answers flatly. “Or maybe not.”

As soon as Rose and Maya leave, I look to King. “What do I wear?”





I remember my mom loving candles. Not just the normal light-a-candle-after-a-big- cleanup type—I mean, really loving them. I think she had more candles around our house than she did electrical lighting. I remember the smell of burning leather surging with sweet lavender. The smell was somewhat comforting, to a point.

I hadn’t seen this many candles since my childhood, but stepping through the front doors of King’s parents’ house felt just like that. To the left, a young man was shirtless, playing a soft melody on the piano. He had smudged black eyeliner under his eyes and a straight square jaw. His hooded eyes came up to mine, his cheeks sunken in. When they connected with mine, a slow smirk crept on the corner of his mouth. I shivered, running my hands up and down my arms.

“King!” Killian snaps at King’s retreating back as he enters farther into the house.

King turns around and pins Killian with a feral snarl. “Shut the fuck up and remember where the fuck you land on the scale, brother.” His eyes drop to mine, before going back to Killian. “And watch her.”

“Didn’t think you gave a fuck,” Keaton addresses from beside me.

King’s eyes whip to his. “I don’t answer to you.” He turns back around and disappears around a corner. He has been agitated all the way here, more than usual. I don’t know much about New Orleans or the state of Louisiana in general, but the area where his parents live is very country. It’s about a thirty-minute drive from the city, where Delila lives. I think I heard Killian say the town’s name is Destrehan. Their home is a giant modern mansion in the middle of an aged field. I feel as though the house itself stands out from the rest of the old plantation-style homes. Everything is glass and licked in rich deep reds. The setting in the house is smooth and mellow, much like an intimate restaurant.

Keaton’s hand comes to my arm. “Stick by me, Dove.”

I rest into his embrace, but not long enough because Killian is pulling me out. I suddenly feel like a used toy that people don’t get to play with enough, bringing my thoughts back to the drawing of the dove that’s burning inside my bra. “Actually, she needs to be with someone who can make an unbiased decision.”

“That would be me,” Kyrin’s arm wraps around my torso, tugging me into his chest from behind.

“Ah, no,” Killian says. “We said an unbiased. Not someone who will kill her.”

“What about me?” a voice says from behind us, and we all turn to see who it is. The guy who was playing the piano is now standing, glaring down at all of his. He’s got to be around the same height as King, and has an uncanny resemblance to him.

“Ah.” Killian shuffles. “I don’t know, Kohen.”

Kohen brings a glass filled with white alcohol to his lips and smirks. “Why not?” My eyes run down his torso. He’s almost identical to King, only no tattoos. I can’t make out much of his face because he’s wearing stage makeup and eyeliner, but he’s definitely got to be related to King. A waiter walks past us, and he swings around, snatching another glass. When he turns, I face the same tattoo the boys and Killian’s mom have, only Kohen’s is massive and fills his entire back. Each tip reaches the edge of his body.

Kohen spins back around and hands me a glass. My eyes go from it to him. “For me?”

Kohen smiles, waving his other hand. “Of course. Rude of these fuckers to not offer you one as soon as you walked through the door.”

I lick my lips and his eyes follow the movement. Slowly, I reach for the glass, my eyes on his. “I’ll stay with Kohen. You boys can leave.”

That seems to satisfy Kohen, who grins proudly, standing back to his full length.

“Little Bird,” Killian murmurs, and in an instant, I watch as Kohen’s face changes. Shock, recognition washes over his beautifully stained features.

“Little Bird?” he asks, only he’s not angry. At least he’s not showing it. He’s… intrigued.

“Fuck,” Killian curses. “Kohen, she needs to stay near us. I’m sure you understand now.” A silent conversation passes between them and I’m left standing in the middle, dumbfounded.