Page 53 of Making the King

“You know,” I say when it becomes clear he’s not going to speak. “My mom once told me that my only option in life was to ‘fake it until you make it’.” I make air quotes around the six damning words. “And as much as I hate her, I think that’s true.”

To my surprise, Gray nods thoughtfully, like he’s actually considering my words. “I don’t know where to start,” he admits. “I’m so fucking angry at her, at myself, and my dad. But mostly at myself.”

“Do you ever start fights just to blow off steam?” I ask, and when he confirms my suspicion, I carry on. “I did that a lot my first six months in juvie. Everyone assumes I did it to be the top bitch, and sure, that was the result. But mostly I needed to hurt someone else so my own pain felt less.”

He runs a hand through his messy waves and tilts his head back. “So how the fuck do I fake it?”

“That’s easy!” I exclaim. “Get your fucking appearance under control. That’s step one. Because if you look better, people will assume you feel better. It’s basically step one in the fake-it-until-you-make-it program.”

The sound of rumbling engines reaches us, and I turn to look as several bikes drive around the building, presumably to park near the entrance. None of the riders spare us any glances, they’re all looking ahead.

“Know who they are?” I ask.

As Gray looks at the bikers, he tenses. “Trouble,” he sneers. “They’re nomads who have banded together and created their own club.”

He barely manages to finish his sentence before his phone rings, and I watch as he answers.

“Rocco,” he says as a way of greeting.

There’s some chatter on the other end, but I can’t hear it.

“Yeah, she’s here with me. Why?”

Gray’s dark eyes find mine, and he says, “Rocco wants me to get you out of here.”

I scrunch my face in confusion, but before I can answer, there’s a loud scream and I leap to my feet.

“Gotta go, man. Hurry up.” With those words, Gray ends the call.

I’m not aware I’m throwing open the back door until Gray wraps his arm around me and pulls me back.

“Sorry, can’t let you in there. Rocco wants you far away.”

Stomping on his foot, I spin around and bare my teeth. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I hiss. “And I’m not leaving.”

“Cara!”

I know from the urgency in his voice that he’s trying to do the right thing, and I appreciate that. Not that it’ll change my mind.

“We’ll tell Rocco you tried,” I say. “But I’m not leaving when someone needs help.”

I’ve never been a do-gooder, so I don’t know why it’s so important for me to stay. Maybe it’s because a small part of me likes it here. With no time to stand around and self reflect, I continue down the dark passage.

As we reach the end of the dark hallway, we’re greeted by bottles being thrown, and I narrowly miss one being thrown in our direction.

“Fuck!” Gray hisses.

We both duck in time, but one of the Diamonds isn’t as lucky and a bottle hits her right in the face.

I watch from the shadows as Sasha storms to her defense, helping her up from the floor and over toward the door leading into the shower and changing rooms.

“Hey!” one of the nomads calls out. “Where the fuck’s the rest of your pussy? We didn’t come here for bitches who whine about being touched.”

His fingers dig into the round ass of one of the dancers, who winces like he’s hurting her.

Motherfucker.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” Tex’s voice rings out, and the rowdy laughter from the nomads isn’t enough to drown out the sound of his shotgun being loaded. “Now!”

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