by Amo Jones
Tillie
I shut the driver’s door after zipping up into a construction parking unit. I meet him at the top, ignoring the fact that these concrete ramps could come undone any minute.
Gabriel smiles when he sees me, but his eyes also fly around the area. He has one guard standing behind him wearing dark glasses and a suit.
“Tillie.” He nods.
I smile. “Gabriel.”
He hands me a suitcase. “It’s in there. I hope you find closure and happiness when you finish.”
I laugh. “Oh, I doubt it.” Then I feel bad when I find his eyes on me. If he’s pretending to be nice to me, then he’s doing a good job, because every time I’m around him, I almost believe him.
“Nate let you go?” I ask, tilting my head.
“He did. He knows he can’t keep me long and even he knows that I’m a better ally than an enemy.”
“And could you do that?”
“Do what?” He brings his hands to his front. I watch as his thumbs twist and twirl around each other.
“Be an enemy to your son?”
“No,” he answers instantly. “No, I couldn’t.”
I squeeze the suitcase handle. “Thanks for this.” Then I turn to go back to Nate’s car.
“Tillie?” Gabriel calls out. “I know you love my son, and I know that he loves you.”
I clench my jaw. No one gets to say those words on behalf of him but him. Maybe I’m being irrational, but I don’t like when everyone else says those words to me. He doesn’t even know that these people have said that to me. Do they know what goes on inside of Nate’s mind? Because let me tell you, I’m almost certain not even Nate knows what goes on in his mind.
He continues. “But this world is different. Loyalties lay differently.”
I swing my door open, my eyes on his. “I’m well aware of how this world works, Gabriel, and who’s to say that I’m the one who is loyal to him?”
I push my Ray-Bans over my eyes and start the car up, putting it into first gear and driving out. I flick open the suitcase when he’s gone and see the book. I flick through the pages, finding the one I was up to. I know that most of the drawings were done on Perdita, but I also know that the ending wasn’t.
I go to the next page.
It’s another drawing of the trailer park I grew up in. The light turns green and I swing around, doing a U-turn while dropping down to second. I know where I need to go, and I make it my mission to work through this damn book by the end of the day.
When I was a child, I had a crush. When I was a teenager, I had a crush. When I had… My mind aches as I pull down the long, empty road. It’s worse than it was when I left. Opposite the park there’s an abandoned building with graffiti splashed all over the concrete, smashed windows, and littered rubbish floating in the wind.
I roll to a stop, the familiar gate closed securely.
My eyes slam closed. “What is with this gate, Daemon. Why have you drawn me so many damn times?
Nate’s car continues to idle beneath me.
I flip open Puer Natus again, drifting through every sketch. The baby rattle. The cell in Perdita. Was that the cell he was in? Yes? My head hurts and I can’t remember.
I flip to the next page and I stop breathing as a bracelet drops out from between the pages. It’s a knitted bracelet, plaited in a French plait. I wore this bracelet when I was little. When I had a crush. The drawing is two hands clasped together, pebbles and dirt scattered near their shoes. The view he drew is of that looking down. In the image, she’s wearing my bracelet.
I throw the book. “Oh my god!”
I swing open the car door and start prowling back and forth, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes. “Why…” I think over my memories. Why did I not know that that was Daemon? He was my crush at thirteen. He held my hand and made my heart beat faster. My heart. I tore at my chest, heat melting over my skin. I need to find him. I need to ask him what the fuck this means.
I climb back into the car, slamming the door closed and reach for the book.
“Finish the book, Puella.”
I scream out in frustration, flipping to the next page.
A broken heart, weeping through the pages.
I flick to the next, turning the cover around. A baby crib, dark and old, one that looks like it was the same one the biblical baby was put into. Was it Jesus? Yeah, Jesus. There’s no baby inside, instead, is a sign SOLD! Drawn over the small mattress.
A baby was sold. Who was sold?
My heart squeezes. The baby subject is too much for me right now. Too sensitive. It touches too close to her.
There are only a few pages left so I flick through again, and it’s Hector’s house.
Hector, her? If I didn’t see the body with my own eyes, I would think that Hector had her instead of having her—I choke.
I flick to the second to last page and it’s the back of a small girl. Her hair is long—so very long, hanging down to her lower back.
I flip to the final one, and it’s a drawing of Brantley’s house.
There are no more pages.
Why are there no more pages? He said that I would have my answers when I reach the final page!
I throw the car into first and skid out onto the road, heading back to Brantley’s.
I need to talk with Daemon, and I need to talk with him now.
Tillie
You don’t judge an ocean by what you see on the surface the same way that you never, and I mean never, judge a King by his demeanor. They know more than they show and are worse than you could ever know. This can be a good thing or a bad thing. I know this, but the information that they hold from everyone, me included, is something I can only handle for so long.
I push open Brantley’s front door, tossing Nate’s keys onto the small table that accommodates loose items.
I press the door closed and quickly head for the door that leads to the floor level, to my room. I need to ask Daemon what this book has to do with me and why he didn’t tell me that that boy was him. Is this why I have always had feelings for him? Because they’ve always been there, under all of the damage from my past?
