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

by Amo Jones

  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 surfa
ce 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.”