Year Two (Kingmakers, #2)

by Sophie Lark

Rocco has not improved on further acquaintance. Every time I see him, I loathe him more.

There’s no warmth in Rocco. I don’t think he even feels lust.

I shove my way through the crowd and grab her by the arm. “Excuse me,” I say to the pitcher. He shakes his head, coming out of his trance. “Hey!” he says. “We were talking!” “She’s gonna talk you right into Cook County jail,” I inform him. “She’s sixteen years old.” The pitcher’s jaw drops. Sabrina scowls at me, an expression that only manages to make her look more beautiful. My cousin is fucking dangerous. “Let go of me,” she says coolly. “Not a fuckin’ chance. You’re gatecrashing.” “Oh, please,” she tosses her long, dark hair back over her shoulder. “You’re letting anybody in here. That dude gave up three home runs to the Sox on Thursday.” I keep dragging her toward the exit. “Yup. Everybody’s welcome except you.” “Why not?” “ ‘Cause I don’t want Uncle Nero to cut my fucking head off.” Now Sabrina’s really pissed. “Are you serious?” “As serious as antibiotic resistance.” “Miles!” “Sabrina!” I’ve taken her all the way outside to the ivy-choked alleyway next to the factory. “Look, I get it. You hate being treated like a kid, and you just want to dance and have a couple drinks and make those dudes embarrass themselves for your amusement. On a normal night, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. But I’ve got a lot riding on this and I can’t keep an eye on you at the same time.” “I don’t need you to babysit me!” “Yeah, yeah, I know—you can take care of yourself. Go do it at some other party, ‘cause your dad’s already pissed at me.” I whistle to catch the attention of a cab droppi...

“Sabrina,” I say, with an irritated sigh. “Did you have to go for the liver? I wasn’t planning on burying a body tonight.” Tall n’ Ugly looks up at me, grimacing in pain. “I’m not dead,” he pleads. “You will be if I pull that knife out of you,” I say. It’s buried hilt-deep in his side, and it has Sabrina’s prints on it. Sabrina looks down on him contemptuously. “You could take him to one of the safe houses,” she says. “Or just pull it out and drop him on the side of the highway.” “I’m not doing anything,” I tell her. “I’ve gotta wrap this party up. You and Anders take him. Go out that way,” I say to Anders, nodding my head toward the padlocked gate. “I don’t want any guests seeing him.”

I’ve been hustling since I was twelve years old, saving up every penny in pursuit of my ultimate goal. I want to be an actual Kingmaker. The appointer of stars. Creator of music, fashion, and cinema. I don’t want to be Justin Bieber—I want to be Scooter Braun. I have no desire for celebrity. The real power is the man behind the curtain. The producer at the epicenter of global culture. I want to find a hundred Iggys, and I want to drop a thousand albums. I want to produce the next Avengers franchise. And I want to control the billions of dollars of endorsements and ads attached to all of it. There’s one crucial factor of this dream: I have to do it on my own. I’m building my empire without a penny of my parents’ money. I want to stand on top of the mountain without a single asterisk next to my name. The American Dream is to be a self-made man.

“It’s a dark day when your kids could send you to your room if they really wanted to,” she says. “Don’t worry,” I tease her. “I’m still scared of Dad.” “Thank god,” she says. I’m not actually scared of my dad. I might be if I only ever saw him on his own, with his electric stare and his way of barking orders that seems to snap men to attention like they’ve been hit with a whip. But then my mom sidles up to him, taking little jabs at him, making him laugh when you’re sure he’s never cracked a smile in his life. And you realize he’s got a soul after all, however hard he tries to hide it. He’s a good man. My mom’s a good woman, the best woman.

