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

by Amo Jones

  He laughs, and Bishop and I meet eye-to-eye. “Oh, I know. But take this as a learning curve, Kings. This was to show you what we could do. Keep your little witch safe. We all know your secrets now…”

  The line cuts out and I shove my phone into my pocket.

  “Where the fuck were you?” I yell down at Saint.

  She searches my eyes, worry lines etched in her forehead. “I wanted to see the moon!”

  “Then fucking tell someone to take you!” I snap. “Or you don’t go at all.”

  She looks to Bishop, but her arm hooks around me. “What happened?”

  “He was drugged, as were Eli, Hunter, and Cash.”

  “Oh,” she whispers, and I could fucking strangle her. Still might. Undecided.

  Tate can’t keep her eyes off Saint, and if it was anyone else, I would be uncomfortable with it, but it’s Tate. She’s about as threatening as a hungry chihuahua.

  “Bishop,” she exhales, turning toward him as we all make our way out of the clearing and back to the party. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Her mouth opens and then closes.

  I drag Saint back near the bonfire. Bishop takes the spot beside me with Spyder on the other side of Tate. Saint falls onto the ground in front of me, leaning between my legs while running her hands up and down her body.

  I nudge my head at Abel. “Go grab her hoodie out of my bag upstairs.”

  He instantly leaves his beer on his chair, disappearing.

  Saint looks up at me backward. “Are they the new Kings?”

  I shake my head. “Yes and no. They won’t be official Kings.”

  “Why?” she asks, turning to face me. “He’s a Hayes, right?”

  I crack my head to the side, keeping my eyes on hers. The thought of almost fucking losing her tonight will haunt me forever. “Yeah, but he’s not the oldest Hayes. Bishop is.”

  Saint sighs, turning to the bonfire. “It’s confusing.”

  I wrap my arm around her chest and pull her in closer. Her fingers come to my forearm as she ducks her nose behind it. Her fingers look minuscule against my arms.

  “What?” Bishop murmurs lazily, staring at the fire. “You’ve been visiting Madison in New Zealand?”

  Tate spins to face him, her face pale. “Bishop, I—”

  He shakes his head. “It amazes me that even after the last time I had to fly my private jet all the way the fuck over there to drag her ass home, that you both still don’t think I know every single step she’s making.” His eyes land on hers. “Or that I know who she’s with.”

  Tate winces. “And that’s all you know?”

  Bishop’s eyes turn to slits. “What the fuck do you mean?”

  She shakes her head. “Jessie is just a friend.” Good one with the deflecting. Fucking give her that. But she just made it obvious that she’s hiding something. Madison probably got a new tattoo, upped her coke habit, or I don’t know, fucked a girl. “She is my best friend, Bishop. We’ve seen each other at our worst, and even though I’m well aware you all have a family now and Tillie still hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Saint whispers, her lips moving over my arm. Pressing it down so that it’s now against her throat, she repeats, “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know how to fix what is broken.”

  Tate’s eyes flick between Saint and me.

  Saint ends. “Tillie is a lot of things, but loyalty is her numero uno.”

  Tate’s shoulders sag, just as Abel comes back with the hoodie.

  Later that night, when everyone has cleared out and Saint is fast asleep upstairs, and it’s only me, Bishop, Eli, Hunter, and Cash downstairs in the sitting room, I kick my ankle up to rest on my knee. “Too close.”

  Bishop rubs his palm over his mouth, fatigue shading his eyes. “Agree.”

  “Which new enemy could this have been?” Eli asks, lying back on the three-seater sofa that’s against the wall closest to the fire.

  I shake my head. “It was clean.”

  Bishop’s eyes come to mine.

  “The Rebels?” Eli asks, his eyes closing.

  “Too bold for them,” Bishop answers, his eyes never moving from mine.

  “This something else then?” Cash asks, lighting a smoke.

  I curl my lips between my teeth. “Yeah, revenge.”

  Bishop nods, our silent conversation loud. Agree.

  Saint

  I enjoyed being at the cabin, and it would probably always be special to me now since it was where Brantley and I first had sex, but what good is that when he won’t even touch me in a sexual way anymore. Whatever happened last night has sowed something inside of him.

