Their Hollow King (Bleed for You #1)

Prologue

KINGSLEY

Women often daydreamed about the day they would walk down the aisle in their long, expensive, white dress and veil since they were little girls.

I was never a little girl, but I too used to daydream about my wedding day.

Growing up with two sisters, they’d make me play dress-up all the time.

Aralynn would make me her groom and herself the bride, while Odette, as the maid of honor, would shower the area with flower petals.

Sometimes, our cousin Mateo would officiate, using a bible he took from his mother’s nightstand to add to the realism.

Mom, Dad, and Uncle Santiago found it cute that Mateo and I entertained my sisters’ fantasies.

One time he told us, “You can say no sometimes. I know you boys don’t enjoy playing pretend.

” My cousin and I shared a confused brow furrow.

That wasn’t true—we liked having a make-believe wedding in preparation for our own someday.

The adults laughed and rubbed our heads as if we were joking, but when we didn’t laugh back, they understood we meant it.

Their little boys, dreaming about marrying someone they love, like in the movies?

Preposterous. My father and uncle never thought about marriage as something to look forward to, so why would their sons?

That’s when we learned our parents were in arranged marriages.

Mom never wanted to marry Dad. Aunt Patricia never wanted to marry Uncle Santiago.

But they knew it was what was expected of them, so they did it.

Now they wouldn’t trade their spouses for the world, but there was a time when it was a mere business transaction.

Mateo and I weren’t sure what they meant back then. I told them that people don’t have to get married through arrangements. And I was right, you don’t have to, but if you care about your family’s legacy, you’ll do what’s best for it.

I understand what they meant now.

Choked by my tie, I tilt my head to watch Dad fix it for me in the mirror. I’ve been wearing tuxedos since I was five years old, and yet I still struggle with them. At least Dad is here to help this time.

“You’re choking me,” I wheeze while pulling at my throat.

He gives the tie a yank, constricting my breath further. “I wouldn’t be if you could tie this yourself. You’re twenty years old, goddammit.”

“Yeah, well, make it any tighter, and I won’t be making it down the aisle.”

My father’s face wrinkles as he looks at me expressionlessly.

While he finishes, I give myself a once-over in the mirror.

Though the tight, neat cornrows my black hair is styled in still feel like they’re squeezing my skull, at least I’m looking good.

I would have liked my hair in my usual twists for my wedding day, but Sylvie likes my hair better this way, so I kept it.

Dad pats me on the chest. “You’re something else, son.”

Something else? I believe he meant to say “best son in the world,” because that’s what I am. I’m about to marry the woman I vowed to keep at least ten feet away from, for fuck’s sake. I think that warrants me being the best son ever.

I’ve known Sylvie Crenshaw since we were preteens.

Out of all my sisters’ friends, she is the last one I would want to be with because not only is she a control freak, but she has always been out to get me.

If you thought you’d met the bossiest, opinionated person in the world, you hadn’t met Sylvie.

Imagine how I felt when Mom and Dad suggested I marry her. Maybe I should say “told me” since they’d already clued me in as a kid that I’d likely marry for the empire’s sake.

I could’ve rebelled. I could have stood firm on my desire to marry someone I loved, something my parents never got to do. Truthfully, I planned to oppose them until I understood the benefits.

We’re already allies with the Crenshaws, who lead their own major crime syndicate, and a marital connection would solidify both our empires.

This should prevent any double-crossing and deter some low-lives who want to take us down.

Think of it as two big bads coming together to make one even bigger bad.

“Listen, Kingsley.” Dad whips out his cologne and gives me a spritz. “I am truly proud of you for doing this.”

I stare, wondering if I misheard. “Really?”

“Yes. I know you wanted to find love, but sometimes you’ve gotta do what’s best for your future.

” He meticulously checks and straightens my suit, fixing even the smallest imperfections.

“Not only did you agree to marry her, but you did it the right way. You took her out on dates and got to know her before you said ‘I do.’ I believe your marriage will be stronger than you think.”

After our parents broke the news to us, and we accepted we’d be spouses a year from then, I made Sylvie my girlfriend. If we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, I may as well get to know who I’m tying myself down to early on.

So, with the wedding date already set, we dated. I took her out, bought her everything she wanted, and treated her as I would any other partner. The media adored our relationship, calling us “the hottest couple to hit the New Orleans streets.” I can’t lie, that was an ego boost.

