WARPED VANITY ( BL)

CHAPTER 28

Takhun slanted a curious glance my way. "What crawled up your ass?"

I sank down across from them. "Right this moment? You. In general? Kansas."

"That race is going to be spectacular," macau said.

"Don't sound so fucking excited. You don't really believe vegas will allow you to race again after last time, do you?" takhun muttered, throwing his feet up on the table.

"That wasn't my fault," macau snapped.

"Sure. When you crash a car it's never your fault."

"I won't crash this time. I'm much better. I'll win."

takhun didn't look convinced. "It's the longest race. Eight hours minimum. That gives you plenty of time to fuck up."

"I won't fuck up. And the long distance is the best part. It's a cool layout," macau said.

"You won't drive," I said finally. "The race ends in Kansas City. I don't want you that close to Outfit territory."

"Nobody has to know that I'm there. I'm in a car. I can use another name."

"No. And that's final."

Macau frowned and sank deeper into the sofa. "You promised me I could race more often if I didn't skip school and did my Camorra duties."

"And that promise stands, macau, but not this race."

"But Luke will be there again with a new car. He rammed me last time. I want to kick his ass and make him crash his car."

I leaned forward. "You won't go anywhere near that race, macau."

"Fine," he mumbled. "But next race I'm allowed?"

I nodded. I'd thought macau 's fascination with races would wane with time, but it hadn't. He still lived for the occasional race, and I had started rewarding him with them for tasks well done. He was still a reluctant Made Man, but he'd improved, not just his fighting skills but also his guilt over what we did. Sometimes I wondered if I should just let him become the organizer for our races and have him race cars instead of trying to force him into another role, but we needed him. Open war with the Outfit required every Made Man we had.

PETE

Dad was antsy. He kept checking his phone, which rested beside his plate. He usually didn't have his phone on display when we had dinner. It was our family time.

Mom brought a spoon with pureed sweet potato in an arch to paris's waiting mouth; she smacked her lips happily around the food. I, on the other hand, tried to stop Venice from throwing his food around. He didn't like being fed and preferred to shove food into his mouth by himself, but he was still too small for that and made too much of a mess. I held his small hands so he couldn't grab the spoon and brought it to his mouth. It took three attempts before he accepted the food.

"They are cute but watching them eat is a bit disgusting," Sofia said, her nose wrinkled. "And since they started eating normal food as well, their diapers stink."

Dad frowned, obviously unhappy about the topic. He could eat dinner while someone was tortured right in front of him but a stinky diaper bothered him. Men.

Venice let out an indignant howl when I tried for another spoonful of puree. He jerked in his seat.

Dad's eyes held disapproval. Seven months, and he still couldn't bear Venice's sight. At least he'd held Paris a few times, but I didn't think he could ever look past their DNA.

The front door banged open, and Samuel rushed into the dining room, looking ecstatic and a bit unhinged. Dad rose slowly and Samuel smiled. I shivered because there was something dark and awfully eager in my twin's expression. "We got him," he said. "We got the bastard."