Page 26 of The Lost Kings
I started looking through the other side of her closet, already knowing pretty much everything that was in here. Being around someone your entire life meant you knew what their blankets, sleeping bags, slippers, and clothes all looked like.
Presley grabbed my brother’s arm and held on to it as he pulled on a drawer and something loud thumped inside it. He paused and quickly glared down at her before reaching inside.
“Wait…just?—”
“What is this?” He pulled out a gun…
Presley ran a hand over her face. We knew she’d been training with weapons, that was no secret, but we were informed that all artillery would be kept in designated weapons’ rooms, where they’d be locked up and managed by someone with a key. Why would she need one in her closet?
“It’s mine,” she argued, reaching for it.
King pulled it back, anger twisting his words into something harsh. “You’re twelve years old, why the hell do you have it?”
The fire in her eyes burned as she stared at him. She looked like she wanted to fight him.
For a second I wondered if the two would spar like they did in the training room. There was some edge that Kingston was riding, and something deep down told me it had to do with whatever happened when he was a kid. The thing he never shared with us, and while I maybe should bring that up to leverage her telling us, I wouldn’t betray my brother like that. Whatever it was had imbedded inside him like a thorn, and I worried if we tugged, it’d cut an artery and he’d bleed out, or in this case, become someone we didn’t recognize.
“Pres.” I softened my tone and tugged on her hand. “We’re trying to figure out what you’re keeping from us. We just care about you. You know that.”
Her head swung in my direction before she dipped her chin, tucking it to her chest.
“Fine. I’ll tell you guys but…you can’t say that you know. I was told not to tell you, that was years ago, so maybe it’s not as big of a deal now but just in case, you have to keep it a secret.”
I nodded, while Kingston angrily shook his head but set the gun on a shelf. The three of us sat down on the carpeted floor and we waited for Presley to explain herself. She tucked a few chocolate strands behind her ear before setting her hands in her lap and wetting her lips.
“I have that gun because it’s a memory…a reminder.”
“Of what?” Kingston snapped.
I glared at him right as Presley did. “I can’t talk to you if you’re going to be a jerk.”
My brother took a long look at Presley, never wavering from holding her stare until he finally lowered his chin. “This stuff is hard for me to hear…there’s things I haven’t spoken of and I’m not sure I ever will, but I’m afraid of what you’re going to tell me.”
Presley reached her hand out and grabbed my brother’s, pulling it into her lap. She stroked soothingly over his knuckles and the back of his hand while she glanced over at me.
“My dad isn’t in private security.”
Kingston squeezed her hand but didn’t interrupt.
“When I was eight, there was an incident where my dad was shot…do you remember that?”
I thought back and remembered a time that my dad was panicked and rushed out the door, heading to the hospital. Kyle came home a few days later, wearing a sling and looking sickly pale. They’d told us that he’d taken a bullet for one of his clients.
“I remember that.”
Presley checked Kingston’s expression before continuing. “He was shot by a rival family…someone in the mafia. It all happened right in front of me…I am pretty sure Scotty saved my life, and Mom’s too.But when the ambulance got there, Mom rode with Dad and Scotty knew they’d follow them.”
My brother pulled his hand free and ran it through his hair. I noticed he was shaking.
“Rival family?” I asked, still trying to follow what she was saying.
She nodded. “My dad started working for a family back when he was a teenager…I think it had to do with shadowing Uncle Scotty while he worked for a really dangerous family, but he did…something that had a lot of people angry and wanting his life for what he’d done.”
“What did he do?” I was curious what a teenager could have done that would have warranted such a reaction.
Blue fire met me; in the dim lighting of her closet, her eyes seemed extra bright. Her scabbed knuckles rose as she tucked more hair behind her ear in what seemed like a nervous tick. “He killed your grandfather…he was a bad man, someone who was going to hurt your mom and your sister. My uncle Scotty and Decker showed up to help your dad when he went to get her…my dad killed him. He was a very powerful man, and because of what he did, my dad sort of became this other person. He brought on this disguise after training for a long time…he was called The Joker.”
I scoffed, reeling at how crazy this all sounded. “The Joker? Really?”
