Year Two (Kingmakers, #2)

by Sophie Lark

“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.

Her dark hair streams behind her like a banner, and there’s a look of reckless abandon on her face, a wild determination that is instantly, painfully familiar to me. It reminds me of my mother.

“Every choice sets the table. Sooner or later, we all sit down to a banquet of consequences.”

“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.”

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.

“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.”

If I thought the Princes and the Romeros would take a check, I’d clear my account today.

“Beg me to cum in you,” I growl. “Cum in me, please!” she gasps. “Tell me you want it.” “I need it!”

I’ve never heard Dean speak before. I’m surprised how low his voice is, since his face is almost pretty. That’s a strange thing to say about someone who looks mean enough to drop-kick a puppy, but it’s true—Dean Yenin may have bruised, bloody knuckles and a perpetual scowl, but those features are paired with long lashes, violet-colored eyes, and full lips.

“Were you involved in the death of Rocco Prince?” Hugo asks, bluntly. “I think it was mostly the rocks that did it,” I say. “And a little bit the fall.”