The Devil comes with baggage, and not the kind you can lose.

I was two
years old when he saved me. I didn’t understand much at that age, but I
remember the pale boy with hair as dark as ink saving me from two evils. He
said he would protect me; I just didn’t know he meant from himself. I was
raised in the arms of evil, tailored for the Devil like a custom Armani suit,
and every day he wore it like a weapon. Brantley thought by keeping me
locked in his manor, that it would protect me, and it did.
Until it didn’t.

As I slowly adapt to The Elite Kings Club and the dark, sinister world that
exists around the outlaws in suits, I come to learn that the monster everyone
fears is the very same one I crave for comfort…

Like a prized trophy, I sit on his throne…

Something quite pretty, an object he owns…

She’s a porcelain doll, so shiny, so clean…

Something I want to polish, but to never be seen…

The time has come, I am in his world…

Now his Dea, can be admired by all…

The thing with porcelain, is it’s fragile and delicate…

It would only take a second, for me to eradicate it…
 Sancte Diaboli
Copyright © 2021 by Amo Jones

Cover: Jay Aheer

Copy Editing: Paige Smith
Content Editing: My Brothers Editor
Content Editing: Petra Gleason
Proof-reader: Rosa Sharon
Line Editing: Becky Fairest Reviews
Beta Reader: Sarah Sentz, Amy Halter
Formatting: Champagne Book Design

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the
author’s imaginations. Any resemblance to actual person’s, things, living or dead, locales, or events is
entirely coincidental.
 Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
 Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Other Books
 To us.

Because we’re all fucking survivors.

Saint
Everyone has a story, and when you die, your memories cling to the minds
of the people you leave behind, scripted in permanent ink. They can go back
and visit their favorite chapters when they need comfort, or simply skip over
the scenes they want to forget, but what they can’t do, is be removed. Even if
you tear a page from a well-written book, there will always be telltale signs
something was there. There you lie, embedded in their minds forever, so
essentially you’ll live forever, right? I didn’t think much about this until I met
him. The day that I would die, I mean. Would I leave behind a novella, or
would it be a nine-book series that would need your undivided attention? You
see, I’ve gazed into the eyes of death twice in my life, and both times began
at the entrance of his soul. His stare was always heavy and roguish, but he lit
a match inside my body that would burn a lifetime after I’m gone. I wasn’t
sure what I felt the first time his cold, corpse-like skin sailed over mine, but I
remember it was the exact day that I knew I would never be the same. I was
touched by the Devil; Heaven would never want me now. Not that Heaven
was where I belonged either, though I’m sure he thought so. Tortured souls
still weep; they tear themselves apart in dark corners where no one can see.
Brantley is just that—tortured—though he doesn’t conceal it. He wears his
darkness like a souvenir, proud and indifferent. I knew Brantley from the
inside out, and I say that literally. I was familiar with the notes that his blood
left in my mouth well after I had swallowed it.
And I think that will haunt me more than anything. It will haunt me so
much more than this day.
The day my book hit the final page.

Brantley
Past

I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off her. If Dad looked up to my window right
now and caught me watching him and Uncle Hector having a discussion that,
clearly, looked heated, I may as well have had given him the key to my cell
block and called it a fucking day. It wasn’t that I hated my father, it was that I
hated my father. Yeah, there was a difference. I wish my problems with
Lucan Vitiosis were as simple as most kids when they say they hate their
parents. They weren’t. Anyway, back to the little girl. She looked strange.
Like she didn’t belong to this world, more extra-terrestrial. Her hair was long
for her age, around her shoulders, and it had to be the whitest shade of white I
had ever seen. Almost translucent.
I stepped back from the windowpane, and before I could think or even
stop myself, I started making my way down the hallway and stairs. They
creaked beneath my weight, all of the painted portraits of the Vitiosis family
line were staring down at me, probably telling me to stay out of it. “Sorry,
Aunt, whatever the fuck your name is. But did you see her?” I’m still making
my way down the stairs while hitching my thumb over my shoulder. “She’s
like a doll.” Never been a fan of playing with dolls, until I saw her. Now I
want to take her pieces apart just to see how she works.
I paused. My hand gripped the handle of the door. The gold lion emblem
marking the palm of my hand. Fuck it. Turning, I rested my head on the back
of the door, squeezing my eyes closed. I didn’t need to get involved. But then
she screamed, and every note that left her mouth hid in all of the dark corners
of my soul. Instead of running from me, she came to me. Anger sprang
through me instantly and I spun around, whipped the door open, and froze at
the threshold with my shoulders locked and my teeth bared. My eyes found
her body instantly, and I didn’t even realize I was checking her for injuries
until my eyes found Lucan’s grip around her little arms.
I glared at my father. “Let her go.” She wore a purple turtleneck and
white pants. They weren’t soiled or filthy looking, and her skin was bright
and fresh looking. She had obviously been cared for wherever she had come
from. A gold emblem on her top flashed when the sun hit it, but I didn’t pay
that close attention to it.
Lucan turned his head over his shoulder until he met my gaze. “What?”
Hector grabbed the little girl. “I will handle it another way. Brantley,”
Hector demanded my attention, but all I could fixate on was the grip he had
on the little girl. I never gave a fuck about much in life. Not because I didn’t
want to, because I did. I wanted to. But I couldn’t. Everything was white
noise to me. I wish I cared about the mundane shit that my brothers cared
about. Girls, sex, drugs, fast cars, and all that shit. I had a fragile attention
span when it came to everything in life. You got about three seconds to blow
my mind or I’m out.
It had been around five minutes.
“What you’ve witnessed cannot leave this circle, son.” Hector was still
talking, but I didn’t pay him any attention, which in itself is mad disrespectful
to our King Pin. Hector was the Godfather of not only the streets, but the
fucking suits, too.
“Who’s the girl?” I asked, this time forcing myself to disconnect from her
until my eyes landed on Hector.
He looked up at Lucan, who then brought his attention to me. “Go inside,
son. This isn’t your business.”
I took the six steps it was toward them, kneeling down in front of the girl.
She blinked away her tears and finally looked at me for the first time.
Silence. Dead. Silence.
The wind picked up and I could faintly hear something in the background.
Talking, I was sure, but I didn’t care. Everything and anything fell away from
around me, and all that existed in this moment was her and me. What the
fuck? She had my attention completely. Eyes so light, if not for the flecks of
green in them. Her lashes were so dark they could match all of the secrets I
kept hidden in my closet.
She sniffed.
My eyes narrowed.
“What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Brantley,” Lucan snapped from above. I didn’t care. I would take the
wrath that I knew he would lay out for me tonight, do whatever the fuck it
was that he would want me to do, but there was no way in hell this girl was
leaving my side.
Ever.
If someone tried to take her from me, they would only be able to do it by
walking over my cold, dead corpse.
Her little head tilted, causing her hair to lengthen down one side of her
body. She searched my face like she was intrigued. From my eyes, to my
nose, to my mouth, to my collarbone. She reached out and pressed her palm
over my chest, right over my heart, and I felt the electricity zap me from the
outside in. It was as though she literally reached inside my chest and planted
herself deep in my bones.
“Fuck.” Yeah, she wasn’t going anywhere.
She chewed on her little lip, tucking her hair behind her ear, and reached
for my hand confidently. The very same hand she squeezed for protection
was the same one that men would soon fear.
I stood to my full height, which was above average for a kid my age, but
nowhere near as big and scary as my dad and uncle. I tilted my head to look
up at them both. “She is mine. You two can sort it out, and Uncle? The secret
will be more than safe.”
I started walking the girl toward the house. Me, clothed in black. Her,
dressed in color. I knew at the back of my mind that I was leading her into
the darkness, but at least she wouldn’t be there alone. She’d be there with me.
“Nephew…” Hector called out, and I paused just shy of the door. “No
one can know about her. Ever.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
I didn’t ask why they were here. I didn’t ask any of the questions that,
right here and now, I should have asked.
Present
Saint
The day I came into the Vitiosis family burned my brain like a hot iron. His
touch. The iciness of his grip around my hand. He led and I followed. He
spoke and I listened. I think over the years, I confidently became the girl I am
today because I had him beside me. Not always physically, but spiritually.
There was an invisible bond that knitted our souls together from the moment
he took my hand. I think he hated it.
I hear voices downstairs. None of them familiar. Brantley doesn’t have
visitors often. At least he hasn’t for a while. The manor is always noisy, but
it’s not from the people who live here, more from the ghosts of those who
have left.
I flex my fingers around Medusa as she wraps her sleek black tail around
my arm. Medusa was the first pet Brantley bought me when I was ten years
old. I came upstairs to my room after my English session with my tutor and
she was already set up in her enclosure. Brantley was leaning over the glass,
stroking her back. “What do you want to name her?” he had asked, never
looking up at me. I took the steps toward him, wrapping my fingers around
the edge of the glass.
 “You can name her,” I said, chewing on my lip nervously. Not that he
made me nervous, because he didn’t.
His eyes came to mine at the exact moment thunder cracked outside my
window. “I named you, Saint. You can name the snake.” Rain slapped the
glass of my patio doors, but I was too focused on naming my new pet to
appreciate the rain like I usually do. I liked anything dramatic and sullen.
“Hmmm.” I studied the curves of Brantley’s features. He had grown a lot
over the past couple of years, aging into his new body gracefully. He was
fourteen but looked more like sixteen. Lucan always had him busy doing
family business things. I never knew what that was because I was never
allowed out of this house unless accompanied by Brantley and only Brantley.
Never a guard, just Brantley. He hid me, too. Never let me come out of my
bedroom when his friends would come over. I didn’t mind.
“Medusa,” I said, smiling.
“You studying Greek mythology or some shit?” he asked, his thick brows
curving inward.
I nodded, peeking into the glass. “Yeah, that’s why.”
I didn’t want to tell him that it was because he also reminded me of one of
the Greek statues. Cold, pale, and lifeless.

I bring Medusa up to my face, searching her tiny beady eyes. She’s a little
weird and always wants to eat. If I go too long without feeding her, she will
try to eat me, and if that doesn’t work, she’ll try to eat herself.
So dramatic.
She’s my best friend. Well, she and Kore.
“Should I go down this time?” I whisper. I was highly disappointed when
I found out Parcel Tongue was, in fact, not a legitimate language. I watch
Medusa closely, as if waiting for her to answer while remaining far enough
away from my face so she doesn’t snap at my cheek.
Standing from my bed, I move across the room and put her back inside
her enclosure. “You just ate. Stop being greedy.” Her silky body slides over
my arm as she slithers her way onto one of the small branches. I designed the
inside of it just like this home. There’s a small mansion that’s made of steel
which sits in the middle. The design is actually the house from The Addams
Family. I just thought it looked similar to the manor and bought it off Etsy.
I turn and lean against the enclosure, finding Kore curled up on my bed,
sound asleep with Hades beside her. Hades is Brantley’s dog and Kore is
mine. Both Dobermans usually sleep outside my door, but when people are
over, they’re in my bedroom. My white bedding will have black fur sprinkled
over it in no time. Should I go down? I make my way to the mirror that’s
built into the door of my closet. I could go. Brantley would probably get
upset, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. A big part of me used to wonder why he
never let me meet his friends, but then I remember this was Brantley. He still
to this day controlled my every movement.
And I owe him.
I owe him so much.
I take in my appearance.
Yellow sundress with thin spaghetti straps. Not too loose, but fitted
enough to show the curve of my hips. My hair falls over my shoulders in
sleek waves, like an avalanche spilling over mountains, while my face
appears far too pale for the heat that’s rushing around inside of me. I reach
forward and touch the mirror. “Screw it.”
Picking up my white Converse shoes, I slip them on and make my way to
my bedroom door. My fingers flex over the knob as Kore and Hades stir on
the bed.
They know I shouldn’t be doing this as much as I know I shouldn’t be
doing this.
I pull the door open and step outside, walking toward the first staircase
which then leads to the main one. I pace myself as I make my way down, my
eyes fixed on the floor and my fingers grazing over the aged wooden rails.
Silence cuts through the chatter and I know I’ve been spotted.
I bring my eyes up to face everyone. “Hi. I’m Saint.”
They look around at each other; some confused, others not so much.
There has to be around ten people in here, along with a couple of adults.
“Ahh, I think this is our cue to leave,” an older man says. His hair is
slicked back, with a spray of salt and pepper strands that cling to shaved
sides. Tattoos crawl all over his hands and neck—so many tattoos. He takes
the hand of the woman next to him and slowly escorts her out of the room.
Just before they round the corner, they both cast a tight smile toward me.
Pinched lips and droopy eyes. Strange. Yet both oddly attractive.
“What the fuck are you doing down here?” Brantley growls, taking the
first few steps toward me all while snapping the awkward silence that clings
in the air with an iron fist.
“Bran Bran!” A girl, the same one I saw in the gym not too long ago,
interrupts him, her long pink hair tucked behind her ears. “It’s time.”
She knew about me? My cheeks heat. In fact, none of them seem really
surprised to see me.
“She’s right,” another voice says, this time a male. I find him perched in
one of the chairs, a foot pressed against the coffee table. He, like the older
man, has some spraying of tattoos over his arm and neck, though not a lot.
Not as much as the other guys who are in here with them. One even has them
on his face. “You can’t hide her in this house anymore. She’s part of this and
you know it.”
“Part of what?” I muse. My English is fluent, but the end of some
syllables still has my tongue slipping and struggling around. I was told I had
a speech impediment from a young age, though that has long since left the
building. Now Brantley probably wishes he could get me to shut up.
Brantley moves away from me and heads toward the alcohol cabinet. His
long fingers wrap around an aged bottle of whiskey as he slams it closed
again and spins back around to face me. I can feel the heat radiating off of
him in waves, with a tide that’s directed at yours truly. I find his gaze
instantly, offering a small smile. I’ll be fine, it says. I’m going to kill you, his
replies. We both know it’s not true. He tolerates me like one would a pet. He
keeps me close because he thinks he has a responsibility to take care of me,
but I’ve grown to know the truth. I’ve always been a pest to him, nothing
more and nothing less. Me coming down here was hopefully the first step to
me gaining some sort of separation from him, to remind him that he isn’t
stuck with me. Or at the very least, he doesn’t have to be. I owe him my life,
but he doesn’t need to be in it forever.
“I’m Tillie,” the pink-haired girl says gently. She points to the guy next to
her. “This is Nate, the two people who just walked out were Scarlet and
Hector Hayes, and that—” Her finger lands on the guy who is sitting on the
chair with his leg propped on the coffee table. “Is Bishop Hayes. That is Eli,
but you can ignore him.” Eli snickers under his breath as she carries on.
“Hunter and Chase are the older generation, so you probably won’t see much
of them, but they’re around a lot—” she rambles, but my eyes are stuck on
Bishop, who seems to be watching me carefully. I hold his stare obstinately,
ignoring the fact it’s like an open flame in a dark room. Finally, I pull my
gaze away from him. “—so what else did I miss?” Tillie asks, oblivious to
my wane of attention. I don’t know what she was talking about because my
mind was trapped in one dimension and one dimension only.
 “Ah,” I murmur, shuffling on my feet. My palms itch. Maybe it wasn’t a
good idea, me coming down here after all.
“She doesn’t know anything, Little Terror, shut up,” Brantley growls
from the other side of the room. It wasn’t harsh, or loud, or angry. His tone
had a dismissive, roguish edge to it. Maybe he didn’t need to yell to be heard,
people just listened. It was obvious that was what was happening right now.
Tillie cocks her head to the side until her pink hair falls over one slender
shoulder. “Well, that has to change, and you know it.”
I’m confused.

Everyone danced around me to the heavy sound of Korn. I loved Korn.

Their music was enticing, exhilarating, and, if I was being honest, kind of
exhausting, but it pulsed through me anyway, relentless with its mission. I
just wanted to feel. To get lost within the sea of sweaty teenagers and to
pretend I was just like them. So like them. Even if I knew, deep down, that I
wasn’t, and if they didn’t know I wasn’t, they would have thought something
was wrong because everyone who came near me, always made sure to stay
just far enough away to not lose their fingers. If anyone had gone out of their
way to ask me, I would have told them that they’re wasting their time fearing
for their lives. They can dance up on me. No one is here watching. No one.
I raised my arms above my head and moved my body to the menacing
tone of Jonathan Davis. I wanted to have sex with his voice. Wrap him
between my legs and swallow him whole. A smile traced my lips at that
thought, and I slowly peeled my eyes open. That smile only grew when I
noticed two guys sitting on a sofa, watching me. They wore dark clothes, but
one had white sneakers on and the other black boots. One had tattoos
running up an arm while the other seemed to have none. They had the same
build, only one was taller, broader, and angrier, while the other just seemed
simply disinterested. He could pretend he wasn’t interested all he wanted, but
I felt the flames of his eyes lick me from my waist down.
I flung my hair over my shoulder and slowly made my way toward them. I
was confident, to put it lightly, and that probably—no, definitely—came from
always getting everything I wanted in life. That amongst other things.
Once I reached the edge of the sofa, I looked down at the two boys.
“Well? Are you both going to sit there and stare, or are you going to show
me if you can fuck me like your eyes just did?”
Brantley
Secrets. The Elite Kings were notorious for keeping them, hiding them away
where little girls couldn’t find them, and then shoving it down their throats
when it was convenient. It’s how we checked if you had a gag reflex. It was
what we did. We spilled the blood of our enemies over the same floor we all
learned to walk on. This was our life. Some assumed we were a secret
society, but that’s not it either. Secret societies have boundaries, we have
none. TEKC was formed generations and generations ago between the
founding fathers. Bishop’s great, great, great whatever pop was the Don, the
fucking creator, along with mine, Nate’s, and Eli’s. Evil didn’t fade out
through the generations; it only grew stronger with every spawn. We found
new ways to torment our enemies. I mean… just ask Madison.
Tried it on Tillie, didn’t work.
Tillie, who just announced to all of us that she’s pregnant.
Everyone is excited. Fucking ecstatic. Nate’s arms are around her, his
hand on her stomach protectively. The Elite Kings’ next generation is about
to kick off, which gives the rest of us roughly one year to knock someone up
if we want our lineage carried on.
Not fucking likely. Knew that I was cutting off the Vitiosis line long
before we killed my dad.
“Bran Bran…” Tillie teases from the other side of the room. She thinks I
hate the name. Admittedly, I don’t care. She can call me whatever she wants.
Bishop’s dad, mom, and Nate’s parents have long since left, leaving just
Nate, me, Bishop, Tillie, and—my eyes fall on Saint. Her. My fucking five
minutes.
“I’m not congratulating you, Tillie,” I answer flatly, moving away from
the fact that Saint walked herself down into this mess that I call my family.
Having her in the same vicinity as these savages has the hairs on the back of
my neck standing straight. When she came downstairs, no one batted an eye.
But the range of looks I’m getting from Bishop and Nate is enough to tell me
that the conversation isn’t over. It won’t be. The reason why nothing can ever
come between Kings is because we never invite shit in.
I yank the cork off my bottle with my teeth and pour the thirty-year-old
Japanese whiskey straight into my glass.
I’m watching everyone around me, but my attention is solely on Saint.
Tillie moves closer to her, her nervous tics in full effect. The tucking her
hair behind her ear, the shuffling of feet, and looking down at the floor before
looking back up. Tillie was an open book. She was always so animated and
fierce and had absolutely no problem putting people in their place. It’s what I
liked most about her. She handled shit, no matter how wild it was in her
hands—she still controlled it. I mean, Nate. Case in point. “Who knew this
bastard was holding you hostage.” Tillie would attach herself to Saint, not
only because they’re siblings, but because they are two halves that have
always needed to be whole.
Saint moves her long snow-like hair over one stiff shoulder, and my
fingers flex around the glass. She peers up at Tillie with her doe-like eyes.
The whitest gray you could ever imagine, they almost look unreal.
The first thing I noticed about Saint was her eye color.
The second was how easily she took hold of the burning rage that
simmered deep in my gut and stored it away to use as a weapon. I was her
weapon; she just chose my targets. How, you ask? Well, for one, you could
breathe in her vicinity, and if I think you’re just a little too close, it’ll be the
last one you ever fucking took. Touch her? The last memory your family will
ever have of you is your hands in a fucking box. She took hold of my rage
and stamped her name across it in block letters.
“There’s a lot you don’t know.” I swirl the amber liquid in my tumbler,
my eyes on Tillie.
She huffs, crossing her arms in front of her. It’d be cute, if I gave a fuck.
“That, I don’t doubt.”
I slowly shake my head at her. Drop it.
“Fine,” she says, hooking her arm into Saint’s. “We’re going to be
friends.” Tillie continues to walk Saint out of the room and into the kitchen
area, leaving Nate, Bishop, Eli, and me. Don’t fucking know where Cash and
Hunter left to. I missed everything while counting to one-fucking-hundred.
Eli kicks my leg as I drop down onto the sofa beside Bishop. “How the
fuck have you managed to keep your hands off her?”
“Because I don’t think with my dick.” I turn my head until my focus is
back on him.
Eli chuckles. “Fucking waste. What’s the point of having that ladder if
you won’t let bitches climb it?”
I glare at Eli. Little fucker. Eli has always been the loudest in the group,
and our group has Nate, so that’s saying something. “Because the bitches that
do very rarely live to reach the top.”
Silence falls around me until my eyes squeeze closed and fatigue seeps
into my muscles.
“Are you going to tell her that Tillie is her sister and that her mom was a
psychotic bitch that we had to kill? Or that Bishop is her half-brother and that
her father is a for real fucking thug dressed up in Armani?” He’s right. She
should know her history, but that would open up a whole new can of ‘WTF’
when she asks who the fuck we are and how she came to be living with
Lucan and me.
“Yeah, I will. Not right now.”
“Are you worried as much as I am about the friendship that could form?”
Nate mumbles, watching us all skeptically from the other side of the room.
I squeeze my hand into a fist, my nails cutting into my palm. “No.” I
chuckle, shaking my head. “Tillie takes care of the people she loves. I trust
her with Saint.”
“Trust her?” Bishop stares at me blankly. “That deep, huh?”
My jaw clenches. “You have no idea.”
Nate built The Den with this house, but then we changed the name to
Buckingham. It drowns in black furnishings with deep mahogany redwood
and modern glass. There’s a bar, a rectangular boardroom table with ten
seats, black plush rugs, a poker table, a billiards table, and a safe that is
integrated into the wall, filled with stacks of gold bullion and fake passports.
It was all part of Bishop’s plan to make some changes within the Kings’
world when he took over. Our fathers ruled with force, as well as their
fathers, but it was time to modernize The Elite Kings’ world. In order to stay
one step ahead, we have to make sure we’re ten steps ahead.
Falling onto one of the leather sofas, I reach for the humidor, sliding out a
clean Cuban cigar. I run the trunk beneath my nose, inhaling all of the exotic
notes that are rolled up while watching Bishop. To say he has been strained
since Madison took off is a complete understatement. Bishop has been angry.
Now he’s just hurting.
His hands dive into his hair as Nate, Eli, Hunter, and Chase make their
way into the lounge area and find somewhere to sit. Bishop clears his throat.
“We need to talk about Saint.” I flick the cigar around my fingers, ignoring
his request. The room is silent, and I know they’re all waiting for me to
answer.
I fling the cigar across the table and reach forward, snatching the joint
that’s tucked behind Nate’s ear, biting it into my mouth and popping open the
Zippo lying on the table. I blaze up, sucking in a row of heavy tokes. I hold in
the smoke and lean back in the chair before slowly releasing the cloud
between my lips in a line of smoke rings. The tension in my muscles and my
mind liberate instantly.
I roll the tip between my thumb and index finger. “What do you want to
know?” I kept her a secret from them for as long as I could. Lucan didn’t spill
shit about shit. Even when everything went down, he still didn’t spill any
details about Saint. He could have. The truce between him and Hector had
cracked open. He didn’t have to keep Saint a secret, but he did. Even during
his final minutes on this earth. Never thought much about that until now.
“How about we start with how you know and what you know?”
Bishop swaps glances with Nate. Bishop and I haven’t been seeing eye-
to-eye much lately, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t take a bullet for the fool.
He exhales and leans forward. “Dad told us. Said we had to keep her safe.”
My brows knit together as I take another hit of the ganja. “She is always
fucking safe.”
 “We know that now,” Nate murmurs, resting back in his chair. “We
didn’t when we found out. So, tell us her story.”
Blood rushes to the surface. “I was seven, or six. Seven, I think, when she
arrived. Barely old enough to hold a knife and fork, but fuck if you put a nine
in my hand I would have shot any motherfucker that came near her.”
Bishop snickers. “So she’s your Madison?”
“Fuck no,” I dismiss him. “Never went near her with that intent. She just
—I don’t know. I needed to protect her. Always felt this fucking need to
protect her.”
The silence was almost loud enough to dance through the room with a
pair of fucking pointe slippers on.
“All right, well, I won’t ask questions about whatever it is that’s going on
between the two of you. It obviously has some history on it.”
I grit my teeth. You could fucking say that.
“There’s a problem with this…” Cash murmurs, his finger working his
upper lip. He’s grown his hair out a lot, with it now needing to be tied into a
pretty little bun.
“And what’s that?” I run my tongue over my teeth before baring them
like a fucking wolf.
“Well, there’s a color that we have to call, you know, to let others know
that she’s off-limits. So I’ll ask since no one else has the balls to do it. Are
you gonna soak her in your blood so that the rest of the wolves know she’s
claimed?” He even went as far as explaining why we call it “red.”
A menacing chuckle rocked through me while leaning back in my chair
and keeping my eyes on his. Locked on his pretty blues, I don’t falter until
the blacks of mine drown his. “I’m not calling red on her because it’s not like
that.”
“Then she’s going to be fair game if she starts hanging around like I fear
she may be. I mean, we all know what happened with—” Cash pauses when a
loud click cracks through the air.
My eyes shoot straight to the head of the table where Bishop has his
Desert Eagle pressed right against Cash’s temple.
Cash doesn’t unlock his eyes from mine, though his smirk is cocky
enough for Bishop to see.
My lip curves up, because I already know why he’s landed himself in
shit.
“—say her fucking name, motherfucker, and King or no King, your
brains will be sprayed over the walls.” Bishop is bluffing, he wouldn’t
actually kill a King. That’s never happened, with the exception of Lucan.
I can’t hold in my laughter, and my head hits the back of the chair as I
flash a god-honest authentic smile right at Cash. “Ahhh, you were saying?”
Cash rolls his eyes. “You know what happened to she who shall not be
named and Tillie. No one called it on them for a while. There were almost
two ‘throuples’ that happened. It’s in our history books that this happens.”
There’s another long stretch of silence before I start flicking that same
Zippo around between my fingers. “No one will touch Saint,” I say with calm
assertion.
“You know this?” Cash fires back, and I have to stop myself from
reaching over the table, latching on to his throat, and tearing it straight from
his spine.
“Fact, I know it.”
“How so?”
My lip curls. “Because fucking with a girl who is owned by me is far
scarier than fucking with someone who has been drowned in the blood of her
lover.” I pause, tilting my head while keeping my eyes trained on his. “Care
to test that theory?”
Cash blows out a loud inhale of breath, flopping backward onto his chair
and shaking his head. “I swear to fuck, you’re all crazy.”
“And you’re not?” I quirk a brow.
Cash winks. “Not that crazy. I’m sure you’re right…” We all relax a little
when Bishop tucks away his gat. Trigger-happy Bishop. He’s just like the old
Bishop, only more wounded.
“That still leaves one thing,” Bishop says from the head of the table. “She
needs to know about me and Tillie. About Hector, Brantley. It’s safer for her
to know, and on top of that, we have outside threats that will most likely be
after her if it has gotten out that after all this time, Hector had himself a little”
—deep breath and then slowly through gritted teeth—“Swan.”
Brantley
Fourteen years old

Dea was what I called her when she walked into our house for the first time.
She was a child. Toddler. But different. Her voice had a tone that I had never
heard. I sometimes wondered if it was because of her first years being spent
in some fucked orphanage.
“Brantley? Are you home?” There was a knock on my door, but my
mouth slammed closed, my fingers flexing in my palm. I didn’t hate her, but I
should.
Fuck, I should hate her. She’s a Swan.
The door opened, spilling the hallway light into my room.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to. My body was aching, blood spilling
from my nose, leaving the toxic taste of metal sticking to the back of my
throat.
What the fuck did she want?
If I don’t answer, she’ll obviously go away.
But she didn’t. She took the few steps into my bedroom and kicked the
door closed behind herself, cutting off what light was coming through.
I held my breath. Did she know I was in here? Probably not. What the
fuck is she doing.
The mattress sank beside me. “Can I sleep in here?”
Okay, so I was wrong.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Every time I moved my mouth, pain shot
through my gums. Motherfucker almost knocked my fucking teeth out, now
I’ll send his in a cute little package for his mother to wear around her neck.
Here’s your pearl necklace, bitch. Signed, TEKC. Everything stung. Pain.
And still, that was nothing compared to what I had lived through tonight, but
the pain reminded me that I survived.
She obviously laid down beside me because I could feel her body weight
sink into the mattress, her hair splaying out over my arm.
“Why does it smell in here?” she asked softly, and I held my breath again.
I wanted to say, why the fuck are you in my bed? No one comes in my
room, let alone on my goddamn bed, but I didn’t. I remained silent because I
was afraid if I said anything, she’d see straight through the words I used and
snatch the ones I was trying to hide.
I flexed my fingers, but electricity shot up my arm, spreading out through
my veins. It was worth it.
The thing about Saint is, she talks. A fucking lot. You would expect her
to be quiet, because she looks demure and carries herself with a rare kind of
grace that is usually only captured by something fucking celestial like a
seraph. She’s not. She’s bold enough to be inquisitive about every-fucking-
thing in this world, and I think I’m partly to blame for that. I have always
hovered over her like a monster, ready to tear anyone apart that comes near.
“Brantley?” she whispered. Her voice had a direct fucking line to every
switch inside my body.
I hated it.
“Are you bleeding again?”
Saint
Present

It was too dark for it to be morning. I knew as much when I opened my eyes.
My lace curtains swayed with the wind that was drifting through my room,
cold yet oddly serene. White fabric moved with the lace. I rub my eyes and
open them again, but just as my lashes lift from my cheek, a dark shadow
zips past me, ducking behind the curtain. I jump off the bed in shock, fear
crawling through me, its sharp nails moving down my spine.
“Who’s there?”
I rub my eyes again, suddenly more awake than I was a second ago.
Opening them again, I reach for the curtain to push it out of the way. “Who
—” It’s empty. My antique three-piece outdoor setting sits in the corner, with
my mini Monstera plant in the center of the table.
“I’m going crazy.” I patter toward the bathroom where my white marble
tub is mounted in the center beside my freestanding rainforest shower. I love
my bathroom. Windows overlook the front of the house, but all of my
different species of ferns hang from various places. Brantley calls my
bedroom and bathroom “a fucking jungle,” but I think it’s just perfect.
Turning on the faucet near the sink, I splash water on my face, dabbing
the moisture off my cheeks with Egyptian cotton. The room is quiet.
Secluded. But I’m used to it. I’m more comfortable in silence than I am
around noise.
Moving my way through my bedroom, around my plants, I change for the
day, switching into something comfortable enough to garden in. Since I was a
child, gardening has been my outlet. It was a hobby, but now it’s more like a
lifestyle. To be able to grow and nurture something that is alive gives me a
sense of purpose.
I’m jogging down the stairwell, raking my hair up into a high pony when
I pause in my steps. Brantley is leaning against the wall opposite me, his
hands in his pockets and his shoulders straight. I’ve never known him outside
of these walls, never seen him interact with his peers or in social settings.
Brantley has always come off as closed, cold, and completely
unapproachable, but seeing how he moved around his friends last night, I’m
guessing there’s a whole lot to him that not even I know.
Sometimes it’s not about the words people whisper into your ear in the
dark; most times it’s about what they say in front of an audience.
I’m beginning to feel as though the Brantley I know is a mere outline of
the whole artistic picture that is Brantley Vitiosis. I want to study it as a
whole, learn the curves and the brush strokes, but I can’t do that until he
bares it all to me.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, playing with the leather bangle that’s around
my wrist.
“What did Tillie talk to you about last night?” He pushes off the wall and
makes his way into the kitchen. I follow behind him slowly, watching as the
muscles in his back flex while he gathers the ingredients he needs for a
protein shake.
“She asked about some details of me being here,” I say softly, pulling out
a barstool while remaining focused on him.
“And what did you say?” he asks, scooping out powder and tipping it into
the blender cup.
“The basics,” I answer, watching him closely. He flips the blender on,
and for a few seconds, we’re drowned out with noise. He switches it off, tears
off the lid and tosses it into the sink, before turning to face me and leaning on
the counter.
“Which is?”
Alarmed by the vocal confidence that he’s spewing, my mouth slightly
closes. You would assume that because we live together and have always
lived together, that we would see each other often. We don’t. Brantley is
never home. At least since Lucan died anyway. Up until that point, I would
have been confident enough to say that he and I existed around each other. It
may have not been a conventional friendship, but I knew he tolerated me.
Since Lucan died, however, Brantley’s anger has only peaked, and I hardly
see him now. I see him around the house maybe once every three months—if
that—and when I do, it’s in passing. It’s not because we live in separate
wings in this gigantic mansion, either, because we’ve always stayed on the
same wing. The same hallway. There were two bedrooms on the third level of
this house. One door led to his room, while the other to mine.
When I don’t answer him, he interrupts. “I didn’t hire urbane tutors for
you throughout all of your homeschool life for you to not speak when I ask
you something. Answer the question.”
My cheeks flare, and I watch as his eyes drop to the spray of pink now
exposed over my skin. That was probably the longest thing he has ever said
to me. Brantley communicates through his eyes, his body language, the way
he walks and moves around the room before he uses his words. At least,
that’s how it has always been with me. “I told her that I’ve been here since I
was a child. That’s all.”
His fist clenches around the edge of marble, while my eyes follow down
his thick arms, where purple and green veins pulse beneath his pale,
untouched skin. “Did you go for a run?”
His finger taps against the counter. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Is there something that she was supposed to say to me?”
He shakes his head, bringing his shake to his mouth and taking a swig.
“Hmmm,” is all he says. His eyes move up and down my body. “What are
you doing today?”
“The gardens.”
“We pay people for that.” He turns to tip out the contents, rinsing, and
leaving it on the side of the drying rack.
“You know that I like doing it.” At those words, Brantley’s back freezes,
the muscles beneath his skin instantly hardening.
He turns, taking the steps he needs to my chair and spinning me around
until I’m facing him. I stop breathing, because he’s so close. I’ve never seen
him this close before, at least not since I last cleaned the dried blood off his
face when he fell asleep after I snuck into his room when I was ten years old.
He never liked to talk about what was happening to him, and I never pushed
him to talk.
I think I spoke enough to occupy both of us.
I think he hated me for it.
He’s so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath fall over my lips,
and I do everything in my power not to allow my eyes to drop down to his
own, or God forbid, his arms. They drop, because I’m not very good at this.
Human interaction, that is. He knows that.
So when his mouth twitches ever so slightly, it throws me off-balance.
“What?” I whisper, hypnotized by the bow in his lip. How it swells, dips,
and curves in all the right places.
“Yeah,” he says, pushing off the table while keeping me pinned to the
spot with his glare. “Go get changed and meet me down here in thirty
minutes.”
I’m still sitting, trying to catch the words he had said when he disappears
upstairs. What does he mean, be ready? There have been few times that he
has taken me out of the house, and all of those times were before Lucan died.
I make my way up to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. My room
is in complete contrast to Brantley’s room, and the general aesthetic of this
haunted mansion. Everything is white and beige. From my sheets, to my four-
post bed, to the dresser and floor-length mirror. The curtains that cover the
twin doors open out onto my little patio that overlooks the back of the house
and the cemetery is the softest beige I could find. Not quite white, but not
quite nude. I sleep with my doors open every night, even in the winter. I like
to feel the cold while being warm in my bed.
Moving through to my walk-in closet, I flick on the light and scan over
my clothes.
He said to get changed.
He didn’t say into what.
I was allowed to shop online, and I loved to shop. I love fashion. I think
being able to dress your feelings, to hide or expose them, is an art. Fashion is
an art.
I reach for my mid-top white and gray Van sneakers, a pair of high-
waisted ripped ankle-biter jeans, and a white camisole that is cropped just
above my belly button. I find most of my inspiration on Pinterest, and then I
shop from there. Money has never been something that I’ve thought a lot
about. Brantley gave me a black card when I was thirteen, and since then, it
hasn’t run out. Obviously, over time I’ve come to realize that this black card,
by its limit, holds a lot of money. The name Saint Dea Vitiosis is embedded
into the plastic.
After I’m dressed, I brush my hair until it falls in natural white waves
before sliding lip balm over my lips. Peach. Subtle enough not to taste, yet
sweet enough to smell.
Kore nudges the backs of my legs with her nose and I reach down to rub
the back of her ears. “I won’t be long. You have Hades here.”
Brantley clears his throat at my door, and I look up at him from where
I’m leaning. “She gets lonely when she can’t see me.”
“It’s mainly because they’re so used to you being home.” He leans
backward and rolls his fingers into his mouth, whistling. Hades comes
strolling into my bedroom with ease, flopping down onto the fluffy rug at the
foot of my bed.
Brantley glances at my vanity mirror, where my makeup, beauty
products, and jewelry are all laid out. “Wear your necklace.”
“I thought you said I didn’t have to start wearing it until I was older?”
He ambles into my room, the sheer size of him taking up the space
greedily as his fingers graze over the white gold Cuban chain. Like his, only
with smaller links, right down to the pendant that sits on the bottom. A
simple pendant. White gold crown with diamonds shaped like ice, melting
over the tips.
He hooks it off the stand and comes closer until his body is towering over
mine like a giant versus a lesser human. David and Goliath. His six-foot-six
against my five-foot. He’s a whole foot, and then some, taller than me. We
look ridiculous beside each other in any room, and he could wrap his fingers
around the circumference of my head and pick me up with one movement.
Leaning forward, his cologne wafts through my nostrils when he clasps
the necklace around my neck. I close my eyes when the fabric of his simple
white shirt grazes the tip of my nose. “You’re seventeen, but you need to start
wearing this from now on.”
“Why?” I ask through a tight throat. “All I do is stay home. It’s too pretty
to just wear.”
He steps back, and once I’m finished being distracted by the weight of the
necklace around me, I tilt my head up until I’m eye-to-eye with him.
“Not anymore.”
“Okay,” I say, clutching the crown in the palm of my hand. “I won’t take
it off.”
I follow him out of my room and down the staircase, toward his blacked-
out sports car.

I Googled it when he drove the shiny new car down our driveway a couple of
months ago. The Bugatti La Voiture Noire. Eighteen. Million. Dollars. There
was a woman, I guessed was the car dealer, who shook his hand and gave
him the keys before leaving. I couldn’t see much from the window in the
kitchen, but I did catch her name tag as she left. Nikki. I slide into the leather
seat, shutting the door behind me as he fires the car up and pulls out of the
driveway.
I don’t ask him what’s going on.
I don’t ask him why we’re leaving the house.

The slightly scarier looking one of the two stood first, and when he did, I
almost—almost—regretted enticing them both. They couldn’t be that bad. No
one was. Well, that was a lie. One person was that bad, but he wasn’t here,
and neither were his henchmen. “Twisted Transistor” was playing now, and
at the back of my very intoxicated brain, I thought maybe the DJ didn’t have
anything else to play but Korn.
I cowered slightly, but not enough for the big scary one to catch it.
His eye twitched. Or maybe he did.
His eyes. They were dark. So very dark. I felt myself trapped in a messy
haze of sin, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to find the exit. Diverting my gaze,
I found the disinterested boy on the sofa, who was watching both of us.
He smirked, leaned up until he was standing, and suddenly I was between
both of them. Sandwiched between a snowstorm and a tropical cyclone.
I gulped down my nerves, smiled smugly up at both of them, swiped the
bottle of whiskey they had so generously left on the floor and brought it up to
my lips. I swallowed a gulp of the liquid, flashing them both one of my
famous smiles. “Want to get out of here?”
The taller one leaned down to my ear. “What’s wrong with here? Hmm?”
His voice was deep and about as hypnotizing as his eyes. Everything south
wanted him. The other one behind me had his hand on my stomach, pulling
me into his body. “I mean… only if you’re game.”
His voice was sexy and smooth, too, like the shot of whiskey I just
downed. I had no doubt they’d leave a fire in my belly just the same.
My eyes flew around the room, frantic, on all of the teenagers that were
at this party. I knew only some of them, but they all knew who I was. The fact
they weren’t staring at me was only because they liked their limbs connected
to their bodies.
I’d never seen these two boys before, and I definitely would have
recognized them if I had passed them before. They were different, though.
They made the whole room seem darker and more sinister.
The music had changed to heavy metal, The Ocean, I think, and before I
could second-guess myself, I stood on my tippy toes, hooked my hand around
the back of the shorter one’s neck, and pressed my lips to his.
He didn’t kiss me back, but he didn’t push me away either. Everyone
kissed me back. Every single fucking one. I kissed girls who kissed me back.
That’s just who I was and the kind of effect I had on people. Except this guy,
apparently. I stepped backward. When I turned to the angry and taller one,
he simply shook his head, but before I could say anything, his hand was on
my throat, pulling me close enough to hear the next words that came out of
his mouth. “Don’t even fucking think about it. The only place you’ll be
planting those fucking lips is on my cock.”
So he didn’t just look mean, he was mean. Perfect.
The guy behind me brought his hand around to the front, slipping beneath
the waistband of my skirt. Good thing I wasn’t wearing panties. The lighting
was dim, but the strobes flashed fast enough to give anyone a seizure. He
found my slick entrance instantly after rubbing against my clit. I pressed
myself against his cock and moaned at the way he swelled against the crack
of my ass. The tall one in front of me slowly dropped back onto the sofa. I
watched as his knees spread wide, his eyes on mine, never moving.
“Headup” by Deftones shook the walls, the lights flashing on and off to the
beat. He smirked up at me and it was the first time I thought I really may
have fucked up, but then his hands were on his belt buckle, unzipping his
zipper, and then finally he inched his pants down just enough for him to duck
inside and pull—I gasped.
Holy. Fuck.
The guy behind me, who now had me turned completely around to face
the one on the sofa, brought his lips to my ear. “Bend over.” I did, bringing
my hand to the thighs of the guy on the sofa. His muscles clenched beneath
my grasp, as if saying how dare I even touch him. Maybe he didn’t like being
touched. He had that whole tortured bad boy thing going on.
The guy behind me ran his palm over my ass cheek, slapped it, and then
shoved me down until my lips touched the piercing on the tip of the sofa guy’s
cock. My lips parted like the Red fucking Sea as the one behind me drove into
my slick pussy. I relaxed into them. Yes. This was what I wanted. Fuck
everyone else in this room. This was what I wanted.
Brantley
Pulling into Nate’s driveway, I can sense Saint’s unease beside me. It rolls
off her like a spray of Chanel. I’ve gone back and forth on what to do and
what to say when it comes to her. I’ve seen firsthand how secrets can destroy
people, and contrary to my reputation—snickers—she’s the one person that I
never want to destroy.
I can’t explain why that is. All I can say is that there was a reason why
she came into my life, and none of the reasons are what she thinks. Five-
fucking-minutes.
We both climb out of the car and the front door to Nate’s swings open,
with Tillie standing at the threshold.
“Little Terror, not today,” I growl in her direction. I can sniff out her
mischief from a mile away.
Tillie waves me off, her full attention on Saint. Figures. It’s her last living
sister. Tillie is a woman’s woman before she is anything else. “Nate is in
Buckingham. Saint and I can chat.”
I carefully and naturally push Saint behind me. I trust Tillie, and I trust
her with Saint. I’ve watched how Tillie is with her friends, and she’d die and
kill for them. I trust someone like that with her, but it doesn’t mean my
natural habits die easy.
“Bran Bran, you’re overthinking it.”
My jaw clenches as Saint sidesteps out from behind me. My muscles
seize when I feel her cold hand on my arm. “I’ll be fine. You brought me
here, it must be safe.” Before I can tell her that I brought her here to come to
Buckingham and not to talk shit with Tillie, she’s already up the stairs and
Tillie is blowing me a kiss.
“Fuck,” I breathe out just as I hear Bishop’s Maserati pull up behind me,
his door closing loudly.
“The kiss of death is what that is,” he says, gesturing to the front of the
house.
I turn to face him as he’s shoving his keys into his pocket. “You
showered today?”
“Fuck you.”
No one has asked Bishop what the fuck he’s doing with Madison. I don’t
know what is going on inside his head, but Bishop is calculating. He’s a
walking, talking bullshitter. Lied his way into Madison’s heart, all to let her
walk away with him still caged inside of it. Dumb motherfucker when it
comes to her, smartest motherfucker with everything else.
Everyone is too scared to talk about her, but I’m no bitch. “We gonna talk
about Madison or what?” I say, flicking my tongue over my bottom lip. Fuck
him if he thinks I’m going to pussyfoot around the subject when he let it rain
blood just to get her, all to let her fucking walk away. We all fought for their
relationship, not just him.
He stills, turning toward me. His eyes are on fire, his fists clenching
beside him. He and I have been a little on edge lately, and I know me saying
this is going to end in one way, with arms swinging, but the thing about
Bishop is that he has to get angry before he makes sense of shit. So I’m
fucking counting on him throwing punches.
And I’m not disappointed when his fist is flying into my face. I dodge it
and laugh, backing away from him, only I lose my step just as his other fist
swings and connects with my jaw. We both go down with Bishop plowing
into my face. I take the hits, laughing as blood spills out of my nose and drips
down my chin.
“Feel better yet, motherfucker?” I ask around my laughter.
“Fuck! Are you kidding me? Don’t get blood on my driveway, you
idiots!” I can hear Tillie yelling, just as Bishop’s weight is being pulled off
me and Nate is glaring down, shaking his head.
“Let me guess, you said the M-word.”
Rolling my tongue around the metallic liquid, I spit it all out and swipe
my mouth with the back of my hand, unable to hide my smirk. “None of you
bitches were going to do it.”
Bishop falls to the ground, his fingers buried in his hair. “This isn’t about
me and her.” He glares up at me from beneath his lashes. “This should be
about Saint.”
“But it’s not,” I say, getting to my feet and reaching down for his hand to
help him up.
He takes it.
I continue, “It will never be about anything else until we’ve spoken about
Mads, and you know it. You’re distracted. You can’t see anything past her.”
His eyes fly up to the front of the house where Tillie and Saint are both
watching all of us. Saint is focused on me, her focus moving up and down my
body frantically.
“So we can talk about Saint after we’ve spoken about Madison.” I push
past him and Nate, making my way down the pathway that leads to
Buckingham, which is behind the main house. Buckingham is directly behind
a line of trees to the side of the house, hidden from plain view. If you didn’t
know it was there, you wouldn’t see it. Thick shrubs conceal it perfectly, with
the pool the main distraction. Nate and Tillie’s fancy shit. There’s a whole
ass bar in the middle of the pool, too.
Pushing through the front door, I kick it closed and drop my cell phone
into the metal bowl at the entrance, reaching for a rolled joint that’s on a table
and snatching up a Zippo, sparking it up while moving to the negotiation
table.
Eli and Hunter are on the sofa, watching the latest news when I’m sinking
down onto one of the chairs, inhaling deeply before blowing out a cloud of
smoke.
“You mentioned Madship?” Eli chuckles, shaking his head. “Had to be
you.”
I ignore him as the door opens and closes again, and Bishop walks
through on his phone before hanging up and dumping it into the bowl with
the rest.
“Dad is coming. Table, now.”
I blow out more smoke and hand it to Nate as he sits on the opposite side
of me, Bishop’s right hand. Eli and Hunter move in, too, until there’s nothing
but silence.
“I’m not handling it well, shit.” He runs his hands through his hair again.
“But you all have to respect my decision that I am not chasing her. She can
stay there, and if she ever comes back to me, which I think she will, then I’ll
be here. But for now, and for the future, I’m not chasing her again. I’m not a
fucking puppy. Fool me once…” He looks around at all of us and my jaw
clenches. His logic doesn’t make sense to me. He knows she didn’t cheat. He
knows she was raped. I fucking know Madison. Longer than he has known
her. I not only know her demons, I was there while those demons were
created.
We share the same ones.
I may not have been a fan of her when I first met her. Hell, I barely
tolerated her. Every time I looked into her eyes, I saw the kid that she no
longer was. I saw everything that Lucan made us do to each other. Had
nothing to do with her as a person, she was just a trigger to me. When you
spend years upon years learning to control your demons, you get a little
fucking angry when an old one comes back and reintroduces itself. Aside
from that, I didn’t see the appeal that she had to Nate and Bishop, but that’s
nothing new. Both of them never had problems dipping their dick into
whatever wet hole they wanted. Me, on the other hand, chose my victims a
little differently. Riding my dick wasn’t an easy feat, and surviving it wasn’t
either, which was why…

Past

“Where the fuck are you going?” Nate shoved my arm as we walked down
the loud corridor of this hellhole of a school. Senior year only just began, and
I was ready to call it fucking quits. We didn’t need a fucking diploma. I had
enough money to buy out the fucking president.
I needed something.
I pushed away from him and continued down the corridor.
“Fine, grumpy motherfucker! But we are partying this weekend! Your
house!”
I flipped him off because that’s all we seemed to do lately was party.
When I shoved through the door of the final classroom at the back that
led into the gymnasium, I slammed it closed and flicked the lock.
Her body stilled, her long blonde hair moving over one shoulder. I
watched as the corner of her mouth kicked into a smile.
“You’ve been chasing my dick since you got to this school.” I kicked off
the door and made my way farther into the room.
She didn’t move. Didn’t answer.
When I reached her back, my hand snaked around from behind until I had
it wrapped around the front of her throat, yanking her head backward while
kicking her legs wide. “Mrs. Fucking Kilpatrick.” Her wedding ring glistened
on her finger as she slammed her hands onto her desk. She tilted her head
until she was looking at me over her shoulder.
“What gave me away?” she said in a tone that I had never heard from her,
definitely not when she would scream at us to jump hurdles during track.
I cranked my head, while running my hand over her lower back, over her
tight ass and hooking my finger beneath the edge of her yoga pants. I
slammed her headfirst onto her desk while leaning into her ear. “Aside from
the fact you can’t keep your eyes off my dick whenever I’m near?”
I reached into my pants just as a door behind me opened. Fuck. There
were two doors. She froze beneath me, but I didn’t allow her to move.
I slowly turned to look over my shoulder to find Nate standing at the
threshold, his eyes on us, fist in his mouth. “Well, shit. Gotta say—”
“—gonna join in?” I snapped at him.
His eyes flew to Mrs. Kilpatrick. I mean, it wasn’t that she was ugly. She
wasn’t. She was a forty-somethin’ hot as fuck woman who, I’m guessing,
knew exactly what she was doing. It’s what I needed. I never touched high
school chicks. The closest to my age I ever went were college girls, and even
then, the sex was too basic for me. Too vanilla. Too clean. Literally.
Nate took the steps he needed while finally locking the second door
behind him. “Yeah, fuck, I’m game.”
She wriggled beneath my grasp. “Brantley. If you break it, you gotta buy
it, honey.”
“I’m not here to buy shit, I’m here to ruin you, so that the next time your
husband shoves his cock into your cunt.” I sank my teeth into the flesh of her
neck before finally whispering, “He’s going to wonder why his wife has been
split open.”
Present

