Sancte Diaboli: Part One (The Elite Kings Club Book 6)

by Amo Jones

  “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 aw
ay 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 drag
s 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.