Tacet a Mortuis (The Elite King's Club Book 3)

by Amo Jones

  “No! Leave me alone! No, he’s not dead. He’s—he’s, Bishop!” She howled again, her screams sending birds to dart from the trees. Her weeping pulled so much emotion that tears fell from the grown men who were huddled around Bishop.

  My heart broke into two. Te amo, soror mea.

  “This is my fault.” I slowly lifted my hand that held the thick heavy knife and launched it into my throat. Pain shot through as my own blood started to slip over my hands like slime.

  “Daemon!” Tate yelled from somewhere as I fell to the ground.

  “Daemon?” Madison screamed again, her voice coming in and out.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” I gurgled, blood filling my throat as my vision blurred. The clouds in the sky swirled with the soft blue endless sphere, and my eyelashes fluttered. I tried to suck in more air, but I was drowning. Drowning in my own blood. I deserved it. Red.

  “Daemon!” Madison’s voice was coming in quick, her face hovering over mine. My vision was now completely vivid in color, no more stygian.

  A hyena laugh ricocheted off the lifeless walls inside of my brain.

  My eyebrows pulled in, confusion seeping into every nerve.

  We. Win.

  “Trickery!” I roared, my back arching off the ground just as death’s grip took hold of me.

  “What the fuck!” Nate pulled at his hair, stepping backward.

  “Daemon?” I wiped the tears that were pouring down my cheeks. I cradled his head under my arm and kissed his forehead. “No, no,” I wept, slowly rocking him. Something snapped in my chest, opening up and seeping its pain through my veins. My heart was lifeless, my fingertips numb and my legs aching. “No!” I screamed when his eyes lifelessly fell to the back of his head.

  I squeezed at the wound on his neck, not wanting to take the knife out. “No. You’re going to be ok. It’s ok. I’ll fix you. I’ll always fix you,” I mumbled to myself, pawing at his wound like a cat would.

  “Madison…” A hand came to my arm.

  I reared back. “No. He’s not dead.”

  Heavy combat boots came into view. “Baby…”

  My eyes flew to Bishop. “No! He’s not dead!”

  Bishop watched me carefully. “I’m going to tell you about a demon called Trickery, one of his six…”

  I shook my head, wiping the tears off my cheek with my blood-soaked hand. “No. I don’t want to hear any more. I don’t” —my eyes cut straight to Katsia— “You…” then I slowly put Daemon’s head back to the ground. When he was safe on the pavement, I gripped the knife that was in his neck and pulled it out. Flicking it around in my fingers, I flew toward her. “Bitch!” I pounced on her like a tiger would on a gazelle, wrapping my legs around her waist.

  Her eyes popped open in shock. “Mad—” I reared my hand back that held the knife and stabbed it deep into her jugular.

  Her guards knew they were outnumbered, and they knew she had done wrong. There was no way they could have fought us and lived, and they knew that. It was then that I realized they were mere peacekeepers—as such.

  Blood sprayed over my face and retribution sunk into my pores as the sweet taste of revenge slid down my throat. Thick choking sounds vibrated from her throat, her hand coming up to the wound. Arms wrapped around my torso from behind, pulling me off her.

  “Shhh, baby, it’s going to be ok.”

  I hiccupped and pushed away from Bishop.

  Spinning back around as Hector started chatting with Katsia’s men, I ran back to Daemon and cradled his head again, swatting away the flies that started buzzing around.

  “It’s okay. I got her. She’s gone, you can wake up now. I took care of her, I—I—” I wheezed through my breaths, my chest tightening again. When my throat dried from my rushed breathing and adrenaline shot through me, a guttural scream erupted from my chest. I dropped my head into Daemon, weeping the loss of my brother. My other half, my constant. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, goddamnit, Daemon! Why!” I continued to sob into his chest. “I just got you back,” I whispered. “Te amo, frater.” My swollen eyes scrubbed against his shirt.

  “Baby?” Bishop sat beside me and I could hear Tate sobbing somewhere. She loved Daemon, too, even though she didn’t display it that much.