“I had to step up for the Crowncrest,” I reply. “Mateo isn’t too happy, though. None of the guys are.”

Dad shakes his head sympathetically. “You boys are getting too old to be partying the way you used to, anyway. Mateo only has so long before he’s arranged to be tied down. Shawn and Ryland will find someone too.”

I would hardly call twenty too old to party. When we aren’t on a mission, one can usually find my friends and me partying until the sun comes up. I can’t count how many times we’ve come back crossed on a random Tuesday, only to wake up on Wednesday and work a job as if nothing happened.

No one ever cared as long as we didn’t fuck up the job. But you know who would care? A partner. So, the guys weren’t too thrilled when they heard the news.

“One day, the Crowncrest will be yours. A king needs his queen, son.”

God, every time someone says that, my jaw clenches. Sylvie would not have been the first choice to be my queen.

“I love her, Dad.”

And that isn’t a lie. I love Sylvie in a way—I do. Just not in a way a man should care about the woman he’s about to marry.

He gave my shoulder a tight squeeze. “That’s my boy.”

With a sudden burst of the door, my head whips around to find Shawn, looking more put together than I’ve ever seen him.

He had his red hair perfectly slicked and swooped, and he’d also gotten rid of the caveman beard he’d previously sported.

Mateo stands behind him, tall and lanky, with large black curls resting on his head.

The men are both in the same pink shirts Sylvie’s mom chose, and their stiff, unnatural postures show how much they’d like to rip them off and continue shirtless.

“If I have to listen to Mrs. Crenshaw talk about how the florist brought the wrong flowers, I’ll shoot myself in the head. That woman can yap her head off,” Shawn complains, pausing when he gets a good look at me. “Wow, King. I didn’t know you could clean up that nicely.”

“Fuck off.” I roll my eyes as my friends snicker.

“Anyway, the guests are getting antsy, and Mrs. Crenshaw told me to tell you that Sylvie said to hurry up because she’s ready to walk down the aisle,” Mateo explains.

My fiancée—always impatient. But God forbid I tell her spending an hour fixing her hair for our dinner date is too much time.

My cousin wraps an arm around my shoulder and speaks with a hidden sense of pity. “Let’s get you to the altar and marry you off to your prissy queen.”

It’s time to give my life away.

Our crime families mean that Sylvie and I have big, close-knit clans, so every seat is taken by guests, along with the guards we have posted. And that’s without mentioning the paparazzi lurking by the gates, eager to photograph my wife and me as we step out together.

We—I mean, Sylvie, chose a beautiful fifty-acre garden with large, colorful trees and blooming floral bushes as our wedding venue. She hoped for something that felt connected to nature, like herself, and possessed a gentle elegance. Now that we’re here, I’m happy with what she picked.

Strutting down the aisle, I pass several of my father’s men. They are on duty and armed, with serious expressions as they survey the vicinity. If Shawn and Ryland weren’t my groomsmen, they’d be part of that lineup, but they still have their guns on them. We all do, but they’re concealed as always.

I catch Sylvie’s mom’s eye as I wait at the altar.

She gives me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen, which I manage to return.

Even though Sylvie’s a pain in my ass sometimes, I can’t help but sympathize because of her mom.

That woman is the definition of evil—and trust me, I’ve encountered a lot of evil.

While her father is terrible to her as well, at least he doesn’t show favoritism.

Mrs. Crenshaw doesn’t hide that she favors her sons over her only daughter.

It’s been apparent since we were kids, and it’s no wonder Sylvie grew up into the feisty woman she is now.

Sylvie’s mom’s only proud moment of her daughter is her saying yes to marrying me.

If she weren’t her son’s mother, she’d want to be married to one of them. That’s not me guessing—she straight up said it.

Suddenly, everything quiets. Soldiers stand up straight, guests collect themselves, and the bridal chorus begins.

My eyes fall on my fiancée at the end of the aisle. Her white floral gown sweeps the floor as she approaches. Her typically loose brown hair is styled in an updo, and her professional makeup is noticeable even from a distance down the aisle.

Her father’s muscular arm almost engulfs his petite daughter as he escorts her down the aisle. They both walk with determined expressions. Buster always looks like that, and often Sylvie too, but I thought she’d at least crack a smile on her wedding day.

