Chapter 22
22
Verity
“You sure you want all of this down?” Dylan, the kid who asks, is at the top of the ladder. Below him, giving support, is Chris. When I told Pace I needed help in the solarium, he sent me two kids who just went through rush and pledged PNZ. I guess grunt work goes to the newbies. They’re both babies—in Prince terms—barely out of high school and thrust into a world they think is all frat parties, hook-ups, and future connections.
Instead, they’re doing my gardening work.
“All of it,” I tell him, pointing to the canopy. The leaves have already died off for the winter and it’s just a hulk of gray, twisted, unassuming vines. Now, I know better. “Once you’re done, drag it out back and we’ll burn it.”
Dylan nods, and gestures for Chris to hand him a small hatchet from the tool kit. They get to work with a gusto that makes me envious, all energy and optimism. The new pledges weren’t at any of the ceremonies I’ve been involved in, but they’ve heard rumors about what transpired the night of the oaths. I see how they look at me, with a little bit of fear and a heavy dose of awe. They’re obviously terrified of the upperclassmen, especially my Princes, and I’ve learned they’ll do anything I ask them to without any questions.
It’s pretty awesome.
“Hey,” Ballsack says, walking out of the house and squinting at the light. “I thought you may be out here.” He looks up at the guys. “What’s going on?”
I lean against a pillar. “With all the renewal and rebirth going on around here, I figured the garden could use a little sprucing up before winter.” Sighing, I prop my hand to support my lower back. It’s been killing me all week. “Also, I’m bored to tears. Lex and Pace are back in classes while Wick is trying to get a handle on Rufus’ business interests. No one’s around to entertain me.”
“You could take a nap instead of supervising freshmen hacking up your garden.” He looks me up and down. “You look exhausted.”
I make a face. “I am exhausted. Justice thinks it’s fun to sleep on my bladder, making me get up every few hours. My cravings are ridiculous, and,” I pull at the sleeveless dress I’m wearing, even though we’re way past summer weather, “I’m hot all the time. At least it’s cooler in here.”
Ballsy tries and fails to hide his discomfort at my diatribe, and glances back at the guys hacking up the vines. “Damn, being a freshman pledge sucks. You wouldn’t believe all the shit-work the guys gave me when I was first recruited.”
“And look at you now,” I smile, though a bit sadly. “They offered you a Dukeship and everything. Do you regret not taking it?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, modestly, but I see the light in his eyes. “It’s a strong class, and I’m not sure how great of a leader I’d be.”
“Eugene.” I give him a look. “You spent the last ten months living with a bunch of Princes in a completely volatile time, not only keeping me safe but managing to avoid a territory war. If that’s not leadership, I don’t know what is.”
Ballsy’s cheeks turn pink, and blushing at my compliments, his gaze flicks back up to Dylan, who’s currently struggling to get his hatchet through the thick vine. “That’s the purple stuff, right? Looks like big bunches of grapes?”
“Wisteria,” I say, aware he’s avoiding my compliment. “It is beautiful, but I’ve also learned it can be dangerous.”
He studies me for a long moment. He hasn’t asked any of us what happened with Rufus or Danner, but he’s aware both are gone. “It makes it a lot brighter in here. I like it.”
“I like it.” Effie trills from the branch of a camellia tree. “I like it, Euuugene. I like it.”
“Shit!” Ballsack jumps a foot off the ground. His hand lands on his heart. “I didn’t know she was in here.”
“I thought she probably needed to stretch her wings,” I explain. Ever since Pace and I took her out on the water, she’s been bursting with life, eager to go out again.
“Well, warn a guy next time.” He exhales slowly. “I should kick Wick’s ass for teaching that bird my name,” he says, glaring up at Effie. “I told him in strict confidence that birds freak me out.”
“No,” I shake my head, fighting off a laugh, “you shouldn’t have. These men are trained experts in the torture of their enemies. You’re the dumbass who showed him a weak spot.”
