Chapter 1
Stan
One flight from the impossible cold to impossible heat, and I’m standing by the altar thinking yep, it’s really happening. Sterling’s about to marry Elle. Any minute now. My most murderous brother is marrying the sweetest girl in the world. What a pair.
I eye Sterling. His light gray hair stands out more when he’s wearing such a dark tux. His gray eyes give away his emotions, more than they ever have.
He’s changed. As much as he’s taken lives as a mercenary, he’s been doing much less killing and much more saving lately. I’m gonna give Elle credit for that. She could make anyone believe in the good in the world.
And Elle hasn’t walked through the church doors yet, but she’s making Sterling sweat.
He’s doing a damn good job pretending he’s not on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.
And I’d know. I’ve seen that man gut people with less composure than he’s using right now to hold a ring box he doesn’t trust either Damon or me to hold for him.
Which, fair. I’d be too tempted to swallow that thing and sprint to someplace they’ll never catch me.
But wanna know the worst part of this wedding?
It’s breathtakingly, obnoxiously beautiful.
I mean, offensively beautiful. The kind of picture-perfect wedding that’d need a year of planning to brag about it for the next decade.
Except this one came together in only a few months, ‘cause Kaye and Damon apparently operate like goddamn wedding warlords.
Sterling didn’t even want this whole affair.
He would’ve been fine getting married in his bunker.
But Elle would want something this special.
Hell, she deserves it after everything she had to go through.
And Sterling—despite being my emotionally bulletproof brother—would set fire to the sky if Elle even looked a bit cold.
So here we are. In Manila, half of Elle’s roots. February tropic heat sizzling in every corner. The venue’s a beachfront so private that the sea looks like it glitters for her. After all the suffering she’s survived, Elle deserves this and then some.
There’s white silk chairs. Coconut palms standing tall. Real petals lining the aisle. No expense spared. No elegance left out. Elle gets the best, because she is the best.
I stand just to the side of Damon, while I’m trying not to sweat through my dress shirt, or think about how the last time I saw Elle in white, she was between me and Sterling, in his bed, in his cabin. Only months ago. But now she’ll be stepping up to the altar soon.
I sigh, scanning the place. There’s only a scant number of guests. But I’m sure it’ll be the talk of the town.
Kaye’s across from us in a slip dress and heels that can double as knives. She’s the maid of honor, obviously. She and Elle are basically sisters.
Sitting at the front row are Naomi and Jade. Mother figures to my girls. Former close friends of Clo, my coma mama who made everything go goddamn sideways for everyone. Especially her friends. But that’s a story for another day.
Now, I can’t stop looking at Kaye. All that shimmer and sly sweetness. Those brown eyes and thick lashes that flutter like they know exactly what they’re doing. She glances this way. At Damon.
Even though he looks as stiff as stone, I catch him shuffling subtly to prove that yes, this human statue brother of mine does, in fact, have feelings.
Somehow, Kaye helped Damon find his heart. And she’s had it in her hands ever since. Boy, does she wield that thing like a weapon. It’s awful. It’s beautiful. I might throw up breakfast.
I want to laugh. I want to scream. Instead, I keep my mouth shut. That’s the real miracle today. Because all I want to do is sob into my hands when the doors open and Elle appears.
She’s radiant, walking down the aisle and looking like she owns every beam of sunlight. My lips pull down and I hold back my tears. Her brother should be here. He’d love to see this.
I’ll be in this moment and memorize every second for him.
But I’m afraid if I keep looking at her, I might really cry.
So I stare at Sterling for a sec. He looks like he’s trying not to look stunned.
His fingers do this slight twitch like he wants to reach for her but knows better.
He does a good job holding still, all stoic and formal, like he hasn’t murdered half the criminal underworld for less than what she’s giving him with a glance.
I lose track of time after that, especially when Elle’s in my line of sight. In another world, I’d be standing beside her. In this one, I’m not. It’s probably for the best.
My eyes take in how happy she looks. Without a doubt, this is for the best.
The vows happen and hit me hard. I almost cry for real this time ‘cause Elle speaks like she’s reading a poem she wrote in blood.
Sterling barely says anything, but it hits like a gospel.
People cry. A lot of them do. But I don’t.
Not because I’m too manly or whatever—I’m the guy who cries singing love songs in the shower—but because if I start now, I won’t stop.
I’ll ruin the whole thing. And I won’t do that to Elle.
