Kylie

Ten years later

Washington

We all have our growing points, defining moments that shape us into who we become. Some take a ride on the wild side just doing whatever the hell they like.

Maybe it's car racing, hiking, sky diving, drugs, anything to feel that pulse losing rhythm.

The outcome can go two ways, addiction or death, but hey, we're born to die any way, might as well speed it up.

Others go through loss, that major kind, like their parents dying, sisters getting raped or brothers getting murdered just because they tried to be men and walked through that forbidden dark corner. The list goes on.

Those people take you to emotional levels most wouldn't even have nightmares about.

If you’re lucky enough and you love them, there is no passion greater than what they’ll give back to you.

No matter how dark that road you walk on.

Then there are people like ME, who never searched for the freedom of choice, who was never burned with the taste of death.

But one time in their life it all came crashing down and turned them into that soulless, jaded, ice cold being. Until they were unrecognizable but for the sins they scorched on this earth.

“Kylie, we going to be late,” Diamond screams, but it's not louder than her fist going to war on the door. Who knew she'll TURN into a banshee when I told her I’ll take her to the Catelli house.

My butt is glued to the edge of the bed.

I'm slipping on my white Prada shoes when her patience runs out and she comes barging in like a princess on steroids.

Looking up I stare at my best friend since second grade as my black hair brushing my shoulders reminds me I'm due for a cut.

I always keep it short in the summer. The ends curl wildly in the morning, and I'm too darn lazy to iron it out every darn day.

My Grandma used to say, tame the tongue, smooth the hair, keep those fake smiles when needed because it’s only going to give you wrinkles, and never forget to carry your boots.

“And I said we’ll get there when I'm ready since when did bitchiness ever rhyme with Diamond,” I drawl.

Her brown eyes spark.

Blonde hair now two shades darker swishes along her lower back, as she puts a hand on her hip glaring at me,

“Since now and just because you have issues with your brother doesn't mean that I have to suffer, I want to see Ren. Who knows when I’ll see him again Kylie.”

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I fail miserably.

I stand up to my now full six foot three inch frame after the added four inch custom made designer shoes I received as a gift from David last week and smirk,

“You saw him yesterday, and you are going to see him today, and most probably tomorrow and the next day.” Watching as her face cracks, I continue,

“And the next day, and probably the day after that and the..”

Diamond bursts into a fit of teenager giggles, hands in the air surrendering,

“Okay, enough, you got me, I get the point, bitchiness and me are a no go.”

Smiling at this small glimpse of the teenage girl that peeps out of my genius friend every blood moon,

I pick my clutch off the hotel bed. My mood is lighter than it was five minutes ago.

The Stone Heart Palace hotel in Washington where we’re currently staying this weekend belongs to my brother, Michael.

He bought it for basically pocket change three years ago, and has since turned it over into the best hotel in Washington State using what he calls ‘Air energy’, and his impenetrable ‘lock n key’ computer program, that is basically controlled over voice.

Once you book a room, your voice becomes activated to that room for the length of your stay.

From the shower running to pre-ordering room service, it's all managed by voice command. Pretty cool and genius, but to Michael, it's not perfect.

Because as he so publicly pointed out the down side to it was-

If you can't talk, you can't get the full experience.

Which brought the reason why Michael was inventing a system that worked from thought.

“Lights off, door open,” I order without raising my voice as I stride toward the white carved China (mainland) doors. Diamond's five foot eight inch frame walks ahead and her pearl glass nail polished finger tips keeps the door open for me.

Once the door is locked I turn to my young friend, who insisted wearing flats today, ready to ask the winning question, “Which of my brothers did you say was waiting downstairs again.”

Cringing, her lips thin, which isn't thin at all, since her lips have always looked overly plump,

“Vincent.”

Just kill me now. Out of all my brothers, Vincent is the worst one I could get stuck with tonight.