“They’re just so unpredictable,” he argues. After a blink, he adds, “Birds. Not Wicker, although that dude can definitely sneak up on a guy.” He shakes his head. “It’s their beady eyes, always looking like they’re watching you, and the talons and beaks are strong enough to crack the shells off seeds and nuts.” His eyes are wide and he quickly covers his crotch with his hands. “I don’t want her to do that, or anything else, to me.”
He’s so serious that it’s a struggle to hold back my laughter. “She’s more likely to take a shit on you than to go after your genitals.”
“Maybe.” He scowls, keeping his eye on the black bird. “That bird is a?—”
“Pretty bird.”
Ballsy flinches, but I can’t help but smile up at Effie. “Yes, you’re a pretty bird.”
“Don’t encourage her,” he mutters.
“If she makes you that uncomfortable, you can go. I’m fine down here alone.”
“Actually, I came to find you for a reason.” He jerks his thumb back at the house. “There’s a package that’s been delivered for you.”
I look over at the two guys hacking up my garden, unsure if they can be left without supervision. “Can you just leave it for me? Or have one of the guys take it up to our room?”
Ballsy’s eyebrows do something complicated. “I think you’re going to want to open this one sooner than later.”
Relenting, I turn to the boys. “Dylan!” His clippers snip off a piece of fern. “Don’t touch anything past that window!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I turn back to Ballsack. “What’s so important that I need to see it now?”
Haltingly, he explains, “It’s… from the Baron King.”
There’s no mistaking who the huge box is from. Although box isn’t the right word. It’s a massive wooden crate taking up the majority of the foyer floor. My name, Princess Verity Sinclaire, has been painted with a fine hand into the top while the brN star is emblazoned on the sides.
“Ready?” Ballsack asks, standing next to the crate with a crowbar in hand, ready to pop the lid.
“Wait!” Wicker’s voice carries down to the foyer. He rushes down with a scowl and unintentionally tousled hair. I can tell it’s unintentional because he has this cowlick right beside his crown that he’s always an expert at taming. Today, it’s sticking straight up, the slight red rimming around his eyes evidence of his lack of sleep.
He’s been pouring over Rufus’ ledgers and accounts for days now, trying to determine the most profitable ventures worth keeping or selling off.
“Put the crowbar down, Eugene.” When he reaches us, he snatches the tool out of Ballsack’s hand. “Where did this come from?”
Ballsy shrugs. “Standard delivery at the gate. Your guys scanned it and brought it in.”
“Not to sound vain,” Wick eyes the container, “but I’m starting to think the King has a crush on me.”
“Let’s just open the box,” I roll my eyes, “and worry about crushes later.”
He wedges the tip of the crowbar under the lip of the box, and with Ballsack’s help, they rip off the lid. The inside is stuffed with packing material, but an envelope, similar to the one sent to Wicker the day we went to the mausoleum, sits on top.
I gently pluck it up, opening it.
Dear Princess,
Congratulations on your son receiving the Oath of Fealty from the brothers of PNZ. Enclosed is a Baron heirloom that was Whitaker’s as a child. I thought he might want to keep it in the family.
The Baron King
I give Wicker a questioning look, but he just shrugs and gestures for Ballsy to help him with the rest of the crate.
“The last time the Baron King gave us a gift, it was a human sacrifice,” he mutters. “Stand back, Red.”
I move because he’s not wrong about the King and his gift giving. With my hand resting on my stomach, I watch as they pull off the sides, revealing the contents with a dramatic clatter of wood.
I notice the smooth, dark wood first, then the slats.
“It’s a bassinet!” I exclaim in surprise. Wick stares at it before reaching out, running his hand along the railing. Then it hits me. “Oh, wow. Was it your bassinet?”
I move closer, brushing a touch to Wick’s forearm while examining the head and foot of the bed. While I’d expect the usual macabre brN iconography in the craftsmanship, I find just a beautiful design of curls and whorls carved into the wood. “Wick, it’s beautiful.”
