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

by Amo Jones

  “Mmmm.” He wraps my hair around his fist, yanking my face up to his again. “You might be perfect for me.”

  He slides in and out until our bodies slap together, filling the silence with our moans and bodily sounds. I fall onto his chest when another orgasm tears through the seams and spills out over us, but before I can catch my breath, he’s flipping me onto my back, stretching one leg wide with his as his tongue catches my nipple. He sucks on it at the same pace that he rides my body, sweat, and most likely blood, sliding between us.

  His hand is on my throat again, his lips finally back hovering over mine. Sweat falls from his chin and lands on my cheek as he presses his forehead to mine. “You’re done,” he growls, slamming inside of me. If you cut me open and find the marrow in my bones, you’ll find his name stamped over every inch of it. “You’re mine.”

  I reach for his neck, but he snatches my hands down and pins them over my head, burying his face between my shoulder and my head.

  His hand reaches over and I hear the sound of something metal. Ice against my neck, and it’s not until it warms to the temperature of my body that I realize it’s the blunt edge of a knife.

  I hold my breath as his thrusting slows.

  He leans down to my mouth. “Trust me?”

  “Yes,” I whisper instantly, and he drags the blade down the side and over my arm. “What if you cut too deep?”

  “Trust me?” he repeats, his tone slightly edgier. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”

  “Okay.” I gulp, squeezing my eyes shut. I know he won’t mean to kill me, but what if he takes it too far?

  The knife is at my arm when he pauses. “I’ll start you somewhere easy, since your pussy is about to strangle my cock with anticipation.” He presses the tip into my flesh and I flinch, but don’t yelp. The pain isn’t unbearable, but the sting vibrating over the cut somehow finds its way down between my thighs. He must feel it, because he chuckles.

  He drives into me again, bringing my arm up to his mouth and licks over the wound. The feeling is erotic and forbidden, and probably totally gross to most people, but for some reason, doing this with him only entices me further. It ignites a sinister side of me that only he could light. I drift into an overwhelming sense of pleasure, pain, and everything in between. He doesn’t stop until my thighs quiver and my eyes drift closed.

  My limbs are heavy. I can barely peel my leg off Brantley when my eyes slowly peel open. “Ouch.” My head throbs, my muscles stabbing with pain and the ache vibrating between my legs is almost unbearable.

  “Fuck, stop moving.”

  “Well, I can’t actually move, to be honest.” I try to lift my leg again, but his hand lands on top.

  Finally my eyes widen, and I take in the room. “Holy shit!” My attention flies to Brantley. Pink and red stains are smudged over the once white sheets, his hair matted and his lip cut.

  I reach for it. “What happened!”

  He groans. “Are you always this annoying in the morning?”

  “When you’re hurt and bleeding? Yes! What happened last night?”

  He whacks my hand away from his face. “Chill.”

  I growl, shoving the sheets off my body. My feet are about to hit the floor when his arm is around my waist and I’m flying across the bed. He slams me into the mattress and rolls on top of me. “That was cute, Dea, but that growl will only get you fucked.”

  I search his eyes, bringing my hand up to the smudges of blood that are over his cheek. “You’re a mess.”

  “Mmm, but you should see him.”

  “Who is him?” I say, and he slides off me.

  “We can’t have that talk right now.”

  “What talk?” I ask, wrapping the sheet around my body. Dried blood is caught in my hair and I touch it. “Please tell me it was your blood I was sucking off and not someone else’s…”

  He laughs, tugging on his jeans commando style and leaving them unbuttoned. He turns to face me, and I pause. The stitches on his chest are fresh again, as if he needed them to be redone.

  What the hell happened last night?

  I step forward, but he takes one back. “I can’t answer questions about The Kings and what I do, not the specifics anyway. Not unless—” He pauses, tilts his head and I watch as his eyes fall up and down my body. “—that happens.”

  “Fine, but was it only your blood, or do I need to go get tested?”

