In Peace Lies Havoc (Midnight Mayhem #1)(8)

I chew on my lower lip, contemplating my options.

I have none.

I nod, squeezing Rose so she agrees.

Rose groans. “How do we know that you won’t kill us?”

Kingston glares at her. “Never said we wouldn’t, but you don’t have many options, do you?”

“Right—enough of this. We hit the road in four days. You girls will need to…” Her eyes drag up and down both Rose and me. “…go shopping. I’ll give you an advance. Midnight will eat you alive otherwise.” She tsks. “Kill, show them to their room.”





Soft pink cotton stretches over the large king-sized bed as Killian opens the door and gestures for us both to enter. There are two beds, and the room itself is bigger than what most people would call a living room.

“We usually put new initiates in separate rooms to stop them from trying to escape,” Killian speaks for the first time, drawing my attention to where he’s standing against the doorframe. His eyes darken on me. “But something tells me, Little Dovey here lost her wings.”

My jaw clenches at his tone and arrogance. Bastard. He kicks up from the doorframe and gestures down the hallway. “Some of us come back here when we’re not on the road. There are twenty-seven bedrooms, an indoor and outdoor pool, a private spa, basketball court, gymnasium, theater, garage, and I’m sure I’ve missed some shit. The property is on a few hundred acres of land, where all of the crew live in their own homes. In other words…” Killian smirks. “Don’t wander too far. You never know where you might end up.” He disappears back out the door, leaving both Rose and I gobsmacked.

“Shit,” Rose gasps, taking a seat on the bed that’s opposite mine. She blows out a breath of air, her eyes traveling to mine. “We’re so fucked.”

I lick my lips, making my way to the bed that Killian said was mine. Sinking into the soft covers, I replay everything that happened up to this point.

“What do you think of this?” Rose asks, kicking off her shoes and running her fingers through her dirty hair. Caged humans in diamond chandelier rooms and scary men who wear bandanas. “I’m not really sure yet.” Lie. I know how I feel about this. I feel like we could have ended up murdered or being sold to human traffickers. I remember my father always saying to me, “You won’t always get what you want in life, Dovey. Sometimes things are going to happen that will make you wish you could change the course of your destination, but you can’t. You just have to keep driving and switch gears.” I need to switch gears.

“I need a bath,” Rose answers, disappearing through one of the many doors in the room. I take this time to evaluate the area. I need a bath, too. I haven’t had one in—I’ve lost count. Twenty-two girls—but I find my body cemented to the bed, unable to move. I’m free physically (or am I?), but mentally the shackles have only tightened.

My eyes close.

The Jordans were the third foster family I had been invited into. I appreciated them because they allowed me to do the things I still loved to do—like dance. There was an old studio on the corner of Beacon Street in downtown Phoenix. I’d dance there every Friday. It was rundown and aged, but that wasn’t because of the owner’s negligence, it was simply because she couldn’t afford to maintain the upkeep. The passion still burned in her eyes whenever she would watch me dance, and you could see that that was why she kept the studio open--to simply admire the art of dance.

I was walking to the bus stop after a late-night session, flicking through the music on my iPod, when I felt the familiar wave of his presence. My footing halted. My fingers flexed over my iPod as sweat slipped down my temples. Slowly, I brought my eyes up, tearing the earphones out of my ears.

I stopped breathing when I felt him behind me, his breathing on my nape. “We’ll be back for you, Little Bird.” The Shadow pressed into me from behind, his hard chest to my back. “I’ll always be back.”

I suck in a breath at the familiarity of the voice. Do I know The Shadow?

The more the voice replays in my head, the stronger the familiarity. Or maybe I’ve just heard his voice and words so much that I’ve started to think that I know him.

Once Rose is out of the bath, I slip in and remove my soiled clothes. Clothes that I never thought I’d be rid of because they were stuck to me like a second skin, rotting into my pores and leaving their stale stench embedded into my bones. I give the tub a quick wash before filling it up. There are delicate soaps sitting on a small table that’s beside it, a copper bowl filled with bath bombs and salts, and a monstrous size glass Chanel Chance perfume bottle sitting on the bathroom counter. The walls are a clean white, a complete contrast to the people who live here. The tiles are a deep mahogany red. An interesting color choice, I think, but it only intensifies the opulent ambiance of the overall house. I drop one of the bath bombs into the water and watch as it fizzes, filling the room with sweet aromas that have me sighing in release. I quickly dip into the bath, wincing as the hot water drowns my sins away. Stings pinch at my skin from the temperature, biting me all over my flesh. I duck beneath it, my hair floating in the water as the world silences. Everything is so quiet when you’re under water. Like you can block out the world and be alone with your thoughts.

Thoughts I don’t necessarily want to be alone with.