So, yeah. About that. I kept that happening for most of the year. Never
wanted it from girls my age. Something about them reminded me too much
of my childhood.
Too much. Too close. Too familiar. So, I kept it to older women. Married
women. Having a married woman sucking my dick before going home to kiss
her husband amused me. Knowing he’d be wondering why there were bite
marks all over her body…
“I get that,” I say, since no one fucking else is going to. Eli, I get. He’s
the youngest out of all of us, and aside from that, he’s not interested in the
drama between Madison and Bishop. His brain doesn’t tick to the same clock
that most people’s do. “But it’s out of character for you. Someone who
chased her down to the ends of the earth, just lets her walk.”
Bishop shrugs. “That was the fool me once I just spoke about. Can’t have
a weakness. So if she really wants me, she needs to show that she can handle
it.” He looks around the table. “Anyone else have anything they want to add,
because speak now or forever hold your fucking peace.”
Silence.
“I think Tillie is talking to her.” All of us turn to Nate.
He shuffles in his seat.
“What the fuck do you mean?” Bishop growls, and I can see his easy
demeanor slowly shift.
“I mean, I’ve caught her on the phone a couple times, and every time she
sees me, she hangs up the phone, and when I ask her who she’s talking to, she
says Bran Bran—” His eyes come to mine.
Fuck.
Fucking Tillie. I know I’ll be breaking our silent code of loyalty if I tell
them it wasn’t me, but I’m a King before I’m anything else.
I shake my head. “Not me, fam.”
“Eh, what I suspected.” Nate shrugs, leaning back in his chair.
“But are you really surprised?” I say to Nate and then look between the
two of them. The realization of everything dawns on me and I start laughing.
“Damn. Love really turned you both slow as fuck.” I roll my eyes as the door
opens and Hector enters. “Tillie is a girl’s girl. She looks after her friends.
How are you surprised that she’s talking to Madison? If anything, at least you
know she’s not fucking dead.”
 I kick my legs out as Hector takes a seat on the opposite end of his son.
The table is long, with ten seats, but both ends are for him and Bishop.
It’s tense when Hector clears his throat, and I don’t know if there’s
something else happening between the two of them, or if it’s the whole
Madison ghost that hovers over everything.
“You think she’s been talking to her for a while?” Nate asks, and I have
his full attention.
I shrug. “It’s Tillie.”
Hector pulls out a cigar from the humidor and clips the end. “We’ve got
something else we need to discuss, where’s Cash?”
“Out with Benny.”
The table grows quiet. I roll my eyes again. “He’s my cousin, not the
fucking Devil.”
“So he’s out racing?” Hector further says, an eyebrow quirked.
Bishop shrugs. “Someone has to keep that going.”
“In my defense, I wanted to,” Eli says, raising his arm.
We all ignore him.
“What is it?” Bishop says to his father.
He flicks the ash off his cigar. “The old Riverside is reopening.”
“As in the old schools?” I fucking loved the old school. Was pissed when
we had to be moved to the new building.
Hector nods. “The very same. We’re closing the one in the Hamptons and
classes start back after the summer break.”
“I thought it was too old to have kids in, which is why they moved the
school to the Hamptons?” Bishop questions Hector.
Hector shakes his head. “Not entirely true. We didn’t tell you all right
away because you were only just stepping into your roles. We didn’t want to
overwhelm you.”
I snicker. Pretty sure learning that our school was moving to a different
location would be the least shocking lie we would learn.
“So what’s the story?” Nate asks.
“Since you’re taking the gavel this year, son, you will need to know all of
the little cracks that we’ve hidden from you, and over time, you will know
everything. But for right now, we need to talk about this.” His eyes flick to
Nate. “Your father has pushed this, too, by the way. Pushy fucking bastard.
He’s getting worse with age.”
“Why does it matter if the old schools are reopening?” I ask the question
no one else seems to want to know, annoyed with the dancing around.
“Well, a few reasons,” Hector answers, and we all wait in silence for him
to say what he needs to say. “And all of them impact each of you in one way
or another.”
That has my attention.
“You.” He points to Bishop. “Because you’re going to be on the frontline
to a decade long turf war. You.” He points to me. “Because you have
something, or someone, in your possession that is far more valuable than you
know, and you,” he finally says to Nate, and I have to pull in all of my
instincts that are screaming to ask him what the fuck he means. “Because I
promised Stuprum that I would protect your child from enemies, and I’m a
man of my word.” Finally, he leans forward, unclasping the button of his suit
jacket and resting his elbows on the table. “You should all, I, we, every King,
be on high alert right now. Things are happening behind the shadows. There
are movements happening that we’re not comfortable with.”
“We’re the motherfucking Elite Kings Club.” Nate waves off Hector.
“Dare any dumb fucker to come near us and live to talk about it.”
“Well, that’s just it.” Hector shifts back in his chair, and for the first time
ever, I see something foreign flash over his face. “It has.” Fear.
Saint
She’s so pretty it hurts. She has long dyed pink hair hiding her natural
blonde. Not as blonde as me, but blonde. No one is as blonde as me naturally.
Her mouth is moving as she talks while zipping around the kitchen,
flustered, her hair flying around the place. I have barely been able to get a
word in. I hope she doesn’t think I’m rude.
“…so now I’m pregnant and my best friend isn’t here, her best friend has
moved away with her boyfriend which, by the way, we wouldn’t be friends
anyway. I don’t have any girlfriends except for those savages outside—” Her
mouth stops moving. I realize she has stopped talking and she’s looking right
at me. “Sorry, I’m not with it right now.”
I shake my head, running my sweaty palms over my thighs. “It’s fine.
Really.” It’s sort of not. I don’t know how to talk to someone like this. Are
most girls like this? I like her. Don’t get me wrong. She’s obviously fierce
about the things she loves and I wouldn’t want to ever cross her, but she
speaks at speeds I can’t catch. Maybe that comes from her confidence. She
has a lot of it. She’s also so pretty.
She takes two steps closer to me, and I finally notice what she’s wearing.
Skinny jeans and a Louis T-shirt that hangs loose on her figure. Her makeup
is impeccable, her eyebrows perfect. You’re being weird.
“How old are you?” she asks simply.
“I’m seventeen.”
“When did you turn seventeen?” She examines me closely. When she
looks me up and down, it isn’t in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable. In
fact, I prefer it, because now I get to openly gawk at her without feeling like a
weirdo.
“Three weeks ago.”
“Jesus,” she whispers. “You’re so young.”
“How old are you?” I find myself asking, because I wouldn’t think she’s
much older than I am.
“I’m twenty.”
Huh. She doesn’t look it.
“You seem younger, though.”
My stomach flips. I have to fight the urge to reach forward and touch her
hair.
“Anyway.” She brushes off our conversation. “You stay seated while I
cook.”
“Cook?” My shoulders straighten, my attention successfully piqued. “Can
I help?”
Tillie turns and smiles for the first time since we’ve spoken. “Sure.
Okay.”
I push off my chair and she points to a laptop where an internet browser is
open on Pinterest. “I want to make Korean. It’s Bishop’s favorite food, and I
think he could do with something good right now.”
I find myself smiling as I tie my long hair up onto the top of my head.
“It’s my favorite, too.”
Tillie chews on her bottom lip, and just as she’s about to open her mouth,
I interrupt. “I know a few recipes. I can make Japchae and Bulgogi. We can
bake some Hoeddeok for dessert, too.”
Tillie doesn’t answer, and when I finally look up at her, her mouth is
slightly open, her eyes wide. “I don’t know what all of that is, but okay! You
tell me what to do.”
We move through the kitchen in silence, and when we do talk, it’s about
simple stuff. I ask her about her best friend, and she tells me that she’s away
right now and is dating Bishop, one of the guys Brantley is friends with. I’m
thinking it was the guy I noticed yesterday. I don’t know why I feel drawn to
him, but I do. I want to talk to him. I don’t know what I’d say, but I’m
fascinated by him. She tells me that she and Nate have had a crazy
relationship, her words not mine. They’ve broken each other’s hearts and
came back together again, so she said the same will happen with Bishop and
Madison.
“I don’t think I like cooking Korean food.” Tillie swipes the sweat from
her forehead with the back of her hands.
I chuckle. “It’s not easy to perfect.”
“So how did you come about cooking?” she asks, and I know it’s a
double-edged sword. She probably wants to know about Brantley and me
more than she cares about how I came about cooking.
“When I was young, I didn’t speak English or understand the language. I
think I understood Latin, but then I was later diagnosed with a mild speech
impediment. So, I guess I always found myself in the kitchen, wanting to do
something with my hands since I wasn’t very good with vocalizing. I felt like
I was helping if I cooked food for Lucan and Brantley. I’d leave meals in the
fridge. At first it never got eaten, and I’d end up throwing it out. But then as I
got older, Brantley would finally eat it. The times he was home, at least.”
We start dishing out the meals into glass serving bowls, and I pull the
bread buns out of the oven. Spices suffocate you as soon as you walk into the
kitchen, with the subtle touch of freshly baked bread.
“Am I interrupting?” Brantley murmurs from the threshold between the
kitchen and the dining room. In the dining room, there’s a big circular table
with a crystal chandelier that hangs over the center. Vibrant red is clothed
over the table with silver cutlery elegantly placed around the seating. It feels
formal, yet it doesn’t.
Brantley is in full form. Frozen, unmoved, but his eyes remain on mine.
I smile up at him, flashing my teeth. His jaw tenses. “No. Hungry?”
“Oh damn! Is that Korean?” Bishop sidesteps past Brantley and enters the
kitchen, peeking into the bowls that we’ve dished the food out in. He dips his
finger into the sauce of the Japchae and sucks it off his finger while looking
up at me. “You make this? I sure as shit know Tillie can’t cook.”
Tillie shoves him. “I shouldn’t be cooking for all you animals. Or have
you forgotten that I’m carrying the first Elite King generation—” She pauses.
“What generation will he be?”
“He?” Nate asks, slipping his arms around her from behind and laying a
gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Already guessing, huh?” All their talking
dies out as plates and cutlery slam around the kitchen, but my eyes stay on
Brantley. He’s wearing black denim—Givenchy—I know this because I
know fashion—and a plain black tee with a few tear marks sliced through.
Kanye’s line, if I have to guess.
“Are you going to eat?” I ask in challenge. He doesn’t move, and I take
this time to study his features, as if I didn’t already know them by heart. A
jaw so sharp you’d think it had been cut with a surgical scalpel, lines so
precise that perfection wouldn’t even be an adequate word to describe them.
Cheekbones slightly sunken in, just enough to shadow his facial structure in
every lighting, and then there are his lips. The way they billow out just a
little, with dips and curves in all the places you want them to be. They’re
probably a little on the larger side, yet they only complement him. Skin so
pale, but with lashes as black as the eyes that hide behind. His hair always
looks like he can never be bothered brushing it, a little long on the top, while
the sides faded out to a shave. Aside from his appearance, he stands at six-six
and could lift a damn car with the muscles that are hidden beneath his
clothes. Whoever created Brantley did it with intent. Intention for him to
either run Hell or guard it. I haven’t figured out which yet.
Pushing off the wall, he finally ambles farther into the kitchen, reaching
for two plates and spooning a variety of food onto both. I watch as he loads
one plate to the brim, but keeps the other more on the smaller portion size. He
grabs a couple of bread buns, and then with his eyes back on mine, he nudges
his head toward the table in the dining room where everyone is seated. I
follow behind him quietly, dropping down onto the seat directly beside him
as he places my plate in front of me. The smaller portion. What if I liked to
eat? I almost want to take his plate and leave him with mine, but I don’t.
Mainly because I can’t blame him. It’s not like we’ve ever eaten a meal
together.
Tillie and Nate’s dining room is something I can appreciate. Pillars are
lined in a circle, with the table right in the center. Whoever designed this
house should be proud. It’s warm, inviting, while still remaining somewhat
classic. Tillie told me how old she was. Do all people this age have this kind
of money? Money has never been an issue for Brantley and me either. Not
that I don’t have a general concept of it. Or maybe I don’t. I’m not sure. I was
given a card and told to use it whenever I wanted to buy things. Brantley had
also said there was no limit, and so far, he was right. I busy myself with
picking at my food when everyone around the table starts to talk amongst
themselves about topics I don’t understand. Every now and then, Tillie fires
shots at Brantley, who throws them right back. He’s different with her. I
noticed it instantly, how he treats me and even his other friends. My chest
tightens and I swipe my palms down my thighs to wipe the sweat off them.
What the hell. Something flutters in my stomach and I reach for the glass of
juice that’s in front of me, taking a generous sip. I’ve never had to see him
with other people who aren’t people who work for us or his father.
Everything feels different.
“You all right?” Bishop asks me, breaking through my ridiculous train of
thought. He’s seated directly opposite me and right beside Nate. Bishop’s
eyes are the color of moss, with dark rings around the green. He has a similar
shaped face to Brantley, only not as masculine. More pretty. Though I’m not
sure if I’d call him pretty either. Actually—I shift my focus to Nate, and then
to Brantley, and to Bishop again. I met the other guy who was here earlier,
too, Eli, I think his name was. He was handsome, too. They all are. Just all a
different brand.
I nod at Bishop when I realize I’ve taken a little too long to answer.
“Sure.”
He tilts his head, and it’s as though no one else is here. Everyone seated
around us dissolves into thin air. “When did you figure out you liked Korean
food?”
I pick my fork up again and shuffle it through the sauce and meat. “When
I smelled it for the first time.”
“—which was?” he further asks, and my eyes snap up to meet his.
Brantley tenses beside me. “Ask the fucking question you want to ask,
asshole. Go on.”
I’m instantly confused. The dynamic of the group is confounding. First,
they’re hitting each other and threatening to kill one another, and then the
next they’re sitting down to have a meal. But on top of these two factors,
there’s something else that is always around them. It’s strong and
indestructible.
Something I can’t quite figure out.
“Fine, I will.” Bishop smirks before leaning forward and resting his
elbows on top of the table. “Did this guy ever let you out of the house?”
Instant. “No.”
Bishop’s eyes narrow on Brantley. “I get it. You’re the fucked-up one,
but wow.”
 Brantley chuckles, and it’s so unfamiliar that I find myself looking up at
him. When I say up, I really mean up. I could fit in the palm of his hand.
“You’re one to talk. Chasing Madison through forests with our faces on was
any better?”
“All right.” Nate shakes his head, cutting through the conversation. “No
fucking arguing while we eat.”
Brantley reaches for his glass and brings the rim up to his mouth,
swallowing whatever is inside of it. The muscles in his jaw jolt as he tenses.
When he places his glass back onto the table, his teeth drag over the swell of
his bottom lip before he finally says, “She never saw the outside world
because of our world, you feel?”
When everyone falls silent, I twist my fork on my plate. I’m never one to
pass up food, but the tension is bloating the air.
“Brantley’s right,” I whisper. “It was never a—” I pause, not that I’m
struggling to find the right words to say what I want to say, but because I’ve
never spoken about my life before to anyone. It was sacred. Brantley never
told me that I wasn’t to say anything to anyone; it had always been a decision
of mine to not want to talk about him. I never wanted to talk about him in
fear that others might say something bad about him. Not that I couldn’t
handle it. I’ve been on the receiving end of his mood swings more times than
I can count growing up, but that never once stopped me from being protective
over him. So maybe that’s why I’m talking now. “It was never a prison
environment.”
“You just weren’t allowed out of the house? Did you go to school?”
Bishop asks.
I bring my eyes to his. “I didn’t, but what I had was three of the best
lecturers in the United States of America who would tutor me five days a
week. Math, English, and science.” No one is speaking, so I continue. “I
didn’t need anything else. I made friends with the maid and the cook, and I
was happy with that.” I look back up at Brantley. “Am happy with that.”
He’s ignoring me. I’m used to it. But his focus is on Bishop.
Bishop exhales, running his hands through his hair.
“Okay, look, we get it. You’re on edge, B. But you can’t be lashing out
—” Nate is cut off once again by Bishop.
“—how long have you been talking to her?” Bishop snaps, now at Tillie.
I’m getting whiplash from all of the directions these arguments are going.
Tillie crosses her arms in front of herself. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”
“Cut the shit, Tills. How long?”
Tillie flips Bishop off and stands from her chair, grabbing her plate and
leaving for the kitchen.
“Nice, asshole. Throw me in the doghouse.” Nate glares at Bishop before
following Tillie into the kitchen.
Brantley stands, one hand slipping beneath my arm, and I briefly watch as
his fingers overlap when they go around my entire limb. “Bishop.”
Bishop ignores him, his eyes trained on one spot on the table.
Brantley turns to me. “Go wait outside. I’ll be out in a second.”
I want to say something to Bishop. He seems broken. Instead, I let my
feet take me to the foyer. He’s hurting, and it’s obvious it’s about this
Madison girl. I did the Myers-Briggs personality test online once. It said I
was an empath. I didn’t know what that was until tonight. Until I was
surrounded by a group of people. I felt Bishop’s pain, Tillie’s betrayal, and
Nate’s anxiety. When it came to Brantley, though, all I felt was cold.

We left after that. By we, I mean they didn’t really give me a choice. Not
that I would say no. When they directed me toward a matte black Maserati, I
knew these boys definitely were not from here because I would have noticed
their cars.
He drove us out onto the highway, and then over the bridge. I should
have asked where we were going, but I didn’t. Too lost in my drunken
thoughts and too thirsty for more.
“We going somewhere else?” I asked, and they both looked at each
other, then the one driving—the disinterested one’s—eyes came to mine in
the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, the night’s still young, don’t you think?” Whenever either of them
spoke, I got the feeling they meant something else. Like their words were only
foreshadowing what they were really wanting to say.
“Sure.” I ran my tongue over my bottom lip. The music was louder, the
car moved faster, and before I could even register where we were, I noticed
the Hamptons sign.
Shit. I was told to stay away from this side. But I was also told to stay
away from boys, and I never listened to that advice. Clearly, which is why I
was in this situation to begin with. We drove through the township, until the
angry one raised his phone to his ear, cranking down the music. It was
perfect timing really, because I just caught the first thing that whoever it was
on the other end said.
“Brantley, turn around.”
Saint
The sky is the color of sadness today. It’s as though someone dipped the tip
of a paintbrush into bland gray and took angry strokes through a placid blue.
I like it.
Unlocking my phone, I check the forecast quickly after changing into
some comfortable clothes, hoping I’ll have time to plant my new desert rose
when a text comes through.
Unknown: Is your name Saint?
I sit up, confused. I’ve never had a text message before from anyone.
Well, unless it’s Brantley who sends some basic line like make sure you lock
the gate or one of your tutors is canceling a session—which never happened.
My fingers fly over the keypad.
Saint: Yes.
I toss my phone onto my bed and start French braiding my hair to one
side. It’s not long after I tie the end when my phone dings.
Unknown: Can you keep a secret?
I feel my brows knot to the middle as I fire off my reply.
Me: Who is this?
Now that I’m invested, my phone remains in the palm of my hand as I
wait for the reply.
Unknown: Your new secret. Change your passcode to your phone
and don’t tell anyone about this.
My thumb hovers over the screen for a few seconds as I think over what I
just read. When I grasp for every reason as to why this person is texting me, I
fall short. I’m not experienced in social situations or dynamics. Maybe it’s
Tillie. Maybe this is what girls do and how they text.
I open my settings and set a new passcode, saving the number as a ?.
Grabbing my AirPods, I push them into my ears while I make my way
downstairs. I move through the large living room, opening the old wooden
doors that open out onto the patio. This house is like a dark maze. It’s shaped
like a U and the middle is filled with gardens so rich and vibrant they almost
look too wonderful for the house. There’s also a pool in the middle, which
never gets used but is always maintained. Behind the pool is a concrete
archway that has the letters EKC stamped over top. Moss and ivy claw up the
sides of the stone, reaching for everything it can to grow and climb onto.
Behind that archway lies the Vitiosis cemetery. I don’t go in there often.
Scrolling through my phone, I push play on an old classic I’ve been
trying to learn. Gardening helps my mind breathe.
Breathe…

Past

“Breathe,” Brantley whispered, closing the door behind him.

I shook my head. “I don’t know what he wants me to do.”
Brantley’s dark hair flopped over his forehead, distracting me
momentarily. He needed to cut it, I thought to myself. Or maybe he wanted it
to look like this. He was thirteen, and I was nine.
Brantley’s jaw tensed, his fingers diving into his hair as he slid down my
bedroom door.
I took the two steps toward him, kneeling in front of him. “Does he do
this to everyone?”
Brantley shook his head. “No. Not to my brothers.”
I found it strange, but I didn’t say anything. He brought his eyes up to
mine. Dark. His eyes were so dark, a contrast to his pale skin. “He’s going to
make you do shit.”
 “What?” I whispered, and even though he didn’t elaborate, I could tell by
the tone he used that I wouldn’t like it. Not at all.
“He’s going to do shit to you that you won’t like. I can’t stop him.” His
head hung between his shoulders.
I reached for him, my skinny fingers wrapping around his already
developed arms. Well, unless all boys had some muscles at thirteen. I
wouldn’t know. “What do you mean?”
There was a bang on the door. Brantley shot up to his feet, pushing me
behind his body and hiding me behind his tall frame. Turning, he studied my
features. “I can’t stop him yet. I’m not strong enough. I promise I will one
day, though. I promise he won’t hurt you forever.”
I could see in his eyes the pain he was trying to hide. Whatever Lucan
was about to do to me must be bad.
I didn’t know what kind of bad.
“Fuck,” Brantley cursed. “Fuck this.” He squared his shoulders and I
watched in fascination as his jaw tightened and his pupils dilated. “He’s not
touching you.” His hand was on the back of my neck as he tugged my face up
to his. “Look at me, Saint.” I did. I looked at the way his mouth moved, too. I
also looked at how his eyes had darkened. How I knew he should scare me,
but he didn’t. Not ever did he scare me. “He’s not coming near you. Do you
trust me?” He spoke with resolve, like he had absolutely made up his mind.
“I—” I paused. I didn’t quite understand the word trust, but I felt deep in
my gut that if I was in danger, Brantley would more than likely get me out of
it. He had always been that way with me. He had always been the silent
shadow that guarded me behind the scenes. He never had to be loud about it,
because his energy alone was enough to warn anyone.
I nodded my head. “Yes.”
“Okay. You’re not going to like this, but the latter would be worse. Do
you trust that?”
I nodded again. There was another bang on the door.
“Motherfucker, I’m coming!”
Before I could say another word, Brantley spun around, yanked the door
open and stepped into Lucan’s space. “You’re not touching her. Ever.”

Present
Sweat swelters over the nape of my neck as images flash behind my eyes.
“Saint!” Brantley’s voice snaps me out of my daze, and I grip the
watering can in my hand.
“What happened?” I ask, squeezing the metal in my hand and looking
from left to right to see who else is out here. My head throbs with pain, and
it’s not until everything comes into focus that I realize I’d either fallen or
dropped down into the corner of one of the garden beds.
His jaw clenches, his eyes on mine. His gaze penetrates me like a lit
match would a dark room. “I don’t fucking know. Do you do this often?”
“Um.” I get to my feet, my knees wobbling like jelly. “Yes. I think. But
it’s usually the nightmares.”
He exhales, grabbing my hands and helping me up. “You’re not going to
be here alone without someone from now on. If it’s not me, I’ll leave you at
Tillie’s.”
I begin shaking my head because he doesn’t need to go to such an
extreme.
“You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”
His eyes close, his nostrils flaring before his eyes are open again. I don’t
like when he looks at me this way. It makes my stomach roll and my heart
falter. He makes me uncomfortable in a way that has my stomach aching, but
his presence also pacifies me. Like a gentle stroke of electricity setting fire to
my veins. “Nonnegotiable.” He turns to walk away from me, so I remove my
garden gloves, tossing them to the side. “Go get changed.”
“Why?” I call out, following behind him.
“Because I’m throwing a fucking party tonight.”

He had turned the car around after the phone call, and we slowly rolled
down a street with lights lining the road. It was clearly private and exclusive.
Nothing like where I came from.
He pulled the car into a long cobblestone driveway until we came to a
stop outside of an oversized mansion. I mean, honestly, it was just flaunting
how much money the owners clearly had.
Brantley—now that I knew his name—turned to face me. “Get out.”
They both climbed out of their seats, and he moved the passenger one for
me to slip out. When I heard the music blaring and people in the background,
I relaxed a little, figuring they had obviously brought me to another party.
I straightened my skirt and flipped my hair over my shoulder, gazing up
at the house. “Nice house. This yours?”
Brantley looked between me and the other guy. “Nah, a friend’s.”
We began walking to the front of the house, when Brantley opened the
door and entered, leaving the other one close behind me. As soon as I was
inside, I stopped breathing. It was like a museum, not a home. With glass
windows, stairs, and no family photos, just art. It was the opposite of what I
was used to. I didn’t realize I had stopped walking until I felt a metal clasp
click around my neck.
My hands rose to the front. “What?”
The guy who was behind me tugged on the lead. “You said you wanted to
play a game, so guess what?” He rounded my body until I was in front of
him, and my eyes flew between him and Brantley, who was now stopped at
where the glass walls opened out to the outside dining area.
“Let’s fucking play.”
Saint
A party. He’s had them here a few times in the past, but those times I’d been
told to stay in my room. Over the past few days, I’ve met his friends, been to
a new house, seen them fight, and I still don’t understand the dynamics
among them all.
Kore licks at my fingers after I close Medusa’s enclosure. “I know. I have
been spending time away, but you have Hades and Medusa.”
I’m staring at the stained hardwood door when there’s a loud knock. If
you look close enough to the pattern that naturally spills over the wood, you
can see faces of evil. Brantley doesn’t knock, so I instantly know it isn’t him.
Taking the steps to the other side of the room, I squeeze the handle and
swing it open. Bishop stands at the threshold, his hands buried in his jeans
pockets with a hoodie resting around his neck. My mouth dries and my palms
itch. I have to rub them down my thighs just to stop fidgeting.
“Hi?”
“Can I come in?” He gestures to my bedroom, and I step aside, allowing
him to pass through. He’s not as tall as Brantley, but then not many people
are. He’s strong, though, quite obviously spending just as much time lifting
weights as Brantley does. His hair is either the darkest blond or a light brown,
his skin kissed by a thousand suns. I shut the door behind me and then stop.
Should I shut the door?
“It’s fine,” Bishop answers my unspoken question, walking to the other
side of my room until he reaches the Italian silk curtains that shade out the
sun from reaching into my room. I don’t answer as I make my way farther in,
back to my makeup counter and light mirror.
“Is everything okay?” He lowers himself onto my bed, leaning against my
marble headboard. His eyes remain passive on mine, but he doesn’t speak a
word.
My mouth opens, and just as I’m about to say something, I spin around so
my legs are beneath the dressing table and pick up my eyeliner.
“You’re different,” is all he says, and my hand hovers over my left cheek.
“Does that always have to be a bad thing?” I ask, but in the back of my
mind, I can already feel myself wanting to ask why he’s in my bedroom. Or
maybe this is normal?
When he doesn’t answer, I look up at him through the mirror, finding him
still watching me, his hood now over his head. He swallows roughly, his
throat contracting around the movement. “No. It’s not. Well,” he adds, tilting
his head to the side. The way my bedroom light hits his jawline makes it
appear as sharp as Brantley’s. I’ve always loved boys with a nice jaw. From
what I saw in movies, anyway…
“Well?” I prompt him to continue, while stroking the liner over my
bottom lid. I try for coy. Maybe if I seem disinterested in his answer, he will
answer me.
“Has Brantley told you anything about his family?”
After finishing both eyes, I shake my head and turn back around to face
him, clutching the silk tie that’s holding my bathrobe closed. “No.” My voice
is soft, but the truth is harsh. I bring my focus back to him. “He doesn’t need
to. I think I know enough.”
Bishop stands from my bed and moves around my room with familiarity
and confidence until he’s directly in front of me. His index finger comes
below my ear where he applies gentle pressure. I hold my breath and close
my eyes as he drags the tip of his finger directly down from behind my ear to
my collarbone. “Hmmm, is that why he branded his name down your neck?”
My tongue flicks over my bottom lip as my eyes reopen, and I’m looking
up at Bishop from below. He towers over me, but I’m not uncomfortable. He
doesn’t make me feel the way Brantley does. He doesn’t suck the oxygen
directly out of my lungs any time he’s near.
With Bishop, it’s easy.
Calm.
Friendly?
“No,” I whisper, resting my head into his arm. It must catch him off guard
because his eyes snap to the action. I stand up straight. “Vitiosis is my name,
too.”
“Touché.” Bishop chuckles, finally removing his finger from my neck.
He’s walking toward my door when I stop him in his tracks.
“Madison…” I try the simple word that no one will speak.
His shoulders visibly still, his fingers flexing over the gold handle. He
doesn’t move, but I can already feel the energy in the room shift. Maybe I
shouldn’t have said it, but I’m going to anyway. Tillie filled me in a little bit
about him and her. If they love each other that much, why are they not
together?
He still hasn’t moved, so I take the shot I’m wanting to shoot. Only now I
don’t know what to say. “I won’t talk about her. But I want you to know that
if you would like, you can talk about her to me. If you want.” His shoulders
rise and fall. “I just mean, you can—”
“—fuck.” He swings the door open and slams it behind his departure,
shocking me with his harsh retreat. Maybe I overstepped. I don’t know. But
there’s a reason why I think I’ve felt connected to Bishop, and I’m hoping
that maybe that connection can be a friendship.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I stand in front of my Victorian mirror, catching
Kore and Hades’ eyes in the reflection. “Too much?”
Kore almost dismisses me, placing her head back onto her bed, but Hades
is still staring. He tilts his head.
“Maybe?”
It cocks to the other side. Sometimes I wonder if he sees the ghosts that
walk this property.
I’m dressed simpler tonight. Black high-waisted boyfriend jeans that cut
off above my ankles and a tight turtleneck. I slip on my Givenchy sneakers
while scooping my phone up from my bed just as a text comes through.
?: I’ll see you tonight.
I pause, not quite reaching for the handle, and pull my hand back to reply.
Saint: You are coming to the party?
Pushing my phone into my back pocket, I open the door and make my
way downstairs, passing the portrait paintings of Brantley’s family on the
way down.
Once I hit the bottom of the stairs, the music is louder. No one is inside
the house; they’re all outside near the pool—and my garden. The thought
makes me anxious.
I round the corner to the kitchen when I bump into Tillie, head deep in the
freezer. “Ah, you okay?”
She yelps, jumping back while hitting her head on the way up, rubbing it
gently. “Shit, Saint, you scared me. Yes, I’m fine. Do you guys not have ice
cream in this house?”
I hold my giggle. She looks flustered. Her pink hair is in natural waves
and her face is, from what I can tell, free of any makeup. “We do, it’s in the
freezer in the garage, though.”
She eyes me up and down. “No sundress tonight?”
“Well.” I smile. “There’s no sun, so no.”
Her eyes narrow. “Ha. You do have a sense of humor.” Turning, she
mutters, “Gets that from me.”
“Sorry?”
“Hmmm?” She looks up at me like she’s said something she shouldn’t
have. “Nothing. I just…” She flicks her hands up and down my body. “Really
love your style. It’s unconventional. I like that one day you’re wearing a
sweet little dress and then the next you could be wearing boyfriend jeans and
—are those the new Givenchy?”
My cheeks flare. “I love to shop as much as I love fashion. I’ve become
reliant on it to keep me busy over the years. As well as my plants.”
“Ahhh, so you grow the boys’ pot?”
“The what?” I ask, confused.
“Shit,” Tillie stutters. “I’m going to get in so much trouble with Bran.”
She reaches her hand out. “Pass me your phone, I’ll put my number in it.”
I slip it out of my back pocket, unlocking and handing it to her. Her
fingers fire over my screen quickly before she gives it back to me, just as a
notification comes through.
“Before you go out there, we are doing a selfie for Instagram.”
“For what?” It’s the millionth time since meeting Brantley’s friends that I
feel like an outcast.
“Of course the brute didn’t allow you to have Instagram. We’ll set yours
up later and let me deal with his wrath.” She flips her phone camera around
and wriggles in front of me. “Smile!”
I do. Baring a full-tooth grin. Tillie brings the phone back down and
checks over the photo. I like it. “Jeez. You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you,” I say, pointing at her. “We almost have the same smile.”
Tillie freezes, before typing out a caption. The Sinner & The Saint… or
is she?
I raise an eyebrow at her caption. I know what it means. I laugh anyway,
and then quickly open my app store to download Instagram. “You’ll have to
show me how to use it. I’ve never had any apps on my phone, only my
computer.”
“I will.” She hooks her arm in mine and begins to lead us out of the
kitchen. We grab a couple of ice creams from the freezer in the garage before
heading back through the main foyer, through the sitting room and past the
sliding doors to the outdoor patio.
Music spills out around loud laughter as people splash in the pool.
“Ignore all of the stares,” Tillie whispers in my ear over the vociferous
atmosphere. “You’ll get used to it. Wait until they find out you’re with
Bran.”
I don’t answer her, mainly because I don’t think I vocally can. We move
past girls wearing bikinis and some wearing nothing—literally nothing.
They’re completely naked. I’m still staring back at the group of people
making out in the spa when Tillie stops us.
I slowly turn around, my hair falling over my shoulder when I see
everyone seated around a firepit between the pool and the entrance to the
cemetery. It’s far enough away from the music for it to not be overwhelming,
but close enough to still be able to enjoy the tunes. Music is something I have
also lived through. Movies, music, and books. The three ways to live more
than one life.
I find Brantley instantly. He’s sitting on one of the chairs on the opposite
side of the fire. He’s wearing a dark hoodie, black jeans with tears in the
knees, Chuck Taylors, and—I lose my train of thought because his eyes are
moving up and down my body.
“Well, if it isn’t the new duet,” Eli purrs from the other side of Tillie.
Tillie smacks the back of his head while taking a seat beside Nate, and I
find myself beside Bishop because he’s closest to me in a two-seater lounge
chair. I also don’t know where else I’m supposed to sit.
Bishop remains silent, bringing the rim of the glass to his mouth.
 I turn my head to watch him as he takes long sips. Drowning himself in
liquor. I would love to meet the girl who has brought this man to his knees,
all while holding his broken heart.
“So, you think this is going to work?” Eli asks, looking at Brantley. Eli
has to be around the same age as the rest of them, but he’s more on the pretty
scale. His sunken cheekbones and the few scatters of beauty marks on his
face are so feminine, but I get the feeling he’s anything but.
“Don’t know,” Brantley says, and when I look up at him, his eyes are still
on mine. His jaw is tense, the shadows around his face more obscure. Nerves
in my belly swim to the surface. I feel like I’m doing something wrong, as if
I’m being scolded by a parent, but I have no idea what for.
“You need to fuckin’ chill, my man.” Bishop laughs loudly at Brantley
from beside me.
I’m lost. Again.
Bishop smirks around the rim of his bottle, and I bring my hand out
farther toward the open flames to warm my palms. “You and I both know
that’s not this.” He mutters something else under his breath, too, but I don’t
catch it.
“Saint!” Tillie calls out from a few chairs over. “Ever had alcohol?”
“—No,” both Bishop and Brantley snap at her.
“Jeezzz.” She rolls her eyes. “I see the whole” —she waves—“is in full
effect.”
“Do better, Tillie…” Bishop growls at her.
I can see Brantley kick his legs out of the corner of my eye, leaning back
in his chair. When I finally look over at him, he’s still watching me. The
orange hues that bounce off the flames slap him across the face, leaving a
shrill spray of shadows over his features.
“You know, I give Brit Robinson twenty minutes before she’s crawling
on Bishop’s lap again,” Tillie muses. Eli is quiet, watching whatever is
happening in the hot tub. He always seems bored. Like he needs to have
something to play with at all times.
“—trying,” Nate corrects, massaging her belly.
“Trying,” Tillie says, spooning a chunk of Ben & Jerry’s into her mouth.
I wonder to myself if Bran is the same. No doubt he would be, but I’ve
noticed people stare at Brantley, but they don’t approach. It’s as though
they’re almost… too afraid.
“Just stay right beside Bishop, Saint. Scare them all away.” Eli snickers
around a cigarette.
“I don’t need her to scare them away. They know who runs this shit.”
Bishop leans onto his elbows, hanging his head between his shoulders. My
phone vibrates in my back pocket, so I lean up to grab it out.
“Oh, you’re allowed a phone?” Bishop mocks. “I’m shocked. Really.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Brantley kicks dust toward Bishop, snickering.
I unlock my phone, but I don’t answer the message.
“Put my number in so if you ever need someone to save you, you call
me…” Bishop yaps off his number as I enter it into my phone, sending him a
blank screen so he has mine.
“I sent you a text.”
“Why’d you grab your phone out?” Brantley interrupts and everyone falls
silent. I open up Instagram, turning the screen toward him.
“Tillie told me about this photo app.”
“Did she fucking just—” Brantley glares at Tillie across from him.
“You’re welcome.” She blows Brantley a kiss. Again, I’m confused with
the dynamic. I gaze over my shoulder at the group of people all making out in
the hot tub, switching partners and kissing each other. Amongst other things.
Maybe this is what they all do?
“What are you thinking about?” Eli asks from opposite me.
I don’t take my eyes off what’s happening. “Just wondering if you guys
do that, too?” I gesture over to the hot tub.
Eli barks out a laugh and it’s not long until Nate is joining him.
“I fucking wish,” Eli murmurs. “Well, historically speaking, it has been
known for us to switch, but seeing as—”
“Eli!” Brantley snaps. “Either shove a cock in that mouth or put a pussy
on those lips.”
Eli doesn’t flinch, his smirk remaining on me. “Bran just wishes it was
his cock.” Then he leans back, bringing his beer to his mouth and flipping
Brantley off.
Bishop stands, and we all watch as he stumbles across the lawn and to the
patio. “Will he be okay?” I find myself asking out loud.
“He will be fine as long as there’s no snow in the house.”
I turn back around and my eyes connect with Brantley, who has his beer
up to his mouth. His legs are spread, one knee bouncing, while his dark eyes
are completely and utterly focused on me. He’s doing that thing where I don’t
know what he’s doing again.
 He lowers his beer bottle and mouths, “Come here.”
I stand from my seat and take the three steps to him, looking down at
what little room there is beside him. I manage to squeeze in, curling my legs
up beneath my butt.
“So this is all you guys do at parties?” I ask Brantley, turning to face him.
“I hate to admit it, but I don’t think I’ve been missing out.”
Just when I don’t think he’s going to answer me, the corner of his mouth
curves. Not a lot, but enough to know that I had said something to appease
him.
He swings his arm over the back of my chair, tilting his head to the side
to study me. “I’m sure that will change the longer you’re with us.”
“And how long will that be?” I ask, picking at the fray where his knees
are cut.
He begins to laugh, which is exactly when I realize I’m touching him.
“What’s funny?”
He shakes his head. “Just that you think you’d have a life without me in
it.”
My heart sinks a little. “Oh.” The guilt I’ve lived with is intoxicating. Far
more deadly than any of the drinks they’re consuming tonight. “Can I ask
you a question?”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes remain on mine, which I’m taking as a
go-ahead for me to continue.
“Why did you stop coming home?”
I watch as his whole demeanor shifts. His jaw tenses, his eyes become
more guarded, and the muscles in his thighs flex. I already know why. I just
want him to say the words. I want him to finally admit that he despises me.
That every time he sees me, he sees his nightmare in the flesh. He won’t,
though. That’s what Brantley has always done. He has never dealt with his
emotions, because he doesn’t have any. As he got older, I watched him
transform. He became moody. He stopped talking. He withdrew from the boy
I knew and attached himself to a corpse. I didn’t get to witness it for too
much longer, because he eventually stopped coming home, or when he did,
we never saw each other.
He forgets that I know him, though. Not just his corpse, but the soul he
hides beneath it. I know all of him, and I don’t just mean his dark parts,
because all of Brantley is dark. With some people, they become this way
because of some unfortunate event that made them that way. That’s not
Brantley. He was born like this. Nature over nurture, though nurture did not
help.
“I had other shit I had to attend to,” is all he says. We sit in silence for a
while, and listen as Eli and Tillie go back and forth on baby names. Nate adds
in his two cents every now and then. I relax slightly when I realize I’ve
warmed up to the setting. Brantley pulls out his phone for a few minutes
before the people who were here partying are being escorted out by men in
suits. I recognize a couple of them as being around the house at times over
the years. Not all the time, but sometimes.
Then it’s just us. But Hunter and Cash come and grab Eli, and Nate and
Tillie call it a night, leaving just Brantley and me. Alone. For the first time in
what feels like ever.
He stands, tossing his bottle into the trash beside him. “Do you remember
much about your life before Lucan took you?” The music is still playing in
the background. I think it’s an Eminem song.
His question knocks me out of focus, because out of everything that I was
wondering, that was not one of them. “No, not a single thing. Why?”
I stand beside him when he doesn’t answer, my hand on his arm.
“Brantley…”
His lips curl between his teeth as he finally faces me. “There’s a whole
world that you don’t know about, and I’m hoping it doesn’t know about you.”
“What do you mean?”
He sits back in his chair, shaking his head. “Said I didn’t want to do the
secrets thing, since Bishop went theatrical with his bullshit with Madison and
it ended up ruining them both.” I can sense he’s not finished, so I don’t
interrupt.
One second.
Two.
Three.
After a few seconds of silence, he opens his mouth. “I’ll start by
explaining The Elite Kings Club.”
“Okay,” I say, taking the seat beside him.
He starts talking and I remain silent. I absorb all of the information he
tells me, even the parts that are hard to follow.
“You have commandments?” I ask, and I don’t know why that’s the first
thing I want to ask, but I do.
He nods. “Yeah. They’re engraved into the Vitiosis tombstone in the
graveyard. We take them seriously.”
“Tell me one of them.” I’m fascinated by the story that he told me. How
from generation to generation each last name has a legacy and a meaning.
Bishop Hayes, Devil. Eli Rebelis, Rebel. Nate Malum, Evil. Brantley Vitiosis,
Cruel or Vicious. He went on to explain the other last names, like apparently
Madison’s real last name is Venari, Hunt. All of their last names stem from
Latin, the dead language, which is the original tongue of their ancestors. It’s
all confusing and hard to follow, but I think that’s what makes it all the more
magical. I’ve always loved fantasy and fiction. It opens the human mind,
spins the mundane and basic into worlds that we could only ever visualize in
our dreams.
Harry Potter, for one. As a fellow Ravenclaw, I rewatch the movies and
reread the books any time I need to be reminded that I’m home.
I look to the Slytherin.
Slytherin chuckles. “All right, but the first thing you have to know is that
nothing in our world makes sense to commonfolk.” His finger is teasing his
upper lip, his eyes remaining passive on mine. “Fourth commandment. What
is yours is your brothers’, unless a King calls red.” Brantley pauses, leaning
his elbows on his knees while never disconnecting. The flames are dying
down now, but the music is still playing. The night is as dead as the corpses
that are not ten feet behind us. “Do you know why they called it ‘red’?”
I shake my head. I’m not sure I want to know, which is ridiculous
because it was me who wanted to know everything to begin with. “But I
don’t understand the yours is your brothers’ part either?”
“It means that if one of us likes the other’s girlfriend, wife, fiancée,
whatever bitch we have warming our cock at that time, then by EKC law, she
is still free game.”
“You mean, she can sleep with you both?” I ask, cocking my head.
His eyes narrow. “Yes.”
“But, not many girls would want that, right?”
He doesn’t answer, and when I chew on my bottom lip in an attempt to
calm my nerves, he reaches forward and catches it with his thumb. Electricity
buzzes through me, followed closely by warm liquid that turns my bones to
mush. “You would be surprised how easy it is for some girls.”
“Have you?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I’m not so sure I want to
know. “Shared, I mean.” Seems like I’m still asking…
He releases my lip and reaches forward for another beer out of the cooler,
flicking off the cap and tossing it in the trash. “Not interested in having a
girlfriend. Ever. But yeah, it happens often.”
“Who was your last?” Seriously, Saint.
He pauses, his bottle to his lips. “Tillie.”
My head whips around to him, my eyes wide. “Tillie and Nate? That
Tillie?”
Brantley shrugs. “Never went the whole way because Nate’s a fucking
pussy, but yeah.”
“Humph,” I wonder out loud.
“What?” Brantley asks, resting the bottle on his knee.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know, I was just thinking…”
“What?” he snaps, his tone edgy. Syllables spill from his lips and slip into
my veins like a shot of fluid through an IV. “What the fuck are you
thinking?”
“Well, I don’t know. I mean.” I clear my throat and lower my voice. I’ve
always been comfortable around Brantley, even when he’s turning my insides
into puree. I’m relaxed around him. “I’ve never had anyone, you know…”
He tosses the now empty bottle into the trash, smashing the ones that are
already inside of it. It wasn’t an angry throw, but it was clearly forceful.
“Won’t happen.”
“Well, yeah, I figured. But I’m just saying.” I wave my hand in the air.
His eyes connect with mine and I’m paralyzed from the neck down. His
dark orbs slide over my neck as my pulse thickens. His tongue flicks out and
runs across his teeth. “And if you did, would you let another guy fuck you?”
I shrug, because I truthfully don’t know the answer to that. “I read in a
book once that your sexual appetite isn’t awoken until you’ve had sex. So I
don’t know.”
His mouth slams closed. “Anyway. We have six commandments. Hayes
is always the alpha of the pack, or as Bishop likes to say, god of the pack.
Nate, his elected right-hand man, and I’m third in line. There are only ever
three at the top. The rest that fall after, drop in ranking, but the loyalty is the
same.”
“Okay.” I nod my head. “So, Hayes, Malum, and Vitiosis are the main
lines in The Elite Kings Club? And what do you all do, what is your duty?”
Brantley’s full lips curl in the corner. “And that’s something that never
leaves our circle, but in short—” He pauses, his eyes locked on the burning
embers in the pit. “We own this fucking city.”
 “Brantley?” He doesn’t answer me, so I reach forward until my fingers
are on his ring. It’s black and silver and heavy. “How come I don’t remember
all of my memories when I was younger?”
He stands from his chair. “That’s normal, and in your case, it’s probably
better you don’t. Come on, that’s all the explaining I’m doing tonight.” And
although he says the words, I know what he has told me is not even
scratching the surface of what this world entails.
We both walk up the staircase, then split into our rooms. I shut my
bedroom door behind me with a gentle click, closing my eyes and resting my
head against the wood. I felt too many things tonight, and all of them began
and ended with Brantley.
The breeze from the open doors of the patio brushes against my skin, as I
finally push off and make my way farther into my room, turning my bedside
lamp on.
Turning around with makeup wipes in my hand, I jolt in shock when I see
Bishop snoring on top of the covers of my bed. Well, that’s not fair, he’s not
snoring, but his mouth is parted, an arm covering his eyes and he has one leg
hanging off the bed. His chest rises and falls slowly. I think about my options
while glaring at my two guard dogs on their beds in the corner. I can’t be mad
at them. They clearly know Bishop, and dogs are a good judge of character. I
still flip them both off because what the hell?
Moving quietly through my room, I open the top drawer and take out a
pair of boxers and a loose T-shirt, before bringing everything with me to the
bathroom. It takes me fifteen minutes to change, wipe my makeup off, brush
my hair and teeth, and apply my seven-step skin routine. I make sure to turn
off my bathroom light before opening the door to not wake him, dropping my
clothes into my dirty hamper and blowing out my freshly brushed waves.
Before climbing onto my bed, I turn on Medusa’s lamp, plug my phone in to
charge on my bedside table, and pick up my eye covers from my bedside
drawer. Peeling back my covers while slipping the mask on my forehead, I
slide into the cool cotton sheets, wriggling deep into the clean covers.
I can’t help it. I know I should go to sleep, but I’m too intrigued by
Bishop. I think I always have been from the minute I first saw him. The way
he carries himself isn’t charming like Nate, or cold and distant like Brantley,
it’s heavy. My heart swells in my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such pain
like I do when I think of Bishop.
“You can stop analyzing me,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep.
Slowly, he lifts his arm above his head, sliding the hoodie off while doing it.
His full face is in view now. His sharp profile and pouty lips. The two beauty
spots he has on his cheek and his floppy brown hair. “I must have crashed.
Sorry.” He goes to push himself up from my bed, but he winces, falling back
down. “Fucking hate beer.”
“I can’t relate.”
“You’re weird,” he murmurs, but rests back on top of the bed.
“That’s not insulting to me.” I slip my hands beneath my cheek on the
pillow. “You can stay.”
He kicks off his shoes, removing his hoodie until he’s in a white tee with
rips in it. I can see all of his tattoos now. So many tattoos. I really like them.
While he’s reaching for the throw that sits as decoration at the end of the bed,
I try to focus my eyes on the art that’s skillfully inked into his skin, thanks to
Medusa’s light allowing me to do so. I love any form of art. Tattoos are no
exception.
He’s lying back onto the other pillow when he rolls to the side, his eyes
colliding with mine. “She wasn’t supposed to leave again.”
My brows furrow and it takes me a second to catch the meaning behind
his words. Madison. “Again?”
Bishop chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t even fuckin’ know why I’m
talking to you about this. I don’t talk to anyone about her.” He pauses,
catches his breath before whispering, “Or maybe I do know.”
“She always leaves you?” I further pry, snuggling into my warm covers.
“She’s a runner.” He yawns, his jaw clenching. “Every time shit gets
hard, she fucking runs.”
“And you don’t like that?”
“I don’t fucking need it. I’m taking the gavel in two months. I need her to
be strong, or vulnerable, or whatever, but it needs to be beside me.”
“Just because she runs, doesn’t mean she’s not strong, Bishop.”
He studies me closely. Too closely. He searches my face like he’s trying
to solve a crime. “How so?”
“You are obviously in love with each other.”
“Eh, I’d call it an obsession—”
I glare at him.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we are, but it’s toxic.”
A soft yawn escapes my mouth. “Doesn’t matter. Love doesn’t care who
it destroys to get what it wants.”
 “Back to what you were saying.”
I yawn, my eyes feeling heavy. “Well, not many people have the strength
to run away from someone they love.”
“You don’t know the full story.” His voice is distant, so distant I almost
think I imagined it.
“Lucky we have a full lifetime for you to tell me.”

There was cocaine lined out on a glass coffee table. Deftones “Changes”
blasted through the night, while a bonfire licked warmth all over my skin. I
was in a daze, grabbing the hundred-dollar bill from the guy who drove, who
I now know is Bishop, and brought it to my nose, sniffing the line down in one
go. I flopped backward onto the three-seater bean bag that was behind me,
Brantley now with the leash.
I turned to face him, but he hooked his hoodie up over his head and
leaned back on the sofa, his eyes going to the sky.
I handed him the rolled-up dough. “Want a hit?”
He didn’t pay me any attention, not even a glance, or a simple
acknowledgment. As if I wasn’t worthy of him. Which admittedly, I’d come to
feel I wasn’t. In my town, I felt on top of the world. I ran that shit. These boys
were so far beyond all of that.
“I don’t fuck with drugs.”
Another guy passed me, snatching the funnel off me and bringing it to his
nose. “Brantley doesn’t party, party…”
I turned to face him more, resting my fist on my cheek. I was intrigued by
him. I thought that much was painfully obvious. Bishop was on the other side
of me, puffing on a cigarette. “What are you into?”
Finally, Brantley turned his face to me and suddenly I felt like I shouldn’t
have asked. “You’ll find out soon enough. The night is still young.” Laughter
clapped out around me, but it wasn’t coming from Brantley or Bishop, it was
from the rest of the guys who had joined our circle. Suddenly I realized how
fucked I might be. I was alone at a party I didn’t know with people I didn’t
know.
My eyes flew up to the rest of the party that had spilled out over a
basketball court. “I might go find a drink.” As soon as I was on my feet,
Brantley tugged on the lead and I was falling back onto the bean bag.
He wrapped the chain around his wrist until there was none left and
tugged on it, bringing my face closer to his. “Just to be clear, you shouldn’t
have put my dick in your mouth tonight, but you really, really shouldn’t have
jumped into Bishop’s car.”
Brantley
Past

“Son, you know what to do,” Lucan said from somewhere behind the
camera that was clipped onto a tripod. The room was the same as always. At
the same place. I knew Lucan didn’t run this, that someone bigger was behind
it. Someone sick and demented and someone who needed to be put down.
I shook my head. “No. Not her,” I growled, my teeth cracking under the
pressure. “You will not touch her.”
Saint sat in the corner. She was nine years old and this was the first time
she had come with Lucan. He was distracted before then, because of the little
Swan, but now he wanted Saint, and he wanted her bad.
“That can’t be done.”
My fists clenched in my hands until crescent moons were splitting open
my skin. “Not. Her.”
Lucan moved out from behind the camera, a cigar in his mouth. He
dropped to my level and bile rose up my throat. I should tell Uncle Hector
about him, but Lucan had made it clear no one would believe me. No one.
Not Hector, not my brothers, not one single person, because he was Lucan
Vitiosis, and not one single person ever wanted to cross paths with him.
 But I would.
For her.
I was sure of it.
She annoyed me. I hated her. I couldn’t stand her. But I was okay with
those feelings, because I was in control of them. I didn’t like not being in
control of anything to do with Saint. She was mine, not Lucan’s. I didn’t
know where she fit in my world, all I knew was that she belonged there.
Here. With me. I must protect her.
“Why?” Lucan asked, and I hated looking at him. Not because he
resembled me, because he didn’t. At least I didn’t think so, but because every
time I looked into his eyes, I’d see my memories being played back. I
couldn’t cope. It made me weak. I had to harness my pain to make me
stronger.
“Because. Not her. Anyone else but her.”
“What will you give me if I agree to this?” I knew Lucan didn’t agree to
me keeping Saint for the sole purpose of filming. He could get any young girl
or boy and toss them in with me. I could offer him something, though.
It’s something he’d wanted since he started on me.
“You’ll have my compliance.”
He chuckled, standing to his full height. “Deal. Clean her up and we will
take your precious child home.”
“No,” I roared, and the feral tone that came out of my body didn’t match
my age. “I need your agreement that you will never touch her. Ever.”
He flipped the camera closed and turned on the light. “You have my
word.”

Present

Loading up more weight on either side of the barbell, I lie back down onto
the bench and flex my fingers around the bar. Marilyn Manson’s “Say10”
drowns out the noise inside my head as sweat drips down my temple and
lands on the floor. I raise the bar above my head before lowering it to my
chest and arching my back to drive it up again.
I showed her the tip of the iceberg last night, and all she wanted to do was
dive right in and see the rest of it. Saint has always been an unusual character.
She talks when she shouldn’t and doesn’t when she should. She dresses like
she’s been around fashion her whole life some days, and others she could
look homeless, yet with all styles, she’s always confident. Her fucking eyes.
They’re wolf-gray with dark rings around the edges. She may not be the first
girl you look at in the room, but that’s not because she’s not obviously
attractive, because she is. It’s because she’s the type to sit in the corner and
do some weird shit then get drunk and make noises like Tillie and Madison.
After we killed Lucan, I hardly ever came back. I maybe saw her three times
in all of that time; otherwise, I had workers fill in the gaps for me. In that
time, she practically took ownership of Hades, too. Because that’s the
witchcraft she possesses. She’s able to snatch the soul out of you without you
even realizing. Dogs included.
She and I always worked because I have no soul.
Bishop’s head pops up over my bar and I tear my pods out of my ears,
standing from the bench. “Thought you went home last night.”
“Slept in Saint’s room,” he announces easily, yawning while moving
around the bench.
“What?”
He’s wearing no shirt with his jeans unbuttoned as he rubs the sleep from
his eyes.
He snorts. “Fucking chill. You don’t need to call red on her just to get me
away, or have you forgotten? Incest isn’t my thing.”
I run my fingers through my damp hair, dropping down onto the bench
while wiping the sweat from my chest. I can literally feel my heart rate
descend as realization seeps in. “She doesn’t know that.”
Bishop moves to the front of me, picking up a dumbbell. “We can’t tell
her yet.”
“Why?” I ask, though I’m sure I already know the answer.
“Because Hector doesn’t want her knowing yet.” He drops the weight
onto the floor. “Think it has something to do with the old university
reopening, and with Riverside Prep moving back to the old building. Has him
on edge, he’s even keeping me out of the loop with some shit.”
“He’s probably keeping you out of the loop because of other shit, not that
shit.”
Bishop ignores my Madship blow, resting his head on the wall. “You
won’t have to worry about anything happening to her, Brantley. I see it in
your eyes anytime she’s around or her name is brought up. She turns you into
a monster.”
 Wrong. I am a monster and he damn well knows it. She just made it her
pet.
“I don’t trust anyone with her, Bishop.”
He raises his eyes to mine. “Right, and you shouldn’t. If it wasn’t me and
she wasn’t my half-sister, I would agree. But I mean it when I say that I will
protect her as much as you.”
“I trust you,” I say the words I know he’s been wanting to hear me say for
months. “That has never been my issue with you. You know I’d take a bullet.
I just took shit out on you and our friendship that I shouldn’t have.” For the
first time, I feel a peace settle between Bishop and me. Something I haven’t
felt between us in a long time.
“You gonna make me breakfast since you’re pouring your heart out to
me?” He smirks, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him crack even close to a
smile since she left.
I throw my water bottle at his head and stand from the bench. “Fucker.”

