by Amo Jones
“You’re going to shut the fuck up and listen to the words that I’m about to say…”
I do as I’m told, because Nate angry is scary as shit and my self-preservation isn’t on drugs.
He searches my eyes, his almost black. His lips part as he sucks in air. “You want to know why I hate you?”
I didn’t want to know now.
He squeezes my cheeks which make my lips pop out. “I’ve already told you this, but I’m going to repeat myself one more time. You fucking remind me of her!”
I freeze.
Oh no. No, I don’t want to do this. Not right now and not after everything that has already happened tonight, please, I don’t want to do this. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“You gave me the most beautiful little fucking girl in the world, and I broke her, Tillie. My world touched her and now? Now I’m always reminded of that because of your existence.”
Tears stream down my face, my throat swelling from pain. Pure, undiluted pain ripples through my blood and soars through my eardrums.
He carries on. “I’m battling an internal war with myself every second of every fucking day. I hate you. I hate your smell because I remember what it smells like mixed with her innocent scent. I hate your fucking voice because I remember how you used it on her, and how it would soften every time you would say ‘Micaela’—”
Fire burns in my chest at the mention of her name. I don’t want to listen to this.
“You’re going to hear me, Tillie, because you think that my hate for you, that my feelings toward you are as shallow as Bishop had for Madison. You know me. I don’t fuck like that. You should have known that there was more to me being like this. But you fucking didn’t. You thought I hated you because fuck knows why, because you think it gets my dick hard like it did Bishop. You’re wrong. It’s far fucking deeper than that.”
He exhales, his hand coming away from my mouth and resting on my throat.
“I never wanted to fucking hurt you. Never. But every fucking day. Every fucking day I’m reminded. I’m haunted by her through you. Yeah, that may not be your fault, but it’s how I’m dealing with it.” His lip curls. His eyes drop to my mouth, his thumb pressing over my bottom lip. “How you used to kiss her goodnight every fucking night with these lips.” Then his eyes turn ablaze, coming straight to mine. “Or how about the fact that you had more time with her than I did. I was fucking robbed.”
The tears haven’t stopped and my heart snaps in my chest. He’s right. I thought the only reason he was throwing his hate around at me was because of some sick King game that they liked to play. Riddles, hate sex, vicious abuse. It’s all their foreplay. Now he’s saying that it wasn’t the case with me? I’m confused. Hurt, dazed, and confused.
His hate is deeper than a flesh wound. I see it now. It’s in his bones and it’s there to stay.
My eyes close. “I’m sorry.”
He flies off me and I slowly stand up from the ground.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know it went deeper than that.”
He grips at his hair and tugs on it. “You need to get your shit sorted, because I can’t be around you much longer.” His eyes come to mine. “I’m going to break you beyond repair if it’s not done soon.”
“Don’t—” I shake my head, stepping forward. My fingers itch. I need to make him feel better. Just for right now. Not for tomorrow or yesterday, I need to make him feel better for right now. He stills, his eyes staying on mine.
“I’m going to break you, Tillie.”
“Then don’t, Nate,” I answer through a whisper, my hand going up his chest and curling around the back of his neck. I stand on my toes and yank his face down to mine, my eyes searching his. “Don’t break me.”
He’s so close I can feel his heavy breath on my lips, and then I lean forward, his soft lips brushing mine. I kiss him softly, not an open mouth kissed, but not a closed mouth kiss. It’s an in-between kiss. He keeps still, not moving.
“Kiss me,” I whisper against his mouth, my heart thundering in my chest.
I bury my fingers into the back of his hair and kiss him again, lighter, taking his bottom lip into my mouth softly and then kissing him again. His lip twitches and then slowly opens as his arm hooks around my back, pulling me to him. I jump up, wrapping my legs around his waist without either of us breaking apart. His tongue slides against mine, our lips meshing together. He walks me backward, laying me down onto the grass again, our lips not leaving each other. I open my legs for him as he settles between my thighs, his kissing turning gentle then hard, each stroke of his tongue a reminder of his harsh words earlier tonight, but every suck a token of his reasoning. He rips the jacket open, his hand coming to my breast as his thumb flicks over my nipple. I feel his cock press into me, and I sit up as he tears the jacket from my body and flings it to the side, our kiss finally breaking. His eyes are wild, his chest heaving as he takes in my naked body against the dirt.
“That’s the last fucking time you let Brantley put something of his on you—including his fucking cock. Do you understand?”
When Nate bears his soul to you, he takes yours as collateral. I nod in agreement, because I know that I’m done with that. I love these guys, more Brantley than any of the others, but Nate is right. I can’t do this either, but he was partly to blame for that, always testing just how far he could handle it like the damn masochist that he is.
He removes his shirt and throws it to the side. I inhale broadly as I take in all of the shredded hard lines of his body, just as they are hit by the moonlight. He dips and presses kisses up my thighs. I lean back, my head rolling with my eyes. His mouth comes to my pussy and I bite down on my lip, not wanting to make a sound. His tongue flicks around my clit and I whimper. Another tear slides down my face. Why am I crying? It feels good. This feels good.