My Prince is quiet, his hand clenched over the railing. Behind us, Ballsack’s phone rings and he steps out the front door, probably grateful for the excuse to leave the room.
“Hey,” I squeeze his arm, “are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, a complex combination of emotions coming over his face. “I’ve never been like Pace—wanting to know all his family history, needing these touchstones— but I… I can’t shake it. It’s chasing me like death itself, and then I see something like this,” he grips the rail, “and I worry it’s just bringing that darkness into our son’s life.”
“Maybe.” I lift his arm and lean in against him, admiring the slight sheen of the wood’s finish. “I’ve had those pledges cutting down the wisteria in the solarium all morning, trying to banish the house of every trace of evil connected to Rufus. But in the end, it’s just a plant. A harmless plant. Only a psychopath would use it as a weapon. This…” I rest my hand over the railing, “it’s just a bassinet, Wicker. A beautiful one that once cradled a beautiful towheaded baby who grew into the man I love.” He looks down at me, his blue eyes softening. “Maybe the garden is just a place for beautiful vines. And maybe this is just a bassinet,” I laugh, “which is something we still need, by the way.”
Wicker seems to contemplate this heavily, a crevice carved into his forehead. “It’s the people, not the things.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
The muscle in the back of his jaw tightens. “I think I’d like to keep it. If that’s okay with you.”
“It’s absolutely okay.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me in what I can only assume is gratitude. But it’s not necessary. Our family will be an elaborate tapestry made from dark and light, hard and soft, pain and comfort.
And it’ll warm our son.
Wicker decides, “Pace can check it for bugs or whatever voodoo the Barons put on it when he gets back from class, and then we’ll move it upstairs.”
“Perfect.” I sigh. “I should probably go tell Dylan and Chris to stop hacking up my garden?—”
The door swings open and Ballsack rushes in, phone still in his hand. The pallor of his face makes my stomach drop before the words even leave his mouth. “That was Remy,” he says, voice tight. “They found a body. A girl.”
The air knocks out of me, my knees going weak, but before I can crumble, Wicker catches me, holding me upright. I barely hear myself when I ask, “Is it her?”
“It’s not Stella.” Eugene swallows, but before the relief washes over me, he adds, “It’s Laura.”
“Laura?” It’s not until he says her name that I realize how much I’d held out hope that she’d just left Forsyth for something better.
“She’s dead?” Wicker asks, tightening his hold on me.
He nods. “Remy’s uncle called because she’s West End. There aren’t a lot of details, but…” He looks pleadingly at Wick. “Are you okay if I head over to West End? Everyone’s there and?—”
“Sure, man. Fuck. Yes. Go, be with your people.” He shoves his hand in his hair. “I’ll start making some calls. Use a little of this newfound sway to see what I can find out. Verity and I can fill in the guys when they get home.”
“I’m going, too,” I announce, still feeling unsteady. “Let me get my bag.”
“Red, you know you can’t do that. Lex wants you close to home.” His gaze drops down to my belly. “Just in case.”
“I’ve got two weeks before this baby hits full term.” My heart is pounding, and suddenly being over at the gym, with my mother and friends, is less of a want and more of a need. “There’s no reason I can’t ride two miles across town to be with my family.”
“Your family,” he repeats with a slow blink.
“You know what I mean.” His jaw sets, but I’m already working my way out of his arms. The urge to go is tugging me to my old home like a magnet. “Wicker, she was my friend. They’re all my friends. I just want to be with them.”
After a moment, he relents, “Fine. But you’re not going alone.”
“Verity will be safe with me,” Ballsack assures. “I promise.”
Wicker is already snagging a set of keys from the hook against the wall. “I know she will be, but she’ll be twice as safe with both of us.”
I grab Wicker’s hand and squeeze. “Thank you.”