Once we hit the main foyer and make our way into the kitchen, Saint is
already in there, flipping pancakes. She’s wearing pajama shorts and an
oversized tee, with her hair in a high bun and a white bandana tied to the
front.
Bishop and I both tilt our heads when my eyes land on the Gandalf
slippers she’s wearing.
“I don’t even have words…” Bishop interrupts and she jerks in shock,
spinning around to face us.
Her skin is pale, the same color as mine, her cheeks pinched pink. Her
lashes are as dark as my hair. “You scared me!”
I roll my eyes, making my way toward her while Bishop answers his
ringing cell, leaving us alone.
“Do you like pancakes? I mean, I know when we were kids you liked
waffles, but I can’t be bothered whisking egg whites and—”
“—they’re fine.”
She breaks off a piece of one that looks to have chocolate chips in it and
brings it up to my lips. The height difference between us is comical, so she
has to stretch her arm out and inch up on her tippy toes just to be able to
reach my mouth. “Try them. They’re Dutch.”
Some of the shit Saint does can come off as flirty, or teasing. People can
easily get the wrong idea, but that’s just her personality. Anyone who takes
her the wrong way will need their brain matter scraped off the tip of my steel-
toe boots.
I sink my teeth into the fluffy cooked batter, fighting a groan when the
butter coats my taste buds. I chew and swallow, and just as she’s about to
turn around and flip more, my hand is on her belly while my other is on the
counter, caging her in. If I pull her up against my chest, it would be clear
what the fuck is going on in my mind right now. Fucking crystal clear.
She doesn’t flinch, busying herself with baking. Always so unaffected. I
graze my lips over the back of her ear. “When were you going to tell me that
you had a boy in your bed last night, Dea,” I whisper out her middle name,
burying my nose in her hair to chase the scent that’s running off of her.
What the fuck is that shit? Baby powder? Bubble gum? Fucking what? I
need it.
She chuckles, dropping the newly cooked pancakes onto the plate.
“You’d be amazed what you don’t see if you’re never here…”
The statement throws me off.
First of all, what the fuck does she mean?
I open my mouth as the grip I have on her slim waist tenses, but as soon
as I’m about to snap at her, Bishop is back in the room.
“That was Dad. He wants us at my apartment at three p.m.”
I detach from Saint, my eyes fucking narrowed on the back of her head.
“This isn’t over.” Grabbing a knife and fork from the drawer, I turn back to
Bishop. “Any clue what that might be about?”
The front door opens and closes. “Morning, bitches!”
“Fuck. I liked my life better when this wasn’t the halfway house.”
Bishop slides up beside Saint while biting into a pancake. “Bound to
happen. It’s only fair that you take a turn, and see it this way,” he says, his
eyes glistening with ideas. “We can keep an eye on this one while we’re all
here. It’s easier.”
He’s moving into the brother role rather fucking smoothly for a spoiled,
only-child brat. With the exception of Abel.
“I know you’re all leaving this afternoon to Hector’s, so I’ve come to
steal her for the day.” Tillie bats her long lashes up at me while placing her
Balenciaga handbag on the table.
“Gonna have to swap those fancy bags for a diaper bag soon…” I tease,
my mouth twitching. Couldn’t help myself.
 She flips me off. “Actually, pretty sure Prada has a mothers’ line…”
“They don’t, but Louis does.” Saint shrugs, piling pancakes onto her plate
before reaching for the chocolate syrup. That’s my bad. I basically hand-fed
her the shopping addiction she so candidly utilizes.
“Where’s Nate?”
“He’s coming,” Eli says, entering the kitchen with Cash and Hunter right
behind him. “Mmmm, pancakes.”
“I need everyone out of my fucking house.”
Saint
I never understood why Brantley was the way he was. Why he was filled
with such anger and hatred. Not that I saw it often, because I didn’t. Once or
twice. There were times where he would snap at me growing up, but it wasn’t
in a way that made me fear for my life. I trust him to an extent, so that begs
the question that I’ve been asking myself since hand-feeding him a pancake
in the kitchen this morning—right before his fingers were against my skin
and his whispers on the nape of my neck.
Why have I not told him about the texts I’ve received?
“So, I thought we could do some shopping, maybe? Go buy some food?
Oh! I know!” Tillie grins, rubbing the palms of her hands together while
swinging on the barstool. “Let’s get you drunk!”
“Ahhh.” My brows knit. “I don’t know. I’ve never had alcohol before—”
“Girl, you have a death wish,” Veronica interrupts, carrying countless
bags of new groceries.
“V!” I jump up from my chair and wrap my arms around her neck.
“How you doing, Snow. He back now and allowing other visitors?”
Veronica, or as I like to call her, V, has been the housekeeper since, well,
since Lucan died and Brantley started disappearing. She and I bonded over a
debate about the Salem witch trials. I argued that witches aren’t real and they
burned people out of fear.
V doesn’t agree. She’s originally from Danvers, which was formerly
known as Salem Village. V is firm on her beliefs when it comes to the history
of Salem Village.
She was probably right, I just enjoyed finally talking with someone.
“He—yeah. He’s around a lot more often now. Tillie, this is V. V, this is
Tillie. She’s Brantley’s friend’s girlfriend.”
V hooks her finger into the wire of her glasses and slides them down the
bridge of her nose. “Hmmm.”
Tillie remains passive. She nods politely at V, but it’s far from the
friendly girl I’m beginning to know.
“Ahhh, she’ll warm up.” I tap Tillie’s arm before looking back to V, who
is now emptying all of the food into the Tupperware containers. Brantley
likes things to be in order—everywhere—so it’s part of her duties to make
sure everything is labeled and in the right place.
He’s, what’s the word? Controlling.
“So, drinking?” Tillie waggles her brows. “Come on!”
I nudge my shoulders noncommittally. “Only if you agree no parties or
bars.”
She crosses her heart.
“Oh, and we stay home and watch movies.”
Tillie rolls her eyes and hooks her arm in mine. “Yeah, yeah, all right.”

We drive to the closest 7-Eleven in Tillie’s Ferrari. I did offer to take my

Tesla, but she said she was already in enough trouble with Brantley.
Once we’re parked out front, she removes her belt and rests her hand over
her belly. I always forget she’s pregnant, because she’s so small. “In and out.
No messing around.”
“Agreed.” We both slide out and make our way through the electronic
sliding doors. Heading straight for the junk food section—because V would
never buy this food—we start piling snacks into the baskets.
“You know, my best friend’s chocolates are Sulpice Debauve’s pralines.
We used to hang out in her room, get drunk, eat chocolate, and at that time, I
used to have to put up with one of our other friends fucking Nate.”
I pause, my finger hovering over the Reese’s cups. I grab seven. “Wait,
you mean he had sex with your friend?” Once I remember the discussion with
Brantley last night, I toss the candy bars into the basket. “Never mind.
Brantley sort of filled me in last night with calling red on girls.”
Tillie ignores my comment, falling quiet. “Mmmm. It’s a little weird to
most people, but the dynamic of The Kings has always been like this. With
every woman that a King falls in love with, another King also has, well, a
kind of bond with her. Usually not platonic and always sexual.”
I toss in a bag of hot Cheetos. “And no one gets jealous that someone else
is touching that person?”
Tillie shrugs as we make our way to the counter. “I mean, yes and no. For
me, it was Nate and Brantley. For Madison, it was Bishop and Nate. For
you… I’m not sure.”
That catches my attention. “What do you mean, for me? I’m not with any
of them.”
Tillie’s eyes come to mine as she blindly piles our poor eating choices
onto the conveyer belt. “Oh, but you are…”

We make it back home safely, and I quickly run up the stairs and into my
room while V vacuums the living area. Once Tillie kicks the door closed, she
comes up behind where I am, gazing out the curtains to the three men who
are stationed outside the house. They’re all dressed in suits, wearing black
glasses and gun holsters outside their clothing. One is even carrying an AK.
“He’s never been this over-the-top with security,” I say, closing the
curtain.
Tillie kicks off her sneakers and climbs into my bed, pushing Kore over.
“I know I’ve met these dogs before, but will they bite me?”
I shake my head, removing my shoes and finding my Givenchy hoodie,
zipping it up. “Nah, not unless I feel threatened.”
I push a button on my bedside drawer and the TV slowly rises from the
floor in front of my bed until all eighty-four inches of it is occupying the
entire space at the foot.
“Holy fuck!” Tillie gasps midway, opening the Cheetos. “I need one of
these.”
I flop onto the bed with my phone in hand. “All I did to pass time was
garden, read, self-study, watch TV shows and movies, and shop online.”
Tillie pops a bottle of champagne and pours some into a flute, handing it
to me. “I’m a little pissy that I can’t share this with you, but at least I can take
care of you if it goes straight to your head. Which it will.”
I take the first sip and wince as the bubbles evaporate over my lips. “It
tastes better than it smells.”
Tillie winks at me. “Exactly.”
We snuggle into the covers as I sip on my champagne and nibble on the
Cheetos when her phone starts ringing.
She pulls it out of her handbag and I watch as her face pales. “Sorry, I
have to answer this.”
“It’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. “You want me to leave the room?”
“No.” Tillie’s eyes come to mine. “We don’t roll with secrets like the
boys do.”
My chewing slows as she unlocks her phone. What did she mean by that?
“Everything okay?” Instantly her tone is different. She’s guarded, uneasy,
and instead of her slouching, her shoulders are square, as if she’s ready for
battle.
“Yeah, sorry I had to FaceTime you. I hope you’re alone?”
I don’t recognize the voice on the other end, but I figure it must be one of
Tillie’s friends.
Tillie’s eyes fly to me before going back to the phone. She flips the
screen around and the girl on the other end squints her eyes.
“Who’s that?” She has long brown hair, a sharp heart-shaped face, and a
skinny frame. From what I can see. She is beautiful. I mean, she doesn’t even
need to try to be either.
Tillie turns the screen back around. “This is Saint.” She looks to me and
smiles gently. “Saint, this is Madison.”
Oh!
“What have I missed? I know you wouldn’t put me on blast if you didn’t
trust her, but should I be worried that you’re becoming weak?”
Tillie flips her off. “Fuck you. You wouldn’t have to be worried if you
were home.” The silence is piercing. I get the impression they care for one
another, but there is also tension between the two of them. “Anyway, so…”
Tillie nibbles on her bottom lip. I don’t know if her obvious nervousness is
from Madison being on the phone or from me. Either way, it steals my
appetite.
Tillie props the phone up onto a pillow on the bed opposite me so we’re
placed in a circle. Madison eyes me closely. “What am I missing here?”
 “Okay.” Tillie turns to me, her hands on my knees. “Take another drink.”
“Oh no, she’s getting you drunk. This is bad,” Madison jokes.
“Well, I have never been drunk before so this could end badly.”
“Wait, what? Tillie, what the fuck is going on?”
Tillie ignores us both, and just as I sip my second gulp, her mouth opens.
“I promised myself that there will be no secrets among the girls.”
“The girls? Who is she?” Madison is half-yelling now.
Tillie silences her with a flick of her wrist. She’s obviously well
acquainted with Madison as a friend. “Saint, I’m going to tell you something
that I’m almost certain Brantley hasn’t told you yet—” I don’t miss the loud
gasp from the phone. “—For God knows why, because why do the boys ever
hide secrets from us?” Tillie rolls her eyes. “All it does is hurt people, and
I’m not letting it happen again, so a pact…” She points around to all three of
us.
“I don’t know if you notice this, but I can’t draw blood through the
phone…” Madison mumbles. I think she’s joking.
Tillie ignores her and keeps her eyes on me. “We don’t need a fucking
blood oath. This isn’t The Craft.”
I gulp, swallowing another mouthful of the sour champagne. “I wouldn’t
be mad if it was as long as I can be Bonnie.”
I wasn’t sure what was happening. I’m not surprised by the secret
comment. Brantley has always lived a separate life from me and this house,
but if this is half as important as I’m getting the feeling it is, then I might
need more champagne. They drink a lot of it in the movies I watch. It
obviously helps.
I drink more.
“Saint.” Tillie squeezes my leg. “You’re my half-sister.”
Champagne sprays from between my lips.
I cover my mouth with my hand. “What?” both Madison and I scream.
Ice spills through my blood as chills break out on my flesh. What? I don’t
know what it is that fills my body, but the feeling is foreign, not something I
have felt before.
“And Bishop’s half-sister.”
My brows knit together, and my mouth involuntarily closes. I can’t. I
have no words that are willing to come out.
“I—um.”
“Wait! What do you mean? How?” Madison is yapping in the
background.
Tillie tosses a pillow in front of the phone, muting her whining before
turning to face me. She obviously notices the panic that’s displayed all over
my face. “Listen, I don’t know when they were planning to tell you about
this, but I didn’t want you to be kept in the dark any longer, and I hate
secrets.”
My mind is spinning so fast that stars prick behind the backs of my eyes.
“I don’t understand how that could happen. Before I was a Vitiosis, I lived in
Switzerland.”
“Well,” Tillie says, pulling the pillow back from the phone, bringing
Madison back into the conversation. “Anything you have been told about
your life pre-Vitiosis, I would take with a grain of salt.”
My brows knit, pulled in by my obvious confusion. “That makes no
sense.”
“Listen, I don’t know why, and I don’t want to speculate either. In short,
my mother and Bishop’s father, Hector, had an affair and you were the
product of that.”
I curl my legs under my butt, leaning forward to place my drink onto one
of my bedside tables. My mind is chasing clarity, and mixing that with
alcohol isn’t ideal. “I need to talk to Brantley.”
“Nah uh.” Tillie shakes her head. “Not a good idea.”
I’ve come to like Tillie. She’s clearly loyal when it comes to her friends,
or why would she be talking to Madison behind Bishop’s back. The only
thing I am worried about is why she wants us to keep this from the guys.
Madison exhales. “Okay, Tillie is right. We need to figure out why they
haven’t told you yet. Speaking from experience, they do everything for a
reason. You don’t know yet because they don’t want you to know yet. This is
the first time we’ve ever been a step ahead of them.”
“You need to come home, Mads,” Tillie whispers, and the sadness that
drips off each syllable is enough to make my heart hurt. “You just need to
come home.”
“I can’t,” Madison snaps. “He—I can’t.”
“Ever?” Tillie asks, and I hold my breath while I wait for Madison to
answer. As if I’ve been waiting for the answer for as long as Tillie has.
She shakes her head. “Just for now.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I reach for it aimlessly, watching the
question mark flash over the screen. Tillie and Madison are still chatting in
the background as my thumb hovers over the swipe to answer button. Could
it be Eli? Or Bishop? Or any of the other guys that I’ve seen hanging around
Brantley?
Unsure.
Just as I make contact with my screen to answer, my ringtone is cut off
and the call disappears.
“Who was that?” Tillie asks, hanging up on Madison and putting her
phone in her pocket.
“Ah, I actually don’t know.” It’s not a lie, because I don’t know who it is.
Tillie pops a Cheeto into her mouth and chews. “Telemarketers are
relentless around this time of year.”
“October?” I ask, confused. I think my confusion is more from the news
she just dropped on me moments ago and less on the current season.
“Mmmmhmmm, that leads up to Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, et
cetera.”
I don’t think much into what she starts talking about next because my
mind clings to one word.
Halloween.

Past

There was a chill in the air that bit every part of my exposed flesh and left
bruises well after its departure. My teeth chattered so loudly I was sure they
would crack. It was dark. So dark. Mud curled around my toes as I sunk them
deeper and deeper into the mushy soil. My hair hung low, covering the
corners of my eyes. The sound of a twig snapping had me spinning around as
panic rose in my throat. What was happening? The tombstone that led into
the TEKC cave was the only thing I could see that let me know I was in the
Vitiosis graveyard. The strong block letters embossed into the ancient stone
somehow felt brighter this night. So vivid, begging to be seen.
A hand wrapped around my arm and a scream tore out of my throat just
before the same hand was over my lips.
“What the fuck are you doing down here?” His voice had changed over
the years. It wasn’t the world that hardened him; it was simply too soft for
him. Too demure. His soul was haunted, he walked this earth as an empty
vessel. His eyes were the entrance to Hell, and every time he looked at you,
he would draw you in closer to the burning iron gates. I sometimes wondered
when the day would come that he would completely shut me inside. He
wouldn’t be an empty vessel anymore; he would carry me.
I turned in his grip, my hands colliding with his chest. He’s bigger.
Stronger. Harder. And so, so tall.
“If I release your mouth, will you keep quiet?”
I wasn’t sure why he asked me this question, but I nodded.
His touch was gone, and immediately the shivers started again. The teeth
chattering. The coldness that stuck to me like icicles against warmth. It was
then that I realized I was standing out in my silk pajamas. A simple spaghetti
strap top, trimmed with lace, with matching shorts. They were white, so I
guess it was easy for him to see me, but he was in black, so I couldn’t see
anything of him. I only had his touch. And it was blinding.
“What are you doing out here? Why are you out of the house?”
“I—” I couldn’t get a word out of my mouth because my teeth were
chattering so hard.
“Fuck,” he cursed, and moved my hand away from his body before
something warm was being shoved into my chest. “Arms up.”
I did as I was told, though my body would not stop convulsing. Seconds
later, I was surrounded by fuzzy warmth and the scent of cologne that stung
the back of my throat like a deadly poison. Strong leather notes, with a subtle
hint of fresh pine, a dash of soap, and the delicate fume from an already
smoked cigarette. Did he smoke now? He was just seventeen.
“Thank you,” I said, forgetting I was to be quiet. His hand was back on
my mouth, while his other was behind my head, holding me in place.
“Be. Quiet.” His whisper-growl reverberated around me. If I didn’t feel
so safe, it would be horrifying. I could see the flesh of his arms now, and
when I finally trailed my eyes up to his face that was now bare from the
hoodie, I froze.
My brows curved.
“Yes, Saint, be quiet. And yes, my face looks like a skull.” The lines of
the skull that were painted over his face were hypnotizing. I was awestruck,
unable to speak or move from beneath his hold. Black and white colors
crafted perfectly over his high cheekbones and eyes. His eyes were now
hidden behind the brightest white contacts.
He released my mouth again.
“What are you doing?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my stomach
protectively. Brantley was hardly home anymore, but recently, he’d passed
through more often. More often than Lucan anyway. I sensed something was
happening around the house, but never spoke a word. The house was always
quiet, but with Lucan and Brantley living under the same roof, it was loud.
Loud with anger, tension, hate.
He grabbed my hand and began dragging me back through the forest.
“Don’t fucking worry about what I’m doing. Fuck. Why are you out here?”
I didn’t speak until I could see the high arches of the entry and exit of the
cemetery, with the manor glaring down at us both in the distance.
“Speak, Saint. You can speak now…”
We were still walking toward the house when I finally opened my mouth.
“I don’t know how I got there. I’ve—”
He paused, turning to face me. I hung onto the silence, awaiting his next
words. But instead of words, he picked me up from around my legs and threw
me over his shoulder.
“Brantley!” I hissed.
“Your legs are too fuckin’ small and I need you back in your room now,
not in an hour.” He continued to carry me up the steps of the patio and
through the glass doors, kicking them closed with his foot.
He placed me onto the ground once we were back in the living room of
the house. No TV. Just three sofas, a fireplace you could ignite a bonfire in,
old family portraits from years and years ago, and candles. So many candles.
The dim light from the fireplace and said candles gave me the perfect
view of his face now. My throat swelled. I had no words. It had been three
months since I’d last seen him. Lucan was never home, always away in his
office. I didn’t mind him being away, though. Lucan had always been
somewhat distant from me. He avoided me like he was, I don’t know. Afraid.
“Saint…” Brantley’s voice tapped through my straying thoughts.
“Why is your face painted like that?” I felt like the longer he stayed away,
the more he aged. I almost had to bend my neck to look up at him now.
“It’s Halloween…” He drops down onto the sofa behind him.
“And?” I didn’t understand the statement.
He refused to answer now. Bored with my questions, as per usual. And as
usual, he’d simply just not answered it. “When did you start sleepwalking?”
His eyes traveled down my body flagrantly. He took his time with it, though,
with slow, almost blatant carnality. I recognized the look. I’d seen it in
movies before. I just knew that’s not what he was trying to do. This was just
Brantley.
“I don’t know.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “It doesn’t happen every
night.”
His hand wrapped around the backs of my thighs, though they were
covered by his massive hoodie, before pulling me closer to him. “How often
does it happen?”
He had his head tilted up at me, his knees wide. If I moved closer, I’d be
between them.
I didn’t. I remained frozen to the spot.
He didn’t care, because he pulled me in closer, wrapped his fingers
around my chin, and tilted my head so that my eyes collided with his. Like
comets racing through the sky.
Thunder clapped in the background and I jumped backward, just enough
to slip out of his grip. “I don’t know. Once a week?”
He seemed to study me even closer. I wondered what he was thinking in
this moment. Why I felt like he was screaming at me while simply speaking
to me.
“Why do you do that?” he finally asked, his fingers flexing in the palm of
his hand.
“Do what?” I whispered, still awed by the art that covered his face.
“Jump away from me when you get scared.”
“Aren’t you scary?” I asked, even though I knew I was being ridiculous.
I’d always felt safe around Brantley. I guessed I wanted to know his answer.
He stood, and suddenly I shrank. “Scary?” He grinned when I looked up
at him. “Nah, that’s not the right word.”
“Then what is?” I said just as he passed me. He stopped at the threshold
between the sitting room and the main foyer.
Turning his face over his shoulder just slightly, he smirked. “I’m
something. But that’s not it. One day I’ll tell you.”
He left, the front door closing in his departure. Then it was just me in this
house. This cold, empty house. An empty vessel with no soul.

I pushed backward, reaching for the collar around my neck. “You need to
take me home…”
“Mmmm,” Brantley murmured. “I don’t think I need to do shit.”
I stepped backward again, pulling on the lead. “Let fucking go of me!”
He glared up at me, unamused. “Cute. B, this one fights…”
 Bishop laughed around the cigarette in his mouth. “The best ones always
do.”
The other guy, who I now knew was Nate, flicked a knife between his
fingers, his eyes on mine. They were wicked and bright. He was so pretty it
hurt. “We like the fighters better.”
“Truth,” Brantley murmured, tracing the tip of a small switchblade up
my inner thigh. “Because they leave battle scars everywhere.”
I tugged on the lead again, fear creeping up my spine and clinging to the
back of my neck. I screamed, I pulled, but no one heard, or they just chose
not to listen. The music got louder, the brash tones of “Killpop” from
Slipknot playing.
Brantley chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He released the lead,
smirked up at me, and mouthed, “Run.”
I did. I spun around and bolted, heading straight for the clearing of the
meadow behind the house. My legs moved fast, thanks to all the cocaine I
snorted. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, but the music wasn’t
disappearing. If anything, it was getting louder. My heart thrashed in my
chest, sweat pelting down my sides. I needed to just run to a safe area where
I could call my dad. He would fix this. He would always fix this, and these
fools are so. Fucking. Dead. They didn’t know who the fuck they’d messed
with. My anger rose and rose higher until I was falling forward. Mud
smudged my lips, dirt was in my mouth, and my head was thumping. I could
taste metal at the back of my throat, but it wasn’t strong at first, not until
warmth spilled from my lips. I reached backward, but caught nothing, until
arms were under mine, tearing me to my feet.
“This one’s dramatic. Let’s take our fucking time with her.” Bishop
smirked, his fingers wrapped around my chin to tilt my face to his. “Do you
know who we are?”
I opened my mouth, but blood spilled out instead of words. Laughter
swam around me in the shadows of the night, between the cracks of the trees.
The music was still so loud, and then I realized I hadn’t run far at all.
Saint
I’ve harnessed the dog collars around them and shoved on a baseball cap
before the sun has risen the next morning. I like starting my day before the
rest of the world awakes. The air is always untainted, untouched, and unlived
in. I grab my AirPods and my phone before closing my bedroom door. It’s
not until I’m passing Brantley’s room that I notice his door is slightly ajar.
I pause, pulling on Kore and Hades to stop them from tugging on the
lead. They love running about as much as me.
Taking a slight step backward, I push open his door farther. Mainly to
make sure nothing is out of the ordinary, not that anyone or anything could
get past our guards, but his room is never open. I’ve only ever seen inside it
once in my life, and that was when I was eight years old.
I hold my breath as I take in the décor, completely ignoring the fact that
he’s laid out half-naked on the top of his bedcovers. The walls are the darkest
shade of black that I’ve ever seen, with tints of blue flecked through, and all
of his furniture is simplistic in the same shade. His ceiling is the same color
as his walls, and his large California king-size bed looks more like a double
up against the vast size of his bedroom. The bedside tables are a minimalist
dream, with handless entries and smooth matte black finishes. The carpet
color is a daunting black charcoal, the rug at the end of his bed once again
that same menacing shade. Everything is black. His curtains, his bedding—
every single thing is some shade of black. His curtains are drawn closed, the
silent vent the only sound moving through the room. It’s so cold in here.
So cold compared to the rest of the house.
When Hades starts moving into his room, I’m shaken back into the
present. Tugging on his lead to carry on with what we were doing.
“I’m fucking surprised he even still recognizes me,” Brantley murmurs,
his voice dripping in sleep.
“Sorry, I just needed to check why your door was open.”
He moves his arm above his head and peeks at me. “Is that unusual to
you?”
“Yes.” I say, taking the two steps backward. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t
mean to wake you.”
He pushes himself up and pats his bed, whistling at Hades. I release his
lead so he can run to Brantley, which he does. Fast. Brantley’s smiling,
rubbing behind his ear as Hades curls up beside him.
“I guess he hasn’t seen you much lately,” I say absently. And by lately, I
mean maybe only a handful of times over the past couple years.
“Has that been a problem?” he asks, grabbing my attention back to his
face.
I clear my throat. “For the dogs and Medusa? Probably.”
“Medusa is a fucking snake. Your snake. She’d eat me before she’d
remember who the fuck I am.” He continues to rub Hades and I watch
silently as he and his dog coexist. I’ve only ever seen Brantley smile the way
he does when it’s at Hades. He loves that dog more than anyone. If he ever
argued that he wasn’t capable of love, I’d show him Hades.
“Our snake, Brantley.”
“False, I bought her for you.” He ignores me, his focus solely on his dog.
I wonder absently if I should confront him about what Tillie told me last
night. It has been stirring deep inside my gut since she told me the news, and
I don’t know how to digest it without asking him. I’m not good with secrets.
“Saint…” he calls out, and I bring my eyes to his.
He’s in front of me now, handing me Hades’ lead. I tilt my head up at
him, leaning it on the doorframe. His hair is scruffy, his lips swollen even
more so than they are naturally, his pale skin slightly flushed around his high
cheekbones from sleep. He blinks, and his ink-colored lashes fan out over his
face, a complete contrast to his skin color.
“You zoned out. Again.”
“Just thinking.” I test the words on the tip of my tongue. Taste them,
sample the syllables that lurk there. Will I still be able to swallow them well
after I’ve said them? Or would I risk the chance of choking?
He’s silent for a few minutes before I watch his lips curl around his next
words. “About?”
I hold my breath, tingles rushing to my cheeks as my fingers flex in the
palm of my hand. He’s watching me too closely. His dark orbits are circling
around my gray. Like a power struggle between good and evil. Tilting my
head, I lose my train of thought as I drift closer toward him. Is he coming
closer, or is that just me?
Kore yanks on the lead, slapping me out of my haze. I flinch back,
shaking my head. “I better take them for a run or they won’t behave.”
Brantley shrugs carelessly, stepping backward while keeping his attention
fixed solely on me. His eyes fall down my body—the second time I’ve
noticed him do this—before coming back to my face. “I forgot about that
hoodie…”
I reach for the hem of the oversized hoodie he put on me all those
Halloweens ago. I shrug, unashamed. “I prefer it with my tights.”
He pauses, licks his bottom lip, and then if I’m not mistaken, the corner
of his mouth twitches in amusement. Only slightly. If I had blinked during
that moment, I would have missed it.
He taps Hades on the back and points to me. “Go with Mommy. Daddy’s
got shit to do.”
I lean down and squeeze the lead in my hand. I want to say something, so
I do. I’ve never had a problem asking questions. “Will you be around all
day?”
He chuckles, turning to face me from the side. I watch as his hand dips
beneath the waistband of his sweats. I try really hard to ignore the way his
veins pulse over his muscles from flexing them, but I’m human, not that it
would matter if I wasn’t. I’m sure Brantley could even work his way into a
vampire’s bed. “I’m trying to figure something out…”
My eyes snap to his. “What’s that?”
He turns to face me, and now somehow, I’m even more aware of his thick
muscles and tight abs. “I’m trying to figure out if you’ve always looked at me
this way.”
 I raise an eyebrow. “In what way?”
He does a really good half-smile. “Like you wanna eat me…”
My mouth turns dry, my tongue stuck to the top. I release it. “I—what?”
His smirk turns into a laugh, but not a loud one. He stifles his obvious
desperation for it by curling his lips between his teeth, but his shoulders give
it away because they can’t stop jiggling. “Go for your run, Mommy.”
I turn to exit, grabbing the door handle without looking back.
“Oh, and Dea?”
I pause, squeezing the handle with one hand while holding the two leads
with the other. Brantley continues, “You can look at me like that all you
want, but it won’t be me who will end up being the feast.”
I close the door behind me and continue down the hallway, pushing my
pods back into my ears and pulling out my phone. Once I’ve hit the front
door while opening Spotify, there’s already a guard standing on the other
side.
He gestures for me to pass, and I do, well acquainted with this process.
Hitting “Freak on a Leash” by Korn, I start my jog instantly as the city
car follows me down the driveway. They follow me through my normal six-
mile run, because they know the routine. I run it every other day. Everything
is still fresh on my mind.
What if I can’t trust Tillie? I barely know her or Madison. I’d like to say I
know Brantley. I’d even like to say I know Bishop to an extent, or at the very
least, I feel as though I do. Could what she is saying be true? I’ve never
thought about having siblings, and the closest thing I ever got to one was with
the boy who had an empty soul and carried the eyes of death.
I’m pulling off my hoodie after my run and giving the dogs water at the
front of the house when I hear a car pull up. Tossing the hoodie, my phone,
and pods onto the ground, I turn to see who it is. I haven’t seen a Maserati
here before.
The door opens and Bishop steps out, wearing a leather jacket, jeans,
boots, and a bandana hanging out the back of his pants.
“Is that mine?” I point to the white scarf that’s sticking out of his back
pocket.
He smirks, grabbing the thin material and tossing it at me. “It is. Here.”
I catch it, unable to stop the laugh that’s bubbling up my throat. “It looks
good on you.” I give it back to him and he takes it, tucking it back into his
jeans. “Are you looking for Brantley?”
 “He home?” Bishop asks, his eyes going up to the house.
“He was when I left, but that was about an hour ago.” I nibble on my
bottom lip, again those same words wanting to come out. I know I should be
talking with Brantley about this before anyone else—but does Bishop know?
And again, is this true?
“You’re drifting off into space,” he says, and I unlatch the dogs from their
lead, watching them run to the back of the house.
“Have you and Brantley known each other long?” I ask, and watch as he
leans against his car. I take a seat on the first step of the house. It’s stupid,
because we should be inside, but I don’t want to distract him from telling me
something.
“All my life.”
His answer shocks me, but it shouldn’t. It’s obvious how close Brantley
and Bishop are, as well as Nate and even Eli. They move around together like
a synchronized gang. They occupy every and any area of the space they’re in.
“Is that the same with all of you?”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I look up at him, shading the sun from my
eyes by cupping my hand against my forehead.
“Just wondering.”
Bishop pushes off his car and then drops down beside me. His cologne is
different from Brantley’s. Stronger bodied. He pulls out a cigarette and lights
the tip. I watch closely as he blows gray smoke out from between his lips
before dragging his tongue over them. Do I look like him? “We’ve all known
each other all our lives. Our families are…” He pauses, flicking the ash off
the tip of his cigarette before continuing, “…intertwined.”
“You’re all related?”
“Fuck no.” His laughter fights with the cloud of smoke. I want to reach
forward and take it from him.
“You know that will kill you.”
“What will?” he asks around the cigarette between his lips.
I glare at it.
His jaw tenses a few times before he squeezes the trunk with his index
finger and thumb. “I don’t give a fuck at this point.” His eyes fall to the
ground.
“Bishop,” I say, turning to face him completely. My heart rocks in my
chest for him.
His head dips behind his outstretched arm, his eyes on mine. I can’t see
the lower half of his face, but it doesn’t matter because I’m distracted by the
emptiness in his eyes.
“What happened?”
For moments, he doesn’t say anything. Not one thing. He just stares at
me, unblinking. It tests every restraint in my body to hold myself back from
putting my arms around him. He may not have tears, but I swear I can hear
his soul weeping.
It’s not until he reaches forward and uses his thumb to swipe away the
tears from my cheeks that I realize I am the one who is crying.
I snuff my nose. “Sorry.”
His arm hooks around the back of my neck and he pulls me in close,
chuckling. “Gotta make you tough, Little Angelus.”
“Latin?” I say, tilting my head at him.
“Yeah, shit, how’d you know that?”
“I have a lot of time on my hands.”
He laughs, getting to his feet. “Come on. Better get you inside before the
Beast realizes Beauty is gone.” We enter the house, and I’m once again left
feeling unsatisfied about Bishop and his feelings. I like to fix things. It’s a
habit of mine. When I was nine, I tried to “fix” the old tombstones in the
cemetery with dusted mud and water. Brantley laughed at me for days. But I
don’t think Bishop is broken. I think he’s just—lost. There’s a difference.
Lost can still be whole again once it has been found.
Brantley is jogging down the stairs when we enter, his eyes running up
and down my body. “You just get back?” He has the usual bite in his tone
whenever he’s feeling snappy.
I shrug, unaffected. I’m well-conditioned with handling Brantley Vitiosis,
no matter how much time has passed between us seeing each other. “Yes. I
take them for at least an hour so it burns them, and me, out good.”
He pauses and clears his throat. “Go take a shower and be ready in thirty
minutes.”
“Who me?” I ask, looking between him and Bishop.
Brantley glares at me.
“Okay,” I say, sidestepping away from him and heading up the stairs, as
commanded.

They dragged me through the forest, using the lead on the collar. I didn’t
want to play anything anymore, and the more the night went on, the more I
realized just how much shit I might be in. These boys didn’t mess around;
they’re dangerous. I’d never felt scared for my life, but with every passing
minute, I lost hope of being set free.
We moved farther and farther in until I was pushed through a clearing.
There was a small waterhole in the middle, with chairs scattered around, a
small tiki bar and other party items. They obviously used this area for
parties, not sure why not tonight. Maybe because they planned this whole
thing. They knew who I was from the start.
Brantley pushed me down until my knees dug into the sand, scarring my
knees. “We’re going to play a game.” He leaned forward. “You lose, you die.
You win? Well…” His eyes flew up to Bishop who was behind me. The full
moon hung brightly behind us, casting shadows over Brantley’s face. “Well,
I’m afraid you’re probably still going to die.” He paused again, leaning
forward until he was close to my face. “Do you know who we are, or
furthermore, who I am?”
I shook my head. “I don’t! Am I supposed to?”
Brantley grinned, flashing his straight teeth and dimple. “Wrong
answer.”
Brantley
“Do you always have to snap at her like that, you grumpy fucking bastard,”
Bishop growls, making his way into the kitchen and pulling down a bottle of
whiskey from one of the many alcohol cabinets.
“Madison pushed you to drinking before nine a.m. now?” I reach forward
and take the bottle from his fingers.
He squeezes the marble countertop while his head hangs between his
shoulders. It’s a brief moment, before he stands to his full height and stares
right at me. “It doesn’t matter.”
I put the bottle back into the cupboard and open one of the drawers,
pulling out a padlock. “This shit is locked until five p.m.”
“How do you not drink?” Bishop asks, running his fingers through his
hair. “You out of all of us…”
I lean on the counter, finally pulling my shirt on. I know why he’s saying
this, but I don’t know why he’s bringing it up right now. “Why? Because of
everything I’ve been through?” I roll my eyes at the cliché way of how
someone should heal if they’ve been through trauma. Not everyone turns to
alcohol and drugs. Some need something worse…
Bishop narrows his eyes at me. “Yes, you fuck. Because no one except
me knows even half of what you have been through.”
I shrug. “Demons make good pets.”
Bishop shakes his head slowly before finally changing the subject. “What
do you make of everything Hector went over with us last night?”
“It is what it is. I mean, remember the legends we were told around the
bonfires?”
“Yeah.” Bishop stares. “But now they’re coming back, and they’re
coming back the year I take the gavel.”
I lick my lips. “Doesn’t matter.”
“How does it not matter? We’ve got REU reopening, as well as Riverside
Prep moving back to the old building, that’s going to set shit off. I won’t be
surprised if a war erupts, and aside from that, we still have to fly back to
Perdita to check on Nate’s little fuck toy to make sure she’s doing things
right.”
I blink slowly, my mouth falling open. “A few things, one, I wouldn’t call
her his fuck toy around Tillie, unless you wanna be chopped liver, and two,
good. Let them come. Bring a motherfucking war.”
“You freaky fuck, not all of us like the taste of blood.”
I separate my index finger and middle finger and bring my hand to my
lips, licking the middle. “Don’t knock it before you try it.”
Bishop shakes his head. “Sick bastard. And to think—”
“How fucking long has she been up there for?” I stomp across the kitchen
toward the wide-opened staircase. “Saint! Hurry the fuck up!”
She walks down the right wing of stairs, coming to the middle and staring
at me before taking the first step on the main staircase. “I took twenty
minutes, Brantley. Jesus Christ.”
She walks—even slower—down the stairs, her fingers flexing around the
burned wooden rail. “Can’t say that name in this house,” I say, just as she
lands on the step above me. She’s still not eye level, but close enough.
“Might erupt into flames, and we don’t want that.” I catch what she’s
wearing. White Gucci crop that hangs loosely off her small frame, skinny
jeans that hug her thighs, and Givenchy sneakers. “You know, for someone
who has been locked in a house all your life, your fashion sense sure hits the
spot.”
She smiles, rolling her eyes slightly while taking the final step down.
“You’re the one who gave me too much money and not enough things to
do…”
 “Yeah, well try me today, because I can think of a few fucking things…”
I growl, just as Bishop enters.
“So where are we going?” she asks, her smile way too fucking bright to
be this close to me.
Bishop puts a cigarette in his mouth. “To Riverside.”
Saint
I like fast cars. I think I found that out about myself the first time Lucan
drove us home in his Porsche. I voiced this with Brantley, too, which is
probably why he opted buying me the pretty white Tesla that sits in the
garage. I’ve driven it twice, and both times were only around our driveway.
I run my palm across the soft leather. “I like the Aston Martin, but when
can I drive the Tesla?”
Brantley ignores me, flooring it until I’m being pressed into the back of
my seat. Figuring he’s not going to talk, I push play on some music.
He turns his head toward me, and my eyes move to the front of me. “You
might crash.”
“What’s with you and Bishop?” His attention is back on the road again,
but I know it’s me he’s waiting to hear speak.
“I don’t know.” I try the words out. “Why?”
His long fingers start running across his upper lip, and I’m momentarily
distracted by the movement. I shuffle in my seat. “Why?”
“Do you like him?” he asks, and his fingers tense around the wheel. “And
answer me honestly, or have you forgotten, I know when people lie.” He
doesn’t turn to face me when he finishes, which is a good thing because I’m
not sure he’d want to see the expression on my face right now.
“What do you mean like?” My blood feels warm as it reaches my heart
faster and everything inside of me is moving at speeds I can’t catch up with.
Thud. Thud. Thud. What is happening? My palms twitch and I run them
down my thighs to wipe the sweat away. I can hear my heart pulsing in my
ears. “You mean, like as in like him?” I turn to face Brantley when he doesn’t
answer me. “Are you crazy? That is—no.”
“Why not?” he answers, and I have to take a few deep breaths to calm
myself down. Maybe Tillie is misinformed? His face is expressionless, but
the side of his jaw is tight. Ahhh, he’s annoyed. Well, I’m starting to think, so
am I. The Tech N9ne song playing in the background isn’t helping either.
He’s talking about ripping his heart out, and right now, all I want to do is rip
my hair out. My heart rate picks up, my pores release bulbs of sweat as
everything in my vision turns red. My mouth opens, and just as the words are
about to spill out, the corner of his lips curve in a smirk, yet his eyes remain
on the road.
“How’s that anger feel, my little goddess…” His voice is low, husky, but
the tone feels menacing. He finally turns to face me while taking the exit. “I
can give you some pointers on how to channel that.” His eyes fall down my
body. “All of which I’m almost certain you could not handle.”
My brain feels swollen, as if it’s pressing against the back of my eyeballs
and they’re about to pop right out of my head. I want to swear at him. Spew
all the profanities I learned while watching movies like The Wash, Baby Boy,
and Friday, but when my mouth opens again, all that escapes is a heavy
exhale of air. My shoulders drop. “Maybe you should show me how to spot
liars.” I pin him with a stare. “I might need that skill more.”
Before we can get into another half-argument, half non-argument, we’re
driving past a statue made of cobblestone, with the word Riverside carved
into the front. Green vines twist and knot over the gray monument and misted
fog spills over the pavement of the road from the trees on either side.
Brantley turns the music off, and suddenly everything feels too quiet. Trees
beyond trees, with fog so thick it feels as though we’re swimming under
water.
“Fog in New York? Is that common?”
“It’s not common in general, but no. It’s just the lakes that are in the
forest and the temperatures outside.”
I reach for my utility jacket with the fur-lined hood when lights break
through the fog and it slowly dissipates. Seconds later, we’re in a small
township. It reminds me of the town in Gilmore Girls. There are flowers
blooming outside every store, a few people on the sidewalk. We pass the
center of town, where the grass is so green it looks synthetic. There’s also an
altar in the center, licked in black paint. The town feels as though it’s haunted
by the previous residents, but the air smells of money.
Brantley continues to drive us through the town, until he turns right, and
then takes a left. Shops morph into fields and there are small trees that look
oddly similar to desert roses.
Or maybe I just want to see them because I feel so far away from my
garden. My plants.
Finally, we’re at the front of a long driveway with high iron gates closing
off public access.
“I never went to school. Maybe I could go to college here,” I muse aloud,
taking in the slab of concrete outside the gates that reads Riverside Elite
University and Preparatory Academy.
“Like fuck you’re going here. The front is the university, and the back is
the high school.” He pushes his door open, and it’s not until I’m climbing out
that I can truly appreciate the architecture of the building.
I lean on my door to close it gently. “Wow.”
The front of the school is made up of ancient cobblestone with moss
growing between the cracks and around the windows that overlook the front
of the entryway. There are prehistoric statues that line the front. Nine, to be
precise. I don’t think much of them, but I find myself drawn to them, like a
magnetic field. I step closer to the one that is closest to me: a man dressed in
a suit, holding a cigar with a long beard. I read over the words that are at the
base of the statue. Humphrey Hector Hayes 1687. I recognize the last name
as Bishop’s. Gazing at the statue to his left, this one is different. He has a
half-grin, but the other side of his face looks evil. Menacing. Squinting my
eyes, I read the name at the base like I did with Hector. Gabriel Nathanial
Malum. He too is in a suit. They’re all in suits, actually. Cars pull up behind
me, but I’m too engrossed in the statues to care. I move to the other side of
Malum and read. Maximillian Eli Rebelis. That’s the final statue on that side,
so I shift to the other side of Hayes, the loose gravel crunching beneath the
soles of my feet. Lucan Vitiosis. I pause. Step backward and crank my head
up. That’s not the Lucan I knew. This one, like the others, is dressed in a suit,
but his eyes are carved out. Chills break out over me, like ice cubes slipping
down the base of my spine. I move to the one beside that. Johan Hunter
Venari. Before I can move further through the statues, Bishop interferes.
“They’re The First Nine Fathers.” I turn quickly, surprised to see so many
people here. Bishop, Nate, Tillie, Eli, Hunter. They’re all here.
“The Nine Fathers of what?” I ask Bishop, and only Bishop. I’m not
asking anyone else. I don’t realize this could be a test from me until I realize
he’s failed.
His features remain frozen. The first clue that he’s lying. Bishop’s face
can be animated. He’s going to lie. Instantly I want to argue with him.
“Of The Elite Kings…” He brushes past me, entering through the front
door when my eyes find Tillie’s. She’s rubbing her belly—though you
wouldn’t know she is pregnant—while keeping her eyes on mine. Her brows
are bent inward, her lips pinched together slightly. She looks upset, and when
I finally take in Nate, his jaw is set to stone, a slight snarl on his mouth.
“Nate!” Tillie grabs at his arm, but he moves past her and to the front of
the doors. Spinning around, he glares at her, and I turn slightly so I can see
both of them.
“Fuck no, Tillie! You did that without even fucking talking to me! Fuck.
No!”
Eli lights a cigarette, nudging me with his shoulder while blowing out a
cloud of smoke. “Don’t worry. This is their foreplay.”
My heart beats loudly in my chest. I find myself slowly stepping toward
Tillie, and I’m not sure why. It’s not until I’m beside her that I realize how
much foot space I’ve made. Her eyes come to mine, covered in wetness. She
swipes a tear from her cheek. “Don’t worry. He’s just mad that I told you.”
“Told her what, Little Terror…” Brantley growls from behind me. I knew
he was there. Not because he had his hand on me, or because I saw him
move, but because any time Brantley is near me, I feel him. His shadow. The
darkness that hovers around him is strong, and anytime it’s here, I feel it. My
soul recognizes it.
Tillie runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “Ah, I may have told her, and
Madison, that Saint was mine and Bishop’s sister…”
Silence.
If you wanted to hear a pin drop, you probably could. Wind whooshes
through the trees that line the sides of the monstrous-sized school, but other
than that, all there is, is silence.
“Fucking fuck!” Bishop yells, jogging up the steps to the door Nate
disappeared through.
Eli chuckles, following behind Bishop before Hunter and Tillie follow
behind them. Then it’s just Brantley and me. I haven’t turned to face him,
mainly because I can still feel the anger boiling inside of me, threatening to
spill over the edge.
“Saint…” he says, and I don’t know what that simple word does to me. I
can’t explain it.
Turning slightly, I find him closer than I initially thought. He takes yet
another step, and my hand comes to his chest. I trail my eyes up, past the
veins that swell over the pale flesh of his neck, his jawline that has been
carved with a scalpel sharp enough to cut through stone, swollen lips slightly
pinched pink, and finally up past his sunken cheeks. Dark and stormy eyes
peer back down at me, with lashes that fan out any time he blinks.
“Not now.” I go to slip past him to follow the rest inside, but fingers
connect with mine and electricity sparks through my blood, rushing straight
to my head.
He pulls me back roughly, and I find myself once again facing his chest,
his shirt fisted in my hands.
He tenses his jaw a couple of times, because the muscles on either side
swell. “Don’t fucking question the shit I do.”
“I didn’t say I did,” I whisper softly. I can’t take my eyes off his lips.
They look so soft. Curved in all the right places, with a perfect Cupid bow in
the middle.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his mouth moving around the words
perfectly. He has asked me this same question numerous times through our
life, and every time I’ve said a simple yes. Because I did. I do. Maybe. I did. I
trusted him. But now that I have this information, something he didn’t think
to tell me, it has left a hazy residue over that simple sentence.
“Bran, yo!” Eli calls from the door. But we don’t disconnect. I don’t push
away from his chest, or look away from his lips, and he doesn’t stop glaring
down at me.
“Fuck off, Eli.” His fingers trail up the side of my neck and it’s the first
time I’ve truly felt the power his touch contains. Skin on skin. Death
caressing life. Heaven invaded by Hell. Cold. So cold. “Do you?” he asks,
and my fingers inch up his shirt, to the vein that pulses beneath the skin on
his neck. I brush my fingertip over it, closing my eyes as my heart sinks in
my chest.
 Fingers are around my chin, his nose touching the tip of mine. “Open.
Your. Fucking. Eyes.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?” he growls, his warm words falling on my lips. He’s close. So.
Very. Close.
“Because I can’t lie to you.” Finally, I step away, holding my breath.
Betrayal isn’t an emotion I can control, but I’m no liar either. The truth is, I
don’t trust him the way I did. Maybe the lie is only small, I’m not sure yet. I
haven’t had enough time to truly think on it, but betrayal is betrayal, and right
now, it’s the only thing I feel.
He curses under his breath, and I know I’ve lost the side he bared to me
seconds ago. The entire time I’ve known him, he’s only shown it to me three
times. Three times. All of the other minutes and hours, he was cruel, but not
in a way that made me feel abused.
He grabs my hand anyway and pulls me behind his hard body. “I don’t
give a fuck if you don’t trust me, Dea. You’re doing as I say whether you
fucking like it or not.”
I follow behind him anyway. Even if he didn’t have my wrist in his grasp,
I still would. Just before he’s about to push the main doors open, he turns to
face me, and if I was anyone else, the glare he’s inflicting on me would make
me squirm. But I don’t. Brantley may be the Devil incarnate, but he protects
those he chooses to with the same fierceness it takes to rule over Hell.
“And if you don’t like it?” The corner of his mouth curves as he tugs on
my hand and his mouth moves to my ear. I hold my breath, ignoring the way
fire erupts inside of me. “Make sure you scream fucking murder. I prefer it
that way.” He turns and pushes open the doors so hard they slam against the
walls inside, causing me to jump. “Inside. Now.”
I follow behind, grabbing the handle and closing it gently. An office is
directly at the front, with twin stairs behind that lead off to three separate
wings. Behind the office is a large foyer, opening out to the back of the
building. To the right is a long hallway, and to the left, the same. On the wall
leading behind the front desk are years upon years of trophies, credentials,
winnings.
I continue to follow Brantley down to the back of the office area, the
smell pungent. Dusty old books that haven’t been flipped through in years,
burned wood, and musty corners fill my nostrils.
Once we reach the back, Brantley takes a turn to the left and leads us
through two wooden doors, where a conference room is. Maybe it was the
staff room? Looks more like a conference room. Everyone is seated around
the table with Nate at the head this time, not Bishop. His hands are buried in
his hair, his hoodie over his face.
Tillie is rolling her eyes, tears long since dried, and Bishop looks over my
body quickly, before going to Brantley. “Everything good?”
Brantley pulls out a chair, takes a seat in it, and kicks his leg out wide. I
grip the edge of the one beside his, but his hand comes to my arm, stopping
me. I catch his eyes just in time for him to grab me around my hips and pull
me down onto his lap.
Everyone is silent. Another silent break. Why is everyone always quiet
whenever Brantley does something?
I turn in his grip, but his fingers don’t loosen enough for me to do it
comfortably. Finally, I’m turned enough to catch his gaze. “I can sit in the
seat beside yours.”
He doesn’t pay me any attention, momentarily disregarding my comment.
“Prefer you where you are.”
I turn back around to face everyone else, shrugging. I wait for him to
move his fingers, but he doesn’t. If anything, they tense.
Bishop is still glaring at Brantley. “Are you done? Because we’ve got shit
to discuss, and since she now knows about the biggest family affair in
history, can we continue?”
Brantley kicks out his other leg, and because of my small frame and his
massive one, I can balance on one of his thighs.
Brantley squeezes my hip bone. “Just getting started.” And for some
reason, the words ring through my brain long after he says them.
Bishop chuckles, shaking his head almost in disbelief. “Well, shit.” He
looks to Nate, but Nate’s focus is on Brantley and me.
I watch as a smirk creeps onto the corner of Nate’s lips, hidden behind his
hoodie. “Saint, I believe we’re the only ones who aren’t related…”
The sound of a gun cocking penetrates the air, and suddenly a shiny silver
barrel is beneath Nate’s chin, pressed roughly into his skin. His smirk doesn’t
change, if anything it becomes wider.
Tillie stares at him. “Say it again. You know, because I don’t think I
heard you correctly…”
Brantley is laughing beside me, so hard he has to hook his arm around my
belly to pull me closer, farther up his lap. “Little Terror, behave. He couldn’t
even if he tried.”
“Is that a challenge?” Nate flashes his pearly white teeth. “Because I’m
game.”
“No fucking games!” Bishop snaps, and everyone looks to him.
“Well, that’s a fucking first,” Tillie mutters.
Bishop flips her off. “Pretty sure we can at least agree on this, Tills.”
“Actually, yes.”
“Great, wanna put the gun away then, baby, hmmm?” Nate says lazily.
Eli erupts into fits of laughter and Hunter is shaking his head as if this is a
common occurrence.
Tillie slowly removes the gun from Nate’s chin. “Sorry. It’s the
pregnancy hormones.”
“Yeah, because that’s it…” Brantley chuckles. She brings out a side of
Brantley I haven’t seen. The energy between them is strange. Seeing Brantley
with anyone else is weird, though.
“We’re here because the school is reopening in one week for the
remainder of the year and indefinitely. That means that everyone from the
school in the Hamptons will be coming back here. To old soil.” Bishop
pauses. No more jokes. “The Hamptons site will be handed back to Hector
and the older Kings. The students and staff are aware and are prepared for the
shift. The ones who aren’t, are us.” Bishop runs his finger over the top of his
lip. His eyes connect to Tillie. “You wanna show Saint around so we can
talk?”
Tillie stands, strolling toward me while flipping her long pink hair over
her shoulder. “Come on. Maybe one of the old fucks who used to teach here
has an alcohol stash. God knows they would have needed it…”
I go to push off Brantley and his fingers slowly—so, so slowly—
disconnect from around my hips. I turn to face him while I’m standing, his
hand covering the bottom half of his face, his eyes on mine.
“What?” he asks, but doesn’t skip a beat when his eyes trail up and down
my body. He pauses on my legs, comes back up and stalls on my chest,
before finally meeting my eyes again.
“Nothing…” I murmur, grabbing Tillie’s hand and sidestepping out of his
outstretched legs. The shift between us is roguish, but it has my palms
sweating and my heart rate speeding up anytime he’s near. Deep in the back
of my mind, I know he has been more obvious with his wants lately. The eye
contact, the touches, the fallen words that stain my mind longer than it took
for him to say them. Instead of this all being scary, I find it provocative and
tempting. I want to push him, but what a stupid thing that would be for me to
do. Flirting with Brantley would be like performing a séance. You don’t
know what you’re going to conjure, but you’re screwed once you unleash it.
Once we’re far enough away from the boys that they can’t hear, and
almost back at the front office, Tillie laughs. “Has it always been like that
between you two? Because I’m telling you right now, that is not something
we have ever seen from Brantley.”
“You mean the hands-on?” I ask, my interest in her question genuine.
She grasps the rail of the stairs, her dark red nails almost matching the
cherry gloss antique wood. “I mean he doesn’t—isn’t like that.”
I shrug my shoulders and follow her up the stairs. “He’s always just been
Brantley with me, so I don’t know any better, but no. He hasn’t always been
so—touchy.”
Tillie snorts, rubbing her belly. “Trust me. It’s much better the way he is
with you.”
I already know Brantley holds dark secrets. Some I know, most I don’t. I
thought over time, he would eventually share them with me, but here’s the
thing with Brantley. He will never share the details of his hell, not because he
doesn’t want to relive it, because he’s more than capable of doing so, but
because he simply doesn’t want to invite anyone in…

Past

There were footsteps down the hall. The light was out in my bedroom, but
there was enough of it from the hallway that slid beneath the crack of my
door. Back and forth the footsteps passed. Over and over again.
I was sixteen now. Brantley never showed up at home anymore since
Lucan died, and on that note, he never explained why he died or how. Or why
when they put his body in the Vitiosis tomb, Brantley didn’t have a funeral
for him. An anything for him. The tension between the two men had always
existed like ardent flames, but that, to me, was still weird.
When the footsteps stopped, I assumed he was back in his bedroom, so I
threw the covers off myself as my feet hit the plush carpet. I had on warm
fuzzy sleepwear, a pink cashmere crop hoodie and undersized shorts.
Slipping my feet into my slippers, I made my way to my bedroom door,
squeezing the handle and cranking it open.
I paused when I saw Brantley sitting directly opposite my room with his
knees drawn up to his chest and one arm slinking on it. I should’ve shut the
door as soon as I saw him. He was okay. Alive. That’s all I really needed to
know.
But then I started to notice things. Like how he was wearing no shirt and
his jeans were unbuttoned. How his belt was unfastened, and his boots barely
tied to his feet. That wasn’t the obvious thing I noticed, though. It was the
smeared blood all over his body. A body that he worked on seven days a
week. Where his six-pack abs dipped, curved, and popped, there were
droplets of blood and dark stains, all the way up to his neck. My eyes collided
with his, and before I could stop myself, I was on my knees in front of him,
my hand on his cheek where blood streaked down to his collarbone.
“What happened?” I asked, yanking his head left and right and pulling
him into me so I could inspect him for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
He didn’t answer.
A defined smell of woody spice and strong-bodied liquid hit me just as I
found his eyes on mine. I leaned in to sniff him. “What’s that smell?”
He laughed so hard his head tilted back and his fangs were flashing.
Serious fangs. Brantley has teeth that would appease any dentist, but his
canines are naturally pointed. Not a bad thing. Just adds to his eccentrically
handsome face.
“Why are you laughing? Brantley, you have blood all over you, you’re
shirtless, you smell weird, and now you‘re laughing.”
His lips twitched, but he kept his head tilted up to the ceiling. “I don’t
know.” When the words left his mouth, I watched as his head came back to
eye level with me, all smiles gone.
He brought his finger up to my face and I froze. “Don’t speak.”
I didn’t. I barely breathed.
“You read. Ever read Hunter S. Thompson?” he asked, and the question
was simple, yet I still struggled to construct the right words to answer.
“I’m familiar with his work, yes,” I whispered softly, though I was barely
breathing because the tip of his finger was tracing the outline of my lip. Why
was he touching me the way he was?
“Have you come across his saying ‘Too weird to live. Too rare to die’?”
I swallowed, sucking in a gulp of air while I was at it, and nodded.
His tongue flicked out over his bottom lip, his eyes passive on mine.
“Well, I’ve got a new one for you. Hmmm, wanna hear it?”
“You’re drunk,” I said, grabbing at his arm, but it was useless. I’d break
my fingers even attempting to pull him to his feet.
“Nah uh.” He tugged away from me, smirking. “Wanna hear it?”
I didn’t answer. One, because whatever he did tonight was bad. There
was a lot of blood on him that whosever it was wouldn’t have survived, and
two, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. Hunter S. Thompson was a brilliant
writer, but he was controversial. He wrote on the other side of literature. The
side with no rules. Of course Brantley would be familiar with his work.
“I’m telling you anyway.” He lay down on the floor, his eyes drifting
closed as his arm shaded his eyes. All I could see was his mouth, which
curved in a half-smile. “Too rare for earth, too doomed for Heaven.”
“Is that you?” I asked, entranced in the moment and not caring that I
shouldn’t show interest.
He burst out laughing. “Fuck no. You won’t ever find the word heaven
anywhere near my name.” He turned his head now, lifting his arm just
enough for me to see. “It’s you. But you’re fucked now anyway.”
“Why?” I said, and again, I didn’t know why I kept engaging with him.
He smirked. “Simple, really. Because you’re owned by me.”