  I didn’t answer Bishop. I couldn’t form words. I didn’t want to move, I didn’t want my mouth to move, I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to stay here forever and rewind what had happened. I wouldn’t let go of him. Ever. Te amo, frater

  “I’m going to tell you about Trickery and circa 2014. Daemon’s biggest slaughter,” Bishop’s voice beamed with something. If you mixed fear and pride into a bowl, your finished product would be his tone. “Trickery was one of Daemon’s demons that he lived with. In April 2014, he was sent to one of the biggest jobs for The Circle. He was told to do one task, bring in the men, and leave. Shake them up a bit, but not to harm anyone. There were twelve grown men, and none of them lived. Up until he came back into your life, we all believed that he had snapped and just gone full schizo, but he hadn’t. That night when he and I had that talk, he told me the truth on what happened the night he brutally dismembered twelve men three times his size, sending the pieces back to The Circle in circular shaped suitcases…” He took a breath, and even though I knew there was no way he was about to get a response out of me, I wanted to hear his story. “Poetic, got to give him that. So we had the talk, because I wasn’t completely comfortable with him being around you, like you could probably remember. He told me about his demons. Trickery, Deceit, War, Evil, Rage, and Death. They were numbered, and Deceit was the strongest voice of all, he had said. It was probably the one that took over him the day he shot you…”

  I didn’t wince. I didn’t move. I’d trade places with Daemon in a heartbeat, and a part of me wished I did die that day, then maybe he wouldn’t have been here today. It was my fault.

  “Trickery took over him in 2014. Daemon saw the man who raped him as a small boy when he looked at all their faces and annihilated each and every one of them. It wasn’t until they were dead that Trickery finally released him, but by then, it was too late.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “That’s what happened today. His greatest war was within himself, baby. He will be at peace now.”

  His words were like rubbing salt into a wound. The tears started pouring out again.

  “Mads?” Tate came closer to me. My eyes went to hers. She was rubbing the tears off her cheeks, but I noticed a guy with a big spider-shaped scar on his neck standing closely behind her. It was so big that it was one of the first things I noticed. Then it was all the tattoos. Then it was his blatant resemblance to Bishop, only with dark hair and bright blue eyes. “Please stand up. We need to take him home.”

  I shook my head, my fingers gripping around him. Her attention went to someone beside her, who I was guessing was Bishop. She nodded, and then someone was pulling me off Daemon. Inhumane screams exploded out of me as tears soaked through my shirt. “Come here.” Bishop’s arms wrapped around me tightly.

  “Bishop, take her to Miller. The jet is ready. All of you, go with her.” I stopped fighting when I realized it was no use. My muscles throbbed and every inch of myself ached. My arms swung around the back of Bishop’s neck where I clung on tightly. Silent sobs broke through again, and unable to contain them anymore, I let them flow. Te amo, frater.

  “I don’t think she’s going to be ok,” Nate said, just as the seatbelt light turned off. She had fallen asleep long before take-off. We had waited for Spyder and Ollie to board the plane, both of them fucking around.

  “What the fuck took you so long?” I asked Spyder, my eyes drifting to both him and a guilty looking Ollie. “If you tell me you were hitting on a chick, I swear to God, I will punch you.”

  “Aw,” Spyder grinned, winking at me. “You and I both know I hit harder, little cos.”

  “Our last fight was when I was five…”

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

 
; “You make no sense.”

  He pretended to think over what I had just said, then slowly smirked. “Exactly.”

  I hated him.

  I looked back to a nervous Nate. “She’ll be fine. It will take her a while, but she’ll pull through. If anyone can, it’s her.”

  Nate squeezed his eyes closed. “I can’t ever see her in that kind of pain ever again, so you’re not allowed to die.”

  “Ditto,” I muttered before Spyder’s voice stole my attention.

  “We were helping your old man.” He tilted his head up to the ceiling, his eyes looking at me. “He has a lot to clean up after your girl there went firecracker and killed the only Steprum walking this earth.”

  “She’s not the only one.” Nate shook his head, his finger running across his upper lip. “Scarlet was right, Katsia was lying. Tillie is her daughter, who is a Steprum, which means my kid is half Steprum.” His eyes closed again, I could see he was battling within himself to come to terms with everything he had just learned over the past few days.