He tugs me close, pushing a lingering kiss into my hair. “It’s the people, Red. Not the things.”
Life in West End has never been easy. We don’t live in palaces made of gold or historic brownstones. Our territory is industrial, and our hobbies and work lean toward rougher, more physical trades. Both fighting and the gun business are dangerous. The years after Davis, Manny, and Sarah were run off, when the territory was under Saul’s rule, were hard on the community. I might have been young when I lived here, but I well remember that. We’ve lost a few guys to Scratch and the other junk Lionel Lucia slung throughout Forsyth, but this…
I haven’t seen the gym like this since Tatum Cross’ suicide—well, murder. Not that we knew it at the time.
As soon as we enter, I almost wish I hadn’t come. The anguish and grief feel like a low murmur in the cavernous building. Andrea has her arm around Maggie’s shoulders, both of them with mascara-stained cheeks. Kaz has his arms wrapped around Kathleen, and Louie strokes Daphne’s hair as he whispers something private into her ear. In the back, near Mama’s shut office door, Sy rubs the back of his neck while Remy paces back and forth, his marker twirling erratically in his fingers. Nick and Lavinia stand off to the side, his forehead pressed against hers as he whispers to her, wiping his thumbs under her wet eyes.
It’s only when Wicker and I approach that he looks up, straightening at the sight. “Ver,” he says, giving Wicker a dubious look. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yeah, I did,” I reply, hoping that bringing a Prince into this vulnerable, hurt moment isn’t adding to the strain of it.
When Lav sees me, most of that worry goes out the window. She both perks up and falls apart at the same time. The hug we share is awkward with my massive stomach between us, but she doesn’t let go, clutching me tight.
“It’s so fucked, V,” she says. “She was one of the first girls to ever look at me and see someone other than a Lucia. When she disappeared, I hoped she’d just…” Her words choke off with a sob.
“Me, too,” I tell her. “I thought maybe she got the fuck out of here. Was living at the beach or some place where she could just vanish and start over.”
But even though neither of us probably wants to admit it, the scenario seemed unlikely. Laura was happy here. She and Ballsy didn’t exactly have a romance for the ages, but she had someone who treated her well. She had friends, school, and ambitions. But that hope of her hightailing it out of this wretched city was better than the alternative.
The alternative, it seems, is unthinkable.
Lavinia’s gaze lifts over my shoulder, where I know Eugene came in behind me. He’s standing with the Dukes, hands shoved in his pockets. “How is he?” she asks, gathering herself in that special marriage of Lucia and West End armor.
Glancing at Wick, I sigh. “Numb, I think. He didn’t say much on the way over.” A twinge jolts up my spine and I step back. “I think we’re both terrified of what it means for Stella.”
Wicker jams his fists into his pockets, looking unsure of his place here. “They could have been unconnected. I wouldn’t make any conclusions yet.”
“This is Forsyth,” Nick says, drawing Lavinia protectively into his side. “Everything is connected.”
Wick nods, unable to argue that much. “Well, whatever we can do or offer,” he tells Nick, shrugging. “Pace is good at getting into files if you need to know what the police know.”
Lavinia sniffs, glancing up at Nick. “That might come in handy.”
Nick neither accepts nor declines. “I should be out on the Avenue, sniffing out some leads,” he says. But she strains up to press a kiss to the tattoo of her lip print on his neck—the side unmarred by the shrapnel scar—and I know from the way he looks at her that he won’t be leaving her side anytime soon.
“The girls?” I ask, looking around. “Are they… handling it?”
Lav shakes her head. “They’re a mess. And they’re scared.”
This knowledge makes it worse, and the grief combined with the anxious energy in the room spurs me to accept the only thing I know to do. “Tell me what I can do to help.” I scan the room, eyes landing on Sy’s. “Where’s Mama?”
Nick nods toward the back. “She’s talking to Laura's dad on the phone.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, feeling Wick’s hand slipping into mine. “Anything else need doing?”