Normally they have turns watching us when we go on our rampage. It's the hard rule Diamond and I had no way out of when it came to leaving Liston Hills- our home town, eight months ago.

With Diamond’s dad facing charges on illegal fire arm possession and attempted murder, it was a no brain-er she stayed with me.

My dad was recently assigned with temporary custody of Diamond until her eighteenth birthday.

Due to Diamond's background and questionable family, my entire family worried about both of us and came up with the stupid idea that we get chaperoned at night.

My brothers don't trust bodyguards not to lie so they agreed to do it on their own.

Normally I have a few days to prepare my brain for which brother’s ass-hole-Ness I have to put up with. But not tonight, it's Michael's turn. Just thinking about him hurts.

I cried and begged for his forgiveness but all he ever said was, “In order for me to forgive you Kylie I would have to forget and that requires time.”

Though he said it over the phone I read his words for what he just refused to say - he would never forget, never forgive me.

The mere thought of my actions causes something in my stomach to churn.

Six months have passed since that night, one hundred and eighty-three days today since he called me Ky.

I couldn't blame him, I don't.

My fuck ups cost him Willow, his long-time girlfriend, his true love.

The same woman he chose to propose to on the very day that I ruined it, on the night of my eighteenth birthday.

The obsidian floor-length silk wrapping my body from my chest to toes blows to my right, outlining the shape of my toned thighs as Diamond and I leave The Palace in identical dresses.

Assaulted with the chill of the wind and the stench of car fumes my nerves rise with pinpricks of fear spotting the Bentley waiting right in the center of the pickup zone.

The stiff smiling Larus, Vincent's driver-slash bodyguard holding the door open, only reinforces my dread.

His tie is always the same black dull shade with his crisp white shirt and black suit a size too large.

It just isn't him.

Larus is too rough on the edges.

His nose is beyond disfigured that even his smile seems malicious.

I never liked the guy and for good reason. Those dead eyes of his just make me shudder and not in a good way.

“Ms Bray, Ms Larken,” I pat him on the back mumbling a soft hello. When he stiffens at the brief contact I slide into the back seat, all pleasantries forgotten.

A pair of hazel eyes assaults my mood further, wrecking it with every second that ticks by, slaying me with its sharpness.

I huff,

“Vincent,” feigning frustration, when I am anything but.

His chisel jaw tightens, jerking his head with a robotic nod that I am supposed to take as a hello.

Normally if it was any other guy, I would've blessed him with my Southern charm and schooled him on manners of how to treat a lady.

But with Vincent, I merely drop my gaze and pretend that he did actually greet me.

In fact in my mind I pretend that he kissed my cheek as my other brothers would and asked me how I was doing.

Diamond slams the door quickly as she gets in, earning her a chilling glare from Larus. Which she matches with one of her own.

I nudge her to snap out of it before turning my attention to the window.

I don't expect Vincent to say anything, he is normally quiet in front of an audience.

I guess I should've known something about today is different,

maybe noticed that he's edgy,

tense,

but I don't.

His gaze however I do pay close attention to, it's inscrutable as he takes us both in - me sitting close to the window and fifteen year old Diamond plastered to my side.

Leaning back in his seat opposite me as the car moves, his legs spread apart.

We make a sharp turn into the chaos of Washington’s peak hour as his hands flatten on his thighs,

and just like that he is the imposing MAN I have come to know.

But, I don't really know him.

The glint from the big ring on his index finger- a permanent reminder of who he is and what he’s done to get there taunts me with that singular piece of knowledge.

Does anyone really know him?

I ask that question thousands of times in my head, every freakin’ day, always I arrive at the same bland, depressing answer.

Vincent Stone isn't the type who would allow such a thing.

To Vincent, letting someone know you is a weakness.

Vincent Stone is hardened by purpose,

he is calculated,

Everything he does has a higher, more important outcome.

A singular goal.

I know that much.

How could I not when the very reason he is even in this car is for one,

POWER.