By the time the kiss happens, I’ve made up my mind. I’m getting on that fucking boat. The experiment cruise. Because Damon has Kaye. Sterling has Elle. And me? I’ve got some fucked-up memories that don’t know how to die.
***
The reception’s worse.
Everyone’s glowing and grinning. But I’m parked at the buffet, trying to bury my existential spiral under a mountain of carbs.
The food’s phenomenal. Lechon—a whole roasted pig, crisped to a sinful crunch—is just juicy meat falling off the bone. Ube cake so good I contemplate marrying it. There’s mango float too. Fuckin’ gimme.
People clink glasses. Some of them are probably decent. Some are innocent relatives, blissfully unaware there’s dangerous people here.
But seriously, this whole thing is too nice. The sort of nice that makes your skin crawl when joy feels like a personal attack. So I hover near the AC, sweating up a storm.
Also, this is where the cake is. So, y’know, priorities.
I keep stealing slices, trying to drown heartbreak with dessert.
It’s not long after that Sterling finds me.
I almost shit bricks when I find him sitting down at my table.
He tries to tease me for sipping frozen coffee.
I tell him he’s a black cat in a tux. He grunts.
Almost smiles. Which, for Sterling, is practically an orgasm.
Then he reaches into his jacket. And I freeze. Shit, he’s been able to read my mind this entire time, hasn’t he? He’s gonna go dokkaebi mode and kill me on the spot. Make an example out of me for even thinking of his wife.
Totally worth it. Goodbye, cruel world—
I almost close my eyes and accept my fate. But instead, he pulls out something else. Tosses it onto the table. He does it casual as hell, like it doesn’t matter. But it does matter. Because it’s my old phone. Or what’s left of it.
I pick it up and flip it open. The screen’s cracked.
My stomach twists. The hairline cracks look like a spiderweb across the glass screen.
There’s a photo still set as the background.
From another wedding venue. Elle’s there, wind in her hair, and smiling ‘cause she doesn’t know what’s coming.
The mirror room. The pills. Clo watching.
And in the picture, I’m grinning like an idiot beside her.
We didn’t know how much worse it’d get. The cracks cut through us. Right down the middle.
I look at Sterling. His face is blank as usual. Casually handing me a piece of my past trauma like it’s a misplaced little thing I left behind. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He wouldn’t care. That’s just who he is. Stoic, cryptic, and completely unbothered by the fire he lobs at your soul.
Still, I say, “Real classy, Silver. Nothing says happy ending like returning property back, all broken with bloodstains.”
He shrugs. The Sterling equivalent of closure.
I pocket the phone. And say nothing else. Because what the hell is there to say?
Four rounds of food later, and the plates in front of me warn me of an incoming food coma. I’ve stacked another three servings of pork and one more slice of ube cake to shut myself up. Every swallow’s a distraction. A bribe to keep my mouth from saying something stupid.
Across the reception venue, Sterling’s standing by Elle and looking at her like she’s the first sunrise he’s ever seen. And Elle looks so damn at peace next to him.
They look good together. They really do.
Near them, Damon and Kaye aren’t even hiding that they’re eyefucking each other across floral centerpieces.
Idris walks up to both of them. They don’t even have the shame to quit it with the bedroom eyes.
I spear a cube of crispy pork belly and shove it in my mouth. Maybe salt and grease will soak up the jealousy.
Then I feel a heated stare my way. So I glance up, and yep, there she is.
Kaye. Arched brow. Soda flute in one hand. Looking at me like she just skimmed my internal monologue and is debating whether to smirk or slap me. She crooks a finger at me. Shit. I glance left. Then right. Too many people. No escape route.
When I meet her eyes again, she taps her heel twice. In Kaye-speak, that’s “don’t make me call you out, Stan.”
Fine. I drop my fork, wipe my mouth, and follow her through drunk cousins and cartel-tied groomsmen until we reach a quiet alcove.
She leans against the carved railing, sipping her soda. “Took you long enough,” she says.
“I had meat in my mouth,” I say back. “And manners.”
She snorts. “You haven’t had manners since I rode you in a booth at that biker bar.”
I lean on the wall beside her. “Well, I had to recover. Still walk with a limp when it rains.”
“I should’ve left you limping.”
“I was ready to propose.”
“You cried.”
“I choked, Kaye. On your thighs.”
She snorts out another laugh.