  He stares at me like I’m dumb. “The fact you think I would let anyone’s blood anywhere on you is enough to make me pin you down and fuck you until you pass out. Again. You’re just lucky it’s your brother’s ceremony tonight.” He points to the shower. “Go get cleaned up.”

  I stalk off to the bathroom. “What am I going to tell Bishop about the blood?”

  He smirks over his shoulder, hand on the door handle. “Bishop is well aware of my blood play.” Then he’s gone.

  I turn on the faucet, waiting outside the shower until steam fills the air. I wince, looking down at the cut on my arm, but find myself smiling when I rub my thumb over it, memories of last night flashing behind my eyes. My heart swells and my cheeks burn as I replay everything. I didn’t think this feeling could ever exist.

  I make my way to the mirror and swipe away the condensation with my hand. A scream tears out of me when a girl is staring back at me through the mirror, hair as red as her lips. Her makeup is smudged like someone has taken dirt and rubbed it all over. She stares blankly at me, unfazed, but when I spin around to ask who the hell she is, I’m met with nothing.

  Poof.

  Gone.

  No one there.

  I rub my eyes with the back of my hand. I’m going crazy.

  I wash up in the shower quickly, still slightly spooked by what I thought I saw. Once I’m out and squeezing the excess water out of my hair, I notice the painting directly opposite the mirror. It’s a portrait of a young girl, using the colors red, black, and yellow. Maybe my mind had created a face on a whim. It makes sense.

  I squeeze into some fresh clothes. A plain white Gucci tee and black torn skinny jeans with nude Van mid-tops. I run a brush through my hair while blowing it out into soft waves, and then start on my skin to prep it for tonight, using a mixture of oils and moisturizers. After jogging down the stairs, I find Tillie sitting on the sofa, scooping breakfast granola into her mouth.

  “’Morning!” She smirks, wiggling her brows.

  “Please don’t start.” I move into the kitchen, opening the fridge and finding it fully stocked with food.

  “Oh, I’m not.” She rests on the wall that separates the kitchen and the living room. “But I am mad at you for leaving without telling me.”

  I sigh, pouring from a pot of coffee and scooting up onto the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry.”

  “Can you tell me why she needed you?”

  I open my mouth, then close it. Had Madison not told Tillie that she was pregnant? There’s obviously a reason why she hasn’t, so I decide to once again tell a small lie. “I can’t say, but I’m sure everyone will know in due time.”

  “All right,” Tillie says. “So much for my pact.”

  My words get caught in my throat. I don’t want Tillie to feel that way, and although we haven’t spent as much time together as Bishop and me, but still more than Abel and me, the bond between Tillie and me is natural. It doesn’t need time. It doesn’t need nurturing or attention, because I know that without a shadow of a doubt, she will always have my back.

  I rest my mug on the counter. “It’s just not my secret to tell.” I chew on my lip. “You can’t tell Nate. I’m serious, Tillie…”

  She sighs, massaging her head. “Okay, no, don’t tell me.”

  I cock my head.

  “If I can’t tell him, then that’s why she hasn’t told me. She knows my big mouth with Nate.”

  I chuckle around the lip of my mug. “Okay.”

  “So, Scarlet chose your dress. Have you seen it?”

  I shake my head. “No. Where are
the boys?”

  “They’re gone. We won’t see them until tonight.” My coffee curdles in my belly. Brantley didn’t tell me what happened with him last night. And furthermore, I miss him and I only just saw him an hour ago.

  Tillie gestures out the door and we make our way over to the main house.

  “So many toxic memories at this house.” Tillie shakes her head. “So many no longer with us.” I watch as a wave of sadness washes over her. We’re not quite at the main house when I find myself asking her.

  “I don’t know much about yours and Nate’s story.”

  She laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Well, it would take a lifetime to replay it all for you.” She pauses, her steps slowing. “You could say we lost important people.”

  I don’t want to press the issue, so I grab her hand.

  She smiles down at it but pauses when she sees the cut on my arm. “That creepy bastard.”

