"Princess & the Plug": Read Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Killian

A rhythmic pulse vibrated through the dimly lit club, thrumming through the air, and sinking into my bones as I sat at a private, corner table in one of our favorite lounges in Midtown.

The neon lights glowed, casting strange hues on the faces of the crowds immersed in their own worlds, but my focus was solely on the faces of the two men in front of me. My brothers.

There was Dom, the middle one of us three. He was a genius who could hack his way into any system. He was lean, with sharp features inherited from our father, his dark eyes cold as ice. Unlike Jalen and I, Dom had never taken to the physical side of our business. He was more of a behind-the-scenes guy, but his brush with death a year ago had done nothing to temper his reckless spirit. A gunshot wound and weeks in the hospital had only seemed to make him more determined, more relentless. He always had his eye on the prize and left little room for anything else.

Next to him was Jalen, the youngest of us Kings, the firebrand. Built like a tank and with a temperament to match, he was the muscle to Dom’s brain, and had a knack for getting out of bullshit situations thanks to his quick wit and natural charm. His eyes, a mirror of my own, held a fierce light that spoke of untamed energy and relentless determination. He was the one who pushed us into riskier ventures, always hungry for more, always eager for the next adrenaline spike and always wearing a smug grin like he knew the punchline to a joke nobody else was privy to.

And then there was me, Killian King, the eldest. The one entrusted to carry on my father’s legacy. Some called me cold, others ruthless. To me, it was all just about survival. In our line of work, you had to be relentless. You couldn’t afford to show weakness, not when you were running one of the most notorious illegal arms dealing operations in the country.

“So, are we good with this Russo deal?” Jalen’s voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I glanced at the manila folder on the table, stuffed with information about Maxwell Russo. We’d been dealing with the Italians for a while now, but this one was a wild card. I didn’t trust him, not as far as I could throw him.

He’d turned on his brother, Lorenzo in the past, which led to his brother’s incarceration in Federal prison. I didn’t trust anyone who would turn on their own blood, by principle. To me, family was everything and crossing up blood was a cardinal sin. But alliances were a necessary evil in our world, and from what Jalen had told me, Russo was offering a partnership that could prove beneficial.

“I’ve checked the numbers, Kill,” Dom chimed in, his tone nonchalant, “It’s all legit.”

I eyed my brothers, the ties of blood and shared history weighing heavily. “And if it goes south?” I asked, my gaze flitting between them. “Are we prepared for that?”

Jalen’s grin was feral, predatory. “Always.”

Before I could respond, a movement at the edge of the dance floor caught my eye. A woman, her long braids swaying with the rhythm of the music, was twirling, lost in her own world. There was something mesmerizing about her, something that made me pause. Her laughter rang out, pure and unburdened, as she danced with two other women. There was a fire in her eyes, a fierce independence that was intoxicating.

“Damn, Kill, you’re drooling,” Dom’s voice interrupted my observations, his smirk only growing wider at my glare.

I cut my eyes away, forcing my attention back to my brothers. But even as we dived back into the discussion, my gaze kept wandering back to the dancing woman.

Finally, as the music began to fade, Jalen brought me back to the present. “Alright, let’s get out of here. We’ve got a job to do.”

Dom agreed, sliding out of the booth. I tossed one last glance at the dance-floor, catching sight of the woman’s infectious laughter, even as the crowd dancing around her seemed to swallow her up.

We stepped out into the night, the chill instantly sobering us. As we piled into the sleek black SUV parked in the alley, I found myself glancing back at the club. The neon lights painted the night, a vibrant contrast to the dark world we were returning to.

It was late by the time we pulled up to the warehouse. Dom punched in the security code and the heavy metal door rolled up. We stepped into the vast space, the smell of cold steel and gunpowder was as familiar and comforting as old cologne. Jalen went straight to the crates, to unpack the firearms, his broad hands accustomed to the weight and texture. Dom moved to the computer, fingers flying over the keys as he checked the inventory.

The warehouse was a fortress of steel and concrete, hidden by layers of high-tech security, another area of expertise for us. High-tech security systems were another thing that we supplied to our customers. I was the brains behind that business and anything that I came up with, Dom was able to code it and Jalen was able to build it.

“Sure, you’re up for this, Jalen?” I asked, a thread of concern woven into my words.

He cut his eyes over to me and scoffed, not missing a beat. “Quit asking me that shit, man. How many times I gotta tell you that I’m good?”

Dom chuckled from his spot by the computer, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Kill, let him do his job. If he said he’s got this, then he’s got this.”

Despite their words, I couldn’t shake my worry. “I’m just checking. This Russo deal...it’s a gamble.”

Dom paused, turning to look at me. “Aren’t they all?”

“We’ve dealt with worse,” Jalen said, a new box of weapons under scrutiny. “But we’ve got this. We always do. And if shit goes south,” he added, cutting his eyes in my direction. “We’ve got that, too.”

I nodded my head. He was right.

Although we weren’t old, by any means, life had aged us in ways that many would never understand. We were hardened after being born into a world that we didn’t ask for, and wise beyond our years by living in it. The weight of our father’s legacy hung heavy in the air. He had handed us a kingdom built on danger and deceit, and there was no escaping it.

The dance-floor and the captivating woman I’d seen dancing freely on it felt like another world, an echo of what my life could have been and who I could’ve been with if I was another man and lived another life.

My reality was here. I lived a life full of temporary and meaningless connections with women that never made it past the next day because, in my line of work, no one on the outside could ever be trusted. This was my crown of thorns. The kingdom that I was given.

And there was no abdicating the throne.

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