War and His Queen (Carpe Noctem #1) Read Online Amo Jones

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Dark, Forbidden, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Carpe Noctem Series by Amo Jones

Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)

The Elite Kings Club left a trail of fear behind every person who whispered their names throughout the centuries that they’d existed. They were the product of every nightmare you were told as a child, only now, they don’t go bump in the night. They race modified cars, throw parties to conceal their morbid games, and leave behind the kind of chaos that can never be tamed.
They were from an ancient bloodline of the three Founding Fathers, and it was almost time for them to plunge deeper into the depths of hell. Now that they were all on their motherland, and even closer to an island with history as dark as it was ruthless, no one had a say in the carnage of what was to come. And in this case, with War and Halen. Until now, they were nothing but exactly as they appeared on the outside.
He was a brother’s best friend, and a boy Halen had never not known.
She was the daughter of one of the most feared families known to man, and the only girl who ever kindled his rage. They’d push and pull until it tore them apart…if only to feel the shell of their bodies close.
Halen knew crossing that line with him was dangerous ground, yet she yielded her weapon and did it anyway. But history was being challenged, and The Kings were about to learn that not all enemies are discovered on a battlefield.

Some are the ghosts of what was left behind.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************


Our parents would tell stories about the days when they were in high school in the Hamptons instead of Riverside. I can’t think of anything worse than going to school in the fucking Hamptons. Nothing against the place, but having to exist with the mundane who know nothing of the world I was born into sounds like a fucking liability.

I draw in a deep breath. I’ve been waiting thirty fucking minutes. Only they would make me wait at all—and for what? It better be a good reason. I am tired as hell. Me and the girls sat up all night last night planning what we were going to do. How it was going to be done and what kind of carnage we could create with the time that we have left before the ritual.

Digging through my handbag, something pinches my thumb and I suck it between my lips as the clovers from my bracelet shine against the sun. “These assholes better hurry up.”

Elaborate patterns line the gold archway to the front door of Hayes Castle. I wish I was joking. Our home is an excessive portrayal of modern-day regency, presenting a deceptive image of perfection and gold.

Leaning against the entryway table next to the bifurcated staircase, I hear cars pulling up outside. Doors open and close, and then heavy footsteps pound against the marble porch. Finally, both doors part open, and there, standing in front of me, is my twin brother.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that, Halen. This is the first time we’re not all waiting on you.”

“First of all…” I take a step toward him, before he widens the door further, revealing War and Vaden out on the driveway. “Wait, why are you all here and not already there?”

War lifts his arm to rest on the door of my car, flashing me a wide smirk. Aside from being painfully annoying all my life, he has made it his mission for as long as I can remember to make everything difficult for me. He also has a perverse way of getting off on my demise.

“Get in the car, Halen.”

With a raised brow, my mouth snaps closed. “Uhm, I wasn’t talking to you.”

His tongue glides over his lower lip. “Oh, you weren’t? Hmmm… let me see where I can find the fucks I can give you. Maybe they’re beneath my nine-inch cock. Get in the car.”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Priest—aka said twin brother—turns his back to me and I watch as he makes his way back down to his ride. He opens the front door, and I trace the lines of his flared guards. Priest’s S15 is the best you’d ever see. Dumped almost on its ass and rolling with deep black rims. We all have different cars, but they all stick with the same theme. Even our Euros do.

Black. Even the number plates that we don’t have to display.

“Pap is away, you know!” I call out, flipping Priest off behind his back and shoulder barging past War on my way down.

“Wanna try that again?” War calls out from behind his GTR. The fact that he stole the R32 body that I wanted to build when we were fourteen, and worked it to push over eight hundred horse, meant that not only did I need to import the R34 from Japan, but I threw in a Hakosuka for shits and gigs. Vaden then made a mad dash for the S14, before War was an absolute asshole and took a damn RX4. War’s 32 is pretty, though. Gloss black with a wide body kit and bronze deep-dish rims. And that’s not even mentioning what’s under the hood. We’re just one massive family with a Godzilla complex. Which only meant River grabbed the Honda NSX and Stella the RX7 Batty. Priest has a collection too long to detail.