Chapter 1
Asher
Idrop my knife onto my plate as Atlas pushes his chair back, his eyes trailing my father.
None of us says a word as he drains another glass.
I could point out he's already had too much.
I could mention the distant look in Mom's eyes, the one that screams how sick she is of this life. The gilded cage she married into.
But I don't. Because every time I do, it ends with yelling and someone sporting a split lip.
I couldn't be fucked dealing with either outcome tonight.
He stalks back to the table, yanks out his chair, and drops into it, his eyes locked on me. Not Atlas. Me. “How were the games?”
You'd fucking know if you tried to watch. The words burn my tongue, but I swallow them. Not to give the motherfucker an out, but because I know he wouldn't lash out at me.
It'd be Mom.
Or Khloe.
Or Atlas.
Never me.
“Fine,” I say, shoving my glass away with a single finger. “Got a few sponsors looking into me.”
“Good.” Dad nods, dragging a hand through his thick beard. “That's promising.”
The cook enters with a tray of bread and sets it in the center of the table.
“Dad! We went on an excursion today, and…” His eyes never leave me. Khloe blabs about her day. I fucking hate him for it. For all he is.
After dinner, Atlas and I clear the plates before I head back to my bedroom. We've lived in Chicago our whole lives, but I always find myself scrolling through images of our hometown as if I were raised there.
“You good?” Atlas leans against the doorframe.
“Yeah.” I fling my pen and turn to face my twin. “I'm seventeen. I've gotten invites from halfway across the world to be anywhere but here. Tell me why I can't just leave.”
“You know why,” Atlas says. “We have a duty. We can have all that…”
My phone explodes with notifications.
He jerks his chin toward my screen. “How many followers?”
“A couple mil, I guess.”
Atlas flashes a smile. “We're on track, then.”
Fuck this track. I want off this ride.
“Get some sleep. Flight's in the morning.”
We land surprisingly smooth for an airstrip that’s in the top five most dangerous to fly into.
Coeur-de-Pierre. Heart of Stone. Poetic, but there's nothing romantic about this place.
It's a graveyard in cobblestones and poison ivy, where people slit your throat for a sideways glance.
A town carved up by families that bitch more than drunk aunts on Christmas.
Mom's voice cuts through my thoughts. She sits across from me, hands folded, knuckles bone-white. “Remember what your father said.”
“Yeah.” I don't look at her. If I do, I'll see the hollows under her eyes and want to do something about it. Something that'll get us all killed.
Khloe’s snoring against the window, completely oblivious. She's twelve. Too young for this place.
Atlas leans in. “You see the messages?”
I don’t have to answer him because my phone doesn’t fucking stop. Sponsorships. Interviews. Some girl from California asking if I'm single.
“Don't let it go to your head.” Father’s voice from the front of the cabin.
My eyes snap to him. “Don’t worry about my head.” Worry about yours.
We touch down and Khlo jolts awake, swiping the sleep from her eyes. I don’t waste time, grabbing my bag and heading straight for the door. They’d barely opened when I saw her.
Camille leans against a black Mercedes in a ridiculous fur coat with matching boots.
Her smile widens when she sees me, waving like I’m her whole existence.
“Asher!” She squeals. Fuck. She’s still got that high-pitch tone.
“Is that Camille Laurent?” Khloe bumps my arm. “Oh my god, she's so pretty.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re cuter when you don’t talk.’
Atlas chuckles. “Be nice. You know how this works.”
Yeah, I know exactly how this works. Camille's family runs half the underground operations in France. Her mother and my father have been in business for decades. This is some archaic, bullshit arrangement I never agreed to. An alliance sealed with my life.
“Asher!” Camille rushes over, and before I can sidestep, she throws her arms around my neck. Up close, she smells as she looks. Expensive and over-done. “I've missed you so much. I saw your latest competition, you were amazing.”
“Thanks.” I peel her off me, taking a step back. “Didn't know you were into snowboarding.”
She laughs, her voice grating through my body like nails on a chalkboard. “I'm into you.”
Atlas chokes on a cough behind me to hide his laugh. Asshole.
“Behave.” My father brushes past us all, being sure to keep a lingering eye on me for a second longer before heading straight for Camille’s driver.
Coeur-de-Pierre is a postcard from hell. Stone buildings, narrow streets, a church steeple piercing the gray sky. Beautiful from a distance.
But I know this place is rotting from the inside out.
Every smile hides a threat. Every handshake is a deal you didn't know you were making.