“Where are you going?” I ask. “Breakfast with Uncle Nero.” “I don’t know if that’s worth dressing up for,” I say. “Since he’s probably gonna show up in coveralls.” “I’m not taking tips from somebody wearing moon boots.” My dad frowns, shaking his head at my sneakers. “What the hell are those?” “They’re . . . fashion!” my mom says, doing jazz hands. “They’re the re-drop of the Nike Air Mag,” I inform him. “They only made eighty-nine pairs. I could sell these for thirty-five thousand dollars right now. Used!” “I will pay you thirty-five thousand dollars if I never have to look at them again,” my dad says. “Tempting,” I say. “But if I keep trading up, I might just get my hands on a pair of the solid gold OVOs.” “Please tell me you’re keeping at least some of your money in an IRA,” my dad says. “Don’t worry, Dad.” I grin. “The nice thing about money . . . is you can always make more.”

“Inside voice before nine in the morning, please.”

“Nice breakfast, biker bitch,” Jasper says to her. “I always knew you liked sausage.” Chay picks up one of the brats in her fingers and takes a ferocious bite off the end, chewing loudly in Jasper’s face. “I only like big, thick sausages,” she says coolly. “From what I hear, you’ve barely got an Oscar Meyer weenie.” “Big enough to choke you when I shove it down your throat, you fucking whore,” Jasper hisses, his nose almost touching hers. “Fucking try it and see what happens,” Anna says furiously from Chay’s other side.

“Was that Rocco Prince that just left? He’s a creepy fucker, isn’t he? No offense, Zoe.” “You could only offend me by complimenting him,” I tell him. “Then consider us on permanent good terms,” Leo says, grinning. “I don’t know,” Miles says, taking a swig of orange juice. “He’s got his charm. If you ever wondered what it was like to meet Ted Bundy.” “I never wondered that,” Cat says quietly. “Holy shit!” Miles says, doing an exaggerated double-take and pretending to peer over the top of the table at her. “There’s a kid there! Is it ‘bring your daughter to school’ day, Zoe?” “That’s my sister, Cat,” I say coolly. “She’s a Freshman.” “They get tinier every year,” Ozzy says, shaking his head in wonder. Cat’s face is flaming. This is a joke that’s gonna get real old, real fast for her. “Alright, knock it off,” I say, “she doesn’t want to hear it.” “It’s okay,” Cat mumbles.

“Not all of us get to be a rebel without a cause,” I say to him. Miles keeps his eyes locked on mine, his face unsmiling. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of causes,” he says.

If I were getting married, which I’m not, I’d break every bone in Wade’s hands before I’d let him touch my fiancée.

“You are gonna survive, aren’t you, Zoe?” She’s silent for a moment, then she lets out a sigh. “Yeah,” she says. “For now.” It’s the closest thing to a promise I’m going to get out of her. And besides, who am I to make her swear she won’t try to kill herself again? I might do the same if I had to marry that walking corpse Rocco Prince.

The second time happened today, courtesy of my very own roommate Rakel. It felt a lot more personal. Anytime she and I get left without partners, I can see her boiling fury that anyone might think she’s equally as undesirable as me. She put me in a headlock within five seconds and ignored my hand desperately tapping on her shoulder, begging her to let go. I woke up face-down on the mats, blood gushing out of my nose. “A tap-out means you stop,” Professor Howell informs her sternly. He’s only a few inches taller than me, but he’s lean and fit and faster than a jackrabbit. When he’s in a good mood, he’s one of the more pleasant professors. But when you cross him, he fixes you with a black stare that could curdle milk. “I didn’t feel her tapping,” Rakel says, insolent and unrepentant. Even amongst the Spies, Rakel has a perpetual scowl that has made her barely any more popular than me. “You’ll feel the consequences if you try it again,” the professor says, scalpel-sharp. “You see that over there?” He jerks his head toward a tall metal cylinder in the corner of the gym. It looks like an Iron Maiden—smooth and featureless on the exterior, with only a glassed-in horizontal slit at eye level. “Yes,” Rakel says slowly. “That’s a deoxygenation chamber. Useful for training for high altitudes or increasing stamina by forcing the body to overproduce red blood cells. I can change the oxygen percentage to any level I like. You ignore a tap-out again, and I’ll put you in there for half a...