  “Well, shit,” Spyder grunted, closing his eyes. “I should have stayed around here, seems like more drama happens.”

  “You can stay in New Orleans,” I corrected. My cousin and I were actually close, the banter was just what we always did since we were kids.

  “I don’t know.” A slow smirk crept onto his mouth but his eyes stayed closed. “I might have just met a reason to stick around.” Ollie’s attention flew to where Tate was sitting, a smug, knowing look passing over his features.

  “Of fucking course,” I snorted.

  Brantley sat on the seat in front of us. “She’ll be ok, man. No one is as strong as that girl there.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about, though,” Nate said, gesturing to where she was curled up under a blanket toward the back of the plane. “She shouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit. She fucking loved Daemon, man. Like full on fucking loved him. They shared a sibling bond that I had never seen before, and now he’s dead? I don’t know.” Nate shook his head. “I don’t know if she’ll come back from this. She barely came back from her little trip around the world stunt. She’s about to feel real loss, fucking crippling loss. Not the superficial kind, the fucking life shattering, earth moving kind. Not many people can survive it.”

  Brantley looked at me. “She survived the shit that went on with my dad. She survived being fucking raped as a young girl, Nate. You’re wrong. That girl wasn’t born capable of dealing with that kind of loss, because she built the wall around herself to handle it, and do you know how she did that?” he asked, his eyes finally settling on Nate, who was watching him back eagerly. “By collecting every fucking brick that was thrown at her from this shitty life.”

  Nate gulped. I swallowed, and Spyder’s eyes cracked open. “That’s some rough shit.”

  Brantley’s eyes glassed over. “You have no idea.”

  We all watched him, and it was like watching someone relive their most horrifying memories in full HD. Brantley was haunted every day by what his dad put them both through, and none of us truly knew the extent of it, but I did know that it was worse than what we knew. He refused to tell us anything else and lived with the shadows of it all every single day.

  Ollie cleared his throat. “It was good to be back, I gotta admit, even though the circumstances were fucking shitty.”

  “Ollie?” Nate muttered under his breath. “Stop fucking talking.” Those two cousins, on the other hand, flat out hated each other. Wasn’t sure why, Ollie seemed like a down to earth guy. As down to earth as you can get within us all. He lived to surf and had the jaw length blonde locks to go with it. He had the blue eyes and tattoos all over his skin to go with that, too. He looked like he had just fallen out of the set of The OC.

  I pushed off the seat and made my way back to Madison, pulling up her blanket and resting her head on my lap. I moved hair off her face, my thumb circling her hard cheekbone. I wanted to know what was happening with my dad and mom, and why they both stayed behind. Actually, all of the elders stayed behind. My thumb halted its movements as I looked around the plane. All of our generation and Spyder’s generation were here, while the rest were back at Perdita. Odd. But whatever their reasoning, I’d hear about it when they came home.

  “B? Can we talk?”

  My jaw clenched.

  “Please?”

  I looked down to Madison before slowly getting back to my feet and placing her head on the seat. I led Khales toward the back of the plane, away from any ears just in case no one knew about her and my dad. “What?” I snapped, unable to stop my jaw from clenching.

  “I’m sorry about what happened back there. I misjudged Madison, and you, and I guess—” She stopped, her eyes falling to her fingers. “I’m sorry, Bishop. When I first came back, I was so angry and enraged by how you had moved on. I hated her so much.” She took in a deep breath, and I took this time to study her face. I knew Khales inside and out. I knew when she was lying, when she was happy, sad, or both. I knew if she was hiding any emotion from me. She was transparent to me, unlike Madison who was like a closed fucking book.

  “I lost my shit for a bit, B, but you know me, you know I’m not vindictive, and I see it now.”

  “See—what?” I tilted my head at her.

  “I see how you are with her.”

  I leaned on the wall. “She doesn’t like you.”

  “I know.”

  “Which means our friendship will never go back to how it was.”

  Her face fell. “I know.”

  “Then I wish you and my dad well.” I pushed off the wall and headed back to Madison. Just as I slipped back into my seat, I chuckled. “Oh, and good luck with Mom.”