People here don't live; they survive, clawing at each other for scraps of power.
Power for what? La Maison du Mal was built here, but its evil wasn't bred here.
We just come back every year and pretend to remember our history.
My father talks about me stepping up soon, taking over his role.
I can't think of anything worse than turning into him.
“Come on,” Camille tugs at my sleeve. “Everyone's waiting.”
Fucking great.
We pile into the waiting cars, Camille dragging me into hers. Her blonde hair falls perfectly to the side of her face as she tosses it over her shoulder. Coeur-de-Pierre may be lifeless, but we feed it well. The people here thrive. They're just the worst parts of humanity.
Camille slips onto my lap, and I lean back, my hands resting neutrally on her hips.
Her arms hook around my neck. She's grown since I last saw her. Filled out. If she was my type, I’d say she was perfect. She isn’t.
“We're to get married one day, Delacroix.”
I give her nothing, my eyes dropping to her lips.
She rolls her hips against me, desperate for a reaction. Anything.
Nothing.
It takes more than a pretty face and a good body to get my attention.
“Are you going to marry me one day?” she bats her eyes at me as if that shit would work.
No. “Yeah.”
It's what I've always been told. It's part of the plan.
She kisses me. I feel nothing. A void. No pull, no spark. She's just a reminder of the prison waiting for me after graduation.
The town rolls past the windows. Cobblestone streets, ancient buildings with shutters the color of dried blood. Locals pause to watch our motorcade pass. They know who we are. Everyone here knows.
Camille won't shut up. She's rambling about the charity gala her mother's hosting and the dress she bought for me to see her in.
I tune her out, focusing on anything but her.
“Are you even listening?” Camille's voice cuts through my thoughts.
My eyes shift to her. “Yeah. Gala. Dress. Got it.”
Her pout could rival Khloe's. “You used to be more excited to see me.”
I don’t remember ever being excited to see Camille.
We turn down a narrow street, pulling up to the estate. Not our house. My father's house. The Delacroix fortress is all stone and iron gates, but it’s to distract you from all the secrets. They live in the rot of the earth, festering through generations.
Guards flank the entrance and nod as we drive past.
“I'll call you later,” Camille says, squeezing my hand. “We need to talk about our future.”
Our future. Like I have any say in it.
“Sure.”
She kisses my cheek before sliding out of the car. I watch her walk away, hips swaying in that deliberate way girls do when they know they're being watched.
Atlas leans over from the other car. “You're fucked, man.”
“Nah, I'm not.”
The front door of my father's car opens, and he climbs out like he owns the fucking world. In some ways, he does. In others, he's just another monster who wishes he did.
He takes Khloe's hand, and she looks up at him like he's the greatest man alive. I read somewhere that a father is a girl's first love. I'll make damn sure Khloe never falls for that shit. The last thing she needs as a first love is Alderic fucking Delacroix.
Coeur-de-Pierre is a ruse. A quiet life away from our real one, but no one really exists here. It's just a place we return to, a place to touch base on family business.
This year is different.
Atlas disappears the same way Camille did, and just as I’m about to slip out, my driver’s voice stops me.
“Asher.”
“Yeah?”
“You alright, son?”
He's the only one who ever asks like he means it.
“Always.”
It's a lie. Just like the rest of my life.
The leather of his seat creaks as he turns, but I don't look at him. I don't need to. I know he's about to drop some hard truths. “You going out tonight?”
I straighten the Rolex beneath the cuff of my hoodie, finally meeting his eyes. “Yes. Why? Got a cute date?”
He's not a man of many smiles, but he gives me half of one. “You wish.”
I don't. I trust him more than anyone, even Atlas, who still thinks with his dick.
“Remember, Asher, this is different. It's not as easy as it is in the States. There are eyes everywhere here. People might not know what's growing in their own backyard, but they've whispered about it.”
“Don't worry, old friend. I know what I'm doing.”
Do I? I can say it as many times as I want, but that won't make it true. All I know for sure is there's a war coming, and I have to be ready.
“Alright. Well, go on, before your father comes out to tell us how big his dick is.” He turns to face the front.
“And you?” I ask, keeping my voice low. Eyes and ears everywhere.
“I'll ensure the girl is safe. Until it's time.”
“Good.” I push open the door. Cold air snaps at my neck as I pull my hood up. With every step I take, ice crunches beneath the soles of my shoes.
The perfect house. The perfect family. The perfect script.