I look down at him between my thighs, his shoulders flexing beneath his tattoos. He looks up at me and I lose it, my orgasm coming together as quickly as possible. He licks his lips, climbing up me while unbuckling his belt and unzipping his zipper.
I lay back down, his eyes staying on mine. They move to my lips and to my eyes again. Like he’s memorizing this moment. He slowly sinks inside of me and my eyes flutter closed.
“Open,” he orders, slowly grinding inside of me before extracting himself.
I obey, opening my eyes to his as my hand goes back behind his neck. My core clenches with my thighs and I grind up to meet him, eager to chase the high.
He lays back down, his mouth coming to mine. He grinds into me slowly. In and out, at a slow pace as his mouth kisses me without breaking. Sweat drips off my flesh, as nothing interrupts the sound of our bodies sliding together and the moonlight shining down on us. My orgasm builds to all new highs and I fist his hair, my kisses getting more desperate and needy. His hips thrust into me hard but remain at the same pace. He grinds into me, only every time he goes in, it’s enough to push me over the edge. I moan softly as my orgasm shreds through my body, setting off explosives through my system like nothing I’ve felt before. He jerks suddenly, groaning into my mouth and biting down on my lip until a sweet metallic tang slips down my throat. We lay for a little bit, waiting for our bodies to calm.
That was the most intense sex I have ever had, but my heart was still broken. When he leans back, his heavy-lidded eyes searching mine, I notice every other emotion that he bared to me has vanished, and I know why.
That was goodbye.
Tillie
After the cemetery drama, Nate was serious when he said that I’m not to wear anything else by any other man, so I wore his suit shirt and he walked back shirtless. We didn’t speak.
He picked up my heels from the ground before we continued around to the front of the house where he grabbed my purse. He led me back downstairs to my room, and when we passed Daemon’s, he stopped outside of it momentarily. Just when I thought he was going to say or do something, he carried on.
He tossed my shoes and bag onto the floor
in my room and then left.
Without another word.
He stole the last part that there was of me and now I’m so drained I can’t keep my eyes open.
After the longest shower in history washing away every aspect of the night, I wriggle on some underwear and slip beneath the sheets, willing myself to sleep for weeks.
Thunder crashes above me as I stand in front of Daemon’s grave. Water pelts down over my face, mashing my hair to my skin. “Why am I here!” I scream through the heavy drops of rain and loud crashes of thunder. “What do you want from me!”
Daemon appears on his gravestone, his head hanging between his shoulders while his arm rests delicately on his knee. I watch as the rain soaks through his long hair, pushing it all forward.
“Daemon?” I whisper, stepping forward. “You’re—you’re?”
Slowly, his head comes up to meet me. “Find it, Tillie. Set me free…”
I wake, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My phone is ringing. My phone is ringing? I quickly dive off the bed and onto the floor where Nate left it last night.
“Hello?”
“Tillie?”
I freeze. “Gabriel.”
He sighs. “It’s me. I have something for you that you might want back.”
“Wait,” I whisper, afraid someone can hear me. “Where are you? I thought Nate took you?”
“That’s not a conversation for right now. I need to meet you to give you this book. Can you meet me at a parking lot?” he yaps off, giving me directions.
“Yes,” I murmur. “I’ll be there at one.”
I hang up my phone, massaging my temples. I’ll finally get Daemon’s book back and hopefully, I can navigate through it enough to solve why I found it and what it damn well means.
Nate
Tillie stands from the floor in her room, cell phone in hand. Her little body disappearing into the bathroom.
“I’m telling you, if it was anyone else, we could have put a camera in there too,” Cash mutters, smirking at me.
“Put a camera in there and I’ll kill you,” I snap, glaring at him.
“What?” Cash mocks. “So Brantley gets to see her, but we don’t?”
“He got to see her,” I correct, my finger running over the top of my lip.
The table falls quiet.
“You two finally sort your shit out?” Brantley’s mouth turns to a half-smile.
“Is she in my bed?” I pine, my eyebrow quirked.
“No, but she’s on your dick, so I’m just wanting it to be a bit clearer,” Brantley further teases.
“I like you better when you’re angry at the world and not speaking.” I go back to the camera.
Brantley chuckles. “Fucker.” Then he flicks his finger to the camera. “You think that was him?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“And she’s going to meet him?” Brantley asks again.
“Yeah,” I repeat. “I need this shit done. She needs it done.”
“You think this will fix her?”
Putting a joint in my mouth and blazing up, I blow out a thick cloud of smoke and shrug. “Fuck knows. Maybe she has completely lost it.”
“Would that be an issue for you?” Brantley asks, and I turn to face him, giving him my undivided attention.
“You’re asking an awful lot of questions this morning, Bran Bran. You get your happy place licked last night?”
He laughs, his grin stretching wide. A few of the boys snicker.
Brantley’s eyes darken on me.
“Don’t fucking say it,” I snap at him and his grin only deepens. “Asshole.”
Bishop has been quiet through the whole thing. His eyes remaining passive on the same spot on the table.
I hand him the J and he takes it, biting it between his lips. “I don’t know what the fuck to do about Madison.”
Brantley shakes his head. “This is why I’m single.”