Present

I still don’t know what it was that he did that night, and when Tillie and I
reach the top of the stairwell, I find myself turning to face her. “Do they do
bad things?”
Tillie pauses. There are another two staircases that go up. I crank my head
up and see that they go on for at least another four levels. “What do you
mean, bad?”
I fidget with the button on my jeans. “I mean, do you think—I don’t
know. I don’t know anything about them or this circle.”
“Yeah, well, you’re about to find out a lot.” We don’t take the next level.
Instead, Tillie leads us down the long hallway, passing the lockers and doors
that probably lead into classrooms, until we’re outside a room at the end of
the hallway.
“Wonder what’s in here,” she murmurs. “Though honestly, a fucking
werewolf could jump out at me by this point and I‘d totally believe it. Spoiler
alert, he would also be a King.”
I can’t stop the giggle that leaves my mouth as she twists the handle and
pushes it open. The room is dark, so I search for a switch on the wall and
flick it on once I feel the nub. Lights flicker on after a few seconds. Chairs
lead up to the back wall in a tilted fashion, with a large whiteboard at the
front.
Tillie moves into the room. “You’ve never been to school or anything,
right?”
I shake my head. “No. I had three tutors who would have a rotating roster
every day of the week. On the third day, I would have all three of them and
on the fourth, I’d—” I pause.
“You’d what?” Tillie asks, but I’m too focused on the guitar that’s sitting
in the corner of the room, completely untouched. She follows my line of sight
as I move toward it.
“Well, I’d do music. Piano, mainly, but also guitar. Their keys are
similar, only a different instrument.” I can’t take my eyes off it. I don’t know
why.
Tillie steps closer and wraps her fingers around the neck, handing it to
me. “Play something!”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I don’t know who owns it. Instruments are
sacred to their owners.”
Tillie waves me off. “Well, don’t worry about anything haunting you.
You’re not just a Vitiosis, but you are Bran’s. You are untouchable. And on
top of that, your brother is a big bad wolf, and well, your sister is pretty
badass, too. So, play something!” She shoves the guitar toward me again, and
I finally reach forward to take it.
“Fine, but just one.”
Tillie flashes me a full-tooth smile and leans on the teacher’s desk.
I take a seat on a chair in the front row and run my fingers through the
strings. “It’s tuned. Weird.”
“Literally the least weird thing about this world. Trust me.”
My mouth opens and I softly sing the opening to “I See Fire,” the version
from the movie The Hobbit. Hitting Ed’s notes has always been easy for me.
My fingers move across the strings as I start, influencing the sound in a
pattern they’re so used to moving to. As I continue to play, a smile remains
passive on my stretched lips. Even when the guitar picks up in the original
song, I jam it out. My voice gets a little louder when I have to hit the higher
notes Ed does in this particular verse of the song, but I continue, eyes on the
ground so I don’t lose focus. When I bring them up to Tillie, her mouth is
open in shock, but her eyes are glassy. I laugh a little around my singing as I
push through the song fluently.
I love this song so much. It was one of the first covers I played after that
night with Brantley showing up with blood on his body. I heard it on the
radio and the words hit me in places that only Brantley had stamped his name
on. The next day, I found a YouTube channel that broke down the notes of
the song. I knew how to play it that same day. Ever since then, it has always
been the first thing my body gravitates to anytime I’m near a guitar.
“Fiiiireeeee…” I belt off the end of the song. Tillie unleashes a loud
squeal, covering her mouth quickly after, like she’s embarrassed she even
exposed such a feminine side.
“Oh my fucking God!” She swipes the tears on her cheeks. “I swear I’m
not usually this emotional. The hormones…”
Placing the guitar on the floor, my smile splits into a full-blown grin.
“That song actually—”
Tillie’s eyes go over my shoulder. “Did you hear that?”
I spin around and catch Brantley, Bishop, and Eli at the door.
Eli’s lips are curled between his teeth as if he’s fighting not to say
something smart, and Bishop’s mouth is curved upward.
It’s Brantley that’s making me uneasy. Again. His mood swings make my
brain fuzzy. His eyes are on mine. “That’s cute.” He nudges his head. “Come
on, we’re going.”
“Bran Bran!” Tillie scolds him. “Rude, much? Eli, what did you think,
baby boy?”
“I think—” Eli says boldly, a smile on his face. His eyes go to Bran and
that smile instantly fades. “I think I really like my pretty face, so I’m not
going to say jack shit.”
“You’re real cute, too, Little Terror. Nate!” Brantley calls over his
shoulder. “Come get your woman before she finds herself lost again…”
Tillie flips him off. “Ouch, asshole. You know I’m a hormonal mess.”
“Not my fucking problem.” He shrugs. Tillie’s shoulder bumps him when
she strolls past. Brantley points to the guitar. “Bring it.”
I shake my head. “I can’t take this! It belongs to this school!”
His jaw flexes. “Nate owns this fucking school. Take the damn guitar.”
I do, wrapping my fingers around the neck. When I’m almost toe to toe
with him, I tilt my head. “What do you mean he owns this school?”
He folds his arms in front of his chest, running his hand over his chin. It
is a strange gesture. I say strange because Brantley doesn’t usually fidget. He
doesn’t have nervous habits or traits. “His mom’s family owns it. It will be
his once Bishop takes the gavel. He and Tillie will be taking over once it
reopens.”
How strange that these people who can’t be more than a few years older
than me own extravagant things. Big things. Like a damn school.
We’re walking back through the hallway and down the stairs when
Brantley takes a turn to the right, heading for the large room that is behind
the reception area. “Are we not leaving?”
He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, not.”
We’re near the glass doors when I notice burned orange flames roaring
roguishly through the dark of the night. Music spills out beneath the cracks of
the doors as he reaches for the handle.
He pauses just before his heavy boots hit the outside. “To be clear, I
didn’t want you here. This is Bishop’s plan to have you be a part of this.”
“Part of what?” I ask, keeping my eyes locked on his as I pass, my
shoulder brushing against his chest. The patio is long and wide, stretching out
far enough to hold multiple tables and chairs.
“The cafeteria for Riverside Prep,” Brantley says.
The chairs and tables are made from white marble, all carefully placed
around the room. Something tells me there’s a certain pattern as to why they
are placed the way they are. There are emblems on each tabletop, but I can’t
make out the pattern or what it is. People are scattered down on the field
that’s behind the patio, around a roaring bonfire that looks to be hovering
dangerously close to being illegal. Music is playing from somewhere, a
temporary bar set up to the side. How’d they manage to set all of this up
while Tillie and I were in the classroom?
Brantley follows my line of sight to one of the tables. His mouth kicks up,
his finger tracing the pattern. “This? Is so everyone at the school knows their
family lineage. You know.” Brantley leans on a chair. “So no one fucks their
cousin or anything.”
“What is this school?” I ask, my eyes finally coming back to his. I’m
locked into him. He refuses to let me go, his grasp so strong I’m willing to be
crushed by it. I find myself wondering if there has always been a forbidden
intensity between him and me and I had just never pegged it. The stirring in
my belly starts any time he looks at me, and that feeling doesn’t happen when
I’m simply looking at anyone else.
Why Brantley?
Why someone so dark and illicit? To touch him in any way other than
what is considered platonic would be a complete betrayal of my own soul.
Brantley Vitiosis was not put on this world for anything soft, and that
includes me.
He doesn’t get a chance to answer, because Bishop is jogging up the
stairs, his focus on me. “You right?”
I turn just as he offers me a drink. “It’s juice.”
My fingers wrap around the Solo cup. “I don’t mind champagne.”
Brantley’s head jerks back, his mouth in a snarl. “And how the fuck
would you know what champagne tastes like?”
“Tillie gave me some.” I shrug, sipping on the cold juice and licking the
residue off the edge of my lips.
“Of course she fucking did,” Brantley growls, shaking his head.
Bishop laughs, pulling out one of the chairs tucked beneath the table and
slowly lowering himself down, while his focus never wanes. “You wanna ask
me anything?”
“Um.” My lips curl around my teeth, as if I’m afraid that if they’re free,
my words will be as well.
He seems at ease. His legs are spread wide, his shoulders loose. I take this
time to slip into one of the other chairs around the table, resting my cup on
the top of my thighs with both hands around the cold plastic.
“How?”
Brantley is between us, leaning backward on the table. His arms
momentarily distract me every time the veins pop from him squeezing the
tabletop. The air among all three of us is tense, the angst potent enough to
poison our hearts if we’re not careful.
Bishop leans back in his chair, swirling honey-colored liquid around in
his glass. “My father, Hector, is your father. Your mother is Tillie’s mom.”
Walking into information you don’t know about is a little like walking
into a room with no lights, and when people keep secrets from you, it’s a
little like figuring out the lights don’t work. Then you’re in this dark room,
with no vision, and you don’t know how to find your way back to where
there was light. I don’t want to be in a dark room with no lights.
“There’s a lot you will come to learn about Hector and Katsia, none of
which I think you will particularly like.” He shakes his head, taking out a
pack of smokes from his pocket and placing one between his lips. He gazes
up at Brantley. “Go grab her a bottle of champagne for this conversation.”
Brantley tilts his head back, the muscles in his neck tightening. “Fuck
no.”
“She’s here with us, what the fuck you think is going to happen, and you
damn well know that everything I tell her is going to be heavy.”
Brantley presses his thumb and index finger into his mouth, whistling out
loudly.
Bishop laughs, shaking his head while flicking the ash off the tip of his
cigarette. A young boy around my age jogs up the few steps to us. “You need
something?”
Bishop grins. “Yeah. Abel, this is Saint. Saint, Abel.” Bishop turns his
head to face Abel. “My half-sister, which makes her your half-sister.”
Abel stills. “What? How?”
Wait, what!
“I will need the champagne.” I press my fingertips to my temples and rub
them in circles.
“Not for you to know right now, young pup! Go get her a bottle of Moët
and hurry back.”
The young boy, Abel, turns and hurries down toward the bar. He’s
handsome, too, with features still fresh enough to call innocent, though
borderline on the scale of hardening. There is a resemblance to Bishop, too.
Obviously, Hector’s genes are strong. My father was a problem. How many
kids did he have?
Bishop tilts his head up to Brantley. “Are you going to stand there
throughout this conversation, or are you going to sit down like a civilized
human?”
Brantley finally pushes away, rounding the table. The sound of rubber
scraping against timber vibrates beside me as he drops onto the chair. I ignore
him because Abel is back with a metal bucket filled with ice and the tip of a
bottle of champagne sticking out of it. He places it onto the table with a
frosted flute wine glass. I take the bottle out of the bucket, pour the
champagne and watch as the bubbles turn to foam on the top before pouring
more.
“Thank you,” I say to Abel, who smiles at me before leaving. I set the
bottle back into the bucket and take the first sip.
 “Brantley told you a little about The Elite Kings Club, yes?”
I nod my head, my finger grazing the liquid off my lips as my eyes find
Brantley’s. He pins me to the spot. Intense. Crazed. Possessed. Addicted. “He
did.”
Bishop remains still, his shoulders tight and his eyes passive on me.
“Hector, our father, and his father, and his father’s father have been at the
table since the beginning of time. It was our great-great-great-grandfather
who formed The Elite Kings. I could have you read Tacet a Mortuis…”
Bishop pauses, the corner of his mouth curving in a half-smile. “But I don’t
think it’s necessary.”
“So you’re a cult?”
Silence between the two of them. Bishop leans forward and rests his
elbows on his knees. I’m momentarily distracted by the cuts on his jeans.
“No, not exactly. More like a… society.”
“Like a secret society?” I sip on my champagne between answers.
Bishop shakes his head. “Eh, actually, it’s more of a lifestyle. Traditions.
Something we’ve all been raised around.” He pops a cigarette between his
lips, lights it, and takes a long pull before blowing out the angry cloud of
smoke.
“And this lifestyle, what does it entail?” I look around the area. “Aside
from owning schools.”
“A lot,” Brantley interrupts, glaring at Bishop. “In short, every family has
a job to do in order to maintain the dynamics of The Elite Kings. We have
people in the White House, the CIA, in the mafia, MCs. Where there is
power, you will find a King.”
“What do you do?” I ask Brantley.
Finally, his head turns until he’s face-on with me. “What do I what?”
Bishop’s chuckle is loud enough for me to look back at him. “What?”
“Please do tell.” Bishop smirks. “Tell her what the Vitiosis family
provides…”
Brantley flips him off, his fingers wrapping around the metal bucket that
houses my bubbles, pulling it away from me. “Enough of that shit for you.”
“So, my mom and your dad?” I say to Bishop. “Where are they?”
“Well, your mom is dead, but your dad isn’t.” There’s an eerie silence
that stretches among all of us.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me from the start.”
“With power comes enemies. When you have power, there will always be
people who want to take it away from you, but those who need to take it,
burn it out fast. If it gets out that Hector has a Swan, it wouldn’t end well,
and aside from that, it would put you in a dangerous spot. In essence, us
telling you has just put a target on your back, which is why you’ve probably
noticed one of us is always with you, and security has leveled up.”

I learned quickly what happened after I got the wrong answers. Which
were the right answers, but not the ones that they wanted to hear. There was
a light, a phone recording, and a knife.
Blood. So much blood.
Brantley leaned down and ran his tongue over the blunt side of the blade.
“Every time you get an answer wrong, my dick gets hard. Keep going.”
Brantley
The foundation of this house was built upon the carcasses of our enemies.
That was why it was haunted. If you peel back the wallpaper, blood would
spill. It was, and remains, the house that never sleeps.

Nine years old

Lucan kept his promise. He never laid a finger on Saint. Not ever, not once.
She was the trophy we kept on our mantel, pretty to look at but never to be
held. He liked it that way, too, I was sure. But that meant one thing… he
needed me more. It was two weeks past the night he had Silver and me on the
bed together. Two weeks since the final crack inside my already doomed soul
shattered completely. I never wanted to revisit that night. The night I took her
virginity, all for what? Some sick old fucks to get their rocks off from a
video. I was dangerously close to snapping at my father. So fucking close.
But I had to be patient.
We walked down the same hallway. Door after door. Red so loud I could
hear it pulsing through the veins of the house. We stopped outside the one
that read Vitiosis on the front. The same gold plate over the same crimson
door.
I hated this place. I didn’t care for fucking anything anymore. When
you’re fed rage all your life, you refuse the taste of peace, so I needed it. The
feeling of undiluted anger to stream through me. I needed it to get me
through. Fuck peace.
My lips were flat. I wondered if my uncles knew about this, since I never
saw any of them here. This didn’t seem like Elite Kings’ business. Kings
were venomous outlaws, but this was something else. They killed, meddled
in illegal trades across the board, but rape? Never.
Lucan pushed open the door, placing his foot in front to stop it from
closing. “Inside, Brantley.”
I went. I took the three steps it was to enter the familiar room. A single
camera. The bed made up of simple white sheets.
White. Sheets.
My eyes searched the two girls who were on the bed. They had to be
around my age, maybe older. Bile rose up my throat. I turned to face my
father. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Lucan leaned down, shutting the door behind us. The click of him locking
it would haunt me for years to come. That sound. Click. The only click sound
I’d ever want to hear after this would be from my gat. “If it’s not them, it’ll
be Saint. You make that decision, Brantley.”
I gritted my teeth. “I mean, I don’t want to do this ever. To anyone.”
Lucan didn’t speak. His eyes held mine. “You don’t have a choice.” He
shoved me toward the bed. “So what will it be, Brantley? Will it be them, or
will it be Saint?”
I turned to face him over my shoulder. “It will never be her.”

Present

I squeeze my eyes closed as I come to, rubbing the sleep from them. My
sheets are on the floor, my body slick with sweat. Rolling off the bed, I lean
over, gripping one of the posts of my bed. The memories flick through my
head in 4k clarity. I suck air in my lungs, then hold, before exhaling. My
mind is a contortion of dark images. Scenes and scenarios.
Thirty-seven girls and boys. Sometimes older, sometimes younger, other
times the same age.
Thirty-seven and I remember every single one of them.
I spin around to head down to the gym, but freeze when I see Saint at my
door. My eyes flick to the clock on my bedside table. Three a.m.
“What are you doing awake?” I rub the sweat off my chest, caught off
guard by what she’s wearing. Little white shorts that are honest-to-God too
short to be considered anything but underwear and a simple white camisole
that rides up to show a sliver of her belly.
She steps forward, her platinum hair falling around her shoulders in
natural waves. “I had a weird dream.”
I step backward. “This isn’t the place to come for comfort after a
nightmare, Saint.” Why the fuck is she still moving toward me.
“I heard you scream,” she further says, and now she’s too close. Her little
body directly in front of mine.
“Like you haven’t heard it before.”
“That’s the thing,” she says, and her head tilts so she can look up at me.
It’s dark in the room, with the only light coming from the hallway that’s
spilling through the crack of the door. “I haven’t in a while, and this time was
different…”
“How?” I growl, searching her face. Fuck, but she’s beautiful. Everything
forbidden, too pure for this world.
Her fingertip grazes my stomach and I tense. Blood rushes straight to my
cock at the connection. “You screamed my name this time.”
Fuck.
“What are you doing?” I snatch her finger into the palm of my hand.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, her eyes on the tattoo over my chest. The
only ink I have. The angry Elite Kings’ skull carved into my flesh with the
word Vitiosis over the top of it. “But I’m going with it.” She leans up on her
tippy toes, her small fingers around the back of my neck.
I groan. “Saint…” There have been numerous times that I’ve thought
about having her exactly like this. In front of me. At my fucking mercy. But
the truth of the matter is, I don’t deserve her. What I need, she will never be
able to give me.
“Brantley?” She tugs me lower, and I abide, the tip of my nose touching
hers. “Kiss me.”
My jaw tenses. Fuck it. I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck,
my other arm around her tiny waist. I could snap her with a simple flick of
my wrist. Having something so fucking delicate in the palm of my tactless
hands sends a rush of power sizzling through me. Tsk, tsk. This is why I’m
bad for her. My lips brush hers.
“Once I put my mouth on you, you’re fucked.” Her smell is intoxicating.
A potent concoction of sweet and illicit, the kind of smell you want on the tip
of your tongue. The kind of smell you can taste.
“It doesn’t matter to me.” The curve of her soft lips brushes mine.
That does it. She goes to pull away, but it’s too late, my mouth is on hers.
She pauses for a moment before her soft lips start kissing me back. I pull her
toward me until I’m back on the bed, and she lands on my lap while
spreading her knees wide to straddle me. Her mouth never releases from
mine, her tongue curling around mine every few seconds like she’s done this
numerous times before. I know she hasn’t. I fucking know she hasn’t. I pull
back, leaning on the mattress with one elbow, my eyes on hers. Flicking my
tongue over my lips, I soak in every bit of what she’s left behind. She sits
here on my lap, open to me. Without a word.
“You don’t want this…” I murmur, as much as it fucking pains me to say
it. My cock is rock hard, and I tilt my hips up, rubbing it against the center of
her thighs.
Her eyes close, rolling to the back of her head. Jesus fucking fuck. My
hand flies up before I can stop it, clutched around her throat. Her eyes slowly
open, latching on to mine like a trap. She doesn’t jump. There’s no flash of
panic on her face. She’s completely still, locked in the trance we’ve started. A
trance that could end us both. We could do this, have this, but for what? I
can’t offer her anything more than what she already gets from me, and just
sayin’ that’s already a fucking lot.
“You don’t want this,” I repeat, my hand secure around her throat. It
looks good there. The veins pulse beneath my flesh, her jugular throbbing
against my palm.
“How can you be so sure?” she asks, and then I see red when she tugs her
bottom lip between her teeth and sinks them into it.
Tensing my grip around her throat, I pull her down on top of me, my
hands cupping her ass when her mouth is back on mine. I know I have to take
this carefully, and I don’t do fucking careful, but it’s Saint.
Fuck.
With the battle rumbling deep inside of me, I do nothing to push her
away. My hands find her curves, her ass, her thighs. Dipping beneath her
shorts, I squeeze her ass cheeks roughly, biting on her lower lip while
grinding my dick up into her. She rubs herself over me and I know what she
needs. Why she came in here. She didn’t mean to kiss me, or wrap her sinful
legs around my waist while whispering sweet fucking nothings directly into
my mouth.
She needed release.
I deepen the kiss, her fingers at my neck, in my hair, down my already
damp chest. She rolls her hips over me with control, but I squeeze her hips
and take it back, directing her over my girth with slow, pressured strokes.
“Fuck.” I need to bite down on something to stop myself from focusing
on the way my piercings feel grazing over her pussy. She drops her mouth
onto mine again, feeding me her sexy little moans, and I eat them up like I’ve
been fasting and she’s the feast I’ve always wanted. Which she is.
“Brantley…”
My grip tenses, and out of complete fucking impulse, I bite down on her
lip, dragging it into my mouth until the first drop of blood spills over the tip
of my tongue. Her moans deepen in my mouth, and I don’t even have time to
fucking realize I hurt her. I don’t care, and more importantly, she doesn’t
seem to either…
I have two options right here, right now.
I could let her dry hump me into a fucking bad mood and take out my
aggression in the gym, or I could give her exactly what she and I both want:
me buried inside of her so fucking deep that she’d feel the indentation of my
cock every time she fucking breathes for the next few weeks.
I go with the latter. My hands come back to her ass as I lift us both off the
bed, spin around, and throw her down on her back while undoing the button
on my jeans.
“Do you have a condom?” she asks, her hair wild, cheeks flushed, and
lips swollen from all the kisses I just stole.
“What’d you just say?” I bite out harshly, the words leaving her lips like a
bucket of ice-cold water.
“Don’t we have to use a condom?” she whispers again, not catching my
obvious switch in mood.
My fingers hover over the band of my jeans, but I release, allowing my
arms to drop to either side of my body. “You already assumed that I’d fuck
you?” I snarl angrily, my lip curled. Now in hindsight, I know I’m being
irrational, but I don’t give a fuck. It bothers me that the word condom left her
mouth. It fucking bothers me that all it took was for me to kiss her and she’d
open her legs for me, even though that’s what I wanted. I had every plan to
tear her in half and take what I know I want.
“Wh—what?” She flinches around the words, her shoulders falling and
her eyes welling with unshed tears. Fuck. “I thought…”
“Get out,” I say, shaking my head. She doesn’t hesitate, crawling off my
bed and making her way to the door. I fall down onto the mattress, my hand
in my hair and my thoughts running fucking rampant. I feel feral. Like a
caged fucking beast being taunted with something, anything, maybe even the
one thing it has always wanted but could never have.
“Brantley,” she says gently, and I feel that anger simmer as guilt begins to
wash in.
Flexing my neck to the side, I stand to my feet and take the steps needed
to reach her. She cowers the closer I get, the confusion evident, sprawled out
over her features. I don’t blame her. I’m being inconsistent. The battle I’m
fighting is rearing its ugly head and trying to expose itself.
She opens the door softly, but I bring my hand up and slam it closed. She
turns, resting her back against it while tucking her hands behind herself.
“I thought you said get out…” she murmurs, and even as the words leave
her and penetrate the distance between us, I wave them off.
“Yeah?” I bring my other hand up to the other side of her head. “I also
said that once I put my mouth on you, that you’re fucked.” I keep my eyes on
her. I want to test the boundaries I think she has and see how far she will go.
“Remove your shorts.”
With her iceberg eyes on mine, she hooks her thumbs beneath the
waistband of her shorts, pushing them down. I crack, tilting my head
downward to watch as the silk gathers around her feet in a pool of innocence.
Innocence lost is a sin gained.
My lips curve in a smirk as I slowly trail my eyes up her body, past her
breasts and back to her eyes. I push one hand off the door and bring my
fingers beneath her chin. She’s not like the others. She will never, ever be
like anything or anyone I would have touched—ever. Which makes the
touching all the more illicit. “Show me what you do when you’re alone.”
“What?” Her cheeks glow with a bite of pink, but I know she knows what
I’m asking.
My breathing is shallow, my chest rising and falling as she slowly brings
her hand around to her front. I push off of the door, taking two steps away
from her. “Take off your shirt, too.”
Before her fingers find her middle, she wraps them around the hem of her
shirt and pulls it over her head, her hair cascading down her back slowly, as
she leans back against my door.
I bite down on my cheek to stop from groaning out loud, taking a seat on
the edge of the bed. I fist the sheets in my hand as her chest swells and
deflates with each breath she takes. “What do you want me to do?”
I take a beat. One. Two. Three. Fucking pull your shit together, Brantley.
Spreading my legs wide, I lean my head against the side of one of the pillars
to my bed. “I think you know what I want you to do.”
She leans against the door lazily, unaffected by my presence, as if she’s
been naked around me hundreds of times. She exudes confidence, and I
inhale every fucking bit of it. Her body is crafted from a goddess, shaped
with a scalpel and kissed by angels. Nothing but the glint of her million-
dollar diamond necklace touches her skin, and I have to fight with every-
fucking-thing inside of me to not move across the room and suck on every bit
of her exposed skin.
Her fingers move to her front. I’m not at all surprised that she shaves.
There’s not one speck of a flaw on her body, so clean. Too clean. I need to
rub my filth over her and fuck her until she bleeds.
I groan at the thought, my eyes rolling back as I sit up slightly to adjust
my raging fucking cock from splitting open the seams to my jeans. I pull
them down a little, to hang just above where my pelvic dips, before going
back to distracting myself. Squeezing the sheets just might save her life.
A whimper leaves her mouth as her back arches off the door. Her fingers
are over her pussy, her thumb rubbing slow little circles over her clit as her
other fingers pinch her nipples.
“Fuck this.”
I push off the bed and move back to the front of her, and when she opens
her eyes, I’m slightly surprised by the burning fire that exposes itself. Not in
a way that is desperate, but more controlled. Like a purring cat, knowing
she’s going to get her stroke. I grab the same hand she’s rubbing herself with
and bring it to my lips. Dragging it between my teeth, I lick her taste off her
fingers and bite down on the tip of her index finger.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Dea, but you’re sure as fuck going to wish I
would.” I pick her up from the backs of her thighs and spin her around, laying
her on her back on the floor. I wanted to throw her down, but again, I have to
control my outbursts. She lies spread on my floor, both hands cupping her
breasts while her knees are stuck together. I rest my hands on them and
spread her wide, slowly lowering myself down onto her body.
“Wait!” Her hands fly to my chest and I have to fight back my snarl.
“What?”
She chews on her lip nervously. “I—uh—I’m on birth control, but I’ve
got my period right now, and if you’re about to do what I think you’re about
—”
I chuckle, running my index finger over her tiny little slit. “You did not
just fucking bait me.” I rub her clit slowly until her back is lifting off the
floor in a high arch.
“Faster,” she whispers.
“Shut up,” I mock before stopping and continuing down toward her entry.
“Trust me?”
“What? I—” She pauses. “Yes. Shit.”
I grin up at her, wrapping my finger around the string that’s hanging out,
and tug on it. Tossing it to the side, I make my way up her body, whacking
her hand away from one breast and sucking her nipple into my mouth.
“Oh my—” She’s cut off when my other hand comes to her mouth,
silencing her as my tongue twists around her nub in fast strokes. She tilts her
hips up to grind against me and I lose it, pressing my cock into her as her
other leg wraps around my waist.
Moving to the other side, I release her mouth and repeat my ministrations
on her other breast. She’s grinding herself over my cock and it throbs, liquid
spilling from my tip every time she rolls over my piercings. Fuck this. I need
this over with or I’m going to hurt her, fuck her and then probably not regret
it. Trailing my tongue down her sternum, I pass her belly button and hit
where her middle meets her thighs. Spreading her legs wide, I push down on
her upper thighs as I lick up the inside of one, reaching that connection again.
I look up at her as she leans up on her elbows, her brows pulled in as she
watches intently, her belly rising and falling and her abs tensing. I sink my
teeth into the smooth skin and watch as her head tilts back, the organs
beneath the flesh of her neck stretching. Fuck. My mouth waters as I lick and
suck up the small blood droplets from my bite, before slowly moving to her
center.
“Brantley, are you sure this—” Her words are cut off when my tongue
hits her clit.
 I circle it slowly at first, before covering her with my mouth. I suck on
her clit while pressing my tongue against her roughly and she falls to the
floor with a smack. I chuckle around the strokes, my cock so close to
exploding I’m not so fucking sure this was a good idea. Heat rushes
throughout my blood, my balls tightening with every passing second. I press
my hand on her pelvis, leaning down and dipping my tongue inside her
entrance. She’s so fucking tight. Her walls tense around my intrusion as the
strong bite of metal hits the tip of my tongue. I groan against her pussy,
pushing farther against her until her leg is over my shoulder with one hand
gripped around her thigh. I don’t realize how hard I’m squeezing her until I
release her leg, and my fingers pulse from the freed pressure. That’s gonna
bruise. Fucking good. She pants and turns and twists in my grip as I continue
to suck and lick every ounce she gives me. Sweat slides down her thighs as I
latch back onto her clit, gripping her and turning onto my back, her knees
landing on either side of my head. Her hair splays down over her shoulders as
she looks down at me between her thighs.
“Brantley…” she whispers, her hands in my hair.
“Shut up and ride my face until you come.”
She bites down on her lip to stifle her smile, but then starts rocking
forward and backward over my mouth. Her head tilts back and my hand trails
up her spine, finding the ends and wrapping her hair around my fist. I tug on
it roughly until her head cranks farther back and she has to lean on my thigh
to keep herself up while her hips speed up in rhythm.
“I’m—I’m—”
I cover her clit and suck on it as she convuyeahlses, her body spasming
around me. Once she’s back down to the land of the living, she slowly crawls
off me and I run my tongue over my lips, savoring every bit of her. Sweet,
but with a sharp bite of metallic. Exactly how I wanted her.
I remain on my back for seconds after, mentally talking myself out of the
bad mood I know I’m going to be in. I need to fuck something. When I pull
back up on my elbows and stand to my feet, my swollen cock throbbing in
the palm of my hand through my jeans, I fall back onto my bed. “Out, Saint.”
“What? I can, you know—”
I look up to find her staring at my dick. It doesn’t fucking help.
“Just get out.”
I was wrong, I was going to regret it, but not for the reasons I thought I
would. She doesn’t reply, and the sound of my door clicking shut triggers the
rest of the nightmares that I have that night.
Click.
Saint
I half contemplated leaving the dogs home today. I needed space and time.
Time to figure out what went wrong last night. Shame curtains my vision as I
take a left onto the trail in the woods. “C’MON” by Amy Shark and Travis
Barker plays loudly in my ears, the sound of her vocals almost enough to
make me forget about everything last night. But just as I forget, I taste him.
My blood and his mouth. I feel his hands on my body, so rough and
dominating, his mouth in other places… but the poisonous aftertaste of the
words he said after leave the strongest tang. “Just get out,” and then the look
that came with it. My heart stung so bad I almost thought the pain was
physical. I’d never experienced that emotion before. The wound was in my
heart, but the pain bled down to my gut and spun it around and around like a
washing machine.
My feet gain speed, sweat pelting off me as the early morning sun slowly
reveals itself behind the curtain of clouds. Bright orange hues inflame the
dark sky as another day arrives. I’m passing the graveyard and entering the
property through the back when I finally stop, tearing out my earbuds and
leaning over, my hands on my knees. The truth is, I went into that room for
one thing and one thing only. And it was all because of that damn dream. I
didn’t like it.

He wore nothing but a dark hoodie and a scarf around his face. Either
that or I couldn’t see. I reached for his face, but nothing touched my fingers.
Weird.
I knew I was dreaming. I almost always knew when I was dreaming while
I was having them. His body was over the top of mine, heavy. So heavy that
he pushed mine into the mattress. My stomach churned. Something wasn’t
right.
He reached between my legs, his fingers grazing over my most private
area, and just when I thought he was going to push away, his fingers dove
inside of me forcefully. I screamed so loud fire burned out of my chest, but
that didn’t stop him. I throbbed below. It stung. It hurt. He did something
with his fingers before I felt my skin tear and liquid seep over my upper
thighs. He tore my virginity from my body like it was his to take.

I woke after that. My pulse was racing so fast I thought I might actually
die. Harder than what it is now after running for two hours straight. After
waking, I checked under the blankets, cupping myself and wincing while the
feel and sound of that tear vibrated through my ears. Tears spread down my
cheeks, and I didn’t know why. I needed something—anything to take away
the memory the dream left on my skin. I hated that it was the last thing I felt.
Then I heard Brantley yell, and it was my name that came out.
Now I wish I didn’t go in there. I should have gone back to sleep, or at
the very least tried. I went to him without knowing, for comfort, and I left
with more pain in my heart than I could cope with.
I unlatch the dogs from their leads so they can go to their water fountain,
gazing up at the gym that’s on the top floor. I find Brantley instantly, his back
turned to me. He’s leaning on the glass, his phone to his ear.
Had I always felt this way about him? I’m starting to think maybe yes. It
didn’t matter, though, because he made it abundantly clear last night that he
did not think that about me. Or maybe he just wasn’t attracted to me like that,
which was why he pushed me away.
This emotion must be rejection.
After the dogs have fed and drank, I head into the kitchen and pull out the
ingredients for bacon and eggs. That run was what my mind needed, but now
my body is deprived and hungry. I heat up the heavy skillet, pouring coconut
oil in and waiting for it to warm before cracking my eggs in. While that’s
cooking, I line the tray with bacon strips and slide it beneath the grill. I’m
dropping bagels into the toaster when the front door echoes closed and
footsteps come down to the kitchen. I hold my breath, hoping it’s not
Brantley.
Pink hair comes around the corner, with Nate right behind it.
He kisses Tillie on the head before disappearing upstairs.
“Yum! What are you making?” she asks, peeking into the pan before
pushing herself up to sit on the counter. Tillie is the obvious type of beautiful.
She’s the kind of girl who will walk into a room filled with people and
unknowingly steal everyone’s attention. She has defined features that could
be compared to the likes of girls like Megan Fox. Madison is the same,
though, and I’ve only seen her through a camera lens. Together they must be
lethal.
“You okay?” she asks, kicking out her legs while I grab two plates. I
already know she’s going to want some, and the more I’m lost in my
thoughts, the less hungry I become.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, pulling the bagels out and dropping
them onto our plates before dishing them up. I grab the avocado. “I did
something last night and now I can’t get this feeling out of my gut that feels a
lot like I made a mistake.”
Tillie steals a strip of bacon and chews on it slowly. “That is regret. What
did you do?”
I chop the avocado, some tomatoes, red onion, and toss it all over the
bacon and eggs on our plate, before dashing—generously—some hot sauce
on mine but none on Tillie’s when she stops my hand from going over her
plate.
I give her a plate before sliding up onto the bench opposite, resting my
plate on my lap. I take a piece of bacon and chew on it slowly. I exhale once
I’ve swallowed the salted meat. “I kissed Brantley last night.”
“And?” Tillie says, waiting for me to continue.
“And maybe I tried to have sex with him.”
She stares as if she’s waiting for more.
“And he told me he didn’t want me, but not until after he made me—you
know. With his tongue.”
She pauses, her mouth opening and closing, before she finally rolls her
eyes while sliding her plate on the counter beside her and leaning forward,
sucking the bacon fat off her fingers. “Let me tell you about men and how
they respond to things they think they don’t want, or in Brantley’s case,
deserve.” I tilt my head, chewing slowly. Removing my sweaty tank top so
I’m left in nothing but my sports bra and high-waisted yoga pants, I toss it
across the room. “I don’t understand.”
Tillie leans backward, shoveling food into her mouth and talking around
it. “It’s Brantley. He won’t touch you because he will think you’re too good
for him. He will think that all the dirty things he did in the past will taint his
perfect little doll.”
“How can you be so sure?” I ask, taking a bite out of my bagel and almost
rolling my eyes to the back of my head when the salty butter slides down my
throat. Food. Carbs.
“Because I know Brantley.” Tillie shrugs. “And let me say, that
motherfucker is so lucky I’m pregnant right now, or I’d be taking you out
tonight just to be an asshole.”
“This is why he calls you Little Terror?” I chuckle, shaking my head.
She nods. “Yep!”
There’s silence that drags between us, and when I know she’s not going
to fill it with small talk, I do. “Our mom…”
Tillie stills, her hand around her bagel. She places it back on her plate and
brushes the crumbs from her hands. “I didn’t know her well. I only just found
out she was my mother recently.” She picks up her bagel again and bites into
it. “But she was a bitch, so we didn’t miss much.”
We clean up after that, and I’m running upstairs to get changed when I
round the corner and crash into something—or someone—hard, tall, and built
from pure muscle. My heart short-circuits in my chest as I jump backward,
sidestepping away from Brantley without saying anything.
“Hey!” he snaps at me just as my hand is on my door handle. The gold
metal in contrast to my pale skin.
I turn over my shoulder. I’m not good at this. This feels awkward. “Yes?”
His eyes roam up and down my body. “You fucking ran like that?” His
brows are pulled in, his hand waving up and down.
“What?”
“What?” He mimics my tone. “Don’t fucking ‘what’ me, Saint. Did you
run dressed like that?” He starts walking toward me and I push my door open
and step inside. I’m about to slam it closed when he slaps it open so hard it
flies out and hits the wall.
 “What are you doing!” I yell at him. I never raise my voice at him, and to
be fair, it’s not that loud. I probably sound more like a chihuahua barking at a
rottweiler.
“Answer me!” His tone is a few levels above whatever temperature Hell
is.
“I didn’t, but the question was weird!” Now my hands are in the air.
His eyes remain on mine, and I swear his pupils dilate and dissolve a few
times. “That’s all you had to say. Get dressed and bring spare clothes.” He
turns and leaves. What. Was. That. I bite my tongue while grabbing clothes to
wear. Tillie and Nate probably heard that, too.
My phone dings and I pull it out of the strap that’s on my arm, tugging it
out of the case and opening it, I see I have three new messages. I open the
latest one.
Tillie: Heard that. Now you have to wear something sexy that shows
your tits. #Titsoutfortheboys
I flick out of her message and open the next one while making my way
into the bathroom.
Unknown: Hey, Saint. It’s Madison. Please don’t share this number.
Can we talk?
I pause at that. The number started with a +64, so I already know she’s
not in America, Canada, or Mexico. Before going to the next text, I send her
off a reply.
Saint: Sure. I think we’re leaving for somewhere today, but I can call
you when no one is around.
The speech bubbles pop up instantly.
Madison: Okay. Thank you.
Turning on the shower, I remove my clothes while opening the final text.
?: He didn’t bite, huh? I know someone who wouldn’t say no…
I exit the message and get busy with washing the sweat and
disappointment off my body. Since my hair is sweaty, I start washing up fast
and once I’m finished, I climb out of the shower, drying up and wrapping a
towel around myself. I blow out my hair until it’s in soft tresses when my
door opens and Brantley’s on the other side.
His eyes connect with mine in the mirror. “How long are you going to
be?” He’s always this grumpy. I’m familiar with it, but after last night and his
little episode before, now I feel somewhat annoyed.
Annoyed by his rejection.
 I stand from my makeup stool and squeeze the towel that’s scrunched
where my breasts dip. I turn to face him completely and watch as his eyes
fight to remain on my face. “You thought I would fuck you?” Those words
ring through my ears, only fueling the annoyance that already rolls around in
my chest. My thighs clench. There’s a hunger in my belly that food couldn’t
satiate.
He pins me with his stare, the muscles on either side of his jaw twitching
as he clenches. “Don’t you fucking dare…”
I flick my wrist and the towel falls around my ankles.
“Fuck!” Brantley kicks the door closed, locking us inside as I move to my
bed and reach for my underwear. His hand is on my wrist, pulling me into his
chest. My long hair grazes over the top of my tailbone when his hand is on
my chin, yanking my face up to his. “I am not the one to play games with,
Dea, because I don’t play them.” He leans into my ear. “I end them.”
I search his eyes. “I was getting changed. That’s all, and anyway.” I pull
my chin out of his grip and slide my panties on. “You wouldn’t fuck me
anyway—” I can’t finish that sentence because just as I’m reaching for my
bra, his hand is behind my neck, shoving me facedown onto my bed, his chest
to my back while his legs separate mine. He gently slides my hair away from
my face, running the tip of his finger over the curves of where my boob spills
out the side.
“You’ve got it twisted.” He leans down until his lips are lightly touching
my neck, over my tattoo. “I don’t want you because I know that I’ll break
you.”
I blow the rest of my hair out of my face, even though I’m partially
squashed into the covers. “I get it.”
He pushes up from me, and I climb off the bed, clipping my bra on while
trying to ignore his heavy presence behind me. I believe him when he says he
doesn’t want to have sex with me, but I don’t believe him when he says he
doesn’t want to break me. I see it in his eyes that those are his favorite things.
Broken girls. I just have to figure out if he’s the one who does the breaking.
I slide on white skinny jeans with small zippers on the sides near my
ankles. His eyes fall to my fingers where I’m doing up the button.
“What? I can’t wear this either?”
His focus snaps to me instantly. “I’m canceling yours and Tillie’s
friendship.”
“You could, but she is my sister.” I slide on my Yeezy crop top in army
green with fashionable cuts and slices, shoving my feet into my Vans and my
phone into my pocket.
“I’m ready.” But when I turn around, he’s already gone.

I don’t know where we’re going, nor did I ask. I watch in the side mirror as
the front of Nate’s Lambo rolls behind us. In front is Bishop’s Maserati, and
behind Nate is Eli’s Ferrari with Hunter behind him in a F150. We haven’t
spoken since my bedroom, which isn’t out of the ordinary. Brantley and I
mastered comfortable silence a long time ago. “Rags2Riches” is playing on
the radio, and when Brantley drops it down into second gear, his eyes flick up
to his rearview mirror, a smirk on his face. It’s the first time I’ve been in the
Bugatti. He hardly drives it, always opting for his old Demon or his Aston.
All of the boys’ cars are black, but Brantley’s Mercedes AMG GTS Pro and
his Bugatti is matte. The Bugatti sits so close to the ground that I’m almost
certain if we run over a stone, it would tear the bumper off. I slam into the
seat as we move to the other side of the road and zip past Bishop, who has his
middle finger pressed to the window.
A phone call comes in through the Bluetooth and Brantley answers,
hitting the green button on the steering wheel.
“Fucker. You’re lucky Tillie’s pregnant.”
Brantley laughs, just as Eli’s voice comes in. It’s then that I realize all
their cars are wired together somehow, or they’re on a group call.
“I don’t give a fuck, and that’s all I’ve got,” Bishop says, laughing in the
background.
“You know!” Tillie yells and my gaze shoots to Brantley, who rolls his
eyes while an easy smile is etched on his face. I don’t know why, but
something heavy drops in my gut at the way he responds to her. So easy. I bet
if she dropped her towel or rubbed all over him, he would have had sex with
her.
I drag my attention away from him and back out the window, wallowing
in my self-pity. I have an itch in my mind that needs to be scratched. What
happened the time that he said he almost slept with her? Did he touch her?
She touch him? Did they go further than we did?
Probably. I may be a virgin, but I’m no prude. I’ve watched porn in the
dark corners of my room when no one was home and finished myself off
when I needed to. I knew what it felt like to orgasm on my own, but even
then, the biggest orgasm I ever gave myself doesn’t come close to how I felt
beneath the palm of Brantley’s hand, and even more so, on his tongue.
“Saint?” Brantley interrupts my thoughts and I turn to face him.
“Yes?”
There’s music playing again now, so the call must have been
disconnected. “What are you overthinking about now?” Breaking Benjamin
singing “The Dark of You” is playing softly in the back.
I could be honest. I could also ask him what happened between him and
Tillie and risk exposing my, what I’m guessing, is jealousy. But I don’t. “Just
trying to remember if I watered the plants.” Before he can read the lie that
slid off my tongue way too easily, I turn back to the window. “Where are we
going?”
“It’s Halloween this weekend. We have one last party to throw out at the
cabin. We’re getting there a day early to make sure everything is set up.”
“A party? For your birthday?” I ask, knowing he was born on Halloween.
It’s not something he has ever celebrated. At least not that I knew of.
“Yeah sort of, but not for my birthday. It’s just our Halloween party. It
rolls all weekend.”
“Sounds… fun.”
He doesn’t answer as he continues to drive us down the main highway,
right until we take a turn off before another, and another, until we’re all
rolling down a long, gravel road.
“Funny story…” Brantley smirks. “See that?” He points to an area just off
the road. It looks like a small shoulder. Nothing surrounds the road but forest
and meadows.
“Yeah?”
“We ran Madison out of her car right there. The first time we all blocked
her in and started her game. It was all riddles and tricks and mindfucks. We
had to fuck with her to see if she’d break…” I don’t say anything, resting my
forehead on the window and allowing the condensation to drip over my skin.
“Sounds awful…”
“It was, but it was fun.”
“Is that what you like?” I snap slightly, and before I can take the words
back, he’s already glaring at me. I wince. Gosh, I’m being hormonal.
“All right, that’s it. You still on your period or something?”
My teeth clamp closed. Wait. What’s the date? I do the math in my head.
“No. I finished this morning.”
 “Speaking of. You’re on the pill. Why?”
“Yes, because I suffered from chronic period pain, so the doctor put me
on the pill to control when I would get it. You know this, you signed off on
it.”
His fingers dive into his hair, his hoodie sitting around his thick neck.
“Why do you have fewer tattoos than the rest of them?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because I have more piercings.”
I curl my leg beneath my butt so I can turn more. “Your nipples, one ear,
tongue…” I pause. “Five?”
He smirks. “Eleven.”
The car rolls to a stop and I turn to see where we are. The lights
illuminating the traditional style cabin lure you in, the porch wrapping around
the entire structure. Nothing surrounds us but trees, a full horseshoe
driveway, and from what I can see behind the house, someone has been
clearing the paddock.
“They’ve made a race circuit at the back, you know, for all the hooligans
that are being bred.”
“Like you?” I raise an eyebrow, pushing open my door and climbing out.
The cool air bites over my exposed flesh and I reach into the car, grabbing
Brantley’s hoodie that’s in the back seat, shoving it on.
I shut my door and wait for him to round the car.
He stops in front of me, his eyes falling down my body. “You and that
fucking hoodie.”
“I love it.”
“Why?” he asks, but his tone lacks its usual bite.
I dampen my lips with my tongue and open my mouth.
“—the caterers and planners have been here all week to organize this.”
Bishop comes up to us, shoving his keys in his pocket. “We’ve got around
fifty people this year, because Spyder is bringing his crew, too.”
Brantley throws his hoodie over his head while leaning on the side of his
car. “Spyder’s coming? Have you told Tillie?”
Bishop takes out a cigarette, putting it in his mouth. His eyes come to
mine and I raise my brow. “Don’t look at me like that, angel face. If you
knew the shit I’ve had to live through, you’d understand why me sucking on
a cancer stick is saving someone’s life.”
“Well, maybe you can tell me…”
“Not likely.” He rolls his eyes, going back to Bran after exhaling a thick
cloud of smoke. “I haven’t told her yet. Nate said he will.”
Now I lean against the car, figuring we must be waiting for Nate, Tillie,
Eli, and Hunter to show. And the other one, I think his name’s Cash. “Why is
it a big deal? Does Tillie not like Spyder?”
Bishop stares at me. “Spyder’s not the problem, it’s his girl. She was best
friends—is—best friends with my—” He pauses, bares his teeth, and hisses.
“Ex.”
Brantley shakes his head. “You’re fucking playing yourself if you think
she’s your ex.”
“Is she here?” Bishop raises his arms to gesture around the place, and I
watch as all his anger slowly rolls to the surface of his features. “Exactly.
She’s an ex.”
“Are you there?” Brantley hits back candidly, and my eyes fly between
the two of them, watching them take lyrical jabs at one another. “Because if
she belonged to me, there would be no fucking way I’d allow that shit, and
brother, you are the exact same, so quit fucking around.”
Bishop doesn’t get a chance to answer because Nate, Eli, and Hunter are
rolling down the driveway, and I watch as Bishop storms up to the house,
flicking his cigarette on the ground.
“I, um…”
“Fucking go,” Brantley murmurs. “I’ll grab your shit and put it in our
room.”
I ignore him and jog after Bishop as car doors slam behind me. I vaguely
hear Tillie ask what happened, just as I push through the front door. I pause at
the threshold because it’s that beautiful.
An open fireplace is lit in the center of the lounge area, with a TV
hanging above it. There’s a round couch that could fit at least twenty people
on it with cream cushions that look soft enough to sink into. So inviting and
warm for boys so cold and dark. Floor-to-ceiling windows are in the kitchen,
built with tarnished wood that shines against the flicker of flames from the
fire. There’s a large glass door that looks to open out onto the patio area at
the back, but that’s all beside the point. I turn toward the stairs that are
directly in front of the door and take them two at a time until I hit a hallway
with a few more doors. At the end, there’s yet another round of stairs, which
more than likely lead upstairs to another bedroom. All of these doors are
open, so I figure Bishop must have gone up to the third level. I walk across
the red rug that spills down the narrow hall, leading me to the next set of
stairs. I take these slowly, because I know he’s up here. I don’t know what
I’m going to say, or if I’m even going to say anything at all. All I know is I
need to know he’s okay. The fourth step whines beneath my weight and I
flinch, before quickly taking the next ones up. I push the door open while
knocking.
“Saint, not now,” Bishop growls out softly from the bed. His head is
bowed between his shoulders, his fingers buried in his thick mane of healthy
hair. His knees are spread, his chest rising and falling. The energy inside the
room is tense, hot, and tenuous.
I close the door behind me, but don’t say a word. The space is vast,
obviously the master bedroom of the cabin, with panorama windows
overlooking the entire property and a king-size bed in the middle. There’s a
bath sitting behind the bed with no privacy, and a basin and freestanding
closet opposite.
I sink down onto the bed beside him, holding my breath. I don’t want to
speak. I don’t want to fill the silence with words he already knows.
So I remain quiet. And still.
Finally, after five minutes of us not speaking, I kick off my shoes and
rake my fingers through my hair until it’s all pushed out of my face while
climbing up his bed and lying back on the mountain of pillows. Air puffs out
around me, filled with soap and lavender.
“When I was twelve, I fell in love.” The words spill out, and I catch
Bishop turning quickly to face me. I have his attention. Good. “His name was
Heath Ledger.”
Bishop bursts out laughing, shaking his head when I glare at him. “I’m
serious!”
“Listen, got nothing against Heath, but the man is opposite to Bran.”
I push up onto one elbow, resting my head in the palm of my hand while
lying on my side. “Why does everything have to be compared to Brantley?
We’re just—” I pause. What even are we? Friends? Family? “—Family? I
guess. He’s the only family I’ve ever had. My guardian.”
Bishop’s eyelids get heavy. “You’re not stupid, Saint.”
“Mmm, but I am!” I raise my finger.
“How so? You can’t be worse than me. Fuck, please don’t be. There’s
only room for one dumb motherfucker when it comes to relationships in this
family.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “If my dad—” He pauses. “Our
dad knew how I was dealing with everything, he’d probably give the gavel to
you.”
I lick my bottom lip. “Want to switch stories?”
He tilts his head.
“No pressure. I’m probably going to tell you mine anyway because I need
someone to talk to, and I love Tillie, but she wasn’t much help this morning.”
Bishop’s face is stoic, frozen. Slowly, I watch as his mouth curves into a
full-blown smile.
I point. “You need to smile like that more often. I think we have the same
teeth.”
He laughs. “We do. You’ve got Dad’s teeth.” Then he shifts over the bed,
turning to me so I have his undivided attention. “Well then, tell big brother
what’s bothering you, since the other sibling dropped the ball.”
I start picking at the fluff on the blanket, chewing on my bottom lip. “So,
I kissed Brantley last night and then I tried to sleep with him, but failed.
Well, sort of failed. He still, you know, finished me off.”
“Wow…” Bishop’s hands are up in front of his face protectively.
“What?” I snap. “You said I could talk to you!”
“Yeah, and you can, but I’m not the one to talk to you about all of that…”
“Will you just let me finish?” I glare at him, picking the fluff and doing
the lip chew thing again. “So I kissed him. He kissed me back. Threw me
onto his bed—”
Bishop groans, falling face-first onto the bed. “Listen, I know how
Brantley fucks. This will not end well, so please just skip the details.”
“We didn’t!” I say, flustered enough to throw my arms up. “That’s the
thing.”
“He didn’t?” Bishop tilts his head. “What?” Then he mumbles, “That’s a
fucking first.”
“Not helping…” I sing, flopping onto my back. “Now I can’t stop
thinking about it. Then this morning, I was still so upset with him even after
running for two hours, that I dropped my towel in front of him.” I turn so I
can see Bishop and his face is red from holding in his laugh. “Stop laughing
at me!”
“I’m not!” He releases his laugh and it’s so damn loud the notes are
bouncing off the walls.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Oh, to say the least, but that’s not a side you’ve seen. Yet. Carry on…”
He rolls his hands.
 “He just did nothing. I stood there naked and he didn’t care. Again.” My
heart sinks.
“Saint.” Bishop chuckles, his laughter finally dying off. “Okay, I’m going
to tell you what you need to do. I know Bran, and look at me—”
I do, bringing my eyes to his.
“You want him?”
I think over that three-word question. So simple, yet powerful enough to
tip my world upside down.
“Yes. I’ve never been with another man before. I’d prefer it to be him, at
least for my first.”
Bishop pauses, his mouth agape. “Ahhh, no. This is Brantley. And not
just the Brantley that we know, but this is every part of that man’s fucked-up
soul. You are either all in or all out, because there is no in-between with
him.”
“What about Tillie?” Finally, that ugly green monster came out. “I love
her, and have nothing against her, but the way he is with her. It makes me—”
“—jealous,” Bishop finishes. “Normal. You are my sister, after all. How
good are you at keeping secrets?”
Too good.
He chuckles. “There’s always a third when a King finds his woman.
Don’t take that in too deep.”
“Who was yours?” I ask, intrigued.
“Fucking Nate.” Bishop flexes his fingers. “And he is her stepbrother. It
was fucking frustrating.”
I chuckle, sigh, and roll back to my side. “Okay. What do I need to do?”
After Bishop yaps off what I’m going to need to do to gain Brantley’s
attention, he’s on his back beside me, my head on his chest with his eyes
trained on the ceiling. We’ve been up here for at least two hours, with the sun
long since setting in the sky.
“It’s so beautiful up here,” I say, looking up at him from below. He looks
down at me, his eyes glassy and red. “Bishop,” I whisper, my hand on his
cheek. “What is it?”
He clears his throat, and when he opens his mouth, the next words he
mutters steal a part of my soul. “She was raped because of me. I thought she
cheated on me, but it was set up that way by our enemies. I thought she
cheated. She didn’t. She was raped.”
I hold my breath, the pain vibrating in my chest long since he said the last
word.
“But I was fucking tired. She still ran from me. Ran fucking far. She
always runs. She doesn’t trust me. Trust that I’d keep her safe, and I don’t
blame her.”
My nose snuffs.
He continues. “Because I failed her. I let them get to her, so now I’m
letting her go. And that’s it. That’s the most I’ve ever told anyone, by the
way.”
“Bishop,” I breathe. “Look at me.”
He does, his eyes meeting mine like best friends that have been separated
for a lifetime. “That is not your fault, and it is not hers either. You can’t let
the forces that are fighting against you both win.”
He smiles, but it’s not the one I’m used to. It’s fake. “I have to, because I
won’t let this world touch her again. I know where she is. I know she’s safe.”
I pause. “You know where she is?”
He nods. “Yeah. She fucking knows I’d know where she is. This is the
game we’re both playing. She knows I know where she is and could grab her
whenever I wanted, and I know she knows where I am whenever she wants to
bring her ass home.”
“You’d take her back?” I need to be reassured.
He stares down at me and smiles a genuine one this time. “Every fucking
time.”