Not all mafia men are bad. She could end up with a Leo instead of a Rocco. There’s still hope for her.

“Don’t know why you’re sunbathing,” he says to Anna. “I’ve never seen you catch a tan darker than chalk.” Leo frowns and opens his mouth to tell Hedeon off, but Anna forestalls him. “Quit barking at all of us because Silas slapped you silly,” she says. “It’s not our fault your brother’s an ass.”

“Zoe’s best friends with my cousin. Me, Leo, Anna . . . we’re looking out for her. If you don’t want to be enemies, then keep your fucking hands off her.” “You have a strange sense of justice,” Rocco says, his blue eyes fevered. “Would I tell you not to drive your own car? Or eat the food in your own fridge?” “You’re not married to her yet,” I say. “The contract is signed.” “Yeah? Where’s the clause about cutting her eye out? Are you too stupid to take care of your own property?” “It’s none of your business what I do to Zoe. I could set her on fire just to watch her burn.”

Leo was just chosen Sophomore Captain for the Quartum Bellum. It was pretty much guaranteed to happen, after the unprecedented victory of the Freshmen last year, but now it’s official.

“Just you two tonight?” I say to Anna. “Relax.” She smiles. “Zoe’s coming with Chay.” “I was just asking. For the cover charge,” I say quickly. “You’re not gonna charge us!” Anna cries, outraged. “Absolutely I am. Leo can down an entire punch bowl by himself.” “What’s the family discount?” Leo says. “Two for the price of two.” “I’ll pay it,” Leo says. “But only ‘cause poor Ozzy’s having such a shit week. He deserves it.” “Thank you,” Ozzy says, taking Leo’s crisp hundred-dollar bill and tucking it directly into his pocket. “Couldn’t go to a better cause.” When I turn around again, I’m facing an angel. Zoe’s wearing a diaphanous white gown that seems to float around her body. On her shoulders, intricately-cut wings made of paper and wire. Her dark hair is loose and shining. Her skin glows in the moonlight. “Jesus . . .” I say. “No.” Zoe gives me a small smile. “Just one of his friends.”

Chay holds out a wad of cash. I wave it away. “No charge,” I say. “You sure?” Chay asks. “I never charge friends.” “What the hell!” Leo calls back over his shoulder, still within earshot of this rank hypocrisy. “Except him,” I tell Chay. “He can afford it.”

“I like vintage,” Zoe says. “Oh yeah?” “Yes. Especially things from old TV shows and movies. Like if I was ever going to buy a gown for myself, I’d love to get one like Marilyn wore in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Do you know the one I mean?”

“Tell me about the Marilyn dress,” I say. “It was hot pink. Perfectly-fitted. With long, matching gloves. I don’t even look good in pink, but the color was so vivid and so powerful . . . you don’t think of pink being powerful, but it can be. On the right person.” “I don’t believe you,” I say. “What do you mean?” “I don’t believe you don’t look good in pink.” Zoe’s cheeks flush a shade lighter than her lips, and I say, “See—you’re pink right now, and you look better than ever.” Zoe fixes me with those light-green eyes, that always seem to have a storm behind them. “Are you flirting with me, Miles?” she asks. I consider denying it. But Zoe is so honest, it demands the same from me. “Yes,” I say simply. “I definitely am.” “Do you think that’s a good idea?” “No. And I don’t give a fuck. I’m going to keep doing it, unless you tell me to stop.” I watch her face closely, to see her reaction to this. She considers. “I don’t want you to stop,” she says. “Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t going to.” She laughs. I don’t know if I ever heard Zoe laugh before this year. It’s a captivating sound, low and intimate, meant only for me. “I knew you were trouble,” she says. “You have no idea,” I tell her.