“Remy’s keeping up with his uncle,” Lav explains, and I see him off to the side, texting on his phone. “The girls are planning a vigil for later tonight.”
“Oh, that sounds nice. Here?”
“At the tower.”
Good. Staying busy is good, which is what we need to be doing, because I cannot think about what all of this means for Stella.
“Food,” I say, as if it’s the easiest solution in the world. “We’ll need food.”
Wicker perks up, saying, “Yeah, I’ve gotten good at the lasagna,” and my heart clenches at these small, easy offers. “Just point me to a pot.”
“I’ll help,” I say, unable to resist lifting our joined hands to my lips.
“And we’ll need booze. A shit-ton,” Lav adds, gaze dropping abruptly to my stomach, “well, for most of us.”
“A couple more weeks,” I say, ignoring another twinge.
Wicker doesn’t, though. He frowns, leaning down to whisper, “You sure you can handle this? I know Lex says it’s good for you to move, but?—”
Interrupting him with a kiss, I explain, “I’ll feel better if I do something.”
Despite looking unconvinced, he sighs. “Just no heavy lifting. Get one of the fifty guys in here to do it, okay?”
Lav nods, looking a little more steady now that we have a plan. “We’ll send a few of the guys out to stock the bar at the tower, and?—"
Wicker tugs me away. “We can go see what’s in the kitchen, in case we need to send someone to the store.”
She exhales, taking a breath so deep I’m jealous. The baby has dropped a bit, settling more on my pelvis which is hell on my hips, but falling into the rhythm of work does the trick. Wicker and I pull out ingredients and heat the ovens. As he works cutting onions, other girls slowly begin finding their way into the kitchen, where I give each a job.
“I know Mama keeps a bunch of frozen bread in the chest freezer,” I tell Daphne. “Go see how much there is? It’ll defrost pretty fast if we set them out.” I turn and eye some DKS recruits who look overwhelmed and lost. They never met Laura. “Hey, guys. See that stack of tables against the wall?” One pimply kid nods. “Start putting them out in rows—Family Dinner style. And then the chairs?—"
“Verity Sinclaire!” I spin and my mother stands in the doorway. She looks like hell, eyes red and puffy. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We were just?—”
“Getting off your feet,” she answers for me, shooting Wicker an incredulous look. “She’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant.”
His jaw drops, the ladle in his hand thrust in my direction. “She said she had to! She gave me the big, sad eyes and everything.”
Mama snorts. “Falling for the pout. Bush league, blondie.”
I insist, “I’m fine, Mama.” Although it is a little hot in here. “We’re almost done.”
“You’re already done.” Retreating, she holds up a finger in her infamous ‘you have one minute’ command.
“Go,” Lav says, looking guilty. “You’ve already been a huge help. We’ll finish getting this ready, and then we can all eat before the vigil.”
I exit the kitchen, where Mama is waiting with her hand on her hip. She’s mad, but she’s also worried and sad and all the things that are swirling around in my stomach like a storm.
Pushing aside my anger, I beeline to her, collapsing into her arms.
She instantly gathers me up, sucking in a huge breath. “Oh, Ver Bear.”
I inhale the scent of her, allowing myself this comfort. “I’ve seen a lot of bad things since becoming Princess, Mama. Things that were so bad, Rufus Ashby had to be eliminated, but whoever did this… is doing this…” My voice cracks. “He may be worse than Ashby or the other Kings combined.”
At least Danner gave them a quiet way out.
“We’ll find him,” she says, stroking my hair back. “He’s getting sloppy. One escaped girl, and another one shows up dead? He’s not going to be able to hide for long.”
It’s there, in the warm silence of Mama’s arms, that I hear the first phone go off.
The ding comes from somewhere behind me—barely a distraction—but then a series of other notification sounds swell all around the gym until Sy’s booming voice punches through the room.
“237!”