After Bishop showed me the room I would be staying in, I quickly ran a
brush through my hair and slid into the slippers I brought with me. I think
Brantley said the party would start tomorrow night, and he said fifty people
would be coming. Fifty. Where would they all sleep?
I’m jogging down the stairs while wrapping my hair into a high bun when
Tillie calls me into the kitchen.
“There you are. Bailey just got here. You’ll love her.” She pulls out a few
bottles of wine and tumblers. “Come. We’re all outside.”
I don’t know who Bailey is or who is all outside, but I follow behind her
out onto the back patio. Fairy lights light up the paneling of the architecture,
flames from the candles flickering in the center of the large round table.
There’s a girl sitting on the other side, beside Brantley, with another girl next
to her.
 Out of instinct, I seek out Bishop. My hands start to sweat, sending
tingles down to my feet. My knees wobble from nerves and that same heavy
boulder is back in my belly. I silently start taking deep breaths, and just as
I’m about to spin around and go back inside, fingers connect with mine,
tugging me down onto the chair in front of me.
“Saint, this is Bailey, Brantley’s little cousin, and the girl next to her is
—” Bishop tilts his head. “Don’t fucking know and don’t fucking care.” He
looks back at Bailey. “This is Saint.”
Bailey’s eyes come to mine with interest, but not enough to hold her
attention. She’s already back on Bishop.
Bishop continues, “My sister, Tillie’s sister, and let’s just say her last
name is Vitiosis, but she’s not blood, you feel me?”
Bailey spins herself around to face Brantley. “What’d you do?”
He flips her off. “Fuck off, Bailey.”
She ignores him. “What did he do?”
“Oh, you know,” Tillie interrupts, popping a grape into her mouth while
taking a seat on Nate’s lap. “Stole a baby, raised her in his big, scary castle,
locked her away from humanity, never let her out and—am I missing
something? Oh yeah, kept it a big fat secret from everyone.”
That was an alarmingly accurate description of everything. Though from
the outside looking in, I’ve come to realize it may look… weird to them. To
me, it was everything but that. They talk about it as if it’s a bad thing, when
it’s not. I never wanted for anything, never went hungry, always knew I had a
home.
Bailey gasps, her hand covering her small, pouty mouth. Her wrists are
filled with leather bands, her dark hair sleek and shiny, falling around her
collarbone. “Cuz, why are you the way you are?”
He ignores her.
I turn to face Bishop, disinterested in being the topic of conversation. Can
I meet everyone so that they can all get it out of the way, stare at me weirdly,
and gasp in shock together? I’m tired. “I think I need wine.”
Bishop reaches over the table, pouring bubbles into a small tumbler. He
slides it across the table. “You’ll be fine.” Bishop shuffles his chair up
farther, protectively, leaving me slightly behind him. My eyes find Brantley
as I tilt the glass up to my mouth, swallowing the sweet tang of champagne.
“You’re getting the taste of that mommy juice, Sainty…” Eli murmurs
from beside me, kicking his leg out while running his index finger over his
upper lip. Eli reminds me of the character Stiles on Teen Wolf. So pretty and
cute. “Mmmm, I’d be careful how those eyes look at me.”
I snap out of what I was thinking, straightening my back. In a matter of
days, I’ve been thrown from one extreme to another. I’ve gone from not
seeing anyone, to conversing with more than a couple people, to being
around some of the most interesting characters I’ve ever seen.
“I just think it tastes nice,” I say, while carefully placing the glass back
onto the tabletop. My muscles begin to ache, my eyes heavy. Fatigue from
the trip or all of the thinking that has been going on in regards to Brantley
and me, and Bishop and me, and Tillie and me, taking its toll.
My eyes land on Brantley, but I lean into Bishop. “I’m going to bed.”
Bishop nods, kissing me on the cheek while chuckling through a whisper.
“Don’t forget about tomorrow…”
I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s a weak effort.

I close the door behind me and take in the bedroom that Brantley and I are
sharing. It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before; it has happened
numerous times, but never have we ever kissed or had oral sex before we’ve
had to share a bed. So now, I have to fight this niggling anxiety that’s
creeping up my spine.
Is he mad that I kissed him? Does he regret going down on me? Brantley
has always been so hard to read, but I’ve always found comfort in the fact I
trusted him. Now I’m not so sure.
The bedroom is nice, not as nice as Bishop’s, but I don’t think any room
in this cabin is supposed to be at the caliber of Bishop’s room, which tells me
this cabin is probably part of his family tree. There’s a large king-size bed in
the center of the room, with two large bay windows on either side, looking
over both sides of the house. Behind the bed is a bathroom with a claw-foot
tub and timber counters. I flick the light on in the closet and see that my bags
are in there, with a costume hanging on a hanger. I reach for the note that’s
pinned to it, opening it onto the words. Wear this tomorrow night. Love,
Tills. Unzipping the bag, my fingers touch the fabric. I go back to the letter.
Hades and Kore.
“What’d she pick?” His voice interrupts my thoughts and I have to count
to ten to calm the nerves in my belly.
I tilt my head over my shoulder, smiling from behind it. “Kore.”
 Brantley chuckles, stepping farther into the closet, making it smaller.
“Gotta admit the uncanny similarities between the four of us.”
I turn, and it’s not until I’m fully facing him I realize just how close he is
to me. Intentional? I’m not sure. “How so?” I’m familiar with the history and
Greek mythology of Persephone and Hades, but I want to know how he
interprets it.
“Let me see…” He comes closer, and I find myself stepping backward
until my back collides with something hard. “You both have a fond love for
flowers and plants.” His hand comes up to rest against whatever it is my back
is leaning on. He’s closer. So much closer. “I basically did carry you off to
the pits of Hell where you could reign, and lastly…” Fingers glide over mine
and sparks fly between us. “Hector could basically pass as Zeus.”
“Hmmm,” I murmur absently, unsure how I take his very quick and brief
description of the situation. I chose the name Kore because Brantley chose
Hades. I initially wanted Persephone, but Brantley said it was too long, so we
went for her other name. “So this was your plan all along?”
His dark eyes search mine. Eyes so blue they could pass as white against
eyes so dark they could mirror Hell. “Which part?” His mouth moves over
the words and my breath halts. My stomach squeezes and twists into knots as
I memorize every dip of the fine lines that curve his lips. So sharp and
precise, like the words that come out of them. My eyes cross and my brain
fogs from looking at the same spot for too long. His finger presses against the
bottom of my chin, tilting my head up. My eyes collide with his, and it’s as
though everything around us ceases to exist. The clothes hanging in the closet
dissipate, and all that’s left standing in this room is him and me.
“Stop looking at me like that.” His lashes fan over his high cheekbones as
his pupils focus and unfocus on my lips.
“Like what?” I whisper, watching his. His jaw distracts me momentarily,
carved from stone and created for a statue that’s to never perish.
“Like you’re dumb enough to spread your legs and let me do every
wicked thing I’ve ever wanted to do to you.”
My eyes snap back up to his, and I rest my head back against the wall.
“Maybe I am.”
His thumb presses against my bottom lip. “No. You’re not. You know
how I know?” The tip of it slips between my lips and I flick my tongue over
the cushion.
His lips rise as he bares his teeth, a feral hiss escaping. It shouldn’t be
attractive, something so animalistic and violent, but I find myself drawn to
him. Every single bit of me is drawn to him, needing his touch like a child
needs its father.
“How, Brantley? How do you know?”
His fingers curl around the back of my neck as he forces my face up to
his. I’m on my tippy toes now. No matter how rough he is with me, I feel
safe. He’s cruel and ruthless, but it’s his restful touches that gain my trust.
His head dips down, his lips grazing mine. “Because it’s why I tolerate you.”
Then he releases me, turning and walking back into the bedroom. Suddenly
air is back in my lungs and the clothes are on the hangers and there’s music
playing loudly from somewhere outside. I notice everything in full force as if
whatever just happened between us was as ferocious as Brantley. He doesn’t
just command energy, he takes it, whether it’s for him to take or not.
My shoulders sag in defeat as I slide out a clean set of pajamas—a white
camisole and tie-dyed shorts, before padding my way into the room we’re
sharing. Brantley’s kicking off his boots and lying back on the bed by the
time I make it from point A to point B, aka the bathroom. With no doors or
curtains for privacy and nothing but the freestanding wall that’s dividing the
space in the bedroom and the bathroom, I undress, letting my clothes pool
around my feet. He must have hit the lights down in the room because the
ambiance of it is dim, with the glass wall overlooking the forest outside. I
slide into the scalding hot shower and rub the soap suds over my skin,
cranking my neck while looking up at the stars through the skylight glass.
Tears prick the corner of my eyes and I don’t know why. My heart is heavy
as I finish up in the shower, wrapping a towel around my body. I step out
when I see a dark shadow zip past the entry. I step forward, leaning around
the corner to see who it was when I see Brantley’s leg on the bed.
Weird.
Quickly dressing and making my way to my side of the bed, I pull the
covers back while Brantley looks up at me from his phone. His chest is bare,
exposing the tattoo over his left pec, his hair a messy pile on the top of his
head.
“What?” His tone is less patient, and I already know he’s in a foul mood.
I pick up my brush from the bedside table and run it through my hair.
“Tell me about the first girl you had sex with.”
His mouth opens, and then closes, and then opens. “No.” Then he goes
back to his phone.
 I slide into the cool sheets, relishing in how they feel against my smooth,
exposed skin. Turning on my side to face him, I tuck my hands under my
cheek. “What does it feel like?” I know he’s already in a grumpy mood, but
that literally has never bothered me.
His eyes focus in front of him, as if he’s taking a few seconds to collect
himself, before they collide with me. “What the fuck do you mean? Go to
sleep.”
“I mean, what does it feel like?” I run my tongue over my lip.
“It’s fucking painful for you, so don’t get any ideas. Go to sleep.”
“Really?” I ignore his commands to sleep. “Well.” I yawn, closing my
eyes. “I, for one, can’t wait to see what all the hype is abou—”
The words barely leave me before fingers are around my cheeks,
squeezing so hard my lips pucker. Slowly, I peel my eyes back open lazily,
and if I could smile, I would. I’m faced head-on with wrath. Eyes wild, lips
snarled, and veins pulsing through the soft flesh of his neck.
“First of all, don’t fucking play with me, because you will always lose,
and secondly, no one, and I mean no one, will ever come close enough to be
able to fuck you.”
He releases my cheeks, shoving my head back into the pillow roughly.
“Wrong,” I say, suddenly that same anger is bubbling below the surface
of my skin. The lighting in the room is the same, so low it’s almost a dark
burgundy. “You are always that close.”
Silence, his eyes still on mine, and just when I think he’s going to snap at
me again, he throws his head back and laughs so hard his hand has to go to
his belly. “Go to fucking sleep, Dea. I’m not fucking you.”
I absently hear my phone vibrate on the bedside table but ignore it. I
know I shouldn’t look too much into his words, but I can’t help it. They’ve
already sunken into the areas of my brain that won’t let anything go and are
staying there.
“Eli would…” I whisper, rolling onto my back. I don’t even catch the
moment it happens, but instantly his body is covering mine, the heaviness of
it pressing me into the mattress, his hand covering my mouth with one leg
between mine.
“Say it one more time.” His voice is low, dropping to a level I’ve never
heard. “Go on, do it.” He releases my mouth, his lips grazing mine. “I fucking
dare you.”
I bore my eyes into his, the will to not back down too strong to submit
right now, and with the rejection still an open wound, I feel like being
brutally honest. Not to shock him, or because I’m being reckless, but because
it’s the truth. I know it, he knows it, Eli knows it. Though I know it’s not
something I should be proud of, since I get the feeling it wouldn’t take much
to have Eli jump into bed with you, but I say it anyway, because again, it’s
the truth.
“Eli. Would. Fuck. Me.”
Before I can even cringe at the crass word leaving my mouth, his teeth
have sunk into the side of my neck and I yelp in pain, my fingernails sinking
into his back.
“Brantley!” I meant to yell at him, but it leaves my mouth confused.
My eyes close and I move my other leg. I almost think he’s going to fight
it, but he doesn’t, sliding his leg over mine so both of them are between my
thighs. I wrap them around his waist, the pain in my neck long since being
replaced by his tongue circling slowly. He brings his head up, his nose
against mine. I catch the red smudge on his upper lip, but I don’t think
anything of it.
“You’re a fucking pain in my ass,” he growls, and before he can slide off
me again and go back to being the corpse he is ninety-nine percent of the
time, I lean up, wrap my arms around the back of his neck, and press my lips
against his.
His body stiffens, but I don’t release. It’s not until I carefully run the tip
of my tongue across the slit between his lips that he snaps, opening and
kissing me back. His tongue is against mine, sliding together as our lips move
in perfect rhythm, as if they’ve done this before. As if they’ve been starved of
each other for centuries and are finally reunited. He swells between my thighs
and my hips tilt, a thick throb penetrating all of the sensitive areas that are
already well acquainted with what he can do.
A soft grumble vibrates off his lips, but I swallow the sounds. I fight with
his protesting and push him further toward the edge. I want him to let go.
Need him to.
Our kiss doesn’t stop. It has to be the longest ever recorded. The slow
strokes sensual enough to charge my heart in my chest but filled with enough
passion to drown me. Finally, he pulls back, resting his forehead on mine
while he latches his hands around my wrists and pins them above my head.
He rolls his hips into me. “Saint.”
My name. The name he chose before I even knew how to speak, he spoke
before I knew. It conjures every bit of my untouched soul, and I know I
would do anything he asks. He could use my submission as a whip and beat
me senseless.
My eyes roll to the back of my head, my nails sliding down his back, over
all of his muscles.
“You don’t want this.”
“Brantley…” I reach up and kiss him softly. Just once. Not deeply and
with no tongue, just a simple kiss. I rest back against my pillow and burn my
eyes into his. “I’m seventeen. Old enough to know what I want right now. I
do not want this to be with anyone else.”
His lips do a half-smile, displaying a sliver of his white teeth. “But that’s
just the thing.” His head dips as he drags his teeth over my bottom lip before
coming back up to glare down at me. “There will never be anyone else.”
I ignore what those words mean. I’m a burden to him on the best of days,
I’m sure he’s just saying that because he has to. Because he has always
needed to reassure me that I have someone, since he knows I’ve always had
no one.
“I’m okay with that…” I swallow past the excitement that’s climbing up
my throat. “If you are.”
His mouth is back on my neck, his tongue running over it while he sinks
his teeth back into where it throbs. His other hand comes to my leg, spreading
it wider as his head dips lower, his tongue following his lead. My shorts and
cami are torn off, and I’m lying on the bed naked, as he leans on one elbow,
his muscles flexing to hold his weight.
He looks up at me from beneath his featherlike lashes, his swollen lips
curving. “No fucking take-backs.”
I spread my legs farther, accentuating my decision. “Deal.”
His head disappears beneath the bedding and warmth covers me between
my legs. I hold my breath, but as soon as his tongue circles my clit, my
fingers fly to his hair and my knees widen. His hand rests on my belly,
pressing me into the bed as he slows his pace. Every flick pushes me closer to
the edge. When he wraps his fingers around my upper thighs and pulls me
farther into his mouth, my core explodes and my mind spins from the
throbbing that consumes me. Stars explode, little colored dots dancing behind
the back of my eyes. My orgasm pulses in waves, pushing me closer and
closer to the shoreline, but instead of running up to the sand, I swim back out
to the ocean, fishing for my next pull. His lips detach from me and starting
from my hip, he begins a torturous pattern of lick, suck, and kiss. His teeth
sink into my bone and I yelp, but grind my hips farther against him, needing
more. I’ve always known how to give myself an orgasm, I think I learned at a
young age. But what he does is different. Having his touch on me, so
possessive and controlling, yet skilled and demanding, is enough to shove my
frail body over the edge all over again.
He nibbles on my belly, before his lips are locked around my nipple,
sucking on it roughly and lighting a fire that rages straight to my clit. Biting
down on my small nub, he sucks it between his teeth before detaching and
leaning on one arm, staring down at me. His lips are even more swollen now.
“You still want to do this?” His mouth turns up into a curve, his eyes with
more life inside of them than I have ever seen before.
“Yes? Did you think if you got me off that I wouldn’t?”
He chuckles, running the tip of his finger over the ache on my neck. “I’m
going to hurt you.” His eyes come up to mine, his pupils dilating. “And I’m
going to like it.”
I hook my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to my
face. “Then hurt me.”
He lowers his mouth onto mine and I open, allowing his tongue to slide
between my lips. The faint taste of my release on the tip of his tongue. He
moves over me, unbuckling his jeans and tugging them off. His knees sink
into the mattress as he looks down, tilting his head. His eyes fall to my
breasts, and then trail down my stomach and to everything else in between.
His hand disappears inside his boxers, and for a brief second, I’m speechless.
This beautifully haunted man is going to actually have sex with me. I don’t
know of his reputation, so I don’t know if this is a new thing for him or if he
beds girls often, but it doesn’t matter because he’s in bed with me.
“Eyes on me,” he demands, and instantly I peer up at him. “Don’t look
down until after. You hear?”
Excitement tingles in my belly, but then finds its friend, anxiety. Was that
a threat?
I shuffle beneath him while nodding. “Okay.”
Eleven piercings. I pause.
He lowers himself down on top of me, his fingers wrapping around my
chin to tilt my face to his. “This isn’t a promise. I don’t do any fucking girl
drama, nor am I interested in having a girlfriend. You sure you still want my
dick inside you?”
 I tilt my hips up until I feel the tip of his smooth cock caress my slick
entrance. “I’m sure.”
He lowers his mouth to mine. “Kiss me. It’ll distract you from the pain.
Tear my fucking back up if you need, but you’ll be licking those wounds
once you’re done.” His tongue slides over my lower lip and I’m instantly lost
in the haze of our kiss again. Our tongues intertwining together in a fury of
chaos, as I grind against him.
He rubs the tip over my slit while breathing out a growl. I feel the faint
coolness of a metal ball, but ignore it, my panting and kiss becoming more
and more demanding as I find myself reaching for that climb. My legs widen,
and my kiss slows. I’m just about to tilt my hips again when he pushes inside
of me with force.
My teeth sink into the cushion of his bottom lip as I cry out in pain, my
nails clawing at his back. He pushes one last time with more power than
before until the pressure I’m feeling explodes with a deep click as his pelvis
presses against my clit. Everything is on fire, the burning almost unbearable.
He stops the kiss, looking down at me. “Tell me when you’re good to
go.”
Tears prick the corner of my eyes. Everything stings. It is not like the
movies at all. I’m filled to the hilt, while everything south manages to scream
in pain. It feels like he murdered my pussy. Literally. The tears don’t fall,
because as soon as I feel my body release the pain, I rub my clit against him
again. An inner battle begins inside of me. The fight for pleasure and the
reality of pain, but when they mix together…
A moan slips from my mouth as I grind against him again, the burning
slowly merging into a climb I’ve come to love. My clit throbs with hunger,
chasing the thrill of the big swoop from my arousal. Need. Want.
“Fuck,” he growls. “Fuck. I’m trying really hard not to lose my shit and
tear you apart. Gonna need your help. You wanna pull out for me?”
I shake my head. “No. You do it.”
He bites on my jawline while slowly withdrawing his cock from my
tightness.
“Fuck!” I scream so loud I’m surprised no one rushes into the room.
It’s like being cut open and then dousing the wound with alcohol. The
pain is agonizing, but the pleasure once again washes in. It’s confusing. But I
like it. He slams into me again, and this time the scream dissolves and turns
more into a moan. The pain is still simmering on the surface, but the pleasure
is too strong. He’s too good. Too right. He pushes in and pulls out, his teeth
sinking into my neck, erupting sharp stings everywhere. His fingers dig into
my thighs when the second orgasm tears out of me. This one was a little
messier than the first. Sweat is blistering off my body, my hair matted to my
cheeks. He continues to grind inside of me until he finds a speed that we both
move to.
“Fuck.” His lips come to mine, his tongue on the tip. “Taste that?”
I do. My lips move faster as I suck his tongue into my mouth.
“Hungry bitch.” He pulls out before I can catch my third orgasm, his head
disappearing and his teeth finding my sternum. He trails down and down…
when he reaches my clit, he sucks it back into his mouth.
“Oh shit!” My back arches off the bed with my hands on my breasts.
He sucks, licks, and drinks up all of my moans, swallowing my pleasure
like it’s a shot of whiskey. Moving lower, my fingers find his hair. I feel the
slither of his tongue slip over my inner thigh, before landing back on my clit.
“Brantley,” I whimper. “No.”
“Shut up. Don’t tell me no.” Finally, he moves back up my body, and
when he’s finally above me, he laughs, his fangs sticking out the sides with
fresh blood around his lips. “What’s the matter, baby?” His face drops closer
to mine. “Scared?”
My mouth closes.
He lowers his to mine while driving his cock back inside of me. I wince
from the pain, but I’m too distracted with the intense energy he’s projecting
onto me to really care right now.
He licks his lips. “Kiss me.” He thrusts inside of me slowly, rubbing my
clit with his pelvic bone. I feel the bumps of metal inside of me now, like the
sensitivity is setting in.
Piercings! Oh my God. I gave my virginity to the Devil.
“I—” His lips hover over mine, my thighs clenching together as my eyes
roll to the back of my head when I catch the next build. I lean up and kiss
him. The pungent taste of metal coats my mouth, but I don’t let go because
my body is rolling, caught in a riptide of pleasure that doesn’t want to release
me. I feel my soul leave my body when my legs shake and soft cries escape
from my mouth and enter his.
He hisses, biting down on my lip as his hand comes to my throat. “Next
time I fuck you. It won’t be like this.” He sucks my lip into his mouth,
groaning through his release. “It’ll be so much fucking worse.” Then he
collapses on top of me, his cock throbbing, expanding my walls and filling
me with hot liquid.
I bury my nose in his hair and rest my eyes for a second, but before I
know it, everything goes black.

I wake, my limbs aching and my eyes peeling open. Lifting the sheet, I peek
underneath to see the blood smudges between my legs. My cheeks flush. Oh
shit. I bite on my lower lip to stop from smiling.
I won.
I didn’t even have to do what Bishop said I should do; I just had to tease
him with something as immature as saying someone else would have sex
with me. I shift my legs to swing over the edge of the bed when I wince, the
pain rocking my body so hard I almost spin out.
There’s a knock on the door before it’s being pushed open and Tillie’s
pink hair is taking up the space. I can’t tell how far along she is anymore,
because her bump is so small and cute.
“Jesus…” Her face pales as she shuts the door and makes her way to the
bed. “What did he do to you!”
“What?” I ask, pushing up from the bed but yelping when the pain
vibrates through me even worse than before. It’s not just between my legs
now, it’s everywhere.
“I’ll run you a bath…” Tillie ducks behind the wall before I hear the rush
of water spraying into the tub. “People will start coming in today, and I need
to prepare you for tonight.”
“What’s happening?” I ask, finally pushing through the pain and standing
on my feet. I open the bedside drawer and find painkillers, popping them out
of the foil and throwing the others back, while clutching the debased sheet
around my body.
I lean against the wall in the bathroom, Tillie’s back turned to me. She’s
pouring salts and scents into the tub that fill the room with sweet hints of
lavender and playful notes of bubble gum. “I don’t know, that’s the problem.
Something is happening, I can feel it in my bones. They only ever bring us
out here when something is about to happen that they don’t want gaining
attention.”
 Sighing, I make my way to the edge of the tub and she looks up at me
from the other side.
“You slept with him?”
I nod. “I did.”
She groans, turning the faucet off and swirling the bubbles around in the
bath. “Your first time should not have involved all those piercings.” Then her
eyes drop to my neck. “Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me. He’s also a vampire…”
She rolls her eyes, flicking her fingers down my body. “Hop in. I’ll turn
around.”
I drop the sheet before she turns, unfazed by my nudity. Dipping my toes
into the warm water, I sigh as my muscles begin to relax. “I don’t have any
issues being naked around people.”
Tillie snorts, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. “If I didn’t find
you so adorable right now, I’d be swearing about all of the bruises, bite
marks, and finger marks around your neck and body.”
I ignore her, taking slow, deep breaths as I leisurely slip beneath the
water.
I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from screaming when the
water touches my every wound, erupting an entire band of stinging.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I slowly lean back against the tub and blow out a
steady breath as the stinging starts to dissipate and transform into relief. “It’s
okay,” I whisper, reaching for the soap. Tillie comes in behind me and scoots
me down, lifting a random cup and pouring it over my hair.
“You liked it?” she asks, but it’s not in a way that I feel judged, more
making sure that it was consensual.
I did. I liked it a lot. There was something about him tasting me
everywhere. It did things to me that it probably shouldn’t. Bad things. My
cheeks flush. “I really did.”
Tillie giggles. “I have heard stories about him. You know, from the two
girls I know he has been with, but I never thought they were true. I always
thought they were exaggerating, because really? Is that even… clean?”
Other girls that he has been with. The words cling to me like a bad smell,
and no amount of Tom Ford can mask it. As though a storm comes in over a
sunny day, my mood instantly shifts.
“What’s happening tonight?” I ask, in hopes to distract myself. I think I
might have an underlying anger problem. Maybe. I’m not sure.
Tillie rubs shampoo into my scalp and I close my eyes as a cotton candy
scent fills my nostrils. “Something not good. The Kings have been up to
something behind the scenes, something big, and Nate is doing everything to
leave me out of it.”
“Why would he leave you out of it?” I ask, confused. “He always seems
to want to include you in everything.”
“Mmmm, that was before I got pregnant. Now, since we lost Micaela,
he’s been over-the-top. He will not tell me anything that he thinks will stress
me.”
“Will you tell me about her one day? Micaela?” I ask gently, scrubbing
my arm with a loofah. She has never mentioned Micaela before, but I had
heard Brantley talk about the child they lost, though I don’t know the details.
“One day,” Tillie promises. “Just not right now.”
I continue to wash while changing the subject. “And you think they’re
doing something tonight?” I ask, rinsing my hair out. Tillie moves across the
room to grab a towel and stretches it wide. I stand, wrap it around my body
and reach into the bath to drain the water.
“Yes. I don’t know what. The caterers and designers are already setting
everything up down there.”
I tuck my towel between my breasts and swipe the fog off the mirror,
reaching for my toothbrush in my makeup pouch. The more I learn about The
Elite Kings, the scarier they sound. I scrub my teeth and put my brush back,
turning to face her. “Do we have any other siblings?”
Tillie’s face turns pale. “None worth mentioning.”

I threw on skinny jeans, a white knitted cardi that rides around my belly, and
thigh-high black boots. Tillie left to go find Nate, so I spent the rest of the
time cleaning up the sheets, changing them, and getting ready for the day. I
kept my makeup minimal because I know I’ll be going all out tonight,
settling on no foundation and just a brush of mascara. Picking up my phone, I
see a new text message. It must have been the message I got last night.
?: I’ll be the one in black.
I fire off a text back.
Saint: Are you going to tell me who this is?
Seconds pass until another comes through.
?: Isn’t it more fun this way?
Saint: Fun for whom?
 ?: … all for you.
I leave it. Opening up Instagram and checking my feed, I follow back
Bishop, Tillie, and Eli, ignoring the fact Brantley hasn’t followed me yet
even though he knows I’m on here. Which while we’re here…. my fingers
move to the search bar before I can stop myself and I type in his name.
@brantleyvitiosis
2.2M Followers Following 10
2,378 posts
I sink into the mattress, clicking on his most recent photo. It’s Kore and
Hades, sitting on the edge of my bed. He must have taken it while he was in
my room. No caption. Move to the next photo. It’s him, Nate, Bishop, Eli,
and Cash. They’re all shirtless, with Eli doing a backflip in the middle,
snapped just in time. I scroll past the next photos—no girls—and find myself
on one that looks to be taken in an ancient building. There’s artwork in gold,
brown, and pastels painted over the walls and ceiling. I’m entranced in the
extravagant art that’s delicately brushed over the inside of this room. An
angel, reaching for the heavens, but a god refusing to take him back.
No caption.
I instantly pull up Safari on my phone, and type in the images on the
photo. Italy, Rome, Paris. All places in Europe. I click on Roman architecture
and my heart stops.
He was in Rome? Why…
The style is almost identical.
Pushing my phone back into my pocket, I make my way out of the room
and down the hall to the stairs. I haven’t seen Brantley all morning, and I’m
beginning to think it’s on purpose. Once I hit the kitchen, Bailey, her friend,
and Tillie are at the table talking.
“Hey!” Bailey’s blue eyes light up when they land on me. “I’m sorry we
didn’t get to chat last night. I’m Bailey Vitiosis.”
I pull out the chair beside Tillie. “I didn’t know Brantley had any family.
Nice to meet you.”
She flicks her wrist. “Well, he has my mom, who is technically not his
relation. She was married to my dad who was Lucan’s first cousin.”
“And then Bailey was a Swan, so she was caged up and—”
Bailey glares at Tillie.
“What, bitch?” Tillie raises a brow. “Don’t hide your past.”
Bailey’s friend rubs her temples. “I drank way too much last night.” She
ignores her friend as her eyes fall to my neck. “Ah, so it’s like that, that,
between you two?”
My hand is on the bite mark protectively. “No?” I don’t know what to say
and I really wish she would stop prying. I’m comfortable with Bishop and
Tillie when discussing private details about Brantley, not his cousin.
I watch as men carry heavy items from the driveway to the back of the
house, where a white tent is already set up.
“Did I just see a chandelier?” I ask, looking back at Tillie.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised. The Fathers are coming tonight, too,
so they will go all out.”
Bailey and her friend disappear upstairs, and in the back of my mind, I
know I’ve been rude to her, but I don’t mean to. I just don’t know her.
“Where are they all?” I ask, stealing a piece of Tillie’s toast.
She pushes her plate away. “Hector wanted to talk with them.”
I clear my throat, candidly shrugging. “Have you given my number out to
anyone?”
She brushes me off, shaking her head. “No. Why?”
I smile. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” I continue chewing the crispy bread,
swallowing and deciding I’ve had enough after three bites. My stomach
rumbles with hunger, but my appetite is suppressed from anxiety. I haven’t
spoken to Brantley since last night and someone is texting me who I don’t
know, who will also be here tonight. Chills snap over my spine, spreading
over my lower back and raising goosebumps over my skin until I shiver.
“You look cute in that outfit.” Tillie waves up and down my body with
half a pancake.
“Shit.” I stand from my chair. “Be right back.” I take my phone out of my
pocket while turning a corner outside on the patio. I drop down onto a swing
seat, scrolling over Madison’s name. It’s safe here because I can see when
cars come down the driveway. I hit dial and hold my breath.

I was running again. Ran so fast. This time the cocaine was out of my
system and the alcohol had long since burned into sweat. I ran through the
forest, jumping logs and dodging trees. I needed to get out of here. Run.
Away. My shoes were slipping off my feet, my shirt torn with blood soaked
into the material, but all I wanted to do was run.
I screamed when someone jumped from the tree branch in front of me, his
white skull makeup clear against the full moon. “Blessed be the EKC.”
Bang! A shot rang out.
Brantley
There are a lot of things that people know, or assume they know about The
Elite Kings, and then there are the things that truly never leave the covenant.
Things like Hector having enough power to initiate the damn Purge if he
wanted. He doesn’t, but he has come close. Many fucking times. When he’s
trigger-happy, we need to clean house and make sure he doesn’t. Which is
ironic because it’s the exact reason why he hasn’t handed the gavel over to
Bishop yet, because he thinks Bishop is volatile. Which he is.
I kick my leg up against the conference table. The fucking third meeting
he has called in the past three days.
“These people are dangerous. I’ve never said that before, but these ones
are.”
“What makes them so dangerous?” I challenge, clenching my jaw.
I’ve known that Hector was her dad since the second she came into my
house. The anger I feel inside of me is aimed at him for abandoning her. In
hindsight, I get it. At the time, no Swans could exist. But now, he still hasn’t
asked me about her, and that pisses me right the fuck off. I slam down any
and all thoughts about Saint because the mere mention of her has my fingers
flexing and my teeth throbbing to sink back into her soft flesh. Fuck. My
cock swells against the zipper of my jeans and I shuffle, turning to the side to
get comfortable. She took it better than I would have ever imagined. Not just
the sex, but the blood play. I had every intention of not fucking her again, but
now she has my interest. As if she fucking lost it all those years ago. I’m
invested in her now on a sexual level, though. I won’t lie, there have been
times where I’d think about those innocent fucking eyes looking up at me
with my fist around my cock, but they never left my fantasy. Never. There
was another time when I was balls deep in a woman three times my age,
fucking her over her husband’s workbench in their garage when I thought
about Saint’s little body beneath me, too. Then I felt even more like a fucking
creeper for thinking that, and carried on pounding into Mrs. fucking
Robinson.
“The fact that they are our oldest allies. They’ve studied how we work,
what we do. We can’t underestimate them.”
“Maybe,” Nate says, adding in. “But they don’t have what we have, and
that’s money and power.”
“Sometimes you don’t need those two things to get what you need done.”
Hector’s eyes come to mine. “Sometimes all you need is the burn to destroy
something.”
“That bad, huh?” Eli asks, lighting a cigarette and blowing out smoke.
We arrived at the EKC headquarters this morning, which is around a two-
hour drive from the cabin. It’s right smack in the middle of New York City.
Bishop has been living in the penthouse since Madison left. The King Hotel.
Just one of the many real estate dippings we all have. I prefer mine in
Europe.
“And how is Perdita?” I ask the question that no one seems to care about.
Especially Nate.
Raguel, Eli’s dad, rests his elbows on his knees, where he’s seated on the
ledge of the window. “It’s fine. The Peacemaker is doing his stage job and
the little Adamantem seems to be natural with leading, though she’s
becoming a little distracted. They’ve had a few run-ins with a couple of The
Lost Boys who are not warming up to her particular style of sovereignty, but
I’m sure it will work out.”
“Good,” I say, bringing my eyes to Hector. “I don’t want to put another
Stuprum on that island, if you feel me.”
Hector’s eyes bore into mine. I read the questions I know he wants to ask.
“She’s a Hayes before she’s a Vitiosis or a Stuprum.”
 “Eh, wrong,” I say, stretching my leg out in front of me. Bishop kicks my
foot in an attempt to shut me up, but it doesn’t work. “She’s a Vitiosis before
she’s anything else.”
“A Hayes by blood,” Hector adds, and I can’t help it.
The corner of my mouth curves, flashing my straight teeth. “Sure about
that?” He won’t catch my meaning because he doesn’t know me, but I don’t
give a fuck.
“You fucked her?” Bishop jumps up from his chair, but my eyes are still
on Hector. Bishop, on the other hand, knows me. “Fucker!” Bishop kicks my
leg, and I finally release the hold I have on Hector and bring them to my
annoying best friend.
“What gave it away…”
Nate chuckles. “Oh fuck…”
Raguel sighs.
I smirk up at Bishop. “B, I got your back, but if you don’t back the fuck
up from Saint, then we’re going to have problems. You are in her life because
I allowed it. She has been under my protection since she was two years old. I
ain’t gonna hurt her. I will kill a motherfucker who comes near her first.”
Bishop leans down, his hands on either side of my chair and his snarl so
far deep on his mouth that if I wasn’t me, I’d probably be shaking in my
boots. Most men would piss their pants at how he’s glaring at me, but I
remain passive. Not-fucking-bothered.
I flick my tongue at him. “Wanna kiss me? That why you’re so close?”
Bishop’s jaw clenches, and I’m distracted when I notice his eyes sunken
around the edges. It snaps me back to the present, bringing my mind back to
an even level. He’s always on edge for a reason, and it ain’t my job as a best
friend to make more issues for him, and aside from that, I am glad he has
taken to Saint the way he has. This way we can share the load. Distribute it
evenly.
“Fuck.” I shake my head, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands.
“Go sit down, B.” His head hangs between his shoulders in defeat, before he
pushes away and falls back onto his chair, but not before swiping the bottle of
whiskey on the office table and flicking off the lid. He brings it to his mouth,
and I watch as every single person in the room glares at him with worried
eyes.
I reach over and confiscate the bottle out of his grip, just to save the
lecture from Hector. “Why did you call this meeting?”
 Hector leans back in his chair, shaking his head at his son. “I know you’re
all busy tonight and I personally can’t wait to see what you have planned, but
you need to go track for a couple hours. I have two—” Hector pauses, his
eyes back on Bishop. “Son, I need your full attention.”
Bishop waves his hand. “You got it. I know my priorities. So a couple
people might die through my transition, it doesn’t matter.”
“Jesus fuck. Someone call Madison already…” Hunter grumbles under
his breath. I think we’re all glad Bishop doesn’t hear.
Hector continues. “I need you on track.”
“I just ran one a few nights ago. Again?” I say, though my attention never
wavers from Bishop.
Hector nods. “Two gangs aren’t playing house. You need to reinforce the
rules that were put in place with their leaders. I’ve set up a meet and will send
you the address. They will be armed, and no doubt they’ll be angry. Just be
careful.”
“Always am,” I murmur. I tilt my head at Nate. “Ready?”
Nate smirks at me. “Let’s. Make it. Rain.”

He was older than me. Maybe by five years. He sat at the edge of the bed,
naked. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath. His hair was long, tied
to the nape of his neck. Maybe he was even older than that. I didn’t
understand why he was here. There was never anyone far from my age. I had
to think of Saint. I had to keep her safe. I would do what I had to do.
“Your father sent me,” was all he said, and I knew right then and there
he may have been even older. He turned his head over his shoulder, and I got
the first look at his profile. His brows were blond, his beard too. Early
twenties, maybe? A fucking lot older than I initially thought he was.
I didn’t speak. I never did on these nights. Would prefer Silver back than
this dude. What was he even doing here?
He turned his body around to face me, standing to his full height. His
cock was hard, which was fucking weird. His pubic hair thick and blond, just
like the color of his beard, but there were dark dried spots on his skin.
I gulped.
He gripped his cock. “Anything I say goes, and I say.” He pumps himself.
Anger stirred inside of me as my eyes slammed closed. No. No fucking way
am I doing this. Hard fucking limit.
“No. Fuck no,” I yelled, my eyes popping open. He was closer now, close
enough to see the outline of all of his muscles.
“You don’t have a say.” His hand was on my head, pushing me to the
mattress as his body crawled up mine. He spread my legs wide, holding me
down with so much force I vowed that I would never be weak again.
I fucking hated Lucan Vitiosis. I would kill him one day. That was a
goddamn promise.

Nate’s Lambo was rolling behind me as I dropped it into second gear and
pressed my foot down on the pedal. Smirking up at the rearview mirror, he
flips me off outside his window and floors it right up my ass. I can hear his
fucking laughter from here. His name flashes over my phone and I hit
answer, his cocky fucking voice coming through the speakers.
“This will be our last run together since I’m going to be playing
headmaster.”
“You say that like I don’t do more without you with me…” I swerve into
the second lane, ignoring the honking of horns. It’s fucking New York. Get
the fuck in line if you want to honk at me.
Nate laughs. “Fair point.”
“And besides that, you were never meant to do this with me. This is a
Vitiosis job, not a Malum job.”
“Ahhh, fuck, man. I don’t want to be running that fucking school.”
I pause, tapping my finger over my lip while resting at a normal speed.
“Then don’t. Fucking hire someone to do it and hang behind the scenes. You
know you don’t have to be front line. None of your ancestors did.”
Nate goes silent for a second before finally saying. “Can’t do that. My kid
will be going to that school, and if you and Bishop and Eli and the rest of you
fucks hurry up, so will your kids. I think the reason why the generations have
been let down in the past is because they didn’t have a King in the system
with them.”
“Could be. By the way, fuck you. I’m not having no kids.”
“Oh, so you pulled out last night, huh?”
My mouth slams closed. “Fuck off.”
“Was she into it?”
I know what he’s asking.
“A little bit.” I pass unfamiliar buildings as I take another look at the
GPS, showing that we’re about two miles away from our destination.
“Really?” He sounds surprised. I’m not. “Fuck. Wouldn’t have pegged
her for it.”
I roll into the underground parking garage, hanging up the phone call with
Nate. It’s empty, not a single car in sight. Ripping up the emergency brake, I
whip my steering wheel around until the ass end of my car swings around
before finally idling in the center. Nate stares at me from his car. My phone
rings and I hit the green phone button on my steering wheel, answering
Nate’s call.
“Something’s weird.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, looking around the parking lot. “I know.” Pressing my
foot to the pedal, I rev my engine loudly, clenching the wheel. “You think
this has Hector on it?”
“You and your daddy issues…” Nate chuckles. “Nah. Don’t think so.
He’s been better lately.”
My head flies forward from the sudden impact behind me and a range of
swear words fly out of my mouth. I reach for my AK laid out on the back
seat, kick my door open, and aim it right at the car that flew in behind me.
They’ve already got their guns raised, with the man in the back seat pointing
his gat right at Nate. I raise my arm up and pull the trigger. Blood explodes
from his arm as it flies across the concrete, gat still connected.
I chuckle.
Another shot fires out from the car right when my shoulder explodes in
pain. Pulling my semi up to my shoulder, I lay them all out with a whole ass
round. Glass shatters, bullets spray into the metal of their Rolls Royce, and
air from the tires explode from beneath them.
“Bran!” Nate calls, jogging toward me. “Stop.”
I do, lowering the gun with my teeth clenched. “Search them. Find out
who the fuck they are.”
Nate stares at me, his eyebrows raised. He flicks the piercing in his lip.
“Dawg, you got shot.”
I look down at my shoulder and shrug. “Surface wound.” Making our
way to the beat-up car, I lean into the window and reach into their pockets,
searching for ID. Three men around our age. I don’t have to think too much
into it. I know who they are.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Nate says, dialing a number on his phone.
No doubt our security team to wipe us out of the footage. “But if it was The
Gentlemen, why would they be in a Rolls?”
“Because they’re being smart. They don’t have the riches we do, but we
damn well know they have the brainpower.” My eyes come to his. “And
motive.”
All empty. Not one single license or identification on any of them. I pull
out my phone from my back pocket and take photos of all of them. Gaping
bullet holes disfigure their faces. They’re barely recognizable, but the photos
could still be used.
“What I don’t get is why Hector would send us here to maintain the peace
between two rivals if he knew we were walking into Gentlemen bait.” After
he’s finished on the phone with security, we both make our way back to our
cars.
“You think you should drive with that arm?” Nate asks, eyeballing me.
I flip him off and slide into the driver’s seat, revving the engine and
speeding out the same way we came in. Everyone trusts Hector, but not me.
He’s done too many things in the past for me to trust him. You get one shot
with me, not two or three. I’m less forgiving than my brothers. In fact, I don’t
forgive. You want forgiveness? Take your ass to church. The sooner he’s not
holding that gavel anymore, the better.
Saint
The boys haven’t been back all day, though it’s not quite sundown. I’ve had
three glasses of champagne, thanks to Tillie and Bailey, and the workers who
had spent all day setting everything up are only now leaving. There are a few
people who are already here, even though nothing starts for another three
hours and I’m still panicking about what happened last night.
Swiping the black liner over my upper lid for dark wings, I pause.
“Breathe, Saint. You’re going to be fine.” Tillie pushes her stilettos on,
straightening her clothes.
“She’s right. They’ll be back.” Bailey continues to press heat waves into
her hair, with Natasha, her friend, beside her. They’re both already well and
truly drunk, and I’m almost certain I saw Bailey slide a pill between her lips.
“That’s not it.” I stand, running my hand down my clothes. “Tillie, I can’t
believe you have me wearing this.”
The light pink linen gown hangs off my body loosely, but pinches in
around my small waist. There are two large slits on either side of it, stopping
above my hip bone. Yes, hip bone, as in I can’t wear panties under this thing.
The bust is simple, yet Tillie still managed to find the most revealing outfit
ever. It dips down in a heart, revealing my cleavage. I’ve never thought much
about my boobs. They’re not big, but not small. I can fit them in the palm of
my hand, but this outfit makes them look bigger. The curves swelling against
the fabric. She tried to convince me to temporarily dye my hair pink, I told
her no. The dress was enough. And the shoes. I lean down to tie and strap the
gladiator-style heels up my calves, which wrap and tie all the way to my
knees.
“My cousin is going to kill you,” Bailey singsongs to Tillie while
brushing the wand of her gloss over her lips.
“I have been put on this earth to torment Bran Bran. He will be fine.”
After I’ve finished strapping on my heels, I take one final long look in the
mirror. This is by far the most I’ve ever dressed up. Tillie has the Dia de Los
Muertos makeup, and I said she could do a light shadow of a skull over half
of my face. It’s not as detailed as Tillie’s, but it’s noticeable enough. My hair
is in billowy waves that curve down my bare back and stop at my tailbone,
and my makeup is heavy, with burgundy lips and dark smoky eyes.
I unlock my phone, ignoring Tillie and Bailey chatting and the fact I can
hear music playing outside.
Saint: You never told me your name?
My throat swells. I feel a little guilty for texting the number back. I know
I shouldn’t, but then I don’t know why I shouldn’t text the number back. I
don’t know why I’m guilty or feeling this way.
?: Because I didn’t tell you.
I think over his last text.
Saint: Are you coming tonight?
There’s a long stretch of silence before the text bubbles appear.
?: You’ll have to find out.
I flip open my camera app after that and turn it onto selfie mode.
“Photo?” I ask Tillie and Bailey.
They both throw smiles from behind me as I keep my face neutral. I flip
through the two I took and choose one, opening Instagram and posting
without a caption.
Bailey hands me my wine glass from behind, resting her chin on my
shoulder. “Come downstairs. I have someone you will want to meet.”
We follow Bailey down the hallway and out of mine and Brantley’s
room. Once we hit the kitchen, it becomes obvious just how much they’ve
changed everything in the house to match Halloween. There are orange,
black, and gray lights spread throughout, with a diamond pumpkin-style
chandelier. Bypassing the kitchen, we’re out on the patio area and I instantly
stop in my tracks. A large bell tent is set up on the lawn, where music is
drifting out from. Men and women and people our age flow in and out,
laughing and talking amongst themselves. They may all be dressed different
with a range of costumes, but one thing they all have in common, is they’re
all wearing skull faces.
“Saint! I want you to meet Lena.” Bailey tugs on my hand and I turn to
face who she’s gesturing to at the table.
“Hi,” I say, falling to the chair beside her. “Nice to meet you.”
Lena studies me closely, her eyes roaming up and down my body. I stop
breathing. She has tattoos covering her skin, including a full neck tattoo that
curves around her jawline, a little like Nate’s. She has a nose piercing and a
lip piercing, and she’s dressed a little differently from how the rest of the
girls are. With loose dark jeans, Nike sneakers, a white tee and a dark hoodie.
I almost ask her if that’s what she’s dressed as, but then my mouth closes. I
don’t care.
“Damn. So, who is this? A new Swan?” Lena licks her lips and it’s the
first look I get at her tongue piercing.
Before I can say anything, I hear the loud rumble of cars pull up the
driveway. “Boys are home…” Tillie says, rubbing her belly. She’s dressed as
a pregnant woman, she said, since she isn’t in an actual outfit. Car doors slam
closed.
My heart pounds in my chest.
Footsteps clap against the steps that lead up to the patio, and my
breathing shallows.
I hear the distinct voices before they round the corner. Quickly, I divert
my eyes away from them and bring my wine glass to my lips. My heart is
beating painfully fast, causing sweat to bead on the nape of my neck. We
haven’t seen each other at all since last night and now I feel flustered and
uncomfortable. I keep my eyes locked on the tent to the side of us, so I don’t
have to lose my soul when our gazes lock.
“Jesus Christ, Bran!” Tillie gasps, bursting up from her chair urgently.
Instantly I know something is wrong, so I cave and turn to face him.
His skin is paler than normal, his eyes dark around the edges. His hand
comes to the back of Lena’s neck before she looks up at him and they fist
punch each other.
“Bran, you didn’t tell me you had a new girl in the group.”
 Brantley ignores me, keeping his eyes on Lena and laughs. He laughed.
He didn’t get mad, or correct her. He laughed. Something unfamiliar sets up
shop inside of me and I don’t like it. I feel the bubbling poison of rejection
hot against my skin. Maybe I gave him what he wanted and he’ll go back to
ignoring me again. Isn’t that what I wanted anyway? It was. So why does it
hurt so bad? We always think we know what we want until we’re met with
what we don’t get.
“Whoopty” by CJ is playing loudly from the tent when he finally locks
eyes with me. Air is snatched from my lungs and replaced with fire, as it
spreads through my veins with every breath. Suddenly I can’t hear anything,
and everyone around me disappears into the back of my mind. I chew on my
bottom lip and bring my glass to my lips. That’s when I see it.
The wet patch over his front shoulder, the opposite side of his tattoo.
My mouth closes but my head involuntarily tilts. The distinct smell of
liquid metal wafts up my nose. Before I can stop myself, I’m standing from
my chair.
His eyes instantly drop down my body, the smile gone. Poof. Vanished
and replaced with a snarl. I ignore him until I’m toe to toe with him. With
these heels on, I’m still nowhere near as tall as him. Now I’m up to his chest,
instead of his abs. I press my palm over the wet patch, but he snatches my
wrist and pulls me in closer.
“What the fuck are you wearing, Dea?”
Oh, that’s what the snarl was for.
“Why are you bleeding?” I ask, finally bringing my eyes up to his.
Everyone who is around us silences. “Take your shirt off.” I grip at the
bottom of the hem, but he doesn’t budge.
“Tillie, I will kill you.”
I tear off his shirt and toss it onto the ground. My hand flies to my mouth,
and it just so happens to be the one that was covering his chest, so the slap of
blood on the tip of my tongue hits hard. “Brantley!” I’m about to tell Tillie to
help me find a first aid kit when someone stops me in my place.
Hector is standing behind me, his hands in his pockets. There’s a woman
beside him dressed in a tight red dress with soft brown hair.
My mouth closes. It’s too much.
I turn back to face Brantley. “Get inside so I can clean it up.”
Lena stands from her chair. “I’ll go grab my bag.” She brushes past
Brantley and punches him in the abs. “Fucker. Could have told me that she
was with you.”
I grab his hand and drag him inside, into the kitchen. My mind is moving
at speeds I can’t keep up with. Hector is here. My father. I have questions, so
many questions, but not enough energy to ask them.
“Saint…” Brantley says, leaning against the counter casually. “It’s just a
bullet wound. It didn’t hit anything important. Chill. It’ll heal.”
“What?” I screech so loud that I’m almost certain the windows shook.
“What do you mean a bullet wound!” I yell at him, taking the final steps I
needed to come face-to-face. I slap him against the chest—the good side
—“How could you get shot!”
He ignores my question, but keeps his eyes locked on mine. Silence spills
between us as I fight to keep my eyes upward and not get distracted by his
body.
“Sit down, bro,” Lena interrupts our stare down, dropping a large leather
suitcase onto the table and unzipping it. “You can continue your fight after I
fix you up.”
Brantley shuffles over to one of the kitchen chairs, spreading his knees
wide and kicking out one foot. His eyes stay on mine and I have to remind
myself to breathe. He’s intimating. His stare burns fire inside my belly. I will
not get distracted. I am upset with him for multiple reasons, but the fact he
got shot trumps them all. I suddenly forget that we had sex last night and
everything was awkward between us.
“Are you a doctor?” I ask Lena, finally dragging my attention away from
Brantley and making my way to the chair beside him.
Lena pulls out a small bottle filled with liquid, a metal bowl, a coil of
string, and a case of various sizes of needles. She never takes her eyes off her
task. “Med student, but a good one. Surprised?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “Why would I be surprised?”
Lena finally pauses for a second and looks directly at me. Her tattoos are
everywhere. A couple of smaller ones around her face. “The tattoos, and the
fact I don’t look like someone who would be saving lives.”
“I wouldn’t know what a doctor is supposed to look like.”
Brantley clears his throat, tapping my leg with his. “Can you grab me a
bottle of scotch?”
I glare at him, my mouth snapping closed. “No.” I push off the chair and
get to my feet when fingers connect with mine. A surge of electricity shoots
through the connection and I go to snatch my fingers out of his grip, only
he’s stronger. He pulls me down onto his lap, causing Lena to stop what she’s
doing briefly. He doesn’t care that he has inconvenienced two people.
“What’s your fucking problem?” His breath brushes the side of my neck,
tantalizing me. It shouldn’t. But memories of last night flash behind my eyes
and I can’t stop them even if I tried. “Hmmm? Oh, come on. Been waiting for
you to go silent for years, don’t stop talking now.”
I turn to him, finally. We’re so close that my eyes need to cross inward
just to maintain contact. I fail and they fall to his mouth. “You could have
died.”
“That’s why you’re mad?” he whispers, leaning forward and pulling the
flesh of my neck between his teeth.
I push him away from me, but he sinks his teeth into my skin and sucks it
into his mouth. “Fine, I’ll get your scotch.”
He releases me, and when I stand, his hand lands on my ass with a slap.
“Good girl.”
I ignore him, making my way toward the cabinet in the kitchen and
reaching for a bottle that has the word Scotch across it, bringing it down onto
the table. Lena is already diving into the wound with a pair of pliers.
Brantley’s resting his head back against his chair. His eyes are closed, but
other than that, he doesn’t look to be in pain. He looks asleep, peaceful even,
completely oblivious to the fact someone is stabbing a fresh wound with a set
of pliers.
“Did you give him an anesthetic?” I ask, twisting off the lid to the bottle
of scotch. “He looks asleep.”
Lena snorts, finally pulling out a silver bullet. “No. I didn’t. That’s what
that is for.” She points to the bottle in my hand and I jolt forward.
I bring the bottle to my lips and take a small swig, allowing the burn to
settle on my tongue. I take another swill and slowly lower my lips to his. I
don’t know if he’ll take it, but I’ve had a little too much to drink tonight and
I’m feeling overwhelmed with my emotions right now, so I’m acting
erratically. His lips touch mine, and for a brief second, I think he’s going to
leave me hanging, but he doesn’t. His mouth opens, and I relax my jaw to
allow the liquid to pour from my mouth to his. Once he’s taken it all, I sink
my teeth into the cushion of his lower lip and slowly drag back.
“Don’t get shot again.” Then I hand him the bottle and turn, leaving him
and Lena to it. I don’t know who Lena is or how she came about being a part
of this world, but I can see they’re good friends. I’m almost at the threshold
to the patio when I hear them both laugh. It’s so foreign that I find myself
turning around just to catch a glimpse of Brantley’s smile. They’re joking
with each other while Brantley takes long drags of alcohol between each
gasp.
“She’s one of the Swans that was freed after the whole Madison ordeal.”
Bishop enters my space, and I turn to face him, crossing my arms in front of
myself. “Brantley saved her. They’ve been close since.” Bishop smirks. “And
to be clear, if it’s not obvious, she likes girls and is more one of the boys than
a delicate little Swan.”
I nod my head, because I can’t seem to get the words to come out.
Everyone has entered the tent out the back now, so Bishop holds out his arm
to me. “Ready to party?”
I hook mine into his. “No.”