“Why are you better at this than I am?” I demand. “I wouldn’t say that,” Miles growls, his face very close to mine, my fingers wrapped up in his, our bodies pressed tight together. “I’d say nobody on this dance floor looks better than you.”

I should be cold, going from the heat of the crowded stables to the crisp, open air. But I’m not. I’m never cold around Miles—my heart is always beating too hard, blood thundering through my veins.

Kissing Miles is like dancing with him. We’re perfectly in sync. Time melts away. I can’t get enough of it, I can’t seem to stop. The wind buffets my paper wings, making a sound like a thousand whispers, lifting me slightly like I might fly away.

“I can’t kiss you anymore,” I say. “And I can’t be alone with you.” “I’m not going to argue with you, Zoe,” Miles says, his eyes burning into mine. “I’m also not going to stop.”

“She’s gonna try to fuck and chuck me, like she always does. But she’s not gonna get rid of me so easy. I may not have stamina in the sack, but when it comes to chasing Chay . . . I’m fuckin’ Lance Armstrong.”

“You keep staring and I’m gonna charge you for an Only Fans membership,” I say. “Just assessing the competition,” Rocco says. “Wondering what was so alluring to my fiancée last night.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

“You think you figured me out, because what? I like to make deals to get what I want?” I walk toward him with rapid strides, closing the gap between us in steps. “You think I’m playing around, because that’s what I allow you to think. What you need to understand is that if I decide that you’re going to lose, you might as well write it on the fuckin’ stone tablets. If I turn my wrath toward you, I will not stop raining down hellfire until you and everyone who knows you is done. I will make deals that will ruin your life and any potential life you could have had. Do you think you’re the only one here who will do something psychopathic? I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth, and I won’t lose a single night of sleep over it. You have no idea the lengths to which I’ll go.” Rocco takes one startled step back. It’s instinctive, compulsive. He means to stand his ground, but he can’t. I laugh right in his face. Because I know that’s the thing that will torment him the most. “You’re a fucking ant to me,” I say. I turn around and walk away, leaving him in the echoing silence of his own helpless rage.

“I’m sorry,” Zoe’s muffled voice vibrates against my chest. “I’m embarrassed. I don’t cry, usually.” “I know you don’t,” I say, tilting her chin up to make her look in my eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed. You can be however you want in front of me, Zoe. I like you all the ways. And that was sexy as fuck, by the way. I want to do it again right now.”

“I’m not an idiot, Miles.” I give her half a grin, hands stuffed in my pockets. “Sorry, Miss Robin. I’m sure you remember the recklessness of youth. I don’t think you’re too far out of it yourself.” She smiles slightly in return, but it only lasts a moment before she says, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Miles. This isn’t a game for her.” “It isn’t for me, either. I promise you that.” She examines me with those dark eyes that contrast so sharply with her vivid red hair. The glasses have slipped down her nose again. She doesn’t need them to give me an x-ray stare. “I believe you,” she says at last. “Be careful all the same.” “I will.” I nod. I do intend to be careful. But I can’t promise to be safe.

“He that has once done you a kindness will be more ready to do you another, than he whom you yourself have obliged.”

“It’s silly, I just work on it to blow off steam. I don’t even know what it is.” Miles read through twenty pages, focused and unsmiling, until I couldn’t stand the suspense and I snatched it back out of his hands. “That’s enough,” I said. “Like I told you, it’s silly.” “It’s not silly,” Miles said, fixing me with his clear gray eyes. “It’s fascinating. You’re talented, Zoe.” I shook my head, not able to keep looking at him. “It’s nothing. Not even a proper story.” “It’s not a story,” Miles said. “It’s a script.” “Like a movie script?” I laughed. “Something has to become a movie before it can be a script.” “That’s backwards.” Miles smiled at me. “I mean . . . there has to be some intention for it to be a movie.” “It should be a movie,” Miles said. “I’d watch it.” “You’re just flattering me.” “No I’m not.” He was serious again, taking the notebook back from me, wanting to read more. “I know when something’s good and when it’s not. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I need to see you tonight,” he says. “I have a surprise for you.” “I don’t like surprises,” I tell him. “You will when it comes from me,” he says, showing that crooked smile that has an irresistible effect on me.