  After we arrive home, I unpack my clothes and sort through what needs to be cleaned, then go through the routine of feeding Medusa, Kore, and Hades. I haven’t received another text from the unknown number since I left the cabin, and there’s a part of me that thinks I need to bring it up with Brantley. It may have a connection to them being drugged. In the end, my conscience wins out and I head off in search of him. My Louis Vuitton slippers are snug on my feet, with yoga pants and a loose crop tee offering the perfect balance of comfort.

  Heading into the kitchen, I find it empty. Not even V is in here cooking. I run my fingers over the modern black marble, reaching for the jar of Twizzlers. I take one out and chew on it, leaning against the counter. Sugar hits the tip of my tongue, and I scarf the whole thing down before grabbing another. Turning, I’m biting into the chewy goodness when Brantley stops at the threshold. He’s fully dressed in jeans, a plain black tee that only makes his skin seem paler, and white sneakers.

  “I was looking for you,” I say, licking my lips free of the sugar. His eyes follow the movement, his jaw tense.

  “What’s wrong?” He diverts his gaze and moves to the fridge, pulling one of the glass doors open and taking out a can of FITAID. Shutting it behind himself, he leans against the door, his eyes never moving from mine as his lips wrap around the bottle and his head tilts back. The veins in his neck swell as he takes gulps, but his eyes don’t leave mine. He strips me raw anytime he looks at me, rips me from the seams until I’m exposed, at his mercy. I don’t have a problem with this. He can tear me open to see what I’m made of, because all that is me has been crafted by him.

  I grasp at my neck, my fingers tapping over the delicate font of my Vitiosis tattoo. I never did understand why he made me get this. I assumed it was a family rite of passage, since he has Vitiosis tattooed over his chest. But now that I’ve come to learn more of him, I’m starting to think there’s more of a reason.

  He takes the three steps needed to reach me, placing his drink on one side of me while his other hand is pressed against the counter, caging me in. He cocks his head, his focus falling to my neck, where there are bruises still visible from his biting. “What, Dea? Tell me what’s on your mind.” His tone is menacing with a hint of cruelty.

  I blow out a steady breath of air. “Did you find out who drugged you all?”

  He pushes off the counter and leans against the one opposite me. “We know who it is.”

  “Oh.” I gulp, curling my lips under my teeth.

  “Anything else you want to tell me?” he asks, cocking his brow in challenge. I’ve become numb to the sight of beauty, but Brantley truly is something else. With features so sharp they had to be cut with a surgical scalpel, and eyes so dark they remind me of angry, stormy nights, he’s constantly demanding to be felt, leaving the remnants of himself on you long after he has left. I wonder how many girls have had their hearts broken by him. I got one night, and it was nowhere near enough.

  “Yes, actually,” I say, clearing my throat. Reaching for my phone that’s tucked inside the waistband of my pants, I’m about to open the text message when Tillie’s voice interrupts us.

  “Oh thank God, you’re here.”

  “I’m never anywhere else,” I say, pressing my phone back to my chest. I don’t miss the way Brantley follows the movement before swinging
around, glaring at Tillie.

  “Do you not have a house?”

  She flips him off. “I do, but since you’re all organizing Bishop’s initiation, I need someone to go shopping with!” She glares at Brantley.

  My phone starts ringing in my hand and I swipe it unlocked without seeing who it is. “Hello?”

  “Can you talk?”

  My eyes fly between Tillie and Brantley.

  “You don’t need to. You can listen. I need you now. Can you come?”

  I run my tongue over my lips. “Yes.”

  “Okay. I will text you the details.”

  I hang up my phone, guilt washing over me. How did I become so entangled in such an intricate web of deceit and lies?

  “Who was that?” Brantley asks, and it takes me a few seconds to clear my eyes enough to bring them to him. They’re hazy, burning with unshed tears. He’s most likely going to be angry with me. Fuming, really. I can handle Brantley’s wrath, but I can’t take his disappointment, and I think deep down, that’s what I’m most afraid of.