Ambient lilacs and gloss white fill the space, with lights flickering in every
corner. There’s an ice statue carved in the middle of the room, where red
liquid pours out of her mouth, into a pool beneath her.
Bishop gestures to the fountain. “Cosmo? My mom is fancy as fuck and
annoying.”
“This is an adult party?” I ask, confused. I was under the assumption it
would be a party with rebellious and hormonal teens.
Bishop follows me closely, a smirk on the corner of his mouth. He now
has a face painted with a skull like Tillie’s, only slightly different. “Just for
the first hour. After that? It’s free game.” He hands me a glass with the red
liquid inside. “Listen, I know you might not want to hear him, but just know
that when you’re ready to talk, so is he.”
I ignore Bishop’s words, sipping on my cocktail. I lick my lips, sugar
rushing through my bloodstream. “Oh, this is good!” I drink faster.
Bishop stops the glass from going farther. “Not that much.”

The sound shot out, but I didn’t feel any pain.

“Run,” the boy in front of me whispered, and I leaped forward as he
stepped sideways to let me pass.
I kept running. Until my legs gave way and my lungs burned. Then I
stopped, ducked behind a large log, and pulled out my phone. A smile hit my
mouth when the screen lit up, but I screamed when a face came into view.
 Brantley’s face.
“Game’s almost over, and you’ve nowhere near won.” He whacked my
phone out of my hand until it skidded to the side, his other hand around my
throat. “I’m bored. Let me kill her.”
Bishop chuckled from behind him. “Just wait. You know how I play.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve played enough, now I’m bored. I need to go home and
make sure Lucan isn’t there.”
Bishop tied a rope around my wrist. “Not yet. First, this.”
Brantley
Lena pulls at the final stitch as I stretch out my arm. The effects of alcohol
swimming through my blood. She starts packing away her tools, her eyes on
mine. I already know what she’s going to ask. She and I haven’t known each
other long, but we click. Lena never asks questions. She just exists.
“You gonna tell me about her?” she asks, zipping up her suitcase and
falling onto the chair opposite me.
“No.” I wrap my lips around the tip of the bottle and tilt my head back
until liquid is lighting a fire down my throat.
Lena takes the bottle from me and guzzles. “Doesn’t look like something
new from where I’m standing.” I toss the shirt that’s on my lap onto the table.
It’s pretty fucking cold out, but with all the adrenaline from tonight, mixed
with the alcohol, my blood feels less human and more furnace.
“Because it’s not.”
“Ahhh,” Lena says, leaning forward. “Is she the girl?”
My eyes snap to hers. “What girl?”
“The one we don’t speak about. I thought she was dead?”

I rushed out the side of the back of the house, slamming the door closed.
Thunder clapped above my head, raindrops pelting down my cheeks. I needed
to find her. Fuck, but this was getting worse. So much fucking worse than it
was last month. My bare feet squished into the mud, curling around my toes
as I ran toward the entrance of the cemetery. Trees curved over the entryway
like shadows of the night, warriors of the moon.
Then I saw her.
Her body draped in white, her hair long and silky. She was everything
that I wanted to protect, but never allowed myself to keep. I couldn’t. It didn’t
matter how much we aged; I couldn’t have her.
Ever.
“Saint!” I yelled, jogging up to where she stood. The rain had seeped
through the white fabric she was wearing, so it clung to her every curve. I
could see beneath that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Didn’t help my
fucking case.
She didn’t turn. Her head was tilted up, as if she was reading the Vitiosis
tomb.
I reached for her, slowly, my hands around her arm.
She spun around so quickly her hair whipped the sides of her face. Her
mouth dropped open as a piercing scream erupted around us.
I dropped to the ground, covering my ears. Mud splashed around my
knees as I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her down with me, her stark
white now filthy. She stopped screaming, her soft whimpers clinging to my
shoulder. Wrapping her arms around my waist, her crying instantly dissolved
into the dark of the night. She pulled away from me gently, searching my eyes
while sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.
“Brantley? Is that you?”
“Goddammit, Saint!” I yelled, my anger fueling a tone I wouldn’t
normally use with her.
“I’m sorry—I’m. I don’t know.” She paused, her head tilting from left to
right. “What am I doing out here?”
I grabbed her by the hand and helped her to her feet. “Inside. Now.”
She took my hand, just like she did all those years ago. So small and
delicate against mine. It was like seeing an angel trust a devil. So naïve and
pure. When we’re back inside the warmth of the house, I locked the patio
door behind us and shook the water from my hair. She stood in the middle of
the lounge room, the fabric sticking to her frail body. To her nipples like a
second skin. So pink and perfect.
 “Fuck.” I stormed toward the liquor cabinet, ripping it open and
reaching for the oldest scotch I could find.
“Brantley, I’m—I don’t know what happened.”
Wrapping my lips around the tip, I took a few shots before placing it onto
the coffee table.
“It’s fine. Just a nightmare.” The lie was easy. Too easy.
“No, I don’t think it was.”
Too easy if you’re not Saint, who was far too observant to lie to.
I nudged my head up the stairs. “Go run yourself a bath and get to
sleep.”
She did, without a fight. Once she was up the stairs and out of earshot, I
pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Hector.
“We’ve got a problem,” I said, grinding my teeth. “It has started.”

“What makes you think that’s the same girl I told people was dead?” I
say, snapping myself out of my memory lapse.
“Simple.” Lena brushes me off, standing to her feet with her bag in her
hand. “Your heart is only capable of loving one.”
“No one said shit about love, Len. The fuck.”
She glares at me like I grew another head. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
Her eyes turn to slits. “Fine.” She drops back onto her chair, gesturing to the
whiskey in my hand. “Tell me about her.”
Laughter bubbles from my chest and my head cocks back before meeting
her eyes again. “What the fuck you think this is? A fucking episode of Gossip
Girl?” Lena flips me off, and I sigh, reaching for the bottle again while my
eyes remain focused on the table. “That was Saint.”
“Why’d you say she was dead?” Lena says, her brows knitting.
“Because then my brothers would leave me the fuck alone about finding a
girl.”
“You’re solid on never wanting a girlfriend?”
It’s my turn to glare at her now. “I’m going to pretend you don’t need
clarification on that.”
Lena chuckles, rubbing her cheek with the palm of her hand. “Look, man.
I get it. But that girl there, I don’t know. She’s doomed with you and doomed
without you. So, I guess that’s a fate you’re going to have to choose.”
“Saint will never be my girlfriend.”
“Why?” Her arms fly up.
 I bring my eyes to hers. “Because nothing good comes from these hands,
Len. Nothing. Ever. They end lives. They’re not soft enough to have her
beneath them.”
Her eyes widen. “Deep, man. The fuck? You just got real deep.”
“Lena, I’m not fucking shallow.” I take a swig of the whiskey, baring my
teeth and hissing when I realize I swallowed too much at once.
“I know, but my man, that girl doesn’t seem to be either.” Lena kicks out
her foot. “There’s shit you’re not telling me, too, right?”
“Always.” The corner of my mouth kicks up in a smirk.
She laughs, getting to her feet. She flicks the lid of the whiskey at my
chest. “Then maybe start by being honest with her.”
She flips me off, turning to make her way outside. I stay seated for a
while longer, thinking over all the bullshit that happened tonight. From the
setup, to getting shot at, to everything Lena just said. I can go around in
circles with everything, but it only makes me angrier. When I finally make
my way down to the tent, the adults have left, and the party has swung into a
teen hormone fest. I personally think that everyone is taking the absolute piss
now. Not everyone here is in TEKC now, but they sure as fuck would have
heard about us.
I find Bishop and Saint instantly. My jaw tightens. I can’t fucking believe
Tillie put her in that goddamn outfit. Saint looks little, but she has legs that
go on forever, and those fucking slits? How is she still able to walk after last
night?
I lift the bottle of scotch to my lips. Will have to fucking rectify that shit.
I promised I wouldn’t double dip with her. I said I wouldn’t. I fucking
couldn’t. I can’t be with her, and that’s what she deserves, and while we’re
on the subject of what Saint deserves, it sure as fuck ain’t me. She needs the
mundane husband, the kids, the white picket fence, and the prescription drug
habit. But even as those thoughts enter my mind, my rage bubbles to the
surface like hot lava, ready to burst. I could never allow her to have those
things, and I fucking know it.
Another swig of whiskey.
And I’m too selfish to allow her to have them.
Another.
Before I can stop myself, I’m making my way toward her.
She’s mine.
I stop in front of them both, just as Saint brings her eyes to mine. “Oh,
you’re in one piece now?” She doesn’t stumble or stutter, and I grab the drink
from her, lifting it to my nose.
I look to Bishop, who smirks. Fucker has been feeding her non-alcoholic
Cosmos.
Snickering, I hand her drink back. “Yeah. Always.” She is fucked. Not
only has she got me, but now she has Bishop. She will be the most feared
woman to ever grace our world. Fucking good.
Bishop’s focus zones onto someone over my shoulder, and I turn to see
what he’s looking at. Or rather, who he is looking at.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “Tillie…” When I turn back to face
Bishop, he has already disappeared. The sides of the tent have been rolled up
now to offer a more ambient flow between inside and out. Tillie and Scarlet
organized this shitfest. If it wasn’t for them, it would have just been a bonfire
and the old generation complaining that we’re fucking shit up if we don’t
spend at least five hundred large on it.
“Who is that?” Saint asks, breaking through my thoughts.
I wince when I shift my arm at an awkward angle. “That’s Tate.
Madison’s ride or die, and Tillie’s ‘she should die’.” Saint rocks onto her
other foot uncomfortably, her lips on her glass.
I snort. “You can’t fucking stand wearing those things. Take them off.”
Laughter and music spill out around us. Saint waves me off. “I’m fine.”
“When did you become so moody?” I tease, my mouth in a half-smile.
Truth is, kind of like her like this. Finding the table behind me, I grab her
waist and pull her into me, fucking finally, and she rests between my
stretched legs. A big part of me wanted to see if she was going to fight it. Her
tiny body relaxes against mine as she casually sips her drink.
I roll my eyes, taking the glass from her and putting it on the table I’m
leaning on. “It has no alcohol in it.”
She reaches for it again, glaring at me over her slender shoulder. “I
know.”
She turns back to face the crowd of people as Pop Smoke’s “Dior” plays
loudly behind us. She mumbles, “Would it be so hard for people to believe
that I actually don’t like alcohol?”
“You don’t?” My throat tightens, probably from the surge of shock.
Every girl I know drinks, and if she doesn’t, it’s because she hasn’t tried it.
“What about champagne?”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “I don’t mind it, but only enough to not get me drunk. I
don’t like feeling out of control.”
“Control issues, huh?” I chuckle, wrapping my arm around her waist and
squeezing her against me while bringing my lips behind her ear. “Wonder
where you get that from…”
She relaxes even further into my grasp, and everything I told myself
earlier flies out the fucking window. She turns in my grip and I loosen
enough for her to do so.
Leaning her head back, she rests her hand on my chest. We shouldn’t be
this close. Fuck, there’s a lot of shit we shouldn’t have done, but we did. I
took the only thing she could offer anyone and ate it as a meal… in more
ways than one. “Can you tell me what Lucan would do to you?”
I still. The grip around her body completely falls away and I zone in on
her pupils. Completely disconnected. Away. Gone. She lost me. “No.”
“I just…” She traces her hand down my chest and I’m out of her embrace
instantly, squeezing her palm in my hand.
My teeth clench together, the veins in my temples pulsing with anger.
“No, Saint.” I push her hands down and step away. All of the anger that I put
on hold when she walked her pert little ass down those stairs begins to
spillover the lines of patience that I drew.
She searches my eyes, ice against fire. Two complete opposites.
“Brantley, I’m sorry…”
I bare my teeth, swiping the bottle of whiskey from the nearby table and
bringing it to my lips. I don’t want to walk away and leave her here. I
shouldn’t. But if I stay and if she pushes, I’ll snap at her. She’s never pushed
the subject before. Not ever. She’s getting bold.

I find the heat of the bonfire relaxing. It meets the rage that burns inside of
my soul. I tip the whiskey bottle to my lips, but it’s empty. I’m sure that it’s
only been a few minutes since I was talking with Saint, but that was a whole
bottle of whiskey and that bottle is not new now. My eyes sting, my vision
blurring in and out. I drank too fucking much. I never fucking drink too
much. I’d never lose control, especially with her here. Saint. I shoot to my
feet and turn, rubbing my eyes to outweigh my vision, but my arms are
fucking heavy. Too heavy.
“Bishop!” I roar, both palms pressed on my eyes, but he doesn’t answer. I
knew Nate and Tillie had left the second Tate arrived, but Eli, Hunter, and
Cash were still here.
I turn back around and find Eli on the ground, his knees drawn up to his
chest and his head hanging between his elbows.
“Eli, fuck.” Slowly, he lifts his head up until his eyes are on mine. Glassy
and out of focus.
“I can’t fucking—” His words break. And I know. I know right here and
now that we aren’t drunk.
We were drugged.
My legs turn to jelly as I fall to the ground. Eli’s frozen in place, but his
eyes remain on mine. It would take a large fucking dose of that shit to bleed
into my bloodstream. There are people talking in the background, but I don’t
care. I slowly reach for my phone in my pocket when a flurry of blonde hair
appears. Tate is grabbing it for me instead.
“What’s your passcode?” she asks with urgency.
The music is still blaring in the background, people dancing obliviously.
Too many fucking people.
“S-saint,” I force out, my eyes on hers. She’s not in dead, mainly because
she’s not of EKC linage and can’t be in it, but also because I can’t imagine
Tate wanting to wear it even if it was against our laws that you don’t unless
you’re blood.
She grabs my palm and slides my phone unlocked, facing the screen in
front of my face for the recognition. Spyder whistles out to one of his boys,
who finds his way over to us. Spyder’s generation of Kings roll a little
differently. They’re not necessarily Kings because they’re the cousin chapter,
but they’re still dangerous.
“The girl with white hair and dressed in—”
“I know who you’re talking about,” Spyder’s man interrupts, and I sneer
up at him from where I am on the ground, running my tongue over my teeth.
He throws his hands up defensively. “Wow, no. It’s—well, yeah…”
“Shut up, Cooper!” Tate snaps. “Go and find Saint.” Her fingers flick
through my phone before she presses it to her ear. “Bishop, get back here
now. Brantley, Eli, and I’m assuming the rest of your pack have been
drugged.”
My fingers tingle, right up my arms and across my chest, down my torso,
and through my legs. So fucking weak. Anger snaps inside my head as I try
to move my leg.
It remains still, sweat dripping down the side of my temple.
 She hangs up with Bishop. “He’s on his way back.”
My phone rings in Tate’s hand and she doesn’t hesitate to answer, putting
it on speaker.
“What?” she snaps, like she fucking owns it.
I never thought shit about shit when it came to Tate. She’s mundane and
basic. Not my type, nor any of The Kings really, but that’s not because she
isn’t pretty, or hot, because she is. But it takes a lot more than a pretty face to
hold our attention. You need to be raw. She lacks the grit it takes to handle
this world. Well, she used to.
“Riddle me this, Vitiosis…”
Everything inside of me dies. My breathing, my thoughts, my will to
move. I don’t recognize the voice, because the piece of shit has hidden it
behind a robotic voice-over.
“If Beauty starved the Beast, would the Beast still feast?” He chuckles
then.
My cheeks feel numb, my body stuck in purgatory, but the anger and rage
are exploding inside of me with nowhere else to go.
“Don’t worry about the drugs. They’ll wear off in no time. Now I bet
you’re wondering where your little Dea is?”
I clench my fingers, the will to get to her far stronger than what any drug
could do to stop me. My mouth opens, closes, and then opens again.
“Who the fuck is this?” Tate sneers.
“Tate, you precious little human. So easy to snap that delicate little neck.”
Tate raises an eyebrow at the phone. “Wow. That’s all you’ve got? Gotta
say, I’m severely under-impressed with your creativity, or lack thereof.”
He chuckles. “Have you told Bishop that you’ve visited little Madison?”
My eyes shoot to hers, and she winces. “Okay. Sort of impressed with
that.”
“Where the fuck is Saint!” I roar, and when the tingles dissolve far
enough into my bones for me to move my fingers and toes, I stumble to my
feet slowly.
Headlights flash up behind me and Bishop runs over to us, his car door
wide open.
“Do you see her?” The voice lowers, and my eyes shoot around the place.
“Where’s Saint!” Bishop yells, but when he sees me, he instantly starts
looking, too.
Then I see her. The pastel pink of her clothes in the darkness of the forest.
I don’t even answer the phone or give a fuck because I’m sprinting right for
where I see the sliver of color between the trees. Shoving past branches, Tate,
Bishop, and Spyder are behind me.
“Ahhh, you found her.”
Saint is standing in the middle of a small clearing, staring up at the moon.
I grab her by the arm, turning her around to face me.
“Brantley!” She stares at me with wide eyes. “Ouch on the grip.”
Bishop exhales, and I tuck Saint farther under my arm, taking the phone
from Tate. Now that I know she’s safe, all that fear has gone, and all that’s
left Is rage.
“I’m going to kill you. That’s a goddamn promise.”
He laughs, and Bishop and I meet eye-to-eye. “Oh, I know. But take this
as a learning curve, Kings. This was to show you what we could do. Keep
your little witch safe. We all know your secrets now…”
The line cuts out and I shove my phone into my pocket.
“Where the fuck were you?” I yell down at Saint.
She searches my eyes, worry lines etched in her forehead. “I wanted to
see the moon!”
“Then fucking tell someone to take you!” I snap. “Or you don’t go at all.”
She looks to Bishop, but her arm hooks around me. “What happened?”
“He was drugged, as were Eli, Hunter, and Cash.”
“Oh,” she whispers, and I could fucking strangle her. Still might.
Undecided.
Tate can’t keep her eyes off Saint, and if it was anyone else, I would be
uncomfortable with it, but it’s Tate. She’s about as threatening as a hungry
chihuahua.
“Bishop,” she exhales, turning toward him as we all make our way out of
the clearing and back to the party. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Her
mouth opens and then closes.
I drag Saint back near the bonfire. Bishop takes the spot beside me with
Spyder on the other side of Tate. Saint falls onto the ground in front of me,
leaning between my legs while running her hands up and down her body.
I nudge my head at Abel. “Go grab her hoodie out of my bag upstairs.”
He instantly leaves his beer on his chair, disappearing.
Saint looks up at me backward. “Are they the new Kings?”
I shake my head. “Yes and no. They won’t be official Kings.”
“Why?” she asks, turning to face me. “He’s a Hayes, right?”
 I crack my head to the side, keeping my eyes on hers. The thought of
almost fucking losing her tonight will haunt me forever. “Yeah, but he’s not
the oldest Hayes. Bishop is.”
Saint sighs, turning to the bonfire. “It’s confusing.”
I wrap my arm around her chest and pull her in closer. Her fingers come
to my forearm as she ducks her nose behind it. Her fingers look minuscule
against my arms.
“What?” Bishop murmurs lazily, staring at the fire. “You’ve been visiting
Madison in New Zealand?”
Tate spins to face him, her face pale. “Bishop, I—”
He shakes his head. “It amazes me that even after the last time I had to fly
my private jet all the way the fuck over there to drag her ass home, that you
both still don’t think I know every single step she’s making.” His eyes land
on hers. “Or that I know who she’s with.”
Tate winces. “And that’s all you know?”
Bishop’s eyes turn to slits. “What the fuck do you mean?”
She shakes her head. “Jessie is just a friend.” Good one with the
deflecting. Fucking give her that. But she just made it obvious that she’s
hiding something. Madison probably got a new tattoo, upped her coke habit,
or I don’t know, fucked a girl. “She is my best friend, Bishop. We’ve seen
each other at our worst, and even though I’m well aware you all have a
family now and Tillie still hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Saint whispers, her lips moving over my arm.
Pressing it down so that it’s now against her throat, she repeats, “She doesn’t
hate you. She just doesn’t know how to fix what is broken.”
Tate’s eyes flick between Saint and me.
Saint ends. “Tillie is a lot of things, but loyalty is her numero uno.”
Tate’s shoulders sag, just as Abel comes back with the hoodie.

Later that night, when everyone has cleared out and Saint is fast asleep
upstairs, and it’s only me, Bishop, Eli, Hunter, and Cash downstairs in the
sitting room, I kick my ankle up to rest on my knee. “Too close.”
Bishop rubs his palm over his mouth, fatigue shading his eyes. “Agree.”
“Which new enemy could this have been?” Eli asks, lying back on the
three-seater sofa that’s against the wall closest to the fire.
I shake my head. “It was clean.”
Bishop’s eyes come to mine.
“The Rebels?” Eli asks, his eyes closing.
“Too bold for them,” Bishop answers, his eyes never moving from mine.
“This something else then?” Cash asks, lighting a smoke.
I curl my lips between my teeth. “Yeah, revenge.”
Bishop nods, our silent conversation loud. Agree.
Saint
I enjoyed being at the cabin, and it would probably always be special to me
now since it was where Brantley and I first had sex, but what good is that
when he won’t even touch me in a sexual way anymore. Whatever happened
last night has sowed something inside of him.
After we arrive home, I unpack my clothes and sort through what needs
to be cleaned, then go through the routine of feeding Medusa, Kore, and
Hades. I haven’t received another text from the unknown number since I left
the cabin, and there’s a part of me that thinks I need to bring it up with
Brantley. It may have a connection to them being drugged. In the end, my
conscience wins out and I head off in search of him. My Louis Vuitton
slippers are snug on my feet, with yoga pants and a loose crop tee offering
the perfect balance of comfort.
Heading into the kitchen, I find it empty. Not even V is in here cooking. I
run my fingers over the modern black marble, reaching for the jar of
Twizzlers. I take one out and chew on it, leaning against the counter. Sugar
hits the tip of my tongue, and I scarf the whole thing down before grabbing
another. Turning, I’m biting into the chewy goodness when Brantley stops at
the threshold. He’s fully dressed in jeans, a plain black tee that only makes
his skin seem paler, and white sneakers.
“I was looking for you,” I say, licking my lips free of the sugar. His eyes
follow the movement, his jaw tense.
“What’s wrong?” He diverts his gaze and moves to the fridge, pulling one
of the glass doors open and taking out a can of FITAID. Shutting it behind
himself, he leans against the door, his eyes never moving from mine as his
lips wrap around the bottle and his head tilts back. The veins in his neck
swell as he takes gulps, but his eyes don’t leave mine. He strips me raw
anytime he looks at me, rips me from the seams until I’m exposed, at his
mercy. I don’t have a problem with this. He can tear me open to see what I’m
made of, because all that is me has been crafted by him.
I grasp at my neck, my fingers tapping over the delicate font of my
Vitiosis tattoo. I never did understand why he made me get this. I assumed it
was a family rite of passage, since he has Vitiosis tattooed over his chest. But
now that I’ve come to learn more of him, I’m starting to think there’s more of
a reason.
He takes the three steps needed to reach me, placing his drink on one side
of me while his other hand is pressed against the counter, caging me in. He
cocks his head, his focus falling to my neck, where there are bruises still
visible from his biting. “What, Dea? Tell me what’s on your mind.” His tone
is menacing with a hint of cruelty.
I blow out a steady breath of air. “Did you find out who drugged you
all?”
He pushes off the counter and leans against the one opposite me. “We
know who it is.”
“Oh.” I gulp, curling my lips under my teeth.
“Anything else you want to tell me?” he asks, cocking his brow in
challenge. I’ve become numb to the sight of beauty, but Brantley truly is
something else. With features so sharp they had to be cut with a surgical
scalpel, and eyes so dark they remind me of angry, stormy nights, he’s
constantly demanding to be felt, leaving the remnants of himself on you long
after he has left. I wonder how many girls have had their hearts broken by
him. I got one night, and it was nowhere near enough.
“Yes, actually,” I say, clearing my throat. Reaching for my phone that’s
tucked inside the waistband of my pants, I’m about to open the text message
when Tillie’s voice interrupts us.
“Oh thank God, you’re here.”
 “I’m never anywhere else,” I say, pressing my phone back to my chest. I
don’t miss the way Brantley follows the movement before swinging around,
glaring at Tillie.
“Do you not have a house?”
She flips him off. “I do, but since you’re all organizing Bishop’s
initiation, I need someone to go shopping with!” She glares at Brantley.
My phone starts ringing in my hand and I swipe it unlocked without
seeing who it is. “Hello?”
“Can you talk?”
My eyes fly between Tillie and Brantley.
“You don’t need to. You can listen. I need you now. Can you come?”
I run my tongue over my lips. “Yes.”
“Okay. I will text you the details.”
I hang up my phone, guilt washing over me. How did I become so
entangled in such an intricate web of deceit and lies?
“Who was that?” Brantley asks, and it takes me a few seconds to clear my
eyes enough to bring them to him. They’re hazy, burning with unshed tears.
He’s most likely going to be angry with me. Fuming, really. I can handle
Brantley’s wrath, but I can’t take his disappointment, and I think deep down,
that’s what I’m most afraid of.
“Bishop,” I lie, and instantly feel more exposed than I ever have. “I’m
just going to head upstairs. Feeling a little tired still.” Brantley watches me
carefully as I slowly make my way to the other side of the kitchen, past Tillie
who is watching me carefully, too. I feel like I’m trying to escape a den of
two hungry lions.
Fingers wrap in mine and Brantley pulls me into his chest. He tucks his
finger beneath my chin and I stop breathing. The motion is so gentle, but his
gaze burns with flames that lick my belly from the inside. I slowly exhale the
breath I’m desperately holding, relaxing my lips. Is he going to kiss me? He
releases me.
“I’ll be back later tonight.”
My stomach drops from disappointment. I roll my lips between my teeth
with my hand still on his chest. Should I just kiss him? God, but I want to.
Tillie looks between us. “I’ll come back a little later…”
“I’ll text you.” Tillie leaves and I take the first step toward the stairs when
his hand is in my hair and he’s tugging me backward like a frail doll. It’s not
until the front door closes that his other hand is on my lower belly and he’s
pulling me into his body.
“I saw the way you looked at me, Dea, with those pleading little eyes…”
I hold my breath as he pushes me forward and my hands fly out in front
of me to grip the kitchen counter. “It was nothing,” I say gently, wriggling
beneath his grasp.
“Lies,” he says, his palm between my thighs. He rubs circles around me,
dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “You looked at me like you
wanted me to kiss you, but guess what?” He spins me around and lifts me
onto the counter by my hips, spreading my legs wide and resting between
them. He bites down on my lower lip. “Now I’m going to fuck you, and
you’re either going to enjoy it or you’re going to run. You game?” He sucks
on my lip while his hand is reaching up my front, his thumb pressing over my
nipple that’s prodding out from my crop.
I tilt my head to the side and his mouth is over my jugular. “Yes, I’m
game.”
He pulls my yoga pants down and I inch up to allow him access, all while
he bites down on every bit of my skin. He flings them across the room, his
hand on my throat as he shoves me backward on the counter. “Arch your
back.”
I do, but as soon as I’m about to lean up again to see what he’s doing and
if he’s naked, his mouth is on me. His tongue is on my clit, his grip around
the front of my throat tighter. He flicks and sucks on my clit until my
stomach pulls and my thighs clench around him. The muscles in my legs
relax as an explosion of pleasure shatters the marrow of my bones, oozing
through my blood until it’s pounding through my ears at the same rhythm as
my heart. I’m catching my breath while internally calming myself down
when his hands are on my upper thighs and he’s dragging me down the
counter, the only sound his belt buckle landing on the kitchen floor with a
resounding thud. One hand is back on my throat as he guides me down until
my feet hit the floor.
“Wait here…”
When I bring my hands back in front of me, he pauses, steps back, and
collects his belt from the ground. Pulling my hands behind my back, he hooks
multiple loops around before tugging to tighten it. He spins me around,
brings his hand to the back of my neck, and shoves me facedown back onto
the counter. Kicking my legs wide with his, I wait silently for his next move,
but nothing happens. Just when I think he has disappeared, the tip of his
finger dips into my entrance before he hovers over my body, dipping his
finger into my mouth.
“Stay like this.”
I don’t move as his footsteps disappear out of the room. A couple minutes
pass when he finally reenters, drawing the blinds closed that sit behind the
kitchen sink. A flicker of flames bouncing off the walls comes into view and
my body freezes. What is he doing?
“This wax is soy…” His voice comes in low, and my heart beats
erratically in my chest. “Meaning it cools faster when it hits the skin. We’ll
see how you do with this, but eventually, I want to move to beeswax.”
“I don’t—”
The tip of his cock throbs against my entrance as his fingers dig into my
hips, raising my body higher until my feet are off the floor. My hands are still
bound, but the position is comfortable. He slowly presses his hips into me,
his cock moving inside my wet walls every few seconds before pulling out.
He runs the palm of his hand down the arch of my spine, as he dives deeper
inside. I moan loudly, the feeling of him inside of me almost too much for me
to handle. Every time he pulls out, his piercings get cold, so every time he
reenters, they’re carnally obvious. Finally he slams into me roughly and I jolt
forward, my nipples grazing against the cool marble as my body is shoved
farther up the counter. Hot liquid spills down the curve of my spine and I
yelp, cursing under my breath as it cools and hardens. He pushes into me
again and again, every single thrust pushing me closer to intoxication. He’s
going to completely dismantle me and leave me open and raw by the time he
is done, and right now, I would let him.
“Don’t come until I say. Hold on to it.”
Sweat drips down off my face as he wraps my hair around his wrist and
tugs on it roughly. My eyes sting as strands of hair are ripped from their
roots, but he doesn’t stop. My inner thighs begin to heat, and the all too
familiar feeling of a climax is swelling as more time passes. I know if I let go
now, I’ll crash from the after-effects, but if I hold on until he says, I’ll burn. I
want to burn. As hot as the next splash of wax that he pours over my back.
I’m closer and closer, my breathing too heavy to contain.
“Brantley, I’m going to snap—”
He dives into me roughly, tugging on my hair. That’s when I feel the cool
metal of a knife on my shoulder blade. My eyes roll to the back of my head
when he presses the blade into my skin. I hiss, baring my teeth, but he
continues with his onslaught. The warmth of his mouth falls over where it
stings on my back, and everything is suddenly too much. The piercing on his
tip hits the very edge of my cervix, sending electric shock waves through my
body. I scream, tugging on the belt that’s around my wrists, needing to hold
myself up.
He releases the belt just as he hits something deep inside of me. This time
different. The waves crash over me in tidal-like swells and everything around
me turns black. My muscles twitch so severely that I convulse, the warm rush
of an orgasm so, so much more potent and powerful than other times. I’m
barely back in the present when his arm is around my midsection and he’s
dragging me down to the kitchen floor. I’m turned reverse cowgirl, but my
eyes are still closed.
“I can’t—I’m going to die.”
His hand is on the back of my neck, his other on my hip. “Ride me until I
come, and don’t stop until you feel it…” He squeezes so hard I’m sure there
will be more bruises. “You wanted to fuck like the big kids, then fuck me like
a big girl.”
I roll my hips over him, but it’s not fast enough because he’s slamming
my body on top of him in no time, like he can’t handle me being in control.
The hand that was on my neck is now on my other hip as he drives inside me
with force and power. Everything throbs, but my body constantly shakes as
he continues. Flipping me around with my frail limbs flying everywhere, he
slams me on my back and spreads my legs wide until he’s back inside of me,
with one palm on my thigh. His cock thrusts inside of me, deep and vicious.
His mouth on mine as he sinks his teeth into my lower lip again. He brings
his hand to my hair, pulling at it to hold me in place while never breaking the
kiss. It’s not until he’s groaning through his orgasm, his cock pulsing inside
of me when I truly feel the fatigue. His heavy body falls on top of me, slick
with sweat, blood, and the evidence of all of my orgasms between us.
My hand is in the damp strands of his hair, my breathing still heavy.
“That was a near-death experience.”
He laughs, kicking up from the floor. He moves across the kitchen,
opening one of the many cupboards and flicking open a first aid kit. “Turn
around. I’ll bandage you up.”
Who would have known? Sex with Brantley contains hot wax, blood, and
always, always a Band-Aid. For your skin, you’re out of luck if you need one
for your heart.
After dragging my half-dead body back up to my room, I’m tugging clothes
down from the hangers when I hit dial on Bishop’s name.
He answers instantly. “You okay?”
I pang with another surge of guilt. “Yes, I was wondering when the
ceremony is?”
“Not until Sunday,” he answers carefully. It’s Wednesday. I will be back
by then. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I pause. I could tell him. No, I can’t. I shove the clothes into a small
duffel bag and zip it up. “Yes. I’m fine. You worry too much.” I reach for my
passport and emergency cash inside the closet. Brantley put it there when I
was thirteen. Told me if anything happened to him that I needed to run. I take
out my passport, a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills, but leave the black cell
phone.
“I worry because I care, and contrary to how you’ve been treated since
you’ve been in my life, the emotion is rare for me.”
I chuckle, tossing everything into a small shoulder strap bag. “Just like
Brantley?”
“Not that bad…” Bishop grunts.
“How are you feeling about the ceremony?” I ask, moving the curtain out
of my way so I can see a clear view of the driveway. I watch as Brantley
moves around his Bugatti, his phone pressed to one ear with his hand resting
on his car.
“Ready for it to be over.”
“Bishop?” I whisper, as Brantley climbs into his car and Tillie in hers. “I
love you.”
He sucks in a breath. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I chew on my bottom lip. “I’m just telling you.”
“Saint, I—”
I hear shuffling in the background and people calling out to him. “I’ve got
to go. I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
I smile. “Sure. Bye.” As I bring my arm down, my stomach drops with it.
I know what I’m doing is going to be seen as a betrayal, but I have to do this.
I made a promise.
She sent me the details I needed, which included a damn limo ride to the
nearest airport. I didn’t know where. I hadn’t stepped inside the city before,
so everything was like bright lights to me. The rushing, the urgency that
everyone moved to didn’t process through my brain. Why was everyone in
such a hurry? For what?
We pull up to the airstrip and the driver slides the tinted window down
that separates the back and the front.
His eyes come to mine in the rearview mirror. “Miss Vitiosis, your jet
awaits…”
I gape up at the sleek black private jet. The cabin is open, with stairs
leading out to the tarmac. There are three men in suits standing at the end, all
armed with heavy guns.
“Thank you,” I whisper, reaching for the door and opening it. The trunk is
already popped and one of said men in suits is carrying out my duffel bag.
I pull out my phone and hit dial on the number I have for her.
She answers.
“Madison. I’m leaving now.”

Blood soaked through my shirt, my hands stretched wide and tied to the
tree stump. I knew I was done for. I would never see my family again. I would
never get to bully Sandra Mckenna again, even though I got great pleasure in
rubbing it in her face that the reason why she suffered from poor body odor
and acne was because she couldn’t stop eating all that greasy and nasty food.
Sure, shoving her head into the oil pot in the cafeteria was probably taking it
a little too far, but I mean, it could have been worse. Duh. I could have
waited until the oil was boiling before doing it. But that would have killed
her, and I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to destroy her. I liked destroying
people, but I liked sex more, which was how I ended up here in the first place.
I had too much pride to say anything else. My daddy taught me better.
You go down proud, not a coward, and that’s how I will do it.
“Smile for Daddy, Ava Garcia. Your playtime is almost up.”
Brantley
There’s a secret. A fucking big one. One that I’ve kept from her forever, and
one that no one talks about. People know about it, but they don’t speak of it.
I floor it forward until my car shoots off the main highway, sticking to the
same route I always stick to when Nate’s name flashes over the screen on my
dash.
I answer it and hit speaker. “What?”
“Are you out on a job?”
I grit my teeth. I’m more frustrated than normal lately, and I’m betting it
has everything to do with the fact my cock knows what she feels like around
it. I adjust myself and drop the car into third, shooting forward. “No. There’s
a lead I’m chasing with who it was that drugged us that night. Why? What’s
wrong? Need someone to go baby shopping with you?”
“Fuck you.” Nate chuckles. “Asshole.” It was too late to take back the
words after I had spat them out. I forget about Micaela. I shouldn’t tease
them so much with it.
“You need something or you just miss the taste of my cock?”
“Again, fuck you. Yeah, I’m with Hector. I’ll put you on speaker.”
“Brantley?” Hector’s voice comes through my phone and I sit up a little
straighter. “Son, I have a lead. I don’t want you going there until I’ve sent in
backup.”
“Just send the details through. That prick fucking drugged me while Saint
was around. He’s down to his final hours.”
Pause.
“Son, it’s complicated.” A door opens and closes in the background.
“Bran?” Bishop’s voice is hard. “Where are you? I’ll meet you.”
“About to head over the bridge.”
Another stretch of silence.
“Which bridge?” Bishop asks, and I can imagine all of their faces now.
They’d be all looking among each other, wondering when I’m going to
explode. Because I haven’t. But in my defense, exploding isn’t my thing. It’s
Bishop’s and Nate’s go-to to hide any of their emotion. I don’t explode. I
implode, and the only person that I damage is myself. Works better this way.
“Wickers Lane.” I hang up the phone before they can talk me out of it.
The scenery on the New York side of Wickers Lane Bridge and the Riverside
end are not all that different. Riverside isn’t as small as you would think, and
just like Perdita, everyone who lives here knows who the fuck we are.
But this time when I say we, I mean not just The Kings.
Someone else, too.
I drive my car over the cobblestone that arches over Hector’s waters
below. Never really liked coming back to Riverside. It was like visiting old
ghosts that you tried to bury a long time ago. Not that I have ever been old
enough, or was even born yet to remember a lot of the events that happened
here, as well as the driving out of EKC, but the smell of being unwanted is
heavy in the air any time we’ve had to come back.
I drive down the dimly lit road until I reach the end, and the sign,
Riverside Welcomes You.
“Yeah, fucking right,” I whisper, flooring it until I’m passing through the
town. People are walking around, going about their day, and every so often
you see them staring at my car.
“Yeah, fucking right,” I whisper, flooring the car forward until I’m
passing through the town. People are walking around, going about their day,
and every so often I catch them staring at my car.
They know. If there’s some flashy fucking Euro vehicle that’s blacked-out
rolling through the streets of Riverside, they fucking know that a King is
behind those heavily tinted windows, and no one, and I truly mean no one
who lives here wants that.
I park my car in one of the spots outside of the town square, running my
finger over my upper lip. All I have to do is wait, and one of the cocksuckers
will jump out from somewhere.
When they don’t, I start up my car again and rev the engine, just as
another call comes through. Bishop this time.
“What?” I snap, grinding my teeth.
“I know you’re mad.”
“Fucking furious. They pulled that shit with Saint. I need them dead.”
“You and me both, brother, but you need to pull out. Meet me at
Buckingham. We can talk there as a group. I know you’re feeling trigger-
happy and you want to eighty-six all those fools, but you can’t right now.
Meet me there.”
I pull out of the town square, the anger only bubbling further.
Revenge is sweet, and I just so happen to be fucking starving.
Saint
The plane landed forty minutes ago, but I needed to rush to the bathroom
instantly after getting off the jet. I don’t know if I like flying long periods of
time. That was twelve hours, and I feel like I’ve lost a whole week.
It’s quiet, the only sound the slight dripping of a tap. I turn it around and
cup my hands beneath, waiting until they’re full before splashing water over
my face.
“Ava Garcia,” I whisper, rubbing water from my eyes. I jerk backward as
a black shadow zips past me. It was through blurred vision because of the
water, so I reach to the side to grab a paper towel, rubbing it over my face.
No one is there.
I sigh, tossing the paper towel into the trash can and rub the sides of my
temples. I think I’m losing my mind.
I make my way back out to the lobby area and follow the directions that
lead out to the arrivals lounge. Madison knew that this was my first time at an
airport, so she outlined exactly where I needed to go. Pulling my carry-on
luggage with me, I pass through customs and enter the lounge. There is a man
in a suit standing at the carrousel, holding a sign that reads Swan.
I pause.
 He stares at me.
I nod my head and make my way to him as he lowers the sign and tucks it
beneath his arm. “I’ll take your bag, Saint. Madison is in the car.”
“Thank you,” I say, following behind him as we make our way outside.
Heat slaps me across the face, instantly confusing me further. “What? It’s
winter!”
The back door of a limo swings open and I slide inside. “What is this
weather?” I say as I’m closing the door. When I swing my eyes to the front, I
stop.
I notice her belly instantly. Madison is even more beautiful in real life,
but there’s something so obvious that I can’t help but point out. “You’re
pregnant,” I yelp, the car slowly pulling away from the curb.
She shuffles restlessly, a hand on her small belly. She’s not far along, but
she’s not exactly hiding it either. “Yes.” she tucks her hair behind her ear.
“It’s why I called you to come. That favor I need from you?” When her eyes
connect with mine, she pauses slightly before shaking her head. “Man, the
resemblance is uncanny…”
“Tillie and I get that,” I answer gently.
“Not Tillie. Bishop.”
“Oh,” I say, chewing on my lip. “Well, none of the boys have said that.”
“They won’t.” Madison rolls her eyes, chuckling while looking somberly
out the window. “Because they’d want in your pants too much.”
I brush her off as she reaches for a bottled water, handing me one.
“Anyway, that favor I need from has to do with your blood.”
I swallow, wipe my mouth with my hand and then place it on top of my
thighs. “Okay. What do you need from me?”

We make our way through the city that Madison, I think, said was called
Auckland. Weird name, big city. Not as big as New York, and with cars that
drive on the other side of the road, but still big.
She unlocks the door to a hotel, and gestures for me to enter. I place my
bag beside the kitchen table. I still don’t know how to take Madison. All I
know is Bishop’s pain, so naturally I feel on edge with her.
She points to the sofa in the sitting room, where there are full city views
from the windows. “Sit, please. I already feel bad for dragging you away.”
She disappears into the kitchen, before reentering, holding two bottles of
juice.
 I take one from her, slowly lowering to the leather sofa. “How did you
know that I would come and not bring Bishop?”
She flinches at the mention of his name, before taking a seat opposite me
on the single-seater sofa. “I guess I didn’t. I have heard that you two are very
close now, so in the back of my mind I didn’t know if you would.” She tilts
her head, and that’s when everything clicks. She is the doppelgänger of
Madison Beer. The long brown hair, eyes, face shape. “Why didn’t you bring
him?”
I twist the lid off my juice. “He’s in enough pain. I wasn’t going to drag
him into this, too.” I offer a small smile to soften the words.
They didn’t help, because her eyes turn glassy and her lip quivers. “I’m
sorry.” She swipes beneath her eyes, wiping away the tears. “Pregnancy
makes me emotional.”
My eyes fall to her belly. “So, you’ve met someone else?” I really didn’t
want to ask this because I didn’t want to have to hide this from Bishop. I now
understand why she didn’t tell me the favor before I left, because I would
have told Bishop.
Her watery eyes shoot to mine. “Fuck no!” Her face scrunches. “Sorry.
No. I—something happened before I left. Though it was only once that it
happened, and Bishop and I are, let’s just say, active, I’m almost certain that
this baby is his. But I need to be sure.”
I take a small sip of my juice, tilting my head. “Be sure, because?”
“Because if it’s not his.” Her eyelashes flutter. “Then I will stay here and
adopt it out.”
“And if it is?” I ask, leaning forward.
Her eyes come to mine. “Then it will be his choice. He’s angry with me,
and I know that, but I also know that he hasn’t come to get me, which he
usually would, which means he’s more than angry, he’s hurt.”
“He is,” I whisper, gazing off into the distance, before coming back to
her.
She continues. “I have my doctor coming tonight. I hope that’s okay?”
I roll the plastic bottle between the palms of my hands. “That is perfect. I
want to be back as soon as possible, even though Brantley is going to kill me
anyway. I might take a nap before then, if that’s okay.” My brain is slow, and
I’m not processing things at speeds I usually would.
“Of course,” she says, standing from the sofa and placing her juice on the
glass coffee table in front of it. “I’ll show you to the spare room. I arrived a
few days ago. I had to prepare all of the scenarios that played through my
head prior to asking you this.”
I follow her down the hallway until we reach three doors. One is already
open, showing a bathroom, and the other two are closed, I’m guessing
bedrooms. She swings open the door and gestures inside.
“There’s the bathroom over there, towels and everything you need, um,
hey…”
I turn to face her, placing my bag on the floor inside.
“Thank you. I can’t express how grateful I am for you doing this. I had no
idea how I was going—” She gulps, her eyes welling up. “To find out how or
what I would do.”
I nibble on my lip, trying to stop myself from asking the question that’s
on the tip of my tongue. “What do you think Bishop would say if the baby
wasn’t his?”
Her eyes widen, her cheeks flushing red. “He wouldn’t want to raise it.”
I unzip my bag, taking out some Tommy lounge shorts and a tank.
“That’s where I think you’re wrong.” I drop down onto the bed, watching
her. “I think he loves you enough to accept that child even if it isn’t his.”
“What are you saying?” she asks softly, and I watch as her shoulders sag
and her eyelids turn heavy.
“Madison,” I whisper gently, not wanting to upset her.
She’s obviously beautiful, but I can see that the stress has not been kind.
Her hair is long and brown, but without the gloss of the blowouts I have seen
in so many photos. There are bags under her eyes that show her lack of sleep.
“I’m saying that you should let him choose regardless of the outcome.”
Her eyes snap to mine, before a small smile tugs on the edge of her lips.
“Sleep. I will wake you when he gets here.”
“A little before, please. I always need a good twenty minutes after waking
to be able to talk.”
She chuckles. “Okay. Deal.”
When she shuts the door behind herself, I quickly dash into the shower
and scrub my body of the sticky odor of travel, before brushing my teeth and
running a brush through my hair. I’m back in my bedroom, hitting the lights
off and drawing the curtains closed, when my phone starts vibrating on the
bedside table.
I didn’t leave it behind. I wanted to be able to answer it and communicate
with Brantley. This wasn’t me running away, and I didn’t want him to stress
about me, not when I know that they’re all trying to figure out the whole
drugging dilemma.
I plop down onto the mattress and fight my tired eyes to open the text
messages.
12 unread texts
8 missed calls
I sigh, opening the first text message.
Brantley: Where the fuck are you?
Brantley: I got your note. You better be fucking joking.
My note was simple. It said that I would be home on Saturday, ready for
the ceremony on Sunday and to not worry.
Brantley: I am going to kill you. I swear to all the gods, Saint. You’re
dead.
Bishop: Where are you?
Bishop: You can’t just disappear. I can’t do another one…
That text stops me. Guilt settles inside of my belly, and before I can stop
myself, I hit dial on Bishop’s name. Then I hang up. I open a text to Brantley.
Me: I am okay. Be home soon.
I click on Bishop’s name. Me: You don’t ever have to worry about
that. I promise it’s important, okay? I’ll be home on Saturday.
My phone slips from my hand as my eyes slowly close.

My lashes flutter against my cheeks. I try to open them, but every time I do, I
feel as though they’re being weighed down by heavy cement blocks.
The smell hits me first. Fried flesh, rotten marrow, and dried organs.
A tree.
I shoot up from the bed, my fingers clenched around the sheets while a
piercing sound stabs my eardrums. It’s not until Madison crashes through my
door with her hands covering her ears that I realize… that sound is me.
I stop screaming, while wrapping my knees against my chest and rocking
back and forth.
“Hey!” Madison enters the room farther, closing the door behind her and
sitting on the mattress. Her hand comes to mine, squeezing me gently. “It’s
okay. It’s a nightmare.”
I exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding, lying back on the bed
until I’m resting against the headboard. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
 “It’s fine,” she says. “Do you want me to get you a drink of water or
anything?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay.”
My phone rings on the bedside table and I reach for it aimlessly. When I
see Brantley’s name flash over my screen, my insides crumble.
Madison follows my eyes and flinches. “He scares me. Please answer it.”
I swipe my finger across and slowly bring my phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Question.” His voice is low, and every single vocal cord that he exudes
hits every corner of my soul. Ice slides down my spine and goosebumps rise
all over my flesh. My eyes find Madison and she runs her fingers over the
tiny bumps on my arm.
“Yes?” I ask softly, hoping it will soften the blow.
“Why the fuck do you think I’ve kept you locked in this house for all
those years?”
“I heard you tell Nate one night.”
Silence. “What night?”
Madison stands to leave, but I stop her with my hand on her arm. I shake
my head and she slowly lowers herself back on the bed. “The night you all
had a party at the manor and Nate tried to open my door. You said that he
couldn’t have me.”
Brantley pauses again, before chuckling. “You really think that is all?”
“Well, now that you say it like that, no…”
“Get home. Now.”
“I can—”
“Saint? Do not fucking play with me. Home.”
“Okay, but ther—”
“Saint…” he growls, and the purr skates over my eardrums, rocking my
core. “Home.”
“Okay,” I answer through a whisper, squeezing the phone. Right after I
finish doing what I’m doing. “Could you tell Bishop I’m okay? He was
stressed last night.”
“He knows.”
“I’ll see you soon…”
There’s a long pause, before I hear a door close in the background. “Put it
on speaker.”
I panic, my eyes shooting to Madison.
“What?”
 “Do it.”
I bring my phone down, hitting the speaker button. He doesn’t waste
time.
“Madison, if anything happens to her, I swear to God I will make your
life a living hell before slowly, and carefully, destroying you. You understand
me? Not a fucking hair on her head is to be missing when she flies home. I
don’t know what the fuck you’re both doing, but I trust Saint enough to know
she wouldn’t do something unless there was a good reason. She’s smart,
fucking way smarter than anyone I know, and she’s about three steps in front
of the human brain. You fuck with her, you fuck with me.”
Madison sighs, leaning forward. “Bran, she’s safe.”
“Keep it that way.” Then the phone call ends and Madison’s eyes come to
mine. “He’s gotten worse with age.”
I stifle a groan. “I thought he was just always like this.”
She shakes her head. “No. Never. He was the quiet one that we were all
too scared to approach. Seeing him worked up is new.”
Madison’s shoulders jiggle as she tries to contain her laughs. “Man, I
hadn’t felt like I was missing much being away, but I would sure pay for a
front-row seat to the Saintley show.”
My laughter dies out slowly. “There’s not much of a show. We’ve had
sex twice, the first time he was my first time, and the second time felt more
like hate sex, which I kind of liked.”
Her lips stretch wide. “Well, I can’t be of much help there.” A small
smile comes onto her mouth before she taps my hand. “The doc is here.
You’ve been out eight hours!”
I swing my legs off the bed. “I’m ready.”