  I turn my arm over to look and laugh. “It’s not that bad…”

  “You’re into it?” she asks, an eyebrow quirked.

  My cheeks heat. “A little.”

  She nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re definitely my sister.”

  We make our way into the house, where classical music is playing and people I don’t know are moving around everywhere.

  Scarlet comes rushing out, grasping her hands together. “Thank God, Saint, sweetie, I need you in here to check your measurements.” Scarlet takes me, moving me into the large dining room where dresses hang off plastic hooks.

  She points to another woman. “This is Elena, Madison’s stepmom.” Scarlet taps a long finger against her cheek.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, after nodding at Elena.

  Scarlet scoops up her phone and pushes on a number before bringing it to her ear. “What is she wearing tonight?” She pauses, her eyes wide on me. I shuffle uncomfortably. “Are you sure?” Silence, and I look at Tillie. She shakes her head. “That’s never happened. Ever, Hector. Will this put a target on her?” Again, I widen my eyes at Tillie.

  Who rolls hers, popping a potato chip into her mouth and taking a seat on one of the chairs.

  “Okay,” Scarlet says. “I love you.” She hangs up, grasping her phone to her chest. “Well, I’m going to guess that Brantley isn’t going to be happy with us, but you’ll be wearing Hayes tonight.”

  Brantley

  Decorators are rushing around the main foyer of the hotel in downtown Riverside. We’re all circled in the basement, a flask of whiskey in my hand and a joint in the other. I run my hand through my hair, ruffling it up. Tearing off my tie so it falls loosely around my neck and flicking off the first four buttons of my shirt, I hand the flask to Nate.

  “Fucking hate being in a suit,” I growl.

  “Same.” Nate snickers. “Tighter than Tillie’s cunt.”

  I slowly glare at him as everyone around us pauses. “Really, fucker?”

  He laughs. “Oh please. You know what I’m talking about.”

  I flip him off.

  “Or is Saint—”

  My hand is in his hair, pulling him to me.

  “Ow, ow!” He laughs. “Fuck, okay! Shit.”

  I shove him away from me. “Wanna talk like a bitch, I’ll treat you like a bitch.” I can’t help the laugh that leaves my mouth. Some shit never changes, and Nate’s bullshit is one of them.

  He pats his hair. Fucking pretty boy.

  Bishop glares between the two of us. “Both of you shut the fuck up.”

  Eli walks in, tapping a clear bag. I jump off the counter and slap him across the head just as Bishop reaches for it, popping it open. “What the fuck?”

  “What?” Eli smirks at all of us. “Figure he could use some to get through.”

  My mouth snaps closed, my fist clenching. “Yeah? Giving an 8-ball to someone who is already on edge.”

  “I’m fucking fine,” Bishop snaps, pouring the powder out on the table while Nate’s rolling up a bill.

  I glare at Nate. “Really?”

  “Fuck, you’re so grumpy.” He tosses the rolled-up bill at my chest. “Save us some moody bullshit and take a line like you used to.”

  “I’m good.” I flick it back at him. “Have fun explaining to Tillie why you’re so fucking cooked while she’s pregnant, though. I’ll be sure to spit on your grave.”

  Nate flashes me a smirk. “I love you, too.”

  Bishop takes the line before Nate and Eli go. Hunter turns it down, as does Cash.

  Hunter flicks Nate’s head. “You do realize why Bran can’t have any, right?”

  I ignore their conversation.

  “He can’t exactly be high off his head during a job.”

  “He wouldn’t get one tonight,” Nate answers.

  “For the record.” Bishop clears his nostril. “I ain’t touching this shit again once that gavel is in my hand. I need my head clear.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” I growl. “And you, fucker.” I point at Nate. “We’re not in fucking high school anymore.”

  “It’s just snow.” Nate rolls his eyes.

  “Yeah?” I grin at him. “I’ll be sure to say that to you when little War comes home cooked off his head.”

  He flips me off. Dropping their baby name was probably a low blow, but the amount of coke we’ve all done in our life could build a fucking snowman. Warren Riverside. The name alone sounds like fucking trouble.

