Page 7 of House of Ruin
Angry at Val.
Angry at his father.
Angry at himself.
“I’m not angry,” Blaze said, as he pulled the black T-shirt over his head.
Val snorted, finally peeling her eyes open to look at him. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
There was no point in arguing, so Blaze didn’t. He turned and walked to the door, zipping his fly on his way.
“Meeting is in ten,” Val reminded him when he was halfway through the door. “Don’t be late.”
Blaze slammed the door closed behind him, and in two strides, he was back to his room. It was messy—messier than Blaze preferred—but he didn’t have it in him to concentrate enough to clean.
Lazily, he walked over to the fireplace, where a few half-burnt logs still lay around in the pile of ash.
There Blaze had lined the half-empty whiskey bottles last night. Why, he couldn’t recall through the fog of intoxication.
But he surely had a good reason for it.
Blaze picked up one of the bottles with an old handwritten label that was peeling around the edges and brought the bottle to his lips.
When the first taste of the scorching liquid washed down his throat, Blaze winced but didn’t stop until the bottle was empty.
He placed the bottle back in place and walked over to the windowsill before opening the latch.
A shiver passed his body at the first gust of cold, damp air, but Blaze didn’t bother with a jacket or a sweater. He plopped on the windowsill, lighting a cigarette and inhaling the smoke greedily.
Things had been weird the past two weeks. Weird in a way Blaze couldn’t quite understand or explain. But he could feel it in his chest, the coiling tension, clawing its way out. And failing.
What happens when the king’s head is cut off?
That warning hadn’t left Blaze’s mind for one second. He replayed the words over and over in his mind, trying to place that husky voice.
But it was all for nothing.
Someone was out for Snake’s blood, Blaze’s blood, and there was nothing Blaze could do.
The door to his room opened, Val peeking her inside. “Let’s move.”
With a dramatic sigh, Blaze rose to his feet and followed Val out of his bedroom, down to their home library on the first floor, where the monthly meetings took place.
As she entered the room, Val clapped her hands once. “Gather around, fuckers. Come on, faster. We don’t have the time. Where’s Cadre?”
“He’s changing,” Bea said, settling more comfortably in her seat. But her eyes were wary, watching Val as if she were a wild, unpredictable animal.
Which she was, of course.
Right then, Cadre walked in, rushing towards one of the leather couches that Bea and Gael occupied.
Blaze settled on the arm of an old leather chair; Andro was sprawled on it, one ankle draped over his knee.
“Be late again, and I’ll turn you into a fucking frog and keep you in my terrarium for a month,” Val barked.
Cadre nodded, wide-eyed, and a few laughs went around.
Val scanned the room, her lips pressed into a tight line. It was still beyond Blaze how someone as petite as Val could be so intimidating.