Warm liquid filled my mouth, the heavy taste of metal running down the
back of my throat. I still hung to the tree, swinging back and forth like a pig
hunted, about to be singed before being eaten.
“We know what you do…” Brantley said, and I lifted my head up, using
all of my strength, dangling between my shoulder blades. “We know who the
fuck you are.”
I rolled the slimy liquid in my mouth and spat it onto the ground. “Then
you know that you’ve just signed your death certificate.”
Brantley laughed so hard that birds probably flew from the trees. He
stepped up closer, tilted his head while keeping his eyes on mine. “Nah, you
see, we know who you are…” His tongue flicked out to his lips before the
corner of his lip kicked up in a sinister smirk. “But do you know who we
are?”
“I said I don’t!” I yelled, tugging on the ropes that are bound around my
wrists.
He came closer, and the night went silent. The leaves and twigs crunched
beneath his heavy boots, and I faintly caught the other boys in the
background, over his shoulder. “We’re the motherfucking Elite Kings.”
I paused. The blood that filled my mouth now spilled from my lips.
His finger came to my lips, hushing me. “And you just became our prey.”
He stepped backward, cleaning the blade of his knife on his shirt. “You
remember me now?”
I gulped. “I know who you are.”
“Good.” He leaned up and sliced the rope that held my weight to the tree
and I dropped in a slump, hitting the ground. “So you know why I’m about to
kill you and that you deserve it?” He leaned down and ran his finger down
the side of my cheek.
I knew. I knew exactly why. “That was Jay, not me.”
“Nah uh.” Brantley chuckled. “Wrong answer.”
I spun around and ran. I ran so fast my feet throbbed and stung. I looked
up ahead of me, but felt a thud vibrate over the back of my skull, and then I
was falling forward.
Falling and falling. “What?” I whispered, my eyes filling with heat.
Warmth dripped down the back of my neck and over the side, my head
burning with a pain so hot I couldn’t even scream. I reached back to touch
where it hurt, but my hand connected to a plastic handle that was sticking out
of my skull.
Combat boots, dried autumn leaves, the full moon, and the toxic
concoction of death. Blood seeped out of my eye sockets as they closed.
Brantley
Squeezing my phone in my hand, I lean against the wall and try to count to
ten. My pulse pounds inside of me, my head spinning. I could fucking kill
her. I flex my fingers in my fist, clenching my jaw. I can wrap my fingers
around the circumference of her little neck and squeeze, until she realizes just
who the fuck she’s fucking with. I sheltered her all of her life, never let
myself touch her. If black marks white, it’s there to stay, and that’s exactly
what the fuck I’ve done. I’m at around five when Bishop’s office door opens
and he leans against the threshold, his arms folded in front of himself.
“She got there safe?”
“Yeah.” I bring my phone back down, shoving it into my back pocket.
Bishop chuckles. “It’s cute that these girls think they can fucking slide
out without us knowing where the fuck they are.”
“Do you know why Madison needs her?”
Bishop shakes his head, his eyes losing focus. “Who fucking knows at
this point.” The front door to Bishop’s condo opens and closes, as Nate
makes his way down the hallway.
He pauses, his eyes swinging between the two of us. “What’d I fucking
miss?”
 “Oh, you know.” Bishop rolls his eyes. “Yet another example of our
stellar taste in women.”
Nate’s brow rises. “Where’s Saint?”
“Fuck you,” I snap, kicking off the wall and heading into the office.
Nate and Bishop follow suit, taking their seats amongst the numerous
scattered chairs. The condo doesn’t get used nearly as often as we all thought
it would. I sit in silence as we wait on the rest of The Kings before we can get
down to business. My fingers tap against my thigh, my leg jiggling while my
other finger traces the top of my upper lip. I do a repeat round of that before
everyone is here. Bishop’s office here is big enough, but not as big as the one
at his forever home, where he hasn’t even been since Madison left. Fucking
shitshow. This place is more of a hotel than a home.
“Now that we’re all here, we need your attention. I’m calling in our
fathers. We need them in on this.” Bishop pushes a few buttons and puts the
phone on speaker.
“Dad, we’re all here.”
“All right.” I listen as the other four announce their attendance. We’ve
come to the conclusion that the same people who shot at us are connected to
the ones who drugged us. “I get you’re all angry about what happened that
night. They drugged you, left you vulnerable, and on top of that, they shot at
you, but hear me loud and clear…” Wherever Hector is it’s loud. Either
planes or car racing, I can’t decide. “You will not make a move until after the
ceremony. There are too many important people attending, the women have
put too much time and effort into the planning, and Bishop, if you fuck this
with your mother, you know what’s going to happen.”
I smirk at Bishop.
He flips me off. “Agreed. We won’t make a move until after the
ceremony.”
“Good,” Hector says easily. “The last ceremony we did was obviously
mine. It’s a big deal to us. There are three stages of the night. You’ll receive
information over the next forty-two hours. The first stage is with The Kings
only, the second with family and friends, where there will be food, speeches,
and drinking. The last part is the ceremony. A song will play, you will take
your oath, and then that’s that. I step down and fuck your mom until I damn
near rot, and you take on the stress.”
Bishop flexes his hand. “Dad! Fuck!”
Hector chuckles, and I can see his smug smirk from here. “I mean it.
Nothing is to happen until the ceremony. We can’t take heat before it.”
We all agreed, and Bishop hung up the phone, his eyes falling on all of
us.
Nate, Eli, Cash, Hunter, Jase—because the old fucks are always here
anyway—and the silence that spills among us is deafening.
I shuffle in my chair.
Jase slinks down onto the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest.
“Anything we missing here? You guys talk as if you know who has been
doing all of this shit?”
“We do.” Bishop nods his head. “We’ve just been—”
My eyes collide with Bishop’s.
“—waiting.”
I sneer, the adrenaline already settling in my blood. I need it.
“Want to fill us the fuck in?” Jase crosses his arms in front of himself.
I run my tongue over my teeth. “Garcia.”

There was a reason why they called it frostbite. It would literally bite at
your skin until you could no longer feel. I sank my nails into the white snow,
my jaw clenched shut. It got progressively worse as I aged, I found out. My
father wasn’t just an evil man, he was straight-up vile. He wanted to
humiliate, torment, and destroy people in a way that you could never see on
the surface. He worked his sins by hiding it behind human nature. I hated
him. Fucking despised him.
“What you thinking about, boy?” Elijah said opposite me.
My eyes found his, my jaw tensing so hard that my teeth gritted beneath
the tension. I didn’t answer him. He was Lucan’s right-hand man in this
business. I soon found out after he raped me all those years ago. See, Lucan
didn’t pull that shit anymore. Elijah was the last; now he just likes to
humiliate me by making sure Elijah is always around when he’s with us. I
swore one day he would go down, as would Lucan, only differently. I had to
be smart when it came to Elijah. SO fucking smart.
I kicked out my leg, the snow melting against the heat of my skin. We had
been in this goddamn igloo for four hours straight, waiting for a drop. I was
fucking done with the trade, almost close enough to filling Uncle Hector in
on Lucan’s little secret. I wanted to. Every fucking time I saw him, but then
she came to mind. It wasn’t worth it. Civilians, other people—they didn’t
mean shit up against Saint. Sad but true.
 “Something going on in that head of yours?” Elijah asked, leaning his
elbows on top of his knees. “Something you want to do to pass the time? I
mean, I think you and I both know that I don’t mind bondage…”
I bared my teeth. “If you touch me, I will kill you, Elijah, and trust me, I
don’t want to do that. Yet.”
Elijah laughed, his smirk so fucking smug I wanted to reach forward and
punch it right off his face. “Settle, settle, Vitiosis. You’re a little old for my
taste now…”
I ground my teeth, my fists clenching so hard in my palms that crescents
indented. His phone was against his ear when he got a call.
“Ava, how’s my favorite little sister?”
Yeah, I’ll get you real soon, motherfucker.
Saint
I watch as my blood fills the little syringe, slowly and carefully. It’s a much-
needed distraction from the weird things I have been imagining. It’s gone
from shadows, to faces, to a name. Ava Garcia. I know what I have to do, but
it’s going to have to wait until I land back in the United States. I want to
study his reaction when I say her name. Maybe I’m having wild dreams that
are invading my everyday life, or maybe I’m losing my mind. I guess I’m
ready to find out.
“How soon can you get me results?” Madison asks the doctor, whose
loafers cost more than some cars. Huh. Why am I not surprised?
“For you, I can have it back within a couple of hours.”
“Thank you,” Madison says, resting her head back on the sofa.
I clear my throat. “Will this work? I mean, because Bishop and I are only
half-siblings? I know that we share fifty percent DNA, and half, like—” I
pause, trying to rack my brain. “Twenty-five percent. Will this work?”
The doctor nods his head, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Yes, because
you and he still share twenty-five percent of that DNA, which this baby will
hold fifty percent of his DNA. If this comes back inconclusive, it means the
child is not his.”
 Madison lies backward on the sofa as another doctor rubs jelly over a
small ultrasound wand.
“I’m nervous,” Madison whispers.
“Have you had an ultrasound yet?” I ask, watching as the nurse rubs the
wand over her belly.
“No.” Her cheeks flush. “I guess I haven’t felt like I wanted to. And at
first, I didn’t know if I was going to keep it.”
Thud. Thud.
The heartbeat is the first thing I hear, and I turn my head farther, wanting
to get a clear view of the screen.
“There’s your baby,” the nurse says, pointing to the screen. The doctor
drawing blood from me pulls the needle out of my vein and I flinch, snapping
me back to what he’s doing.
Thud, thud, thud.
“And there’s the other one!” The nurse smiles at the screen.
My eyes swing up to the little monitor.
Madison’s face falls. “What?”
The nurse points again. “Two babies in different sacs. They won’t be
identical, so it could be a boy and a girl. Lucky.” The nurse was young, and if
I’m guessing, she and the doc have a thing going on. The chemistry between
them is hot, spicy even. I could reach out and touch it.
“No!” Madison yells, shaking her head. “Two? Oh my God, no!”
“Madison, hey, it’s okay,” I say, and once the doctor is finished up with
me, I make my way to her.
I feel her calm as I sit beside the couch and lay my hand on her arm.
She searches my eyes, tears falling down the corners. “I’m sorry. It’s just,
you look like him at times and I wish—”
I squeeze her arm. “It’s going to be fine.” I couldn’t tell her that I was
internally screaming with the fact she was going to have twins. The birth
alone would terrify me.
The nurse continues, “You’re safe to have the extraction. Would you like
to do it here or the doctor can take you into a bedroom?”
“Here,” Madison whispers, her hand on mine. “Here is perfect.”

After the mini-hospital has packed up, I close the door behind them and keep
my eyes on Madison, who still seems to be freaking out in the lounge. She
has her phone pressed to her ear as she talks to someone. I hear her say dad,
so I decide to give her some privacy, moving into the kitchen to find
something to eat. Amongst the chaos of getting here, I forgot to eat. I find
fresh fruit and sliced deli meat. I take them out and place some grapes on a
plate with shaved ham, grabbing a bottle of water and moving to the kitchen
table. Opening my phone, I find a text from Bishop.
Bishop: How is she?
I want to yell at him and tell him that they’re both being stubborn and
ridiculous. Now that I’ve met her and I’ve seen how affected she is by their
separation, from the outside looking in, it doesn’t logically make sense. They
love each other with such ferocity it could burn, so why aren’t they using that
same violent passion to stay together? They’re both clearly tenacious in their
ways.
Saint: About as good as you.
He doesn’t reply, and I open Tillie’s message thread. She’s yelling at me.
I’m not surprised. I send her off an I love you text and leave it as that.
Tillie: I think you were put on this earth to stress all of us out.
No text from Brantley. Closing her message, my finger hovers over his
name. Every time the cushion of my finger touches the screen, my heart beats
so loud I almost can’t hear anything else. Unsure of what to even say, I
choose something simple.
Saint: I’m sorry.
I don’t know why that’s all I could think of to say, but I felt I needed to
say it. I don’t mean to stress him, or anyone, but I realize I do put a lot of
unwanted tension on Brantley.
The message bubbles light up. And then stop. And then light up again
before my phone dings, just as I pop a grape into my mouth to stop my guts
from spilling out from all the nerves.
Brantley: For which part?
Saint: You’re still mad.
Brantley: Yup.
Saint: What can I do to make you forgive me?
When he doesn’t reply right away, I pick at my food. Madison is still on
her phone, walking back and forth furiously, sobbing and running her hand
over her forehead. I feel bad. I want to console her, but I also don’t want to
interrupt.
My phone vibrates, and I pick it up, throwing another grape in my mouth.
 I stop chewing. 1 new MMS. An image pops up and I’m suddenly staring
right at Brantley’s cock. His hand is wrapped around the base. Tanned, thick
and angry, with all of the dangers pierced down his shaft. My mouth waters,
my eyes sting. The leather bangle on his wrist sits over his hip, his jeans
pulled down and his Calvin Klein briefs tucked behind. Six ladders, and one
Prince Albert on the tip. Wow. I think this is the first time I’ve been able to
really appreciate the beauty of him. Is that normal? Is a dick even supposed to
be attractive? Because Brantley’s is. So tight, heavy, built like a man.
My phone vibrates again with a new message from him.
Brantley: For starters? You can sit your pussy on my face and wrap
your lips around this.
My phone slips from my hand, and I quickly catch it.
He texts again.
Brantley: Don’t fucking text me again until you’re on US soil.
I turn off my screen and flush, my thighs clenching together. Shit.
“Sorry about that,” Madison says, swiping the tears away. Her cheeks are
swollen red, her eyes puffy. She makes her way to the coffee pot, pouring the
black liquid into a mug. “They say this stuff is bad for the baby—” She
pauses, laughs, and shakes her head. “Babies, but I say whatever right now.”
She heads for the fridge and pulls open a drawer. “Do you want wine?”
I shake my head. “I’m good. Not much of a drinker. Unless I’m—”
“—partying. I get it. I’m just old and I really miss wine.” She slams the
door closed and drops onto the chair, sipping on her coffee. “I don’t—I don’t
know what I’m going to do.”
I shuffle in my seat, picking at the grapes on my plate. “Well, whatever
you decide, I will support you, but please, just—”
“Tell Bishop?” She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t know what Bishop
you have met, but it’s not the one that most people know.”
I curl my lips between my teeth.
Madison’s eyes zone in on me. “You got some sort of witchcraft
happening?”
“I wish, then I could maybe make Brantley not be mad at me anymore,
though it’s like a daily thing these days.”
Madison snorts, rubbing her belly. “Oh, he’s just lucky that you didn’t
come into this world a year or so ago. We would have fucked you right up
and made him wish he never let you around us.” I watch as she ties her long
brown hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. “They said they’ll have the
results back to us in the morning.” Her eyes come to mine. “Tillie told me
about you and how you came about, but did that psycho really leave you
locked in that creepy house all of your life?”
“He did,” I say, smiling. “It wasn’t all that bad. Especially after Lucan
died. It became silent. Lucan always took up a lot of energy with his
presence.”
Madison doesn’t answer, and when my eyes come back to hers, I notice
her whole face shift. Her eyes fall, though her shoulders sit up straighter, and
the grip she has around her coffee mug seems tighter, based on the way her
fingers are turning red. “Do you know how he died?”
I shake my head. “No. Brantley never got into the details. Before I knew
about The Elite Kings, I assumed an accident of some sort, but now I’m
thinking no.”
“You could say that,” Madison whispers, bringing her knees up to her
chest. “He, ah…”
I tilt my head.
“Let’s just say I knew him and Brantley before I met Bishop.” My brows
curve in. She caught my confusion. Her mouth opens. “Did—wait. Did Lucan
ever do anything to you?” Her eyes widen in shock, her mouth agape.
I begin a French braid to the side of my head. “No. There was one time
something was going to happen, I think, but Brantley, he—”
Madison sighs, running the cushion of her finger over the rim of her mug.
“You don’t have to say any more. You are very lucky.”
“Lucky?” I repeat, struggling to taste the sense of the word.
“Yes, lucky. Brantley is vicious and evil, but not with you. Have you
heard of that quote, ‘I don’t care if I will fall in love with a devil, as long as
that devil will love me the way he loves Hell’? Or ‘He set fire to the world,
but never let a flame touch her’? That’s Brantley with you.”
“It’s all I’ve known from him, but he’s not easy to deal with. In fact, I’ve
come to learn after being around so many of you that he is the most difficult.”
“Ah, but that’s what makes his love so rare.” Her eyes collide with mine.
“Because his love is the hardest to find. Beneath that hard exterior and void
behavior. It’s like finding a gold mine after living in poverty all of your life.”
“Exactly.” I laugh, my shoulders shaking. “Because he starves people of
love and affection until they’re wilted and dead.”
“—Or,” Madison says, raising a finger. “He starves them to see who is
the last one standing. Loving Brantley will be no easy feat for any girl. It will
take a tough-ass female to handle all of the love that boy has to offer. He will
be demanding, moody, distant at times, and wildly untamed with his love, but
he’s smart. He does it to protect himself.”
I sigh, ignoring the list she just blurted off. She couldn’t have described
Brantley more perfectly. “You’re right. He doesn’t love me, though. It’s not
in that kind of way, if it is. It’s more of a little sister way, I think.”
Madison raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me over her mug. “Does
someone who thinks of another as a sibling deflower them?”
“Madison!”
She laughs, resting her mug back on the table. “I’m not sorry.”
My cheeks flush, but I giggle. “Also true. You’re good at this.”
“At fixing other people’s problems while my world falls apart? I know.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. I hate it. “I’m an honest person. Brutally
so. In fact, I think it makes Brantley want to strangle me most of the time,
and I’ve had this discussion with Bishop on more than one occasion.” I run
my tongue over my lips and hold my breath. “Why did you run?”
Madison pauses. She whines, running her hands over her face. “I was
scared. I’m a runner. I think it has to do with my dad and how I was raised,
and the fact Bishop is so erratic. When I found out, I ran. I was scared this
baby wasn’t Bishop’s, and scared it was Bishop’s. I didn’t know what to do.
So much just went down with some really bad people that I just—I
needed…”
“Silence,” I answer for her.
Her eyes meet mine. “Exactly.” She sighs. “I know it’s bad. Bishop
taking the gavel, he needs me to be strong. Be Scarlet so he can be Hector.” I
flinch at my father’s name. “But I couldn’t offer that to him right now. I
needed the clarity.”
“And when you go back?” I ask, digging for answers. “Will you do this to
him again?”
A small smile tips the edge of her lips. “Ah, you fit that sister role
perfectly.”
“Sorry.” I wince. “It’s just really hard to see you both go through this.
He’s so lost.”
“I will never do this again if he takes me back.”
I want to believe her, but I can’t. Not right now, at least.
I wake, my body drenched in sweat with sheets sticking to my limbs. Four
a.m. I groan, kicking the sheets off and opening the curtain. The city down
below hasn’t slept. There’s a tall skyscraper building a few blocks away from
us, with lights around the spaceship style ring near the tip. It’s pretty. So I
leave the curtain open and head back to the bed, taking a seat on top of the
soft mattress. I can’t remember why I woke, or why I’m this sweaty, since the
temperature in the room is cool. A cold shiver slips down the curve of my
spine, and I spin around, expecting to see someone behind me, but I’m met
with darkness. I massage my temples and let out a light sigh, before turning
on my bedside light.
It doesn’t work.
I lean back in my bed and bring my phone with me, opening up
Instagram. I scroll past Tillie and Nate’s latest photo. Nate’s tattooed hands
covering Tillie’s little bump. It’s in black and white with one of Nate’s hands
flipping the camera off. The caption reads: You called him daddy, so I
made him one. A chuckle gets caught in my throat, and I shake my head.
Give it to Tillie to be so passive-aggressive. I don’t know how they got
together or the troubles they went through to get there, but I couldn’t imagine
it. It had to be chaos. They’re both so intense. I scroll down and fall on
Bishop’s photo of Eli. He’s sitting on a sofa, looking at the camera with a
dead expression. Free to good home.
Eli commented below it. @elirebel: Only so I can make it bad.
I blow out a breath of air. I haven’t posted on Instagram since our selfie,
which I ended up deleting right after anyway, and I’m not sure I really want
to. I flip the camera to selfie mode, roll onto my belly, and fluff my long hair
to one side. Resting my face in the palm of my hand, I roll my eyes to the
back of my head and stick my tongue out one side. With the flash, it turned
out okay. I scroll over the filters, but don’t seem that fussed by them, so I
leave it natural. I type out the caption: Witching hour. Can’t sleep.
I push post and then find my profile. I pause. I had four followers last
time I checked, and that was Tillie, Bishop, Nate, and Eli. Not even Brantley.
Now it reads 12.4k Following 5 because I followed him. I don’t care. A red
dot lights up over the heart and I click on it, as likes roll in for the photo I
posted.
@jrolley this is Brantley’s girl? Pretty.
@hijakr omg
@minnieg of course she looks like this. She’s Bishop’s sister.
 @kiolad OH. MY GOD SHE POSTED
@daffidi obsessed with you SAINT! Can we be friends?
@giafro lol @daffidi no. You couldn’t. Remember, they don’t
associate with us lesser folk.
@vienna THE ELITE

I stop reading when it becomes too much. “What the hell?” My phone
rings in my hand and I scream, tossing it onto the bed. Picking it back up
again, with my heart pounding in my chest, I relax when I see Brantley’s
name flashing over the screen.
Then I panic again because he’s calling me at this time. Something must
be wrong.
I swipe it to answer. “Hey! You okay?”
“You alone?” My heart rolls around in my chest.
“Yes. It’s four in the morning.”
“Yeah, I saw that…”
“Saw, what?” I ask, lying back in the bed and dragging my sheets up to
my chin. “Why’s it loud there?”
“Hmmm?” he says, and it almost kills my internal organs with how
smooth he sounded. Lazy, almost.
“I said why’s it loud there?”
“Oh, Nate and Tillie had a fight, so he threw a party to piss her off.”
“And you’re there to take her side?” I smile, because he is a lot of things,
all bad, mostly, but when he cares about someone, he cares.
He grumbles. “Sort of. Send me a photo.”
“What?” I bite down on my lip, even though I know what kind of photo
he wants.
“Don’t play dumb, Saint. Send me a photo.”
“Why?” I might like his attention, too, even if it is extreme.
“Because when I wrap my hand around my dick later tonight, there’s only
one girl I want to be looking at. Send it.”
I try to hide my smile. My cheeks sting. “Okay, wait there.” He doesn’t
answer, so I flip the camera to selfie, throw my shirt off and toss it into the
corner. I debate with myself about my underwear, before unclipping my bra
and sliding my panties down. I finally get the lamp to turn on, resting my
phone on the bedside table against it. Leaning against the wall, sideways to
the phone, I hold my nipples, while arching my back, and take three shots.
One with me looking naturally at the camera, another with my leg perched
and smiling, and another while looking down. I pick up my phone and swipe
through them, shrugging and then sending them straight to him.
“I sent them.”
“You just took photos now?” he asks, seemingly surprised. “Didn’t you
just wake up?”
“So?” My cheeks flame red. Was I not supposed to?
“Nah, nothing. Usually chicks need to spend hours to get ready, go
through one hundred filters to make them skinny, and then tweak whatever
shit they think I won’t like.”
Instantly I cower. He’s done this before. Of course he has. I don’t know
why it bothers me.
He goes silent on the other end. “How much have you had to drink?” I
ask.
“A bit. Hold up…” He disappears, and I figure he got the photos, so I
quickly slide back into my clothes and under the covers, resting my phone
against my ear. “Jesus fuck, Saint! I didn’t mean send nudes!”
“What?” I ask, confused.
His tone drops to a growl. “I didn’t mean send me fucking photos of you
naked!”
“I don’t know what nudes mean!” I snap back at him. Shame washes over
me. He doesn’t like them? “I can take other ones if you don’t like them.”
“If I don’t?—” He laughs, and it’s maniacal. It reminds me of the night he
took my virginity and licked the blood clean from between my thighs. A door
slams in his background and I jump, even though I know he’s not here.
Suddenly I wish he was. I wish he was here so I could calm him down,
because I’m well aware of the kind of turmoil he’s creating inside of his
head. “Don’t ever fucking say that again.”
I gulp, my throat swollen. “Brantley?”
He doesn’t answer, but I hear his breathing heavy on the other end.
I continue. “I think I miss you.” His breathing stops, and my chest
tightens again. I struggle to breathe as I wait for his answer, but the sadness
that weighs down on my heart tonight is heavy. “I’ve never been this far
away from you, I don’t think, or at least that I know of.”
“It doesn’t seem like a good idea now, does it?” he bites at me. He’s
angry. I get it. His answer to everything is anger and silence, which usually
never go hand in hand, but that’s one of the many reasons why Brantley
Vitiosis is exceptionally unique. There will never be another like him—which
is both a good and a bad thing. He exhales. “Come home.”
“I will.”
“When?” The fact he’s allowing me to make a decision without
interfering is proof he’s allowing me to grow a little.
“Today, I think.”
“Good. Because Saint, if you’re not on that jet today, I’ll have Trevor—
the man who I have stationed outside that swanky little hotel you’re staying
at down Queen Street—gag you, tie you up, and throw you onto that plane.
Got it? Don’t fucking test me. I’ve given you enough time over there to do
whatever the fuck you think you have to do to help the Madship mess, but
mark my words…” He pauses, and I’m still holding my breath. “If your sexy
little ass is not on that jet today, I’ll show you exactly why people are scared
of me.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’m trusting you,” he says, and I hear a door open again wherever he is.
“You can always trust me.”
“Brantley…” a girl’s voice comes through the other end on a whine.
“Come back out!”
All of the feelings that were brewing inside my belly suddenly pause.
“What? Fuck no. Get out.” He slams the door shut.
“I’ll leave you to it.” I didn’t mean to sound so cold, but it came out that
way. These guys are just Brantley, Bishop, Eli, and Nate to me, but I’m
starting to learn they’re gods to everyone else.
“Saint… don’t be stupid.”
“Bye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sai—”
I hang up on him. When my phone rings again, I turn it off. Maybe I’m
being immature, but I’ll chalk it up to my age. I’m seventeen, they’re all early
twenties, but I know deep down that’s not it.
Tossing and turning and knowing I won’t get any more sleep after that
whole conversation, I find the clothes I’m going to wear, something
comfortable for the flight home, and take a quick shower. By the time I’m
dressed and cooking breakfast, the sun is rising through the windows, setting
the sky on fire. Through my frying eggs, I go back and forth on whether I
should turn my phone on, but I end up on no. No, because I know he’s going
to be angry at me and I can’t face it right now. And anyway, by the time I get
back to the US, he’ll be calmed down, right?
Brantley
I flick the Swiss Army knife around my fingers, the limo idling on the
tarmac. My hair is a mess, I haven’t slept since she fucking hung up on me,
and on top of all that bullshit, her flight was delayed because of the weather,
so what happens when you get this tragic concoction of unfortunate events?
You are left with a deprived fucking monster awaiting to unleash all its wrath
the only way he knows how.
The window separator winds down. “Sir, she just touched down.”
I clench my jaw, nodding. “Good. I’ll wait here while you help Miss
Vitiosis with her bags.”
He nods, sliding out of the car and making his way to the trunk. I watch
as the black jet with the gold lettering EKC rolls into view, my teeth clenched
so tight I’m almost certain they’re about to crack. I watch as the steps roll out
and finally, she comes walking out. Her belly showing, with a small crop top
hoodie and black yoga pants. She looks like a fucking model fresh off the
runway, if she wasn’t so fucking short.
She notices the car and I watch as her body stills slightly.
I smirk, even though I know she can’t see me.
She slowly makes her way down the stairs, heading straight for the car.
When she’s reaching for the handle, I swing the door open and it hits her on
the hand.
She flings it back. “Ouch.” Before sliding in. She slams the door closed,
her eyes on mine. Saint is what you would call demure. She has more self-
restraint when it comes to keeping her mouth shut, but when she talks, people
listen. They take her seriously. She doesn’t waste her breath on drama, or
bullshit fights. It’s what I like most about her, but right now I don’t like her
that fucking much.
Her arms cross in front of her. She was smart sliding opposite me, a
decent arm’s reach away. We sit in silence until the driver is back in the front
and the window is back up. Some MGK song is playing in the background
and I keep my eyes fixed on her. She does everything she can to ignore me,
which admittedly only makes me more amused.
Her eyes finally come to mine. “I’m sorry! Okay!”
I don’t answer, boring my eyes into hers. At first they were a shade of
green, but as she got older, they turned a greyish blue. Fucking weird. I
slowly shake my head.
“Brantley…” she deadpans. “I don’t want you angry with me.”
“Oh, I’m angry with you.”
“I had to go and help her!”
“That’s not why, though…”
She pauses, her fingers twisted in her lap. “Then why?”
I run my tongue over my teeth. “Come sit on my lap and find out.”
I watch as she struggles with what I’ve said. Slowly, she peels off her belt
and moves across to me. When she’s taking too long, I snake my arm out and
drive her onto my lap. Her knees hit either side of me, her hands on my neck.
She notices the knife in my hand.
“Can we have this talk without that?”
“Nope.” I grin up at her, my eyes flicking between her mouth and her
eyes.
She relaxes in my arms, dropping her lips down to mine. She wants soft,
but she’s not going to get it. My fingers wrap around the back of her neck to
hold her against me, my tongue diving into her mouth. She moans, and I bite
down on the swell of her bottom lip, dragging my teeth over the curve. She
removes her shirt, and I watch as she slowly peels herself naked for me. Inch
by inch. I leave her to it. She pulls on my belt, and I inch up so my jeans can
slip over the swelling of my cock.
 She grips it hard, her eyes wide and her little hand nowhere near coming
close enough to wrap around my shit. Slowly she licks her lips, looking up at
me from behind thick lashes as she slides her lips over the tip. I watch as
every piercing disappears into her mouth.
“Fuck.” I groan, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. My hand finds
her hair and I fist it tightly, tugging on her head and demanding her to look
up at me. My cock rests against her lips while her eyes remain up on mine.
“What?” she asks, fluttering her fucking lashes. “Am I doing something
wrong?”
“No, I more want to know how you know what you’re doing…”
“Porn.” She shrugs, flicking her little tongue over the tip, teasing Prince
fucking Albert. “Reverse” by G-Eazy is playing through the car.
I tighten my grip. “What?”
She bites on her lower lip. “What?”
I guide her back over me, biting down on my bottom lip. “No more
talking.”
She slides me inside her mouth but stops halfway. I run my fingers
through her hair, over to one side of her head and pull her back up my body.
My fingers find her nipple before I suck her perfect tit into my mouth while
my thumb maintains slow circles on her clit. She rides my finger, her head
falling on my shoulder.
“I need—”
“What?” I ask, sinking my teeth into her breast. I look back when I notice
the two holes from my fangs and the blood that drips out of them slowly.
“What do you want?”
She pauses, catching my eyes with hers while her brows curve in. Just
when I think she’s going to crawl off, she directs her hips over mine, and
when the tip of my cock is against her entrance, she swallows me fucking
whole. She gasps but continues the descent. Her tight pussy doesn’t budge,
the grip way too fucking strong. I bring my hand to the front of her throat,
squeezing tightly while cranking my head.
“Don’t ever fucking hang up on me again.”
She ignores me, because she’s fucking good at that, as she rides over my
girth with slow gyrations. Too slow. My fingers bite into her hips as I slam
her over me roughly, until I’m balls deep inside. Tight, wet, and so fucking
needy. Being inside Saint is like being on LSD with no come-down. She
drops her forehead onto mine and fucks me faster, harder, riding my cock like
she’s been doing it all her life. Like she fucking belongs on it.
My hand is back on her throat as I flip her onto her back, one leg falling
over the seat while her other is twisting around my waist. The knife is on the
floor, so I pick it up while dropping little kisses over her jawline.
My teeth are in her neck again, biting and sucking. She hooks her fingers
under my chin, raising my face to meet hers, before leaning forward and
sucking my lip into her mouth. She drags her tongue across the rim, sucking
up every drop. I groan, my dick flexing against her tightness.
“Let me try something…” Her fingers wrap around the knife that’s in my
hand, and she brings it to the curve of my neck. “Are you scared I might cut
you?”
I smirk down at her. “Kinda hope you do…”
She presses the tip just beneath my jaw, her eyes flying to mine exposing
her panic. “That hurt?”
I chuckle quietly, my shoulders shaking. “So much to learn, my little
Dea…”
She runs her finger over the curve of my jaw, sucking it into her mouth
while looking up at me.
I lift her up by her waist until she’s straddling my lap again, spinning her
around to reverse cowgirl. Tugging on her hair until her head is tilted
backward, I drive my hips into her. She moans too loudly, so I slam one hand
over her mouth, pulling her back against my chest. I tighten my arm around
her stomach when her body convulses around me, her walls fisting my cock
like a fucking vise. I groan, emptying inside of her with every thrust.
“Fuck.”
She falls against me, catching her breath before I pull out and she
squeezes into her clothes. She’s fully dressed when I’m running my hand
through my hair until it sticks up in natural waves.
“What do you do for The Kings?” she asks too quickly, like two of her
holes didn’t just swallow my fucking cock.
“I kill people,” I say, flicking my tongue over my teeth.
She doesn’t answer, so I turn to face her. She’s watching me carefully,
and then slowly leans up, reaching for the cut under my jaw.
“Why?” I ask, flinching away from her touch.
She rubs the tip of her finger over the—barely—small wound, her eager
eyes up on mine. “Just wondering. All jokes aside…”
She can touch me with her hands, but I won’t let her experience what it’s
like to feel my soul. “Who said I was joking?”
She pauses. “I can’t imagine anyone you would have to kill.”
“A lot of people,” I answer her, tightening my belt.
“Well, they must be bad…”
I laugh, my head tipping back until I’m focused on the ceiling. “No,
Saint. They’re not all bad. Because when Hector needs someone to do the shit
he can’t trust anyone else to do, he calls a Vitiosis, you know why?”
Her eyes blink up at me and I feel a pang of guilt for unloading on her.
“Because we don’t give a fuck if the person on the receiving end of our nine
is good or bad. It’s just simply what we do.”
She gulps. Pretty sure she doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t either. “What
about Nate?”
“Same, only different,” I say. “The first thing you have to understand is
that we are not good people. We’re not redeemable. You either live with us,
demons and all, or you don’t.”
“And Eli?” She turns all the way to me now, tucking her leg underneath
her ass.
“He’s a Rebelis. He does everything he wants. He also stirs mischief,
trouble. He antagonizes our enemies.”
“Why would you do that?” I’m reminded that not only is she not part of
this world, but not the one out there either. Things work differently in her
head.
“Because it makes them angry. Everything is… heightened.”
“Games,” she whispers, and I smirk.
The limo stops, and I gesture out the window. “We have to pick up
Bishop. Come in.”
She pauses, chewing on her lip while her eyes swing up to the house.
I grip my fingers around her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine. “You
don’t want to talk to him yet, that’s fine. He won’t push you. When you’re
ready, he’s there.”
“It’s fine,” she exhales. “I guess it’s going to happen.”
I still, whatever the fuck is left of my heart beats a little in my chest, the
most it has ever done. “Come on.”
She pushes the door and steps outside. I’m still straightening my jeans
when we’re walking up to the front of the house.
She stops just short of the stairs.
“Saint…” I turn over my shoulder. She’s staring up at the house, her
shoulders rigid. I backtrack, reaching for her hand. “I can drop you home first
if you’re tired.”
She shakes her head. “No. I slept on the plane to get back into our time
zone.” She brings her eyes to mine and smiles. “I think I want to talk to him.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You sure? Right now?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yes.”
Fuck.
I wrap my fingers around hers, but she grabs on to my pinky finger
instead. I leave it there while guiding her up the stairs and to the front door.
The Hayes family and their over-the-top glass houses. I shove open the front
door and gesture her inside. She takes in the décor, her eyes flying around in
amazement. The family photography, the art, the crystal chandelier, even the
Calacatta marble floor. She’s taking in everything, and a little voice in the
back of my head is worried about that.
Bishop’s walking straight for Saint when he comes into the foyer. I
release her. It’ll probably be the first time she’s going to see a little bit of the
grumpy Bishop.
He scoops her up by the legs and she squeals as he tosses her over his
shoulder. “You ever fucking do that shit again.”
She giggles—fucking giggles—and he slowly places her back to the
floor. I watch as a silent conversation happens between them. His eyes on
hers, her small smile. “She’s not okay. About the same as you.”
“Why did she need you?” Bishop asks the question we’ve been trying to
figure out since we knew she was flying to New Zealand.
I watch her face carefully. Saint can’t lie for shit. She shakes her head.
“Not right now.”
“What does that fucking mean?” I snap, stepping closer to her. “What do
you fucking mean?”
She looks at me. “I’m sorry, okay! To both of you, but I can’t say right
now.”
Bishop’s jaw tenses, and I know he’s pissed about it as much as I am.
We’re the ones who keep the secrets. We’re the ones who are always steps
ahead. Not them.
She steps away from us. “Where’s Hector?”
Saint
There are echoes that live within these walls, and they whisper all of the
secrets the Hayes family keep locked away.
Brantley glances down the hallway behind the staircase, before coming
back to me. “We’ll take you.” Truthfully, I probably should have gone
straight home. I don’t know if I’m running on fumes or adrenaline, but I feel
the need to see Hector. For one reason, but the other possibilities could be a
bonus, too.
Bishop stares at Brantley, and I feel the shift of whatever is happening
begin to move between them. They’re hiding something from me. I can sense
the tightness in the air.
Making my way down the hallway, I pass the contemporary art that’s
hanging on the wall and the large Victorian-style mirror. It has metal claws
on all four corners, which wrap around the edges like the sharp nails of a
woman. Weird décor that doesn’t match this house at all. Brantley stops me
before my hand is on the door handle. “We’ll stay out here.”
I shake my head. “No. I want you both in there.” But I won’t tell you
why…
Brantley’s hand is on the handle again, pushing until it splits open,
revealing the vast office space of Hector Hayes. They say you can tell a lot
about a man by how he keeps his office. This is more like a small library,
with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that fill the walls, a glass cabinet built into
the wall, a long rectangular office desk clearly crafted from wealth, and a
puffy leather chair tucked behind it, which is where Hector is staring at me
from. He rolls a thick cigar between his thumb and forefinger, curling his
other fingers up to signal Bishop to close the door.
Bishop closes it behind us, but I don’t move my focus from Hector. His
smile looks deceiving, and I don’t know if that’s just how he is or if I’m
reading him wrong. If I had to judge him by his office, I would say clean.
There’s a problem with clean, though, and that’s because no one with the
reputation of Hector Hayes is clean. So I’m left with the word fraud rolling
around inside my head. Aside from that, he looks good for his age. Tattoos
cover his skin, a trimmed beard around his mouth, and a full head of healthy
hair.
He unbuttons his suit jacket and gestures to the four chairs in front of his
desk. The idea to get this conversation over with was a decision I made on a
whim. Bishop taking the gavel tomorrow means I want it done for him. I
know how much he wants this conversation to happen, and I think deep down
I have questions that I would like to know the answers to, whether he wants
to share those with me or not.
Bishop falls onto the chair to the left of me, and Brantley to the one on
the right. He scoots his chair forward farther so he’s slightly in front of me.
Hector notices, a small smile flicking over his lips. “Still don’t trust me,
nephew?”
“The Godfather? Of course. Just not with this.” Brantley winks at him.
Hector shakes his head, his eyes finally coming to mine. “You look more
like my family than you do your mother’s.”
Bishop leans into me. “That’s supposed to be a compliment.”
“Hmmm,” Hector huffs. “I guess you’ve got a lot of questions for me.”
He flicks the ash off his cigar. “All of which I’m willing to tell you honestly.
Brantley and I have both agreed it’s best you know everything that we know.
That is, if you think you are able to handle the truth.”
“I can,” I say, looking to Brantley, who’s running his finger over his
upper lip while watching Hector.
Hector leans forward. “Do you remember anything before being with
Brantley?”
 I shake my head. “No. I don’t even remember the day I arrived there.
Where was I before if I didn’t go to Brantley until I was two?”
Hector pauses, his focus buoyantly on Brantley. He leans back in his
chair. “You were in an orphanage in Vatican City.”
“An orphanage?” I ask, shocked. “Why in Vatican City?”
Hector remains passively focused on me. “This orphanage isn’t for any
child. It’s for—well—”
“Here we go.” Bishop kicks out his leg.
“For kids with special abilities.”
The confusion must be evident on my face, because Hector continues.
“It’s for kids who may suffer from issues that could separate them from
society. It is owned by friends of The Kings, and has been there for
generations. It’s in Rome because it’s far enough away from our enemies.”
Hector stands. “Or so we assumed.” He turns to the bookshelf behind him
and runs his fingers over worn spines.
Bishop groans. “Do not give her Tacet a Mortuis.”
“I’m not.” Hector laughs, finally picking a burned red leather spine and
dropping it so hard on his desk that dust particles explode into the air. “This
is our family history book.”
“Jesus Christ.” Bishop snickers. “Why so many fucking books?”
“Because it’s how our ancestors could communicate with us. I tried to get
you to read it once. Not a chance.”
Bishop flips off Hector.
“It’s true. I read once that people would journal a lot, speak to their future
from the grave,” I say futilely to no one in particular.
Hector ignores him and slides the book across the table. “Read it if
nothing I’m telling you makes a lot of sense. But it all started with one of my
great-great-great-grandmothers.”
I pause.
Hector points to the book that’s now in my hand with his cigar. “She
escaped Salem.”
My fingers flex over the aged leather of the book. “Salem? As in the
Salem witch trials?”
He nods. “The very same.” Taking a seat back on his chair, he puffs on
his cigar until the sweet scent of burnt tobacco drifts around my face. “That
was her journal, in her own words. The papers are all bonded together with
wax. A lot of the words may not make sense. Majority of it is written in early
modern English. She escaped the trials, ended up in Riverside, and well—”
Hector raises his hands around the room. “She became a legend amongst
most. Mainly for putting up with a Hayes, but because the year 1694 was the
year she gave birth, and then 1695 was the year The Hayes Curse was born.”
I blow out a loud exhale of breath, shifting in my chair.
“I don’t understand what any of this means,” I answer honestly, placing
the heavy book on my lap. “But what I really want to know, is what do you
mean, The Hayes Curse?”
Bishop turns toward me. “They called it a curse, but it isn’t really. Have
you heard of clear sight and psychometry?”
“Yes. Clairvoyancy?”
Bishop nods. “Yeah. So, they say there’s one in every Hayes generation.
When it skipped me, we all figured we were fine, but that was until I found
out Daddy Dearest was hiding another kid, along with his closet full of side
bitches.”
Hector flashes a cocky smirk.
Bishop continues after glaring at him. “You’ve experienced things,
right?”
Silence. Undiluted silence. I close my eyes, pulling my knees up to my
chest. “I—I don’t know.”
Brantley turns toward me, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking up
at me behind his shoulder. “I’ve caught you a few times.”
I look to him. “That was sleepwalking.”
Brantley glares at me, and the way his eyes flick between my mouth and
back to my eyes, makes me shuffle uncomfortably. Pins and needles pinch
over my skin. “Yes, but no.”
“The boys are right,” Hector says. “And over the years I was against you
ever finding out. I didn’t think you needed to know. When Brantley stepped
in and took you, it was agreed that when they started—if they started—he
was to manage it.”
“—which I did,” Brantley snaps at Hector. “Until.”
“Until you came back into this life,” Hector finishes. “I underestimated
the power of your generation.”
“Okay,” I murmur, thrown off by the revelation that I’m basically a damn
freak. This explains a lot of things, but I need to bleed more information out
of them anyway, at least before I spill. “What—what should I look out for?”
Hector shrugs. “That I don’t know. It comes in differently for every
person.”
I hold my breath, my eyes swing between all of them quickly, shifting so
fast, afraid I’ll miss something. I figure I have to read one of them, and one of
them only if this is going to work. They can conceal anything far too quickly
for me to catch.
I turn toward Brantley. “Ava Garcia.”
Goosebumps swell over my skin, a shiver crawling down my spine. The
temperature in the room drops to dangerous levels, and suddenly they’re all
silent. It’s fine. They can be silent, because Brantley’s slipup was loud
enough for me to have an answer.
“How” —Brantley leans over, his elbows now on his knees while his eyes
remain completely on mine—“the fuck do you know that name?”
I square my shoulders, fighting the urge to fidget. “I—I don’t know.”
“You obviously know,” Hector adds, far too calm for my liking.
I cross my arms in front of me. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Explain anyway,” Bishop says, turning his body toward me.
“You won’t believe me.”
Brantley chuckles. “Fucking try us.”
“Okay, but I want the truth. I want your side to what I know.”
“Fucking speak, Saint, my patience is running thin.”
“I see her,” I admit, and because I can’t watch their reactions, my focus
falls to the patterns engraved into Hector’s desk. “She, well, she started
visiting me in my dreams a little after I first met everyone.”
“Great, the bitch is fucking walking into dreams and trying to tell her
truth. Why don’t people just die anymore?” Bishop grunts to himself and I
don’t have the energy to ask him what he means by that. They talk about
people like they’re disposable.
“It was just that.” I search Brantley’s eyes. “But recently it has become, I
don’t know, something else.”
“What do you mean, something else?” Brantley pushes, and I’m well
aware how silent Hector is now.
“I mean, I—I actually see her. Like when I’m in the bathroom. It’s no
longer only when I close my eyes. And that’s not only it. She showed me
what you all did to her.” I lean closer to Brantley, pinning him with my eyes.
“Brantley, I felt what you did. Every step of the way. I watched it through the
eyes of her ghost. When you killed her, I felt it.”
Brantley winces, baring his teeth and finally dismissing me and leaning
back in his chair, his eyes on Hector. “How the fuck do we protect her from a
goddamn ghost?”
“Brantley,” I say, but he doesn’t pay me any attention. His jaw is tight,
his knuckles turning white as his fists clench. Before I can stop myself, I’m
reaching for them. At the connection, he instantly relaxes a little. “I need to
know who she is and why she’s doing this.”
“Who she is?” Brantley turns to face me. “Is the product of very fucking
bad people, Saint, but why she’s doing it? I don’t fucking know.” He stands
abruptly, moving to the other side of the room. He leans against the window,
gazing outside. “Bishop knows the story, but Hector, you don’t.”
Hector sighs, leaning back in his chair. “What the fuck did you all do
now?”
Brantley chuckles, and I watch as he runs his hand over his face. I
squeeze the sides of my chair to stop myself from walking over to him and
jumping into his arms. “Remember Elijah?”
“I remember you telling me what he did, yes.”
Brantley’s jaw flexes. “His last name was Garcia.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hector whispers, shaking his head. “So she was?”
Brantley finally turns to face us, but his eyes are on mine. “She was part
of my revenge.”
The grip I have on my chair increases. “So something happened between
you and Elijah?”
Bishop clears his throat. “You could say that, but Elijah Garcia is the son
of one of the most notorious families known in the state of New York. His
father is a don, Elijah the beta, and Ava?” Bishop shakes his head slowly.
“Well, she was basically the fucking princess.”
“Okay.” My eyes close as I try to undo all the knots inside my brain that
these revelations have tied. “So you killed Elijah, and Ava—”
“Not Elijah,” Brantley murmurs, and when I look up at him, all of my
instincts are screaming for me to run. This time not to him, away from him.
“His time hadn’t come yet.”
“Yet,” Bishop bites out. “I’m thinking it has now.”
“Boys,” Hector finally interrupts. “This is King business.” He casts a look
at me. “Is there anything else you would like to know about yourself or me?”
Feeling satisfied with everything, no matter how confusing it is to digest,
I nod. There is one thing I do want to know. I think anyone who has been
abandoned by a parent would want to know. “Why did you get rid of me?”
 The lines around his eyes deepen, his smile harsh but somehow still
gentle. “I couldn’t keep you. I understand your knowledge of The Kings and
our legacy and law is fairly new to you, but you would have been classified
as a Swan. They would have killed you. The Vatican took you under their
wing with the assumption that you, too, would bear the curse. They weren’t
completely sure you would; they just assumed”
I chew on my lip while scenarios play through my head. “I don’t know
enough, but I know a little bit. Madison, she was a Swan?”
Hector nods. “Yes.”
“And The Lost Boys, they’re who killed them?”
Hector leans to the side of his chair. “Yes, along with your biological
mother, who helped.”
This wasn’t news, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. I’d heard
enough snide remarks from Tillie to know our mom was obviously not
winning any humanity awards.
“But, why did you pull me out of The Vatican and bring me to
Brantley’s?”
A range of emotions crumble over his face. His eyes harden, the wrinkles
around his mouth seem to tense.
Brantley finally moves back to the chair beside me, and just as Hector’s
mouth is about to open, there’s a knock on the door.
Hector keeps his eyes on me. “Come in.”
The door cracks open and Scarlet stands at the threshold. Scarlet, as well
as being the first lady, was also a famous movie star. She’s featured in some
of my favorite movies.
Her wide smile is directed right at me, as if no one else in the room exists.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s okay,” I say, standing. “I’m tired anyway.”
Bishop takes my hand. “Come, you can crash upstairs.” I let him direct
me past Scarlet. It’s not until we’re outside of the office that I notice Brantley
didn’t follow. Bishop pauses at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey.” My hand rests on his shoulder. “It’s cool. I can get the driver to
take me home.”
“It’s not that.” He blows out a breath, his shoulders tense. “Come.” Then
I’m following him out the glass sliding doors that open out onto a patio area
and a large rectangular pool.
“Wow, party house, huh?”
 “You have no idea,” he grunts, leading me around the sun loungers, past
the DJ booth, and through the small garden. My attention wanes when I pass
the overgrown rose bush.
“I could totally fix that.”
Bishop laughs. “You’re not doing our gardening.”
“I’m just saying, I could!”
We stop outside a house identical to the main one, only smaller. It’s
adjacent to the pool, yet overlooks it at the same time. Completely
constructed from glass with dark trimmings.
Bishop stops outside the door. “So many fucking memories in here. I
almost don’t want to open the door.”
“Bishop, I can sleep at home.”
He spins around. “You don’t get it.” He steps forward, touching my
cheek. I lean into his grasp. “This should have been your home all along, but
because of who you are, you were deprived of that, just like Madison was. I
can’t allow it to happen again. How Hector runs shit, is not how I will be.”
I touch his hand with mine. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, releasing his grip on my cheek and leaning against the front
door. “Hector has always only taken care of The Kings. The men. The
legacies. He has always seen women as disposable. He had no problem
dealing with death, no matter the age or gender.”
“Sounds like a great father.”
Bishop scoffs, leaning his head back against the glass. I won’t push for
him to open it. He’s obviously delaying it. “The fucking best.” His tone drips
with sarcasm.
“And you?” I ask, leaning against one of the pillars. “How will you run
it?”
His eyes come to mine. “I will take care of everyone and their families.”
“And what about the others who aren’t tied to The Elite Kings?”
He pauses, and I watch as a dark cloud shifts over his eyes. Goosebumps
break out over my spine. “They’re not my problem. My people will always
come first. A civilian means less than shit to me.”
“So, Hector with civilians, and Bishop with The Kings?” I chuckle, but
roll my lips between my teeth to stop from laughing too loudly.
He glares at me, before a sly smirk crawls onto his mouth. “Smartass.”
He stands, his hand on the doorknob. “Get this fucking over with.” He pushes
through and we make our way inside. It’s immaculate. With stairs that lead
up to a second loft level, a modern kitchen and living space, and all the finest
furnishings.
“It’s beautiful.”
Bishop laughs. “Not likely. Don’t eat off the tables. Cocaine and weed
stain every inch of this joint.” He points upstairs. “I’m joking. Mom keeps it
tidy. Bathroom and bedroom are upstairs. I’ll go grab your clothes.”
I head upstairs as instructed and scrub through the large shower, before
finding my bags on the end of the bed and changing. My heart settles in my
chest. I can feel Bishop all through this space. Madison, too.
Bishop enters, jumping onto the bed. “I take the gavel tomorrow.”
I dry my hair with the towel, before running a brush through it. “Are you
excited?”
He kicks off his shoes and flicks a silver Zippo between his fingers.
“Yeah, fuck, I am. I think I’m ready.” His eyes come to mine, a deep sparkle
inside of them.
“Well,” I say, pulling back the sheets and sliding beneath them. “I hate to
say it, but I’d be worried if you weren’t, since it’s tomorrow.”
He laughs. “Your dress will be here when you wake up. Mom chose it.
She has good taste.”
My mouth widens as I yawn. “Brantley told me he kills people.” Sleep
weighs on my eyes as I struggle to keep them open. “Is that true?”
Bishop turns to face me. “That’s probably putting it lightly.” I wanted to
find a lie in Brantley’s truth, but I should have known better.
“You’re all bad people.”
“The worst,” Bishop whispers, and it echoes through my mind, sticking to
the fibers inside my brain.
“So how come I don’t see it?”
There’s a long stretch of silence. “Because you’re not a civilian.”

“You see, don’t you? You see it as clear as day, yet you ignore all of the
signs…” The voice was a high-pitched scream, so forceful and urgent. Her
face. Pale. Blood-red lips. Fire hydrant hair. Angry brown eyes. She smirked
through the dark, while laughter cackled in the background. “Now you’re
going to die. I’ll leave you with that.”