“You look gorgeous,” I whisper as she steps in front of me.

Her teeth glisten as she smiles. “You aren’t looking so bad yourself, King.”

Despite her neutral expression earlier, I can sense her genuine excitement. Sylvie isn’t one to dish out compliments; she’s truly in a good mood. Is it too much to ask for her to be this delighted throughout our entire marriage?

The officiant begins the ceremony, which, like all weddings, is lengthy and protracted. Right now, my chest should tingle, as it surely does when you wed the person you love. A wide, uncontrollable, goofy grin should spread across my face, but I can only manage a half-smile.

This doesn’t feel the way I know it should—like I’m about to spend the rest of my life with my person.

It’s sappy of me, I know. Shawn says I sound like a girl when I go on and on about finding true love and happiness, but in our line of business, having at least one pure thing to look forward to gives me the push I need to keep going. That last motivation is diminishing right before my eyes.

Maybe I’ll learn to love Sylvie in the way I’m supposed to, and not as a girl I’d like to protect.

A disturbance at the garden’s front gate catches my attention.

The paparazzi are swarming and trying to crash the ceremony, and our security is working overtime to keep them out.

When the son of the biggest hotel chain and the daughter of the largest investment firm in Louisiana—meaning the children of some of the wealthiest people around—get married, everyone wants in.

“Kingsley.” The officiant catches my attention.

Feeling all eyes on me, I clear my throat. “Yes?”

“Your vows?”

Vows? Why the fuck would I have vows?

You’d think that at an arranged wedding, vows wouldn’t be expected. We barely liked each other a year ago, for fuck’s sake. Now we tolerate one another, but not enough to write vows.

“Alright, I guess,” I mumble, wringing my hands. “Sylvie Crenshaw, you are one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. You know what you want and how to get it, and I admire that. I’m pleased to call you my fiancée, and soon, wife.”

With a broad smile on her face, Sylvie’s eyelashes flutter as she blushes. The crowd fawns at my words, unknowing that I pulled them straight out of my ass.

The officiant turns to the bride. “Your turn, Sylvie.”

Sylvie glances at her manicured hand, her cheeks still red. “I don’t have any. Kingsley knows what he means to me.”

The officiant’s eyebrows knit in concern, mirroring the looks of annoyance from many in the crowd. The frowns on my groomsmen also show their displeasure. I’m the only one not thrown off by her dismissal. Sylvie’s not going to make up vows if she does not feel like it.

Oh, but if I blew off the vows in front of everyone? I’d sleep on the couch the night of my wedding.

“Sylvie,” Shawn blurts, and I hold back a sigh before even hearing his full sentence. “You can at least say something.”

Sylvie’s head jerks backward, as if she couldn’t believe Shawn dared to speak to her. Those two have never gotten along.

“Why are you talking?” she asks, eyes looking down on him.

“Kingsley,” Sylvie’s mother booms. “Tell your groomsman to keep my daughter’s name out of his mouth.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m a na?ve idiot for thinking this wedding had a chance of going smoothly. We’re surrounded by the world’s most opinionated, must-always-be-right people to be alive.

“Kingsley,” Sylvie pesters, hands on her hips, angrily. “Defend—”

A loud bang erupts throughout the garden, making my heart skip a beat as everyone ducks. The silence is chilling as something wet splashes me, causing my eyes to slam shut. My ears are ringing intensely, and my hand wipes at the warm wetness all over my face.

Panicked, blood-curdling screams come seconds later, but they’re muffled. My hands go cold at the distinct sound of firearms being drawn, likely from the guards. I try to piece together what’s happening, but everything around me slows, leaving me completely disoriented as my ears continue ringing.

When I finally open my eyes, I register nothing. My eyes fall to my hands, and the first thing I make out is the red splattered not just on them, but on my whole body. That’s when I notice the blood, thick and dark red, at my feet.

My heart pounds in my ears, and I know I shouldn’t look, but I do anyway. My throat goes dry as I stare at my wife, lying on the ground, body pale and dress soaked with blood. Her eyes are lifeless before me, and in her chest lies a large bullet wound.

She was dead the moment the shot went off.

And the hollowness in my chest makes me wonder: Am I dead too?