  “Bishop,” I lie, and instantly feel more exposed than I ever have. “I’m just going to head upstairs. Feeling a little tired still.” Brantley watches me carefully as I slowly make my way to the other side of the kitchen, past Tillie who is watching me carefully, too. I feel like I’m trying to escape a den of two hungry lions.

  Fingers wrap in mine and Brantley pulls me into his chest. He tucks his finger beneath my chin and I stop breathing. The motion is so gentle, but his gaze burns with flames that lick my belly from the inside. I slowly exhale the breath I’m desperately holding, relaxing my lips. Is he going to kiss me? He releases me.

  “I’ll be back later tonight.”

  My stomach drops from disappointment. I roll my lips between my teeth with my hand still on his chest. Should I just kiss him? God, but I want to.

  Tillie looks between us. “I’ll come back a little later…”

  “I’ll text you.” Tillie leaves and I take the first step toward the stairs when his hand is in my hair and he’s tugging me backward like a frail doll. It’s not until the front door closes that his other hand is on my lower belly and he’s pulling me into his body.

  “I saw the way you looked at me, Dea, with those pleading little eyes…”

  I hold my breath as he pushes me forward and my hands fly out in front of me to grip the kitchen counter. “It was nothing,” I say gently, wriggling beneath his grasp.

  “Lies,” he says, his palm between my thighs. He rubs circles around me, dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “You looked at me like you wanted me to kiss you, but guess what?” He spins me around and lifts me onto the counter by my hips, spreading my legs wide and resting between them. He bites down on my lower lip. “Now I’m going to fuck you, and you’re either going to enjoy it or you’re going to run. You game?” He sucks on my lip while his hand is reaching up my front, his thumb pressing over my nipple that’s prodding out from my crop.

  I tilt my head to the side and his mouth is over my jugular. “Yes, I’m game.”

  He pulls my yoga pants down and I inch up to allow him access, all while he bites down on every bit of my skin. He flings them across the room, his hand on my throat as he shoves me backward on the counter. “Arch your back.”

  I do, but as soon as I’m about to lean up again to see what he’s doing and if he’s naked, his mouth is on me. His tongue is on my clit, his grip around the front of my throat tighter. He flicks and sucks on my clit until my stomach pulls and my thighs clench around him. The muscles in my legs relax as an explosion of pleasure shatters the marrow of my bones, oozing through my blood until it’s pounding through my ears at the same rhythm as my heart. I’m catching my breath while internally calming myself down when his hands are on my upper thighs and he’s dragging me down the counter, the only sound his belt buckle landing on the kitchen floor with a resounding thud. One hand is back on my throat as he guides me down until my feet hit the floor.

  “Wait here…”

  When I bring my hands back in front of me, he pauses, steps back, and collects his belt from the ground. Pulling my hands behind my back, he hooks multiple loops around before tugging to tighten it. He spins me around, brings his hand to the back of my neck, and shoves me facedown back onto the counter. Kicking my legs wide with his, I wait silently for his next move, but nothing happens. Just when I think he has disappeared, the tip of his finger dips into my entrance before he hovers over my body, dipping his finger into my mouth.

  “Stay like this.”

  I don’t move as his footsteps disappear out of the room. A couple minutes pass when he finally reenters, drawing the blinds closed that sit behind the kitchen sink. A flicker of flames bouncing off the walls comes into view and my body freezes. What is he doing?

  “This wax is soy…” His voice comes in low, and my heart beats erratically in my chest. “Meaning it cools faster when it hits the skin. We’ll see how you do with this, but eventually, I want to move to beeswax.”

  “I don’t—”

  The tip of his cock throbs against my entrance as his fingers dig into my hips, raising my body higher until my feet are off the floor. My hands are still bound, but the position is comfortable. He slowly presses his hips into me, his cock moving inside my wet walls every few seconds before pulling out. He runs the palm of his hand down the arch of my spine, as he dives deeper inside. I moan loudly, the feeling of him inside of me almost too much for me to handle. Every time he pulls out, his piercings get cold, so every time he reenters, they’re carnally obvious. Finally he slams into me roughly and I jolt forward, my nipples grazing against the cool marble as my body is shoved farther up the counter. Hot liquid spills down the curve of my spine and I yelp, cursing under my breath as it cools and hardens. He pushes into me again and again, every single thrust pushing me closer to intoxication. He’s going to completely dismantle me and leave me open and raw by the time he is done, and right now, I would let him.