I shoot up from the bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Foreign bed, white
wallpaper, mirror on the ceiling. Bishop’s room.
 I’m alone, with nothing but the sound of the AC blasting through the
room. It’s dark. So dark. Dark enough to have me urgently seeking out the
light switch. I reach aimlessly for switches on the wall as I walk around the
room. Hands are on my mouth, and I jolt in shock. My shoulders relax when I
recognize his energy.
His mouth is on my neck. “I need you.” He scrapes his teeth across the
curve of my shoulder. “But you might not survive it.”
I turn my head, the fire in my belly spreading between my thighs. “I don’t
care.”
His fingers dip beneath the waistband of my pants, his fingers teasing the
upper edge, over my pelvic bone. His other hand comes to the front of my
throat as he tips my head backward and runs one finger down the chambers
of my throat. “I need this open…”
I stretch my mouth wide for him. When he picks me up by my feet and
throws me onto the bed, the covers melt around my body. I can’t see a thing,
with the light completely cut off. He tugs off the cover and I lift, allowing
him to toss it wherever he does. His hands are on my knees, stretching me
wide, and I prop up onto my elbows, my chest rising and falling with
anticipation. The warmth from his lips grazes my inner thigh, his tongue
following closely behind. He pushes my other thigh down onto the bed,
pinning me down as his other is wrapped around my thigh, propped over his
shoulder. I squeeze the sheets in my hand when he licks over the flesh where
my thigh meets the middle.
A small moan slips from between my lips when he sinks his teeth into
me. “Shit.”
His tongue circles the wound before he trails across and over my middle,
where I ache for him most. I’m tossing and turning when his tongue flicks
over my clit. His hand that was holding down my thigh is now over my lower
belly.
He presses down. “Keep still.”
I groan, fisting the sheets in my hand while arching my back off the
mattress. “Can’t.”
He chuckles, and it vibrates through his lips and slaps me across my clit.
“Try.” His mouth covers me completely, his tongue pressing against my most
sensitive area. Slick, hard and wet, he licks me over and over until the fire
that is in my belly explodes and spreads throughout my body, embers dancing
at the backs of my eyes.
 Finally he lets go, and I hear his belt and jeans fall to the floor before he’s
hovering over my body. I reach up, but I can’t find him.
“Turn the light on,” I say through heavy breaths.
“You don’t want to see me right now.”
“Lies,” I whisper, finally finding the back of his neck. I pull him down on
top of me, and instead of fighting it like I expected him to, his nose grazes
mine. “I’ll take you however I can get you.”
His lips are on mine, his tongue swiping inside of my mouth and I raise
my hips to his. The tip of his cock presses against my entrance, but he doesn’t
stop kissing me. When his hips thrust forward and every inch of him is filling
me to the hilt, he bites down on my lower lip and pulls back. “Fuck, Saint…”
I wrap my legs around his waist, not wanting him any farther away from
me than he has been. I need to be completely occupied with him.
Overwhelmed with the emotions that are running wild inside of me, I drag
my nails over his back, his muscles clenching.
He snaps, his thrusts becoming urgent, fast. He drives into me until I feel
him hit the tip of my cervix. I cry out, but he catches the words with his
mouth, and his tongue is back inside mine.
Leaning up, he draws out of me, lifting me by my hips and flipping me
onto my stomach. He wraps my hair in his fist and tugs on it roughly, until
the skin on my throat flexes. “Up.”
I press my knees into the mattress as he runs his hand over the edge of my
spine. “Fuck. I need to see this.” He grabs his phone and turns the flashlight
on.
I turn to look over my shoulder, flicking my hair to the side. “That’s not
fair. I still can’t see you…”
“Life with me will never be fair.” He tosses his phone onto the floor,
allowing some light to bounce off the shadows, before his fingers are digging
into my hips and he’s directing me over him. I stretch over the metal of his
piercings, clenching and pulling with every inch he buries inside of me.
“Oh my God.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from
screaming. I feel everything. The pleasure that tantalizes the pain. It’s a
constant tug-of-war of which one will win. His pelvis hits my ass cheeks and
I gasp, falling down onto the mattress while keeping my butt high in the air.
He pulls out before driving back in. He continues with this slow pace, until
I’ve relaxed around him, the sound of my wetness mixing with his. He speeds
up, slamming into me relentlessly. I feel my stomach twist and turn as my
heart rate speeds up again. I’m so close. So fu—I explode around him when
his finger comes to my nipple. He pinches roughly, leaning over my back and
sinking his teeth into my shoulder as he releases inside of me, his heavy body
on mine.
“Your pussy is going to kill me.”
“Not before your dick splits me in two.”
He chuckles, his laughter vibrating over my back. “You handle it good,
baby. Real good…”
He’s still catching his breath when he rolls off my body, taking the sheet
with him. I roll to my side and his arm slips over my back, so I snuggle
beneath his arm as he pulls me in close, his nose in my hair.
I flick my finger over his nipple ring. “I want one of these.”
“Mmmm, we can do that.”
His finger hooks under my chin, tilting my face up to his. He kisses me.
“Come sit on my face.”
“Tired.” I yawn, but he catches my bottom lip mid-yawn.
“Now.”
I run my hand over his chest, rubbing the sweat and moisture over his abs
and pecs while pushing up against him and crawling up his body. His hands
come to each of my thighs, pulling me down until I land over his mouth. I
bury my hands in his hair, tilting my head back as his tongue dives inside of
me, his hands on my ass possessively. Running my hand to the side of his
head, I touch more sweat, only it’s alarmingly more.
My brows knit together in confusion as I bring my hand to my face.
Adjusting my eyes to what little light his phone is offering, I pause when I
notice whatever it is that’s on my hand is dark. Dark enough to see through
the minimal light.
I go to push off him, but he pulls me back down.
“Brantley…” I whisper, but he flicks my clit and sucks on it gently and
my mind is lost in the erotic place it goes to any time he eats me. Leaning up
on his stomach with one hand, I relentlessly roll my hips over his face.
One hand comes up to my throat and he tenses as I continue to grind over
him. Air is cut short when his grip tightens. I hold myself up by his arm, the
ripples of muscles tensing under my palm.
“Fuck.” He unlatches from me, his hands on my hips. He slides my body
down his chest like I weigh nothing, and guides me back over his dick. I
shiver when he fills me again, falling on top of him like a fragile doll while
catching my breath.
“You’re bleeding.” I lean up by pressing on his chest.
He forces my head down to his by the back of my neck. “Then clean it.”
I run my tongue over his sharp jaw, down his neck, and over his jugular.
The strong tang of metal hits the tip of my tongue and slides down the back
of my throat. I ride over him slowly while nibbling and sucking over his
collarbone and neck.
“Mmmm.” He wraps my hair around his fist, yanking my face up to his
again. “You might be perfect for me.”
He slides in and out until our bodies slap together, filling the silence with
our moans and bodily sounds. I fall onto his chest when another orgasm tears
through the seams and spills out over us, but before I can catch my breath,
he’s flipping me onto my back, stretching one leg wide with his as his tongue
catches my nipple. He sucks on it at the same pace that he rides my body,
sweat, and most likely blood, sliding between us.
His hand is on my throat again, his lips finally back hovering over mine.
Sweat falls from his chin and lands on my cheek as he presses his forehead to
mine. “You’re done,” he growls, slamming inside of me. If you cut me open
and find the marrow in my bones, you’ll find his name stamped over every
inch of it. “You’re mine.”
I reach for his neck, but he snatches my hands down and pins them over
my head, burying his face between my shoulder and my head.
His hand reaches over and I hear the sound of something metal. Ice
against my neck, and it’s not until it warms to the temperature of my body
that I realize it’s the blunt edge of a knife.
I hold my breath as his thrusting slows.
He leans down to my mouth. “Trust me?”
“Yes,” I whisper instantly, and he drags the blade down the side and over
my arm. “What if you cut too deep?”
“Trust me?” he repeats, his tone slightly edgier. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”
“Okay.” I gulp, squeezing my eyes shut. I know he won’t mean to kill
me, but what if he takes it too far?
The knife is at my arm when he pauses. “I’ll start you somewhere easy,
since your pussy is about to strangle my cock with anticipation.” He presses
the tip into my flesh and I flinch, but don’t yelp. The pain isn’t unbearable,
but the sting vibrating over the cut somehow finds its way down between my
thighs. He must feel it, because he chuckles.
 He drives into me again, bringing my arm up to his mouth and licks over
the wound. The feeling is erotic and forbidden, and probably totally gross to
most people, but for some reason, doing this with him only entices me
further. It ignites a sinister side of me that only he could light. I drift into an
overwhelming sense of pleasure, pain, and everything in between. He doesn’t
stop until my thighs quiver and my eyes drift closed.

My limbs are heavy. I can barely peel my leg off Brantley when my eyes
slowly peel open. “Ouch.” My head throbs, my muscles stabbing with pain
and the ache vibrating between my legs is almost unbearable.
“Fuck, stop moving.”
“Well, I can’t actually move, to be honest.” I try to lift my leg again, but
his hand lands on top.
Finally my eyes widen, and I take in the room. “Holy shit!” My attention
flies to Brantley. Pink and red stains are smudged over the once white sheets,
his hair matted and his lip cut.
I reach for it. “What happened!”
He groans. “Are you always this annoying in the morning?”
“When you’re hurt and bleeding? Yes! What happened last night?”
He whacks my hand away from his face. “Chill.”
I growl, shoving the sheets off my body. My feet are about to hit the floor
when his arm is around my waist and I’m flying across the bed. He slams me
into the mattress and rolls on top of me. “That was cute, Dea, but that growl
will only get you fucked.”
I search his eyes, bringing my hand up to the smudges of blood that are
over his cheek. “You’re a mess.”
“Mmm, but you should see him.”
“Who is him?” I say, and he slides off me.
“We can’t have that talk right now.”
“What talk?” I ask, wrapping the sheet around my body. Dried blood is
caught in my hair and I touch it. “Please tell me it was your blood I was
sucking off and not someone else’s…”
He laughs, tugging on his jeans commando style and leaving them
unbuttoned. He turns to face me, and I pause. The stitches on his chest are
fresh again, as if he needed them to be redone.
What the hell happened last night?
 I step forward, but he takes one back. “I can’t answer questions about The
Kings and what I do, not the specifics anyway. Not unless—” He pauses, tilts
his head and I watch as his eyes fall up and down my body. “—that happens.”
“Fine, but was it only your blood, or do I need to go get tested?”
He stares at me like I’m dumb. “The fact you think I would let anyone’s
blood anywhere on you is enough to make me pin you down and fuck you
until you pass out. Again. You’re just lucky it’s your brother’s ceremony
tonight.” He points to the shower. “Go get cleaned up.”
I stalk off to the bathroom. “What am I going to tell Bishop about the
blood?”
He smirks over his shoulder, hand on the door handle. “Bishop is well
aware of my blood play.” Then he’s gone.
I turn on the faucet, waiting outside the shower until steam fills the air. I
wince, looking down at the cut on my arm, but find myself smiling when I
rub my thumb over it, memories of last night flashing behind my eyes. My
heart swells and my cheeks burn as I replay everything. I didn’t think this
feeling could ever exist.
I make my way to the mirror and swipe away the condensation with my
hand. A scream tears out of me when a girl is staring back at me through the
mirror, hair as red as her lips. Her makeup is smudged like someone has
taken dirt and rubbed it all over. She stares blankly at me, unfazed, but when
I spin around to ask who the hell she is, I’m met with nothing.
Poof.
Gone.
No one there.
I rub my eyes with the back of my hand. I’m going crazy.
I wash up in the shower quickly, still slightly spooked by what I thought I
saw. Once I’m out and squeezing the excess water out of my hair, I notice the
painting directly opposite the mirror. It’s a portrait of a young girl, using the
colors red, black, and yellow. Maybe my mind had created a face on a whim.
It makes sense.
I squeeze into some fresh clothes. A plain white Gucci tee and black torn
skinny jeans with nude Van mid-tops. I run a brush through my hair while
blowing it out into soft waves, and then start on my skin to prep it for tonight,
using a mixture of oils and moisturizers. After jogging down the stairs, I find
Tillie sitting on the sofa, scooping breakfast granola into her mouth.
“’Morning!” She smirks, wiggling her brows.
 “Please don’t start.” I move into the kitchen, opening the fridge and
finding it fully stocked with food.
“Oh, I’m not.” She rests on the wall that separates the kitchen and the
living room. “But I am mad at you for leaving without telling me.”
I sigh, pouring from a pot of coffee and scooting up onto the kitchen
counter. “I’m sorry.”
“Can you tell me why she needed you?”
I open my mouth, then close it. Had Madison not told Tillie that she was
pregnant? There’s obviously a reason why she hasn’t, so I decide to once
again tell a small lie. “I can’t say, but I’m sure everyone will know in due
time.”
“All right,” Tillie says. “So much for my pact.”
My words get caught in my throat. I don’t want Tillie to feel that way,
and although we haven’t spent as much time together as Bishop and me, but
still more than Abel and me, the bond between Tillie and me is natural. It
doesn’t need time. It doesn’t need nurturing or attention, because I know that
without a shadow of a doubt, she will always have my back.
I rest my mug on the counter. “It’s just not my secret to tell.” I chew on
my lip. “You can’t tell Nate. I’m serious, Tillie…”
She sighs, massaging her head. “Okay, no, don’t tell me.”
I cock my head.
“If I can’t tell him, then that’s why she hasn’t told me. She knows my big
mouth with Nate.”
I chuckle around the lip of my mug. “Okay.”
“So, Scarlet chose your dress. Have you seen it?”
I shake my head. “No. Where are the boys?”
“They’re gone. We won’t see them until tonight.” My coffee curdles in
my belly. Brantley didn’t tell me what happened with him last night. And
furthermore, I miss him and I only just saw him an hour ago.
Tillie gestures out the door and we make our way over to the main house.
“So many toxic memories at this house.” Tillie shakes her head. “So
many no longer with us.” I watch as a wave of sadness washes over her.
We’re not quite at the main house when I find myself asking her.
“I don’t know much about yours and Nate’s story.”
She laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Well, it would take a
lifetime to replay it all for you.” She pauses, her steps slowing. “You could
say we lost important people.”
 I don’t want to press the issue, so I grab her hand.
She smiles down at it but pauses when she sees the cut on my arm. “That
creepy bastard.”
I turn my arm over to look and laugh. “It’s not that bad…”
“You’re into it?” she asks, an eyebrow quirked.
My cheeks heat. “A little.”
She nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re definitely my sister.”
We make our way into the house, where classical music is playing and
people I don’t know are moving around everywhere.
Scarlet comes rushing out, grasping her hands together. “Thank God,
Saint, sweetie, I need you in here to check your measurements.” Scarlet takes
me, moving me into the large dining room where dresses hang off plastic
hooks.
She points to another woman. “This is Elena, Madison’s stepmom.”
Scarlet taps a long finger against her cheek.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, after nodding at Elena.
Scarlet scoops up her phone and pushes on a number before bringing it to
her ear. “What is she wearing tonight?” She pauses, her eyes wide on me. I
shuffle uncomfortably. “Are you sure?” Silence, and I look at Tillie. She
shakes her head. “That’s never happened. Ever, Hector. Will this put a target
on her?” Again, I widen my eyes at Tillie.
Who rolls hers, popping a potato chip into her mouth and taking a seat on
one of the chairs.
“Okay,” Scarlet says. “I love you.” She hangs up, grasping her phone to
her chest. “Well, I’m going to guess that Brantley isn’t going to be happy
with us, but you’ll be wearing Hayes tonight.”
Brantley
Decorators are rushing around the main foyer of the hotel in downtown
Riverside. We’re all circled in the basement, a flask of whiskey in my hand
and a joint in the other. I run my hand through my hair, ruffling it up. Tearing
off my tie so it falls loosely around my neck and flicking off the first four
buttons of my shirt, I hand the flask to Nate.
“Fucking hate being in a suit,” I growl.
“Same.” Nate snickers. “Tighter than Tillie’s cunt.”
I slowly glare at him as everyone around us pauses. “Really, fucker?”
He laughs. “Oh please. You know what I’m talking about.”
I flip him off.
“Or is Saint—”
My hand is in his hair, pulling him to me.
“Ow, ow!” He laughs. “Fuck, okay! Shit.”
I shove him away from me. “Wanna talk like a bitch, I’ll treat you like a
bitch.” I can’t help the laugh that leaves my mouth. Some shit never changes,
and Nate’s bullshit is one of them.
He pats his hair. Fucking pretty boy.
Bishop glares between the two of us. “Both of you shut the fuck up.”
 Eli walks in, tapping a clear bag. I jump off the counter and slap him
across the head just as Bishop reaches for it, popping it open. “What the
fuck?”
“What?” Eli smirks at all of us. “Figure he could use some to get
through.”
My mouth snaps closed, my fist clenching. “Yeah? Giving an 8-ball to
someone who is already on edge.”
“I’m fucking fine,” Bishop snaps, pouring the powder out on the table
while Nate’s rolling up a bill.
I glare at Nate. “Really?”
“Fuck, you’re so grumpy.” He tosses the rolled-up bill at my chest. “Save
us some moody bullshit and take a line like you used to.”
“I’m good.” I flick it back at him. “Have fun explaining to Tillie why
you’re so fucking cooked while she’s pregnant, though. I’ll be sure to spit on
your grave.”
Nate flashes me a smirk. “I love you, too.”
Bishop takes the line before Nate and Eli go. Hunter turns it down, as
does Cash.
Hunter flicks Nate’s head. “You do realize why Bran can’t have any,
right?”
I ignore their conversation.
“He can’t exactly be high off his head during a job.”
“He wouldn’t get one tonight,” Nate answers.
“For the record.” Bishop clears his nostril. “I ain’t touching this shit again
once that gavel is in my hand. I need my head clear.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I growl. “And you, fucker.” I point at Nate. “We’re
not in fucking high school anymore.”
“It’s just snow.” Nate rolls his eyes.
“Yeah?” I grin at him. “I’ll be sure to say that to you when little War
comes home cooked off his head.”
He flips me off. Dropping their baby name was probably a low blow, but
the amount of coke we’ve all done in our life could build a fucking snowman.
Warren Riverside. The name alone sounds like fucking trouble.
The bag is put away, and our circle is tight again. Hector walks in with all
of the older Kings behind him, fluffing up his suit jacket. Max, Raguel,
Johan, Madison’s biological father. They’re all here. “You ready for the first
phase?”
 I smirk up at Hector from behind my joint. “Never been more ready.”
Hector notices Bishop clearing his nostril. “Don’t make that a habit, son.”
“It was a goodbye to the old me line.”
Hector rests against one of the counters, his tatted-up hand wrapping
around it. “The first phase is the most important.” He turns to Max and nods.
Max steps out from behind him, handing us all a black envelope with gold
writing on the front.
“You may have noticed your group has thinned over the years, with some
disappearing without a trace. They will all be at phase two of the ceremony
tonight, because although you will not see them, maybe not ever again, they
are still part of your generation of brotherhood.” Hector clips the end of a
cigar. “Chase, Saint, Ace, and more recently, Jase.” He pauses, and I blow
out a thick cloud of smoke before shrugging off my jacket and rolling up the
sleeves to my shirt. “The reason why this is, is the very reason why The Elite
Kings have managed to hold power in all four corners of this fucked-up
world. How do you think we have people in important sectors? Because we
put them there.” He pushes off the counter and points to Bishop. “This group
here, who are standing here, is who you will be with until you pass it down to
the next. They will be your Raguel, your Max, your Johan.”
“Your generation wasn’t always this small…” I muse out loud.
Hector smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No.” He looks around at all
of us. “You’re all well-acquainted with your duties within the club, and
you’ve fulfilled them to almost excellence since.” His eyes come to mine.
“Absolute excellence.”
I nod, accepting his compliment.
“Once phase two is completed, we will be back here to fulfill the final
step. Open your envelopes.” He looks down to his watch, pressing the button
on the side. “You have two hours to fulfill phase one.”
I tear open the envelope, finding a black piece of paper with words
written in silver scribbled across.
 I fold up the paper, grinding my teeth. “Are they ever going to do
anything remotely cliché or normal? Or are we always just taking hits from
out in left field.”
Bishop looks up at me with hooded eyes. “We’re right in our element.”
I smirk at him. “Touché.”

I gesture to the line of cars parked on the curb. “We need to all be able to get
away if needed. We should all take our own cars.” I beep the alarm of my
Bugatti, pointing down the line. “Even though they’re going to know it’s us.”
Bishop laughs, sliding into his Maserati at the front of the line. “Could be
another band of outlaws who all roll in blacked-out Euro cars.”
Nate climbs into his Lambo, Eli in his Ferrari, Hunter in his Porsche, and
Cash into his Aston. All black. Everything black, but each license plate with
a crown hidden behind the numbers that is only exposed under a black light.
I rev my engine, just as a text lights up on my phone.
Saint: Thirsty.
I pause. “What the fuck.” I quickly text back.
Me: You with Tillie?
Saint: *loading image*
Nate revs his engine loudly behind me, and I catch his arms flying up
around himself in the rearview mirror. I ignore him.
“Yo!” Nate yells at me out the window.
The image loads and I freeze. Bishop pulls out and I follow behind him,
double-clutching until I’ve reached the speed needed. I lift my phone and hit
dial.
She answers on the second ring. “You’re getting too comfortable with
pissing me off.”
“You like it?”
“No, I’d prefer you naked.” Then I sigh, squeezing the steering wheel.
“You’re distracting me and I can’t be distracted right now. Put Tillie on the
phone.” There’s shuffling before Tillie’s voice purrs through the other end.
“Little Terror, you’re testing my fucking patience.” I swerve into the right
lane, remaining behind Bishop.
“Good. You’re hot when you’re mad.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll be sure to fill Nate in.”
“Oh, he knows.” She breathes out a sigh. “In all seriousness, I know what
the phases are. Can you—”
“—I’ve got him, Tillie. I won’t let anything happen to your baby daddy.”
“Thanks, Bran Bran. You’re sweet when you want to be.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Watch that girl. She’s learning a little too quickly how to ride on my
nerves.”
“About as good as she rides on your dick?”
“Tillie!” I hear Scarlet and Elena in the background.
I chuckle. “Nothing comes close to her riding on my shit. I’ll see you
later.”
 I hang up and push play on a random-ass playlist. “Popular Monster” by
Falling in Reverse screams through my speakers.
Saint
I remember the first time I wore a dress. A really pretty one. It was one of the
first purchases I made with Brantley’s black card and was a signature piece
from Dolce & Gabbana. It had small black sequins sewn into the satin, with
spaghetti straps that hung from my petite shoulders. I liked it but didn’t love
it. I sent it back.
I run my hands over this one, and the feeling I was hoping to feel when I
wore that signature piece is the feeling I’m experiencing now. It’s an
addiction, filling my veins with warmth, comfort. I think I have a shopping
problem. This one is as pure in color as puffy clouds, but hugs my body tight.
It falls to the ground at my feet, but has a single split that cuts right up over
my hip bone. There are feathers that line the slit, the edges of the strapless
area at the top, and the bottom of the train. Sequins are sewn into the bodice,
where it dips between my breasts, which spill out the seams. Literally.
“Okay, yes, this is it!” Tillie says from behind me, and my eyes catch hers
in the arched full-length mirror. Scarlet’s home is chaos, with dresses,
makeup, and workers running around everywhere, going between here and a
hotel in Riverside. It’s two hours before we have to be there, and I’ve still yet
to get my face made up.
 “Come sit,” Scarlet says, waving me over to a stool in the kitchen.
I take my eyes off my dress and move to the chair.
“How have you found fitting in?” Scarlet tries for small talk. She dabs a
sponge in white SFX paint, before pressing it onto my cheek.
“It’s been fine. Everyone has made it easy for me.”
She smiles, showing a small slit of her straight white teeth. “I’m glad. I
would hate to have to drive my Louboutin up their asses.”
I chuckle, and my shoulders relax. Maybe being around her will be
edifying. As she moves through the makeup steps, she explains why The
Kings wear the skull face and the significance to their family history. I find it
fascinating. I find the whole world they live in fascinating. She’s finished the
skull, and is now moving on to glam makeup.
She pauses with a foundation brush in her hand. “I’m sorry that I didn’t
fight harder for you.”
My lips part as my eyes come to hers. “You know about me?”
She nods as a sprinkle of pink spreads over her cheeks. “I did. At the
time, I was adamant that Hector was right. You needed to be with others
around your speed, away from a world that could very well kill you, and if
Katsia didn’t find out, then our enemies would have.”
I sit in silence as she continues with brush strokes over my face. I don’t
want to fill the silence with pointless words. “Did you know I was with
Brantley?”
The wrinkles around her mouth crease. I watch as she dips a shadow
brush into one of the many palettes she has laid out on the counter. “I did. At
the time, I didn’t agree with it.” Her eyes meet mine and she sighs, resting
her hand on her hip. “You and Brantley, I suppose will reach a time in your
relationship where this discussion will come up, as it has with Nate and
Tillie, Bishop and Madison, and I’m sure every other King who finds his
other half.”
I don’t say anything, remaining silent to hear what she has to say. When
Scarlet talks, she speaks to be heard but at volumes that don’t need to be
yelled.
“Ahhh, the famous FD.” Tillie comes into the kitchen, holding two
glasses of champagne. She places one near me and another beside Scarlet.
“FD?” I ask.
Scarlet picks up her flute, taking a small sip of the bubbles, and then goes
back to work on my makeup. “Full Disclosure. You will decide if you want
to know everything, or if you want to know nothing, but let me just say that
the ones who want to know nothing don’t last long.”
“Well.” I blow out a breath as she works on my lips. “Brantley and I
probably won’t reach that point.”
Tillie laughs, Scarlet doesn’t. “Why do you say that?” she asks.
“I know Brantley. He would rather push me away than have me near. He
doesn’t—”
“—he doesn’t think he deserves you,” Tillie adds as a maid wraps a
mustered yellow dress around her waist. On other people, the color would be
not so pleasant, but on Tillie, she looks perfect. That’s because Tillie’s body
does most of the work.
“That and he would rather just keep me at arm’s length.”
“Sorry to break it to you, little sis, but arm’s length is not on top of that
beautifully pierced dick.”
Scarlet pauses, her hand hovering in front of my face. “I’ve known him
since he was a baby. I’d rather not have an image of his cock in my brain,
Tillie.”
Tillie shrugs, smirking.
I ignore her, and Scarlet continues with the makeup. I wish I could say I
was busy thinking about tonight, but I’m too caught up in the disclosure talk.
What would I choose, if I had the chance? I already know; I’d want to know
everything.
Once my face is done, my phone vibrates in my pocket as Scarlet packs
everything away. She points to me. “You’re wearing something different.
That hasn’t happened before.”
I reach up to touch my face, but she shakes her head.
Tillie comes in front of me. “What about Stuprum?”
Scarlet rolls her eyes. “Hayes trumps Stuprum.”
Tillie pouts. “So she gets half-Hayes and half-Vitiosis? Something tells
me Bran Bran is going to be pissed about that.”
Scarlet snickers cheekily. “I’ll meet you both outside in an hour. We will
ride together with Elena and Tate.”
“I’m sorry—what?” Tillie snaps, yelling at Scarlet who is now walking
up the stairs.
“Be nice, Tillie! Time to get over it.”
Tillie huffs, dropping down in a chair. “I still don’t like her.”
“Why?” I say, finally sipping on my champagne. “What happened?”
 Tillie goes off on filling me in on everything that happened between her
and Tate.
“But you’re both with different people now.”
“I know, but you didn’t see how she was. I wanted to hit her. I would
have hit her if she wasn’t Madison’s BFF.” She stands from her chair and
picks up her phone.
“I agree with Scarlet. You need to let it go.”
“Would you?” she says, her brow quirked. “If it was Brantley?”
“Well,” I say, opening the fridge to find the bottle of Moët. I start pouring
more champagne into my glass. “I’m still talking to you, aren’t I?” Her
mouth closes. “And anyway, I don’t think I’d ever have to worry about that.”
“No, you’re right. You won’t because Brantley has control, taste, and
standards.”
“Nate has standards and taste,” I defend, tilting my head back to sip more
on the happy juice. “He likes to have sex, so what? That’s his past. You need
to let it go.”
She sighs.
I glare at her. “Promise to play nice.”
“Can’t, but I’ll try.”
“I’ll settle for that.” I move around the kitchen counter just as she brings
her phone up and flips it to selfie mode.
“Smile!” We take a series of photos before we make our way out the front
door, just as another city car pulls up. Tate and Elena climb out, dressed in a
similar style to us. Tate has naturally blonde hair, blue eyes, and a small
frame. She’s the girl next door kind of pretty. I could see how she and
Madison could have been close. Yin and yang, or maybe yang and yang. I
haven’t quite figured that out. I wonder if my curse will intensify soon and
I’ll be able to have all those kinds of special talents. Or, has it already?
She’s not wearing any skull on her face, just professional makeup with
winged eyeliner that could make Bailey Sarian jealous.
“Hi, girls.” Elena bunches up her red gown in the palm of her hand. I get
the feeling everyone is talking to Madison except Bishop, because if Elena
wasn’t, I doubt she’d be donning such an aura of ease.
That sort of makes me angry, but I swallow it down with yet another gulp
of champagne. I can’t get involved any more in the logistics of what happens
between Madison and Bishop. I’ve done what I can, and that has to be
enough.
 “Hey.” I nudge Tillie’s arm as they both approach us. Tillie reminds me
of a stray cat. Untamed and savage, but loyal under the right conditions.
Tate’s eyes find Tillie. “Can we talk?”
Tillie looks to me, and then back to Tate. “Sure.” They disappear to the
side of the house while Elena stands beside me.
“Nice night for it, don’t you think?” She fidgets with her dress before
running her hand over the side of her hair. It’s tied in a side chignon bun.
I smile. “Sure.”
“Listen, I know that you went to see Madison…” Oh God. Again. “I just
want to say thank you. She’s not had an easy life, so I just want to say thank
you for being a good friend to her.”
“No problem.” I squeeze my gold clutch, busying myself by pulling out
my phone and flicking through the texts I received while I was getting ready.
Anything to not allow the guilt of my secrets to cage me in.
?: It’s showtime.

The hotel is on the central street of Riverside. With all of the shops closed
and blinds drawn, there’s an unsettling feeling that sticks to my bones.
“Why do people in this town despise The Kings?” I ask Scarlet as the
driver pulls into the porte cochere of the five-star hotel. There are a fountain
and crystal chandelier hanging over the middle, with valet drivers standing at
the entrance.
“They don’t, they’re just afraid of them.” She clears her throat. “Of us.”
“Why?” I ask again. “Hector explained a little, but not a lot. I guess I just
would like to understand.”
“That’s okay.” Her hand is on my leg, as she shoots a glance at everyone
else in the limo, who all remain silent. “I guess it started with our ancestors.
There’s a rival club called The Gentlemen who are also from Riverside, but
they’re from the east side, over the train tracks—” She pauses, squeezing my
knee, which brings my attention up to her. “You must never go over those
tracks. Ever. We are stronger, more powerful, and ruthless, but make no
mistake, The Gentlemen will fight—even if they have nothing much to fight
with.”
“So you’ve always stayed away from each other?” I ask. “What about the
people who live here?”
“Well, they’re afraid of us because of the power that we hold and the
legends that haunt the land. The Gentlemen have always stayed to their side
of the tracks, but they’ve never bothered the people here either.”
“Are most towns this—strange?” I find myself saying absently, while
looking out the window.
“This is nothing. Wait until you see Perdita…” Tillie grumbles. “Which,
by the way, you also own half of.”
I ignore her, the information too much. Too soon and too much. I’d heard
of Perdita through distant talks from Brantley and the boys, but at the time it
passed over my head. “What’s going to happen when the school is back open
next week?”
“Mmmm,” Elena says, leaning forward and reaching for the handle to the
door. “I guess that’s the big question.”
We spill out of the limo and make our way into the lobby. The vast space
of it is nothing I’ve ever felt before, but once we reach the small theater
room, I find my lungs expanding again. There are chairs and small tables
scattered around the front, with a little makeshift stage in the middle where a
piano is set up.
My lungs turn ablaze now, my fingers twitching to skate over the keys.
“Ahhh, you noticed,” Scarlet purrs in my ear. It’s a Steinway & Sons,
there was no way I wouldn’t notice. “Hector thought it’d be nice if you
played, and maybe sang, a couple of pieces throughout the night. Of course,
you can decline. We have someone on backup if you decide to pass.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’d love to, for Bishop.” I drive home
why I would do it, and when our eyes connect, elation bathes her features.
“Thank you for caring about him.”
“He’s worth caring for,” I mutter, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “Do
you mind if I go and practice a little?”
She shoos me away. “Of course.”
I reach the edge of the stage and the light that shines down over me
reduces to a warm sepia. I run my finger over the sleek gloss case. “Wow.”
Taking a seat on the bench, I lift the case up and move the microphone
away from my mouth. Placing my clutch down on my lap, I pull out my
phone and hit dial on Madison’s name.
She answers instantly. “Is he done?”
“No.” I press my hand over my heart to make sure it’s still there securely.
“Not yet. I need to ask you something. I have to play two songs tonight on
the piano for his ceremony. I know one that I’m going to play, but do you
have another that is significant to you both? Maybe a song that you—”
“—yes,” she says softly, and I hear her sniff. “God, I wish I could be
there.”
“You should have…” I fight the urge to once again scold her for her poor
decision.
She clears her throat and tells me what song she wants me to play.
I hit the speaker button and place my phone on top of the sheet stand.
“Let me see.”
“Am I on speaker?” she whispers harshly.
“Yes, but it’s fine. They’re out on their hunt, or phase, or whatever it is
that they’re doing.”
Madison pauses.
I breathe out through my nostrils while playing the tune over in my head
before finally running my fingers over the keys. The keys hit all the notes I
intend, and it’s the exact tune to the song.
“Wow.” Her voice is quiet, a notch above a whisper. “That’s perfect.”
I start humming the song with the notes.
“That’s going to sound beautiful. Can you get Tillie to record it?”
I pick up my phone and take her off speaker. “I will.”
She sighs. “Thank you, Saint.”
We hang up and I spend the rest of the next hour practicing both songs
that I’ll be playing.
Brantley
The first thing everyone should most definitely know about all of us is that
ending someone’s life comes as easy as one, two, three. We were dropping
bodies when our friends were dropping alcohol shots in the club. It doesn’t
affect any of us, and it never has.
Not when we’d watch the life of someone slowly bleed from their eyes.
Not when we’d know that person had a family to go home to.
I wish I could say that everyone who has met the end of our blade
deserved it, but truth is, at least for me, that’s not always the case.
“You know who’s going down?” I ask Bishop, my eyes on his.
He looks up at me from his phone, the dark night setting behind him. The
light from his screen bounces off his face. “We could go clean and easy and
dip into The List.”
I lean against my car, crossing my ankles in front of me. “Clean and easy
will never be clean and easy if they’re from that list, and you know it.”
“Who was next anyway?” Eli asks, biting a cigarette into his mouth and
lighting the tip.
I shrug. “Not sure. I never know until the last minute.”
“Who issues them? Do we know? Are we ever going to know?” Cash
asks, running his fingers through his bleach-blond hair.
“Yeah, I’m guessing after the ceremony, the wheels are going to start
spinning a different direction as we all settle into our new roles.” Trees
branch over us as we sit on the outskirts of Riverside. “Can’t believe just next
week the schools will be reopened.”
“Personally, can’t fucking wait.” Nate smirks around the end of his
smoke. He glances at Cash. “You can’t tell me you’re not ready for the next
chapter. This is it. What we’ve been fucking living for.”
“I am.” Cash nods. “That fucking school, though. You remember the
legends… it’s fucking—fucked. It’s fucked.”
I curl my lips between my teeth to stop from laughing. “Anything with us
around it is fucked.”
“All right, I got our kill.” Bishop flashes his phone on our face.
I still. “What? Nah, fuck that.”
He grins, turning the phone back around while kicking off the car.
“Mmmm, smells a lot like death.”
“Why?” I glare at him over the photo of Josiah Dux, aka Dux of The
Gentlemen, and Elijah’s pops. “Why that person? And don’t give me bullshit
about my shit.”
Nate rubs his face with his hands. “We know it was The Gentlemen who
hit us at the parking lot, B. We fucking know. We know it was them who
drugged us, too. We just gonna let them walk?”
“They weren’t the ones who drugged us. That wasn’t them. Too—clean.”
Nate shrugs. “Well, shit, our bad if it wasn’t—or not.”
I smirk, my shoulders relaxing. He has a point. Even if it wasn’t them
who drugged us, which I’m ninety-nine percent sure it wasn’t, The
Gentlemen have done enough to fuck with us to take it anyway. The shooting
was reckless as all hell and had their stench all over it. “We get the last
fucking say.”

The night was quiet. Too fucking quiet. It took an hour to get our hands on
three black G-Wagons just to pull this off.
“Execution style. Keep it clean.” Bishop slips leather gloves over his
hands.
I clench my jaw. “We do this, we can’t come back from it. Don’t get me
wrong, The Gentlemen have always been on my list, but I was waiting for
their time to come for a reason.”
Nate is in the passenger seat, tapping his thigh with his thumb along to
the rap “Joker” by Dax. “Nah uh, they’ve been on borrowed time.”
“Nate.” I bare my teeth, shoving the back of his chair. “You have shit to
lose now. You can’t think recklessly.” Nate is erratic and rogue with his
wrath. Complete opposite of me. I like to think it’s because I’m more
controlled as a human being, but I know it’s more because I’m conditioned
for murder. It’s like sipping tea on a Sunday. “You have Tillie and War.”
He turns over his shoulder, his hoodie covering the outline of his face.
“And you have Saint. But you also have a duty.”
I clench my fist as our driver continues to drive us closer to the border. I
jolt in my seat when the tires roll over the train tracks, directing us to the east
side of Riverside. The bright lights and opulence of the west slowly fades out
as the modesty of the east bleeds in.
I lean my head against the back of the chair. “Nate. Put on ‘Day of the
Dead’ from Hollywood Undead.”
“My man!” Nate cheers, flicking through his phone and pushing play on
the song, cranking it all the way up. Nate is right. I have Saint, but I’ve
always had her and it’s never stopped me before from what I do on a weekly
basis. If anything, she’s safe. She’s surrounded by some of the most feared
individuals in not only the United States, but other countries, too, but there’s
a reason why I’ve wanted to take my revenge slow, and not rush through it.
Maybe stripping Josiah Garcia from Elijah will be a good thing. I always
planned to take Elijah last, so he can watch as his family suffers. I want him
to know that he’s the final of the Garcia line and I’m about to fucking cut it.
The car pulls up to a stop outside a quiet suburban-style house. The front
porchlight is on, curtains drawn.
“Aside from my shit,” I say, running the cushion of my thumb over my
bottom lip. “We do this for all the other people their decisions have affected
throughout the years. This is deeper than me.”
“Since when do you give a fuck about other people?” Nate jokes, turning
the music down.
“You don’t have to give a fuck about someone to know what happened to
them is wrong, you fucker. And besides, you didn’t see the shit I did.”
They both remain silent. Eli turns in his seat to look over Hunter’s
shoulder as the other G-Wagon pulls up behind us with the headlights cut.
“Got to say, good to have the whole crew back.”
 I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah, true. Even if only for one night.” In
the Bugatti behind is Jase, Cash, Ace, Saint—the King Saint—and Chase.
The whole fucking crew we started with. It feels good.
“Execution style, Brantley,” Bishop repeats beside me.
The corner of my mouth tips up in a smile.
“I mean it.”
I tap his leg. “Oh, I know you do.”
Swinging open my door, I slide out and make my way to the front of the
house, pulling out my Glock from the back of my jeans.
“Bran!” Bishop snaps from behind me. I’m over the talking. Josiah
Garcia isn’t who I want. Elijah is. I turn over my shoulder as footsteps thud
from behind me.
I pull my hoodie over my head. “What?”
Bishop grinds his teeth. “He’s not here. Get back in the fucking car.” He
turns to walk back to the SUV. “Fucking drive-by it is.”
I make my way back, cursing that his kill is going to be something easy
and clean. I had every intention of carving my initials over his forehead,
despite Bishop’s wishes.
Slamming the door once I’m back inside, I glare at Bishop. “How do you
know?”
Nate flips his photo to my face. “Spotted by one of our eagles.” The
eagles in The Kings are how we know the exact location of everyone. Yeah,
technology is good, but it’s still not as reliable as the human eye.
“That’s on our side. What the fuck is he doing there?” I ask as the driver
pulls us back out on the road and the Wagon behind us follows.
“Don’t know, but he won’t be there for long.”
It takes us fifteen minutes to get back on the west side, and as every
second passes, I find myself more and more restless. Nate switches the song
as Bishop throws his hoodie over his head and loads up his AK.
I crack my neck, my fingers tapping the door handle. This will for sure be
the start of a fucking war, but I’m good with it. I’d kill and be killed before
anything touched Saint.
“No witnesses.” I flick my gat around my fingers.
“Agreed,” Bishop murmurs as the car slows.
There are about five people standing in a parking lot, two cars parked on
the curb. No doubt whatever they’re doing is shady as all fuck. About as
shady as us rolling up to murder them all. “Wait and Bleed” by Slipknot
spills from the speakers as my window rolls down. My mind moves in slow
motion, as if it doesn’t want to miss a single fucking detail.
Bishop rests the AK on the windowsill and pulls the trigger. Bullet
casings spray behind him, but not before I flick my hoodie off my head to
expose my face, raise my gun up and point it right between the eyes of Elijah
Garcia who stands right beside his father. Running my tongue over my teeth,
I flash him a smirk, blowing him a kiss as my finger squeezes the trigger.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Blood explodes from his forehead as his
body drops to the ground.
“Go! Drive!” Bishop moves back into his seat as our driver speeds off
with the rest of The Kings behind us. “Fuck, you got Elijah?”
“Yeah.” I rest my gun on my lap. “By the way, not how I wanted to do
this.”
“I fucking know,” Bishop says to me. “Which is precisely why we had to
do it like this. Too messy and not enough time.”
“You guys are forgetting that we killed the Dux of The Gentlemen and
his beta. Not their whole crew.”
I sit on his words as we drive toward the next phase. “Well aware, but
still felt fucking good.” I’m not going to pretend we know a lot about The
Gentlemen, because we don’t. We don’t know how much they’ve expanded
over the years, and although Elijah’s murder wasn’t exactly how I had it
planned, I still relish in the fact he saw my face as he took his last breath.
“Well, fuck. Phase two come the fuck at me,” Bishop says smugly.

The cemetery is no different than others, only a little edgier. The sites are
aged, yet maintained, but there are more tombstones than there are
gravestones with most of the families choosing to display than to bury. We’re
all standing in the middle of the Hayes tomb when Hector and the rest of The
Fathers walk in, Hector’s jaw tight.
“I take it that was all of you?”
Max, Raguel, and Johan stand beside Hector, as Gabriel hovers toward
the back.
“You boys have sure not made my life easy,” Gabriel mutters from
behind, shaking his head. Gabriel, Nate’s father, is the Peacemaker of The
Kings. It’s almost comical to picture Nate filling that role of his family; it
makes more sense to have him on the school board instead.
 “Boys, I said one kill. You all took out five, and they’re not men you
wanted heat with.”
Bishop leans forward, resting his hands on the large boulder that sits in
the center of the space. A small fire burns in the middle, flames licking the
darkness and offering a smudge of orange light. “Who were they?”
Hector sighs, pinching his eyes with his fingers. “We will talk about that
later. For now, let’s just continue with the phases.” Hector moves through the
speech, speaking in Latin, and I watch as everyone slices themselves on their
finger to drop their blood inside an old rusted bowl. Truthfully, I find the rust
shady as fuck more than the blood. Hector continues speaking the six
commandments as we all take a sip of the whiskey spoiled blood. See what I
did there.
Saint—the guy Saint—is the final one to take a hit before placing it on
top of the boulder.
“As you know, you’ve all come to fulfill your duty and placement in the
Kings’ world. You all contribute to how we remain strong in the universe,
unbroken. For generations, this has never cracked. I will be going a separate
way next year, which will furthermore make our line strong.” He pauses, and
my eyes find Bishop, who looks between Nate and me. What the fuck is he
talking about, going a separate way? Hector continues. “Where I am going
will be extremely beneficial to our world and will be opening even more
doors. Hunter will be coming with me.” I still. “Who will serve as my right
hand. You will know. More details soon, but for now and always” —Hector
smiles at his son, lifting the rusted bowl and bringing it to his mouth—“we
reign.”
Saint
There has to be fifty or so people floating around the room, as soft classical
music fills the space. Waiters are passing around small finger foods and
alcoholic drinks, and every now and then I find people staring at me. Of
course, I don’t see what they look like behind the face paint, but there’s no
mistaking their openly glaring at yours truly. I find myself drifting in and out
of focus. I haven’t heard from Brantley or Bishop at all. My anxiety is rolled
into a nice little package in the apex of my gut, and no matter how much I sip
on this champagne, it doesn’t seem to settle.
“Hey.” Tate slides up beside me. “Have you seen Tillie? I think she’s still
upset with me.” Her eyes are swinging around the room as she taps her
French-manicured fingernail against her martini glass.
I sip on my champagne. “She’ll come around. Just give her time.”
Tate exhales, before turning to face me. “Do you know Tillie? That bitch
holds on to a grudge harder than Nate’s initial commitment issues.” Liquid
shoots up my throat when I stifle a laugh, swiping the excess from my lips.
She continues, her tone softer. “I just wanted us to be okay for Madison.”
I squeeze her arm. “I promise. It’ll be fine.” We’ve been here for three
hours, and The Kings are still not back. I catch people looking at their
watches and phones to check the time, and every now and then, Scarlet and
Elena pass worried looks between each other, so I guess it usually never takes
this long. The lights dim and people stop talking. Scarlet is beside me in a
flash.
“Saint, the piano is yours now.”
“Oh.” I hand her my champagne flute. “Thank you.”
The room remains silent as I sashay across the floor, making my way
back to the small stage I spent an hour at tonight without burning out my
voice.
I clear my throat slightly, adjusting the mic. I assume the boys are back,
since everyone is eerily silent. So my fingers float over the keys to the intro
of “Familiar Taste of Poison” by Halestorm. I’m so lost in the lyrics and
hypnotic tune of the song that I don’t realize when the song is almost
finished. I slowly open my eyes mid-chorus and catch Bishop staring from
across the room, his mouth snapped shut. I don’t need to be near him to know
I’ve struck a nerve.
Good. Well done, Madison.
I pelt out the rest of the song, keeping my eyes on him as I sing through
every lyric. I feel Madison’s pain as I drag each note out, but I can’t
acknowledge her pain without being consumed by his. When the song is
finished, I watch as he remains frozen to the spot. Nate, Eli, Cash, and Hunter
are behind him, with Brantley slightly beside.
I take a sip of water, stretch my neck and fingers, before I slowly begin
the final song.
The song I chose.
This time, my eyes are not on my broken brother, but rather on my dark
King.
I allow the beginning of the song to drag out a little longer, playing the
keys effortlessly as I find my breath and the notes I need to hit in order to do
this song justice. Miley Cyrus is an underrated artist, with people too busy
focusing on her life and her mistakes, forgetting about her talent. I’ve always
had a soft spot for “Look at You,” and aside from the fact it was one of the
first songs I played on the piano, the lyrics, as of late, have become
increasingly relevant to me, my life, and my feelings where Brantley is
concerned. My mouth opens as I start the song, no longer wanting to watch
him. He’s in a dark button-up, unbuttoned at the top, jeans that are destroyed
at the knees in the name of vanity, and black Jordans. His hair is messy, his
face paint immaculately haunting, but his eyes… his eyes are wild. Untamed
for his beast.
I sing through the song, hitting the chorus and notes perfectly while
surprising myself. I go through the whole song without allowing myself to
catch his attention. It’s not until I’m close to the end that I snap and allow our
eyes to connect. My world tilts at the venomous connection, and if I wasn’t
seated, my knees would give way. A small smile pulls on the edge of my
mouth as I belt out the rest of the song.
I finish the final line when the light above me completely cuts out.
There’s a pause of awkward silence before clapping breaks through. I thought
they were silent because of The Kings, but that wasn’t the case.
It was because of me.
And then I remember the face paint I’m wearing. Half-Vitiosis, half-
Hayes.
Hands are on my stomach, pulling me into a hard chest before I can even
make it across the room.
Brantley’s mouth is on my neck, his teeth across the thin skin that
stretches over it. “Miss me?”
“A little,” I say truthfully, turning in his grip. We’re standing near the
table when Scarlet takes the stage with Hector. “How was tonight?” The
lighting remains low, everyone seated silently.
“You don’t want to know…” he growls, his fingers flexing on my belly. I
look down at his hands, at the ring that’s now on his finger.
I trace it with the tip of my finger. “I would want to know.”
He hardens against me, and I take it as he understood my double-edged
answer. “You think you do, but you don’t.”
I suck in a deep breath and lean to the side so I can look up at him.
“Brantley, I would want to know. You think I’m weak.” I pause, pinching his
chin with my thumb and forefinger to bring his face lower to mine. “As if
you forget who raised me.”
His eyes come to mine, searching them lazily. If only I knew what was
going on inside his head.
The lighting further darkens, and there’s a spotlight that’s pointed on all
of The Kings who are on the stage.
Brantley releases me, bringing his lips to my head before ducking to my
ear. “We’ll talk about this later.” Then he pushes off me and I watch as he
makes his way onto the stage. He stands beside Bishop and Nate, with Eli on
the other side of him and Cash and Hunter beside him. Hector stands beside
Bishop, with the other older Kings beside him. Scarlet is behind Hector.
Hector opens his mouth, and I listen carefully as Latin fluidly falls from
his mouth. “As I step down from my throne, my son will rise up. Blessed be
the EKC.” Everyone chants beside him and I watch as a metal bowl is
brought to the stage by a young boy in a cloak, with the attached hood over
his head. Chills break over my flesh and I find myself searching the room.
For what, I don’t know. I just know that something feels off. Like an entity
inviting itself into a space where it is not welcome. I shift uncomfortably,
standing visibly straighter. I find Tillie, who is smiling up at the stage. Go
back to Hector, who is dipping his hand into the ancient style bowl and
bringing his finger up to Bishop’s head. I then watch as all of the boys cut
themselves, dropping blood into a goblet before taking a sip.
Unable to remain still, I begin pacing back and forth, searching for
anything. Something. Why am I anxious? My stomach coils into thick knots,
my throat burning like I swallowed acid as I attempt to contain the scream
that wants to shred out of my organs.
Something is wrong.
I dive into my bra, pulling out the piece of paper. Something is not right.
People are cheering, clapping, and yelling, but I’m making my way to the
stage, needing to give this paper to him now.
Right now.
It’s burning against my flesh.
I’m at the stage by the time they all look down at me with a mixture of
confusion. Their features range from perplexed, to shocked, to Bishop who is
smiling, the metal gavel in his hand. The ceremony is over.
“Now they can all watch you die…”
That voice. So familiar. The taste of blood hits my mouth at the same
time I hear shots pop off. My smile falls, my eyes on Bishop, and then to
Brantley. They both rush forward, but I’m already falling to the ground and
their movements are in slow motion. Boots, sticky liquid, my head pounding.
Brantley is below me, holding my head on his lap. I can see his mouth
moving, the veins in his neck popping out, and his hands flying everywhere,
but I can’t hear. White noise fills my body. My arm drops to the side, into a
puddle of something sticky—not from me—from someone else who was hit.
Who else has been hit? My fingers sprawl out of my fist as Bishop falls to the
ground, his gun in his hand. Don’t look at me! Look at my hand, damnit!
 “Fuck!” he mouths, standing to his feet, raising his gun up, and I watch as
bullet shells fly off behind him.
Finally, he comes back to the ground, and it happens.
His eyes land on my hand, his brows curve in, and I feel his palm graze
mine as he takes the letter.
The letter that is going to mend what he needed to mend.
I smile softly, my heart lighter than the carnage that’s going on around
me.
He shoves it into his pocket, screaming at someone behind him to get
down here, and then Brantley’s body is gone from beneath me.
No! No! I need him. My vision is blurring now, like a static TV show
long since expired from viewing. My head. Heat and pain reverberate over
my skull, before traveling down my spine. There’s a stabbing pain that
disappears every few seconds from my neck, but I feel the warm liquid slide
down the arch of my back.
Hector is picking me up, his hands beneath my body, lifting me off the
floor. My head falls backward over his arm, the room and chaos now upside
down. With every blink, it stays dark for longer.
Brantley is standing in the middle of the room with that same boy who
was in a robe kneeling in front of him. His hand is buried in the boy’s hair,
fisting his head back. I watch as he directs the sharp end of his blade across
his neck and blood spills out from the incision. He saws back and forth, until
the torso falls to the ground, while Brantley continues to hold the boy’s head
by his hair.
Black.
My body jolting with every step.
“Saint, come on, baby girl, stay with me.” Hector. Hector? What is he
doing?
A car door opens. Gasping.
“This doesn’t look good!” A voice I don’t recognize.
“I know,” Hector hushes her, sliding into the car with me still in his arms.
“Which is why we need to do this fast. We won’t have another opportunity.
Is the other car ready?”
“I think I can save her,” the woman says. Her voice reminds me of candy.
I cough, but blood rises up my throat.
“You will save her. That is not a question. She carries the curse, we have
to take her back now.”
 “He won’t forgive you for this. You’ve gone too far.”
Silence. My eyelids are heavy now. Weighted down by my impending
death. Bishop got the letter. I’m not sure I can keep them open. No bright
light. Just darkness.
“I know.”
“You’re crazy,” the woman further says. “This is—this is wrong,
Hector.”
“Enough!” Hector snaps. “You knew what you were getting yourself into.
Fix her. I will not let anything happen to her. Bishop is now the Godfather.
He will rule just fine.” Long pause. “As far as The Kings and everyone will
know, Saint Vitiosis died tonight.”
The woman snaps at Hector. “And your presidency?”
Hector curses. “I have time to prepare for that. More than enough time.”
One more chuckle comes through, just as my eyes peel open. I have to
force them. It’s like lifting a weight you know you can’t lift. Light pierces my
eyes.
“You didn’t text me back, Little One…”
I blink, confused, as liquid slips over my forehead and slides into the
corner of my eye socket.
“I’m a little hurt that you didn’t text me back, though surprised that you
kept us a secret at all.” He turns the light from his phone and bares his face to
me.
“B—B—Brantley?”
Everything goes black.

The End
For now…
 Sicko

Midnight Mayhem
In Peace Lies Havoc
In Fury Lies Mischief

The Elite King’s Club

The Silver Swan
The Broken Puppet
Tacet a Mortuis
Malum: Part 1
Malum: Part 2

Razing Grace: Part 1

Razing Grace: Part 2

Perilous Love (Sinful Souls MC, #1)

Intricate Love (Sinful Souls MC, Volume 2)
Tainted Love (Sinful Souls MC, Volume 3)

Crowned by Hate (Crowned, #1)

One Hundred & Thirty-Six Scars (The Devil’s Own, #1)

 Hellraiser (The Devil’s Own, #2)
The Devil’s Match (The Devil’s Own, #5)

F*ucker

Losing Traction (Westbeach, #1)

Flip Trick

Manik