Page 53 of The Dead Don't Talk
The patch of dried white on his front makes my lip lift in a snarl.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Meeting doesn’t start for another hour, man.” He gestures around behind him where his friend flops onto the couch. “Me and Derek always come early to get the first round in so I’m ready for the second. Like a warmup or whatever.”
“I’m confused,” Wilson murmurs. “Where are the elders?”
“Oh!” The guy shoves his hand in our direction, his lips stretched in a grin over his really white teeth. “I’m Kyrt. The eldest of the elders.”
“No fucking way. You’re like twenty.”
His eyes light up in amusement, appearing purple in the pink light, and I scowl down at him.
He’s just too …pretty. Like all looks and no brains kind of guy.
And way too young to be anything other than a fucking joke.
“Yeah, I am actually. Well, twenty-four, but close enough.” Amo squeaks beside me as the guy speaks, and Wilson wanders around the room. “But what can I help you with?”
I blink at him, waiting for him to crack and tell me that this is all a dream or something equally believable over this asshole being one of the people that help run this fucking place. One of the leaders that directs teams and makes sure the masses don’t go hungry.
This guy.
Who’s still got dried cum on his fucking shirt.
That’s walking around barefoot and burning the incense that makes people horny and agreeable.
“Look, I know the silent treatment used to work on my dad, Moros, but I—”
“Wait, you know who he is?” Amo asks with an edge that has my head cocking as he takes a step that angles him in front of me.
What the fuck does the kitten think he’s doing?
“Yeah,” Kyrt answers with way too much enthusiasm, completely ignoring that Amo just got defensive. “We put him in the history lesson like two to three years back.”
“For what?” my kitten hisses out, and I grab his shoulder. Squeeze his too-tight muscles. Force a deep, rose-rich breath.
“The battle!” Kyrt snickers and spins away, flailing out the tail of his robe as he goes. I want to snatch it up. Wrap it around his neck until he answers the questions we have and then maybe choke him out some more.
He doesn’t continue until he’s settled in the lap of his companion.
His male companion.
My already itching skin starts to burn.
“You must’ve just missed the addition of the last decade into the class, Amo.” My fists flex.This is wrong. All fucking wrong.Where are the decrepit old men and their stuffy bullshit attitudes? The sagging fucks with strict rules and hateful words? “He can probably tell you the story better than I could, but basically we owe how this place operates toDeath.”
Not this shit again.
I growl in Kyrt’s direction, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as he maneuvers around his seated and silent partner until he’s straddling him while facing us.
It’s an odd position to address us in, and makes him extremely vulnerable, but I would expect nothing less from someone that hides behind his people. Inside these walls. Behind closed doors.
He might be new,young, but he’s no different than the rest of the old men that cowered when the fight broke out on their very own doorstep.
My fingers curl at the memory of their shouts, and the way their flesh felt when I busted it open.
“Most of the elders Micheal had in place have turned or passed on, leaving me and six others in charge. Derek here is one of them.” Kyrt talks with his hands way too fucking much, this time gesturing to his partner. “The old elders never recovered from the battle where Moros took out half of them and left the other half to pick up the pieces.”Like I give a fuck.