“He’s so fucking kinky,” she groaned, trying to comb the knots of her hair. “He does things to me I’ve never even heard of before.” “So you like him?” I said. “Well . . .” She shrugged. “He’s sweet and funny. Smart, too. I just picture myself with more of a Henry Cavill type.” Chay’s certainly beautiful enough to snag anyone she wants. But I feel bad for Ozzy all the same, because in other respects—humor, cleverness, persistence—he’d be a great match for Chay. He’s not unattractive—just unique. Call him an Adam Driver or a Benedict Cumberbatch, if not a Cavill. Attraction is a funny thing. I always thought Miles was good-looking. But with each day that passes, everyone else seems to fade away, and he becomes the standard of perfection. I don’t like blue eyes anymore, or brown. I only want eyes that look foggy in the morning and silver in the moonlight. I only want 6’2 with a crooked smile and a wicked laugh.

“I’m going to get you free of him, Zoe,” he says. I try to shake my head because that’s impossible, but Miles holds my face steady with both hands. “I will,” he growls. “I’ll find a way and I’ll do it. Do you believe me?” I look into his eyes. I’ve never been so wrong about a person. I thought Miles was indolent and self-centered. I thought he didn’t care about anything but his own amusement. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He’s the most determined person I’ve ever met. When he says he’ll do this, I believe him. It’s absurd and unimaginable, but I trust him all the same. “I believe you,” I say.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “All mine.” “I only want to be yours,” I sob. “Don’t let him take me.” “I promised you,” Miles says. “I don’t make promises easily. And I never break them after.”

“This is from a movie, too,” he says. “Do you know it?” I shake my head. “I’ll play it for you next time.” I look up into his face. “How many next times will there be?” “Infinite,” he says.

We work well together, Zoe and me.

“I love you,” I say, without thinking, without planning. Zoe’s eyes go wide. For the first time I see a clear resemblance to her sister Cat. She looks startled and frightened. “You do?” she says. I have to laugh. “Why are you surprised? Hasn’t it been obvious for a while?” “When did you start loving me?” I think back. “In the infirmary. When you told me not to pity you.” She shakes her head at me, a slow smile stealing over her soft, full lips. “I love you too, Miles,” she says. “Since when?” Now she’s smiling all the way, her eyes gleaming. “Since I saw you naked,” she says. I laugh, seizing her and kissing her hard. “Is that the only reason?” “Yes. I’m horribly shallow.” “You know what, I’m fine with that. I’ve always wanted to be objectified.” I pull my sweater over my head, baring my chest. “Feast your eyes.”

“I love you, Zoe. I fucking love you.” I don’t know why I waited this long to tell her. It feels so good to say it. It’s what I meant when I told her I’d set her free from Rocco. I meant that I’d do anything for her. The real, actual words are more powerful. When she says them back to me, it thrills me to my core. It makes me feel invincible, god-like. “I love you, Miles,” she says, looking up into my eyes. “Always you, only you.”

Nothing in the world has ever felt this good. No deal, no win, no triumph. Zoe is the ultimate prize. The only thing I want in this moment is to secure her. To make her mine forever.

I hear my mother, and I understand her. But nothing can stray me from my course. I won’t give up Zoe. I can’t. I want her, or nothing at all.