  “Don’t come until I say. Hold on to it.”

  Sweat drips down off my face as he wraps my hair around his wrist and tugs on it roughly. My eyes sting as strands of hair are ripped from their roots, but he doesn’t stop. My inner thighs begin to heat, and the all too familiar feeling of a climax is swelling as more time passes. I know if I let go now, I’ll crash from the after-effects, but if I hold on until he says, I’ll burn. I want to burn. As hot as the next splash of wax that he pours over my back. I’m closer and closer, my breathing too heavy to contain.

  “Brantley, I’m going to snap—”

  He dives into me roughly, tugging on my hair. That’s when I feel the cool metal of a knife on my shoulder blade. My eyes roll to the back of my head when he presses the blade into my skin. I hiss, baring my teeth, but he continues with his onslaught. The warmth of his mouth falls over where it stings on my back, and everything is suddenly too much. The piercing on his tip hits the very edge of my cervix, sending electric shock waves through my body. I scream, tugging on the belt that’s around my wrists, needing to hold myself up.

  He releases the belt just as he hits something deep inside of me. This time different. The waves crash over me in tidal-like swells and everything around me turns black. My muscles twitch so severely that I convulse, the warm rush of an orgasm so, so much more potent and powerful than other times. I’m barely back in the present when his arm is around my midsection and he’s dragging me down to the kitchen floor. I’m turned reverse cowgirl, but my eyes are still closed.

  “I can’t—I’m going to die.”

  His hand is on the back of my neck, his other on my hip. “Ride me until I come, and don’t stop until you feel it…” He squeezes so hard I’m sure there will be more bruises. “You wanted to fuck like the big kids, then fuck me like a big girl.”

  I roll my hips over him, but it’s not fast enough because he’s slamming my body on top of him in no time, like he can’t handle me being in control. The hand that was on my neck is
now on my other hip as he drives inside me with force and power. Everything throbs, but my body constantly shakes as he continues. Flipping me around with my frail limbs flying everywhere, he slams me on my back and spreads my legs wide until he’s back inside of me, with one palm on my thigh. His cock thrusts inside of me, deep and vicious. His mouth on mine as he sinks his teeth into my lower lip again. He brings his hand to my hair, pulling at it to hold me in place while never breaking the kiss. It’s not until he’s groaning through his orgasm, his cock pulsing inside of me when I truly feel the fatigue. His heavy body falls on top of me, slick with sweat, blood, and the evidence of all of my orgasms between us.

  My hand is in the damp strands of his hair, my breathing still heavy. “That was a near-death experience.”

  He laughs, kicking up from the floor. He moves across the kitchen, opening one of the many cupboards and flicking open a first aid kit. “Turn around. I’ll bandage you up.”

  Who would have known? Sex with Brantley contains hot wax, blood, and always, always a Band-Aid. For your skin, you’re out of luck if you need one for your heart.

  After dragging my half-dead body back up to my room, I’m tugging clothes down from the hangers when I hit dial on Bishop’s name.

  He answers instantly. “You okay?”

  I pang with another surge of guilt. “Yes, I was wondering when the ceremony is?”

  “Not until Sunday,” he answers carefully. It’s Wednesday. I will be back by then. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I pause. I could tell him. No, I can’t. I shove the clothes into a small duffel bag and zip it up. “Yes. I’m fine. You worry too much.” I reach for my passport and emergency cash inside the closet. Brantley put it there when I was thirteen. Told me if anything happened to him that I needed to run. I take out my passport, a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills, but leave the black cell phone.

  “I worry because I care, and contrary to how you’ve been treated since you’ve been in my life, the emotion is rare for me.”

  I chuckle, tossing everything into a small shoulder strap bag. “Just like Brantley?”