Morgan was back in her cocoon. No Meek. No Messiah. Just herself and the family she had fabricated. She had never felt so unsafe, not even when she had been under Mizan’s roof. A touch that had once felt loving froze Morgan instantly. Bash’s ability to run hot and then cold terrified her. She was just on edge around him, but Ethic was safe. That was all that mattered. She would play her position to keep him that way. No one knew she was unhappy. Sometimes she even questioned if she was just being ungrateful. Bash had never been horrible to her. He was handsome and rich and esteemed. She should have been grateful. Things could have been worse. Sure, he was controlling and his temper sparked sometimes, but he wasn’t unbearable. Only, after Ahmeek Harris, it was impossible to settle for less. She tried not to think of the men she had loved before. The Messiahs and Meeks of the world who gave love in intense waves, leaving a girl drunk at just the thought of them. She missed them both. She loved them dearly. It was the part of her that didn’t want to have to choose between them that made settling seem like the only option. She was hurting herself but neither of them, or so she thought. She had no idea the ways their days were extended by her absence, prolonged by thoughts of what she was doing and who she was doing it with. Twenty-four hours without Morgan was like a life sentence for Ahmeek. For Messiah Williams, it was like death. The no-contact orders that they were forced to abide by because she had been whisked off to the Fredrick family home had put moods on the hearts of gangsters. The solitude gave Morgan time to think. She had never really considered how she had contributed to the chaos in her life. She had always been the type to follow her heart, wherever it may lead, but this time, it had gotten her lost.

“I’m glad things are settled,” Bash said as he stood in front of the floor-length mirror and adjusted his necktie.

Morgan hated his arrogance. She had never noticed it before coming back to Michigan. The entitlement he walked around with. The fake authority. Bash’s respect had been inherited, not earned. She knew real kings who had either stolen or hustled for every jewel in their crown. Men like Ethic, Messiah, Isa, and Ahmeek. Her father. All the men she respected had come up in the trenches. They had waged wars and earned their honor in battle. Bash’s was given, and the way he carried it—as if he were worth more because of what he was born into—turned Morgan’s stomach.

“Are they?” she asked.

He turned to her, pausing, but before he could form words, Yara came flying into the room. Morgan was grateful for the interruption.