“He’ll do it?” “Sounds like it,” Leo says. Ares has a textbook propped up against his milk glass and he’s reading as he eats, oblivious to the drama going on around him. “He had some other suggestions for who he thinks should fight,” Leo says. “Oh yeah, who?” Anna says. “Ares,” Leo replies, looking over at his friend. Ares glances up, eyebrows raised. “Does he know we won’t be fighting each other? ‘Cause it sounds like he wants a re-match.” “You rung his bell.” Leo grins. “Knocked a little sense into him.” “Maybe if I punch him fifty more times he might turn halfway decent,” Ares says, returning to his textbook. “You want to do it?” Leo asks. “Punch Dean? Of course.” “No. Do you want to compete?” Ares pauses, eyes still fixed on the page. Without looking up he says, “I don’t think so.” “Why not?” A muscle jumps at the corner of his jaw. “You know I don’t like that shit. I wanna help the team, but there’s better fighters than me.” Leo doesn’t argue. Everyone knows Ares hates attention. Even I know it, and I’m barely an acquaintance.

“Where have you been?” Zoe says, her cheeks flushing pink just from the sight of Miles. “Thought you might be getting hungry,” he says, passing around a paper bag of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. They’re warm and soft, the chocolate chips still melty from the oven. I scarf my cookie down in two bites. “A present from your friends in the kitchen?” Zoe laughs. “I told you, they’ll trade their souls for the right baggie.” Miles grins. “No milk?” Leo complains. “Only for Zoe,” Miles fires back, pulling a chilled glass bottle out from under his shirt and ripping off the paper top. “Zoe. I will pay you five hundred dollars for that milk,” Leo says, eyes fixed on the bottle. “I’ll do all your homework for a year. Please. I need it.” “There’s plenty,” Zoe says, taking a sip and passing it along. “I’m happy to share.” “And she doesn’t want your homework help,” Anna laughs. “It wouldn’t improve her grades.” “I’ve been studying this year,” Leo says, pretending to be hurt. “Not as much as Zoe.” “Well if that’s the standard, then none of us study.” “Except Ares,” Zoe amends.

“Well,” I sigh. “I’d better get going. I’m supposed to work on a coding project with Rakel this afternoon.” “She talking to you now?” Chay laughs. “Sometimes!” I say. “A lot, actually.” “I bet poor Anna wishes I’d give her the silent treatment once in a while,” Chay says, grinning at Anna. “Only after midnight,” Anna grumbles.

I had never been happy before, not really. I never knew what it felt like. Happiness is exhilarating, intoxicating. I’m drunk on it. It makes me believe I can do anything. It makes me believe that everything will be okay. It’s changing me. And it’s changing Miles, too.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Anna tells me. “I’m not saying he was a dick before—I mean, he was always nice to me. When he felt like it. But he was obsessed with doing everything his own way, without help. Everybody’s his friend and everybody owes him favors, but ultimately it was about Miles and what he wanted. You’re bringing out the best in him, Zoe. Giving him something to care about outside of himself.”

When we meet up with Ozzy and Miles outside the stone walls of Kingmakers, Ozzy stares at Chay with a stunned expression. “You’re just . . . perfection,” he says. Instead of laughing and agreeing like she usually would, Chay says, “That’s really sweet of you to say, Ozzy.” “He stole the words right out of my mouth,” Miles growls, slipping his arm around my waist. “What can I tell you now—what’s better than perfection?” “This,” I say. “This moment right now.”

“I told my mother about you,” Miles says. “You did?” I’m stunned. For all the promises Miles made to me, this is something different, something concrete and real. He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t serious about moving forward with our relationship. “Have you told your mother about me?” Chay says to Ozzy, in her teasing way. She’s only joking—she wouldn’t expect Ozzy to tell his parents about their hook-ups. But Ozzy looks her in the eye, his face serious. “Yes,” he says. “I did.” Chay is taken aback. She’s quiet for a moment, then she says, “What did you tell her?” “I told her I met a girl who’s bold and funny and creative, and absolutely fucking gorgeous, and that I’m crazy about her.” Chay’s blue eyes are wide and startled. For once, she’s not laughing. She opens her mouth to reply but doesn’t seem to know what to say.