A man approached us then, dipping his chin in a polite gesture. “Ma’am. Gentlemen. My name is Jeffery. It’d be my pleasure to serve you tonight. May I offer you something other than water?”
“Wine.” My mother patted my hand. “A bottle, not a glass. I’m going to need all the alcohol I can get, Jeffery dear. My sons hate each other.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Uhm, yes, of course. Absolutely, ma’am.” Jeffery tugged on his crooked tie. “Something for the gentlemen?”
“Whiskey.” I said.
Ezra ordered a beer.
Jeffery couldn’t manage much more than a courteous nod before he ran from our table with his stomach in his ass and his tongue in his throat.
“Christ, ma.”
“What?” Her fingers danced along her neck, fidgeting with the necklace that dangled there. “The two of you haven’t gotten through a fucking dinner in nearly three years. I was nothing if not considerate when warning our server.”
Her warning was a carefully calculated guilt-trip designed specifically for Ezra and I. We were no strangers to the way our mother often attempted to drown our emotions with unmatched shame and passive aggression.
It never fucking worked.
For as much as my mother bitched about the way her sons had grown into a couple of ill-mannered barbarians, it was her who’d made us that way.
Silas was damn near captivated by how easily I feigned an existence as a man who was nothing like my true self. A talent like that couldn’t be made.
It was born.
I’d spent years observing my mother, and through my scrutiny, I learned how to toy with reality—how to shift people’s perceptions of me so it worked in my favor.
Perks of being raised by a con-woman.
Ruth Kingston spent decades faking her way through high-society teas and million-dollar functions. She made friends with billionaires only to rob them.
My mother wore many faces, and there were very few people on this earth who knew the real one.
“It wasn’t a warning, ma. It was a threat, and Jeffery had nothing to do with it.”
Her lips fell flat, and she feigned as though she was disappointed we’d caught onto her game, but we’d been playing it for so long, she didn’t make it difficult to win.
“Arguing with Elijah isn’t on my list of top priorities, mom, but you knew exactly what you were doing when you asked us to sit at the same damn table.”
“My relationships with my sons will not be collateral damage to a juvenile rivalry.” She adjusted her silverware and peered around the room as though Jeffery would appear at her side with her wine. “You can handle an evening together, or you can handle my wrath. Now, Elijah, tell me why you aren’t sleeping. I once had a friend with a tumor who—”
“He doesn’t have a fucking tumor.” Ezra rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t sleep because he spends his nights killing unsuspecting men.”
“Ezra, for fuck’s sake.” I glanced around the room. “Will you keep your goddamn voice down?”
“Honey, let’s not pretend it’s Elijah’s morals you have an issue with. You beat the shit out people for a living. I hardly think that’s more upstanding.”
My brother was a wealthy mother fucker, and just like my own, his money was laced in blood. As the undefeated leader of an underground fight club, Ezra was no stranger to corruption and indecency.
“You force men into a cage. I set them free.”
“Oh, fuck you and your God complex, Elijah.”
“My job has nothing to do with a God complex, and you fucking know it. I do it for the same goddamn reason you spend your nights sending men to the hospital.”
For the thrill.