“Are you though?” I ask, my eyes going to him. Your turn now. Bastard.
He narrows his. “Fuck you.”
“Wait!” Cash interferes. “What does that mean?”
I chuckle, taking the J back off Bishop and putting it to my mouth. I smirk, shaking my head at Cash. “Nothing.” … that you need to know.
“She’ll come around.”
Bishop leans back, his eyes closing. He has been struggling a lot for the past couple of months, we both have.
“Halloween’s coming up,” I smirk around my joint. “We can play with the girls a bit.”
Bishop’s mouth curls. “I’m down for that.”
“Party in the cemetery?”
Brantley smirks. “I’m keen for that.”
Movement catches my eyes on the TV, and we all snap to it, watching as Tillie rushes around the room and then swings the door open. We hit the TV off as we hear the door open and close down the hallway.
She enters. “Hey, Bran—” Then stops. “What did I just interrupt?”
Her hair has been straightened, her face full of makeup. I know she loves that shit, but she doesn’t need it.
“Nothing.” Then I fish my keys out of my pocket and fling them toward her. She catches them in mid-air. “And you’re taking my car…” When I said she wasn’t riding on anything to do with Brantley, I wasn’t just meaning his cock.
Her eyes widen. “Thanks. Mine should be here tomorrow.”
“You bought a car?” Brantley asks and she drops to the floor, slipping her Chuck Taylors onto her feet.
“Yeah, when Madison and I went shopping, I bought a car.”
“What kind?” Brantley and his questions.
“Let me guess,” I mutter. “A Range Rover.”
“Nope,” she declares, standing back up with my keys in her hand. “A Porsche.”
“Did you get it in black?” I ask, my eyes coming to hers. It’s tradition for all of The Kings to ride in black cars. It started when we became Kings of course. It’s not actually part of The Commandments.
She keeps them on mine, but they lack the typical fire that she normally has. Because she’s hiding something, something she thinks I don’t know. Her lack of faith in The Kings is tugging on my patience.
“Nope.” She smirks, looking down at Brantley. “Blood red.”
Brantley laughs and then looks toward me. “I told you—red is her color.”
I roll my eyes. “Be back by three.”
She waves us all off and makes her way out the front door. We all sit in silence until we hear my loud engine start up and take off down the driveway.
“Three, two, one—” We all stand and make our way out to the two Range Rovers parked at the front. I jump in the driver’s seat of one, with Bishop in the other.
“Get Dough” by Dead Obies starts pulsing through the sound system and Brantley cranks it up. It’s good. I need a distraction from my thoughts.
We pull out onto the main road. Brantley pushes a few buttons, lighting up the GPS on my car. We all had them installed when we got them. It’s just something we do as a precaution. Every single King and close associate, like wives and such, have the same systems installed. A little green light flickers, signaling where she is. Heading into the city.
My phone rings. I switch it to speaker. “What?”
“I’m about to meet her now,” my dad says into the phone. “Nate?”
I don’t answer, running my hand over my jaw. “What?”
“She’s in danger. You must know this.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Yeah, I do.”
“And what are you all doing about the situation that holds the last living Stuprum in danger?”
I shuffle in my seat. “We’ve got a plan.”
“Care to share?”
“Fuck no!” I scoff. “You’re nomad, therefore you’re even less trustworthy than a fucking Rebel and The fucking Circle.”
He sighs. “I’m also your father, and the peace—”
I hang up, tossing my phone onto Brantley’s lap.
“How is this cunt trying to act like daddy Malum now?” Brantley mutters. “Motherfucker.”
I brush him off.
“You calling red on Tillie now?” Brantley asks, watching me out of the corner of his eye. When you call red on a girl, that’s when all Kings have to back the fuck off her. You only get one girl ever that you can call red on. Meaning she can’t be shared. Bishop never did until after Daemon died.
I think over Brantley’s words. If I call red on her, that’s fucking it. No one is going to touch her. Flirt? Yeah, but no more little fuck arounds between the three of us—and she’s off limits to Brantley. Now, a reasonable man wouldn’t call red on a chick until they’ve been together as in official—for a while. You know, like Bishop and Madison. However, I’m not fucking reasonable at all.
“Yeah, fucking aye I am.”
Everyone bursts out laughing, Brantley included.
“Finally. How’d you get her to forgive you?” Brantley grins.
“Huh?” I look over at him innocently. “Oh, she hasn’t forgiven me and we’re not together. Might not ever be, might be next week—who fucking knows.”
“You just called red on her!” Brantley yells around his laughter.
“Yeah.” I nod my head. “Because none of you fucks are to go near her with your cocks.”
“Damn,” Brantley chuckles. “Never in the history of The Elite Kings Club has anyone ever splashed red over a girl without being in a relationship with her.”
“Well, there is only one me.” I can’t help the cocky smile on my face.
Brantley shakes his head. “You like them fucking crazy.”
“And you don’t?” I ask, my eyes going to his. I really need to learn more about this secret he’s hiding.
“No,” Brantley glares. “Not anymore.”
“So how do you like them?” I ask, smirking. Is he opening up a little?
“As a saint.”