I don’t know, but as I move down the long hallway, I know I’m about to find out.
Lifting my fist to his door, I knock a few times, but no one answers.
“Daemon?”
I squeeze the handle and push at it, finding his bedroom exactly how it has always been. I haven’t seen him for a couple of nights now, and I’m starting to get worried. He’s not been the same since we found him.
I sigh, flopping onto his bed with the book in my hand. Slipping my wrist through the bracelet, I loosen it enough so it fits comfortably, and lay back, flicking through the pages again.
Maybe I’ve missed something between the pages. Maybe there’s something in-between that I’m not catching…
Nate
Betrayal is the feeling of your stomach being yanked from your body. It’s watching as someone you thought you could trust, throws it into an ocean of hungry sharks. It’s feeling your trust meter completely empty. But there are a few seconds after feeling this when you go numb. You stop and think to yourself, well fuck. Now what?
I didn’t feel this when we became aware of Hector possibly being involved in Micaela’s death. I went straight to the numb feeling.
“We have to be careful with how we execute our plan,” Brantley mutters, putting a smoke into his mouth.
I stay still, my eyes glued to a spot on the wall, not wanting to show any emotion.
Bishop sits with his head hanging between his shoulders. “We can’t kill him.”
A hiss escapes my lips. “What the fuck do you mean? If he killed my daughter, Bishop, he is fucking dead, whether I take myself down with him or not.”
Bishop rubs his face viciously with the palms of his hands, the frustration evident. “He’s still my fucking dad, Nate.”
“And since when the fuck did that matter to you?” I shoot back, my eyes narrowing.
Brantley’s eyes come to mine. “He’s a dead man if this is true.”
Eli shifts uncomfortably. “Taking down Hector Hayes? The daddy of the EK? I don’t know… I get that you’re angry, man, but—”
“—but nothing,” Jase interrupts. Jase is the older brother of Hunter and Madison, but he’s always been around because of Hunter being in our generation.
Jase brings his dark eyes to mine. “If it is revealed that he was behind her death, Nate, you have my word—I got your back.”
We have a divide, but I know that has to do with Bishop. If he was all in, there would be no buts about it.
Brantley stands from the table, his phone vibrating. His eyes shoot to mine. “She’s got the book back. Now what?”
I think over his words, running my finger above my lip. “Now we wait.”
After leaving Brantley’s house, I need something to take the edge off, so I hit dial on Billie’s number as I stroll back to my car. The keys are in the ignition, but everything smells of her. Her smell attaches itself to everything I fucking own, including my cock.
I groan, adjusting myself in my pants as I think of her perfect little cunt clench arouover me.
“Fuck,” I groan, sending a text to Billie.
Meet me outside your hotel in 10.
The sun sets against my windshield as I drop it into second gear after picking up Billie.
“I got to say,” Billie whispers from the passenger seat of my car. “I’m impressed by her royal highness,” she purrs, glaring down at her phone. I look over my shoulder and see she’s looking through Tillie’s Instagram. “Cute kid…sorry about that…”
My jaw tenses, my fists tightening around the steering wheel.
“Where are we going?” She places her phone onto her lap.
“To a meet.”
“…and why? Why am I coming to a meet?”
I run my hand over my forehead. “I need your help with something.”
“With what?” Billie says, further forcing my hand.
“I need to break someone,” I murmur.
Billie pauses. “I can’t come to a meet, Nate. It’s not allowed.”
I slam on my brakes, my tires tearing up the asphalt. I breathe in and out. “You’re right. Get out.”
Billie reaches for me and I flinch, pulling away from her.
“Get. Out.”
She spills out of the passenger seat of my car, and I slam it into first gear. She’s right. Billie can’t attend a meet. She’s not a fucking King and she’s definitely not a Stuprum.
Tillie
Sweat drips off my body as I kick the speed up to level 14 on the treadmill. My legs run at a pace that I didn’t even know they were capable of, my eyes going out the front glass windows. “Love Lies” is pulsing through the speakers that are set up in the gym. I left my headphones somewhere and it took me about twenty minutes to figure out how to work his flashy speakers. My thighs burn and my legs ache as I power through, the timer reading 1:34:09. An hour and a half of solid running? Yeah, I had issues coming in here, but I won’t have them going out. The moon is starting to set behind the thick trees and I take in the natural beauty of it. I understand why Brantley built the gym like this now. Not only is it therapy to train, but to train with this view is a whole new level of tranquility.
Movement catches my eyes to the right, near a bush of flowers. I narrow my eyes, but only make out a bright contrast of white between bushes.
What the fuck was that?
It almost looked like…
“A ghost?” I yell, hitting the treadmill off. My feet stop running as I squint my eyes to get a better look. The figure moves again and I freeze.
Not a ghost.
A girl.
I climb off the treadmill quickly, making my way to the glass window. Can she see me? She has the whitest hair I have ever seen in my life. It can’t be natural. She has a round, baby face, and a very, very, petite body. She’s wearing a white sundress that clings to her, while hanging off her all at the same time, and her hair looks to be in an intricate French braid, dangling delicately all the way down to her tail bone.