  Khales flinched but slowly went back into her seat. I did care about her once upon a time…

  I liked riding my bike. I liked riding it even more when it was heading in the opposite direction of my house. I couldn’t stand it. So there I was, on my silk black BMX, equipped with handlebars that had been dipped in chrome, riding toward the other side of town. With my hoodie thrown up over my head, and my jeans hanging off of my hips and my skater chain dangling off my belt loop, I was riding to where I always went when it became too much at home. When the air became tight and the tension would be close to snapping. Most parents loved each other, whereas mine barely tolerated each other. A car honked from the other side of the road and I kicked my feet back to hit the brakes, skidding to a halt. Turning toward the car, my eyes narrowed. I knew that I shouldn’t have stopped. I was young—pretty much still a child. Eight, to be exact. I’m not exactly legally allowed to be riding across town on my own, so without a second glance, I peddled forward and made my way to Newtown Beach. It always took around twenty minutes to get there, and today was no exception. I came to a halt, kicking my bike stand out and looking out to the trailer park.

  In a clean layout, there were roughly around twenty metal moveable homes all parked. All with different designs, and obviously, you could see who had the most pride. It ranged from old OCD grandma with florals and cats, to old bins strewn over front yards and rusted swing sets that had seen one too many days in the sun and rain, and not enough being ridden on. My attention went straight to the metal grey trailer I was familiar with. The dents and scratches were clearly visible, even with a brief glance. This trailer was a neglected as the child who resided in it. Not to stereotype trailer parks, because some of them here had blossoming flowers lining their walls and gardens, along with a couple of lazy chairs and tables set up nicely, this one didn’t. There wasn’t a spec of pride that whistled off of this trailer, and like always, I headed straight for it. I was just about to tread across the fake grass that had long faded from its unnatural plastic of green to a dingy shade of yellow, when the metal door swung open, smashing against the side of the beat-up oversized shit-hole as Khales stormed out, her long brown hair sticking to her heart-shaped face.

  Her eyes connected with mine. Her frown turned soft. “Bishop
?” She scrubbed the tears off of her cheek, sniffed, and then put her nose up. That pride was going to kill her one day. “You shouldn’t have come, Bishop. He’s angry today. Like, extra angry.”

  My heart pinched a little for her. I hated my parents, but they’d never do the things Khales’ dad did to her, and I despised the expensive architecture I called home, but it wasn’t a run down, beat up, dingy metal on wheels shit-box that on a good day, stinks like beer, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke. Where on a bad day, it smelled of whiskey, sweat, stale cigarette, and Khales’ tears mixed with her dried blood. I felt my anger drop to its knees inside of me and beg to travel through my veins and rest on the slight tingle at my fingertips.

  “What’d he do?” I asked her, pushing my hands into my hoodie pocket to hide the way my nails sunk into the palm of my hands. I wanted to protect her. She was the first friend I had outside of the Kings, and I’d known her since pre-school. I’d had a front row ticket to this same shit-show since we were kids, and I was about ready to punch our ticket and end it once and for all.

  “He’s just drunk, Bishop.” A smile, so weak, so placid, came onto her face. “Can we go to your place? Or have you taken the pegs off your bike?”

  My anger simmered out a little, and my shoulders slightly rested. “I haven’t. I won’t, not until you don’t need them anymore.” She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and then snapped a fluorescent pink band around it before she gestured to the bike. “Let’s go then.”

  “And your dad?” I questioned, watching as she bounced over to my bike and turned to wait for me.

  “Screw him.”

  “He will hurt you, Lees, and you know it. I don’t want him to hurt you ever again.” I headed toward her, taking the handle bars into the palm of my hands and sitting on the chair. She stood on the pegs, her hands coming to my shoulders. “I can’t stop him, B.”

  Maybe she couldn’t stop him, but I could.

  And I did a couple years later. He was my first kill. I remember calling my dad, panicking with the gun hanging on the tips of my fingers. Dad, my uncle, and Johan came. I thought I would have been in trouble. I just committed murder at age thirteen, you would think that was a big deal. It wasn’t. It was a part of my initiation process, and I was the only one to ever begin at that age. My dad was proud. The Kings were proud.