  The bag is put away, and our circle is tight again. Hector walks in with all of the older Kings behind him, fluffing up his suit jacket. Max, Raguel, Johan, Madison’s biological father. They’re all here. “You ready for the first phase?”

  I smirk up at Hector from behind my joint. “Never been more ready.”

  Hector notices Bishop clearing his nostril. “Don’t make that a habit, son.”

  “It was a goodbye to the old me line.”

  Hector rests against one of the counters, his tatted-up hand wrapping around it. “The first phase is the most important.” He turns to Max and nods. Max steps out from behind him, handing us all a black envelope with gold writing on the front.

  “You may have noticed your group has thinned over the years, with some disappearing without a trace. They will all be at phase two of the ceremony tonight, because although you will not see them, maybe not ever again, they are still part of your generation of brotherhood.” Hector clips the end of a cigar. “Chase, Saint, Ace, and more recently, Jase.” He pauses, and I blow out a thick cloud of smoke before shrugging off my jacket and rolling up the sleeves to my shirt. “The reason why this is, is the very reason why The Elite Kings have managed to hold power in all four corners of this fucked-up world. How do you think we have people in important sectors? Because we put them there.” He pushes off the counter and points to Bishop. “This group here, who are standing here, is who you will be with until you pass it down to the next. They will be your Raguel, your Max, your Johan.”

  “Your generation wasn’t always this small…” I muse out loud.

  Hector smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No.” He looks around at all of us. “You’re all well-acquainted with your duties within the club, and you’ve fulfilled them to almost excellence since.” His eyes come to mine. “Absolute excellence.”

  I nod, accepting his compliment.

  “Once phase two is completed, we will be back here to fulfill the final step. Open your envelopes.” He looks down to his watch, pressing the button on the side. “You have two hours to fulfill phase one.”

  I tear open the envelope, finding a black piece of paper with words written in silver scribbled across.

  I fold up the paper, grinding my teeth. “Are they ever going to do anything remotely cliché or normal? Or are we always just taking hits from out in left field.”

  Bishop looks up at me with hooded eyes. “We’re right in our element.”

  I smirk at him. “Touché.”

  I gesture to the line of cars parked on the curb. “We need to all be
able to get away if needed. We should all take our own cars.” I beep the alarm of my Bugatti, pointing down the line. “Even though they’re going to know it’s us.”

  Bishop laughs, sliding into his Maserati at the front of the line. “Could be another band of outlaws who all roll in blacked-out Euro cars.”

  Nate climbs into his Lambo, Eli in his Ferrari, Hunter in his Porsche, and Cash into his Aston. All black. Everything black, but each license plate with a crown hidden behind the numbers that is only exposed under a black light.

  I rev my engine, just as a text lights up on my phone.

  Saint: Thirsty.

  I pause. “What the fuck.” I quickly text back.

  Me: You with Tillie?

  Saint: *loading image*

  Nate revs his engine loudly behind me, and I catch his arms flying up around himself in the rearview mirror. I ignore him.

  “Yo!” Nate yells at me out the window.

  The image loads and I freeze. Bishop pulls out and I follow behind him, double-clutching until I’ve reached the speed needed. I lift my phone and hit dial.

  She answers on the second ring. “You’re getting too comfortable with pissing me off.”

  “You like it?”

  “No, I’d prefer you naked.” Then I sigh, squeezing the steering wheel. “You’re distracting me and I can’t be distracted right now. Put Tillie on the phone.” There’s shuffling before Tillie’s voice purrs through the other end.

  “Little Terror, you’re testing my fucking patience.” I swerve into the right lane, remaining behind Bishop.

  “Good. You’re hot when you’re mad.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll be sure to fill Nate in.”

  “Oh, he knows.” She breathes out a sigh. “In all seriousness, I know what the phases are. Can you—”

  “—I’ve got him, Tillie. I won’t let anything happen to your baby daddy.”

  “Thanks, Bran Bran. You’re sweet when you want to be.”