I tilt my head, but in an instant, her eyes snap up to me.
I still. Either entranced in her pure, innocent beauty, or in the shock of being spotted. She drags her eyes away from mine, I’m unsure whether she can see me or not, but she continues to water the flowers.
“See a ghost?” Brantley asks from the doorway.
I jerk, turning my head over my shoulder slightly. “Maybe.” I shrug. “Who is that?”
He comes up beside me and I physically feel the air shift between us. When he doesn’t answer, I bring my eyes to him.
“Bran?”
His jaw clenches, his thick fists burying into his pockets. “Just a girl.”
“Just a girl?” I ask. “Can I ask who and why she’s here?”
He turns on his heel and storms back out of the gym.
I want to stand here and watch her all night, and I could, because she’s that beautiful. It’s like watching an angel play the harp, you’re entranced, but skeptical. Brantley storms over toward her and her face drops.
I watch the exchange from afar but feel their emotions like they’re being hammered into me at speeds I cannot handle.
Her eyebrows furrow, but she yanks her elbow out of his grip. She doesn’t look angry, she looks—confused.
Her eyes come up to the glass again and I shit you not, I feel her breathing down my neck. This girl is insanity. I’m instantly intrigued, yet a big part of me wants to keep this secret. I want to keep it for Brantley—even for her.
I take a swig of my water and start to step backward, realizing I look like a creeper.
My phone buzzes near the punching bag and I reluctantly make my way toward it, sliding it unlocked.
Nate—Tell Brantley you’re coming with him tonight.
My fingers hover over the keys as I think on what to reply with.
Me—Where to?
Nate—A meet. And bring that fucking book.
Me—Have a new girl that needs rescuing?
Nate—Yeah.
Me—Who?
Nate—You.
I stand there, reading the word over and over again until my eyes close and it flashes behind my shut lids in neon white pulses. You.
I grab the rest of my shit and make my way downstairs, back to my room. I pass Daemon’s room and see him lying on his back on top of the mattress.
I sigh, my heart resting to a light strum.
Pushing his door open, I knock on it gently. His face tilts to me.
“Hi.” I enter, leaving the door open.
“Princessa,” he whispers, his eyes closing and opening. “Are you—okay?”
I nod, pursing my lips together. “Why? Daemon, why didn’t you tell me?” I take a seat on the mattress, tucking my hands under my thighs.
He exhales. “That’s not the important part.” His English is getting better.
“What do you mean? You knew me, Daemon. I had a crush on you.”
He nods, his smile tightening. “As did I.”
I lick my lips. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
He inches up from the mattress, his hand resting on my cheek. “That’s a good thing, Princessa. Very good.” His hand comes to my chest and I wince. “Heal.”
I place a kiss on his head and leave him to rest. He rests a lot. I hope he’s okay.
I have a shower once I’m back in my room and scrub up in triple time, running the soap suds over my body until they form foam. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but he seemed tired. It feels wrong to push him, considering all he’s been through.
Shoving on some light skinny jeans and a Ramones shirt, I flick my hair down my back, toss on my leather jacket, and head upstairs to find
Brantley.
He’s waiting for me in the lobby, wearing a hoodie, dark jeans and a shit-eating grin.
“Why are you smiling like that and why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to like the reason?”
He chuckles. “Come on. You need to get ready for the meet.” I let him take my hand as he leads me down the dark hallway, passing door after door. I need to explore this house one day. Not today, but one day. We reach the end to a second dining area, a more private one. A crystal chandelier hangs delicately from the ceiling and there’s a large rectangle table with dark red chairs surrounding it.
“Hello, dear,” Scarlet says, pulling out boxes of what I recognize as makeup.
“Hi!” I haven’t seen her or Elena in a while, and a part of me feels guilty that I haven’t made the time to see Elena. I mentally mark it in my brain to visit her.
Scarlet has always been beautiful, and you can really see the striking resemblance between her and Bishop. Does she know about Abel? Probably not. Does she know about Hector? Honestly, I’d like to say no, but I’m not naïve. I see the cracks in these people where others would see silk.
“What’s going on?” I look between her and Brantley.
Brantley takes a seat. “You need to get painted to come with us, Princessa…”
“The meet? I wasn’t painted last time…”
Scarlet pauses, her hand in the air as she continues to dip her brushes into the SFX makeup.
“That’s because you weren’t technically supposed to be there.” Brantley’s tone is smooth.
“No woman is supposed to be there.” Scarlet raises an eyebrow at me. “But you’re different.”
So I’ve heard.
I take a seat and watch as she brushes strokes of black and white over Brantley’s face.
“What’s the meaning behind that?” I ask, gesturing to the face paint. “I know people do it for Halloween, but I never understood why The Kings do it?”
Scarlet continues on Brantley’s face. “Well, the reason why The Kings have always done it is a lot simpler than why people use it during Halloween, or even why they celebrate it for All Saints Day. We use it as a way to express to our men that we all die.” Scarlet’s eyes come to me. “The wives of The Kings learn to apply this to their husband during meets. It’s our way of telling them that they’re not immortal. Their flesh is still human, and their black hearts still beat.”