The Elite Kings Boxset Vol. II

by Amo Jones

  I have so many people to thank, but I don’t want to drag this on.

  My children who inspire me daily.

  My partner who puts up with my crazy, and my mummy who always has my back.

  My brothers who are my everything, and my sisters who, even though we don’t always see eye-to-eye, I will always be here for.

  To my favorite sister-in-law, Chacha! I miss you, girl.

  To my best bitch, best friend, Isis. For the everything. For tolerating me, for never judging me, and for accepting me warts and all…even though you have beautiful skin. Bitch.

  My readers who continue to support me and have my back!

  My bloggers for taking the time out of their busy days to read, review and share me, and my three best friends, who read my words raw and give me the best feedback.

  My agent, Flavia! Thank you for exceeding all my expectations and loving my books like they’re your own.

  Ellie! For editing my words. Girl, draaaannks on me in Vegas. I just said dranks. Bet you hate me now, if you didn’t already. Tough, I have screenshots of you telling me you love me. Screenshots don’t lie.

  My PA Caro! She needs a pay raise. Like a massive one.

  My PR unicorn and the girls from Social Butterfly! (lifts wine glass).

  The authors who inspire, support, and encourage one another—my tribe!

  Chantal! You’re stuck with me.

  Ofa & Priscilla my OG bitches!

  To Jaci—for keeping me sane most of the time.

  My Wolf Pack—(howls).

  Jay Aheer—I love you. Thank you for my beautiful covers. For learning my vision and nailing them every single time.

  And lastly, to all the readers who may be about to read me for the first time ever: thank you for giving a girl a shot.

  Nuncupatura

  To the girls who don’t just walk through fire. They dance in it.

  This is the first time that I have ever put a trigger warning at the beginning of my book. I usually say that my name itself is your trigger warning. You know how I write, the stories that come pouring out of my imagination and bleed over my keyboard, but this time, I need to give a warning. There is a scene in this book that is not just dark, it’s disturbing, but it’s real. It happens, and it has impacted me in my lifetime. It was very hard for me to write this scene, and throughout the writing process of this book, I tried to avoid it. I bitched and whined to Chantal about how much I didn’t want to do it. I tried to take this story down different routes, but it didn’t matter, because we always ended back at this point. I promise I softened the scene as much as possible, and usually that’s not my style, but in this case, I felt it was imperative to do so. At the end of this book, there will be help links for anyone that may be dealing with similar circumstances. I have also put warning signs leading up to the scene, so you will probably know where I’m about to go with it and have the choice to skip forward.

  I have always stayed true to my characters and how they unravel their stories in my head. I didn’t want to deny them that, and for that, I am sorry.

  How many times in one lifetime do they say you find a soulmate? Is it once? Twice? Three times? Ice cream slipped down my throat as I thought of this. The quote scribbled on a rusty piece of paper read: You find three types of love in your lifetime. The first will show you all that you did wrong. The second will show you how you should be loved, but the third will show you what it feels like to die while still being alive. I didn’t know why my small, six-year-old brain had taken those words and twisted them inside of her head, but that didn’t sound right to me. Why would I want to love three times? That sounded too exhausting.

  I’d rather lick this ice cream.

  “Tillie!” my sister, Peyton, called out to me, robbing my attention away from the storefront window.

  “What!”

  My sister was the opposite of me. I was blonde, she had red hair. Fire hydrant red, too, and the freckles to match. She was the popular girl at school, mainly because she cared entirely too much what people thought of her, and I was the nerd.

  “Hurry up, dipshit. If we’re late, Dad will get mad and you know what happens when he’s mad.”

  My ice cream cone smashed to the filthy ground as realization sunk in from the onslaught of her verbal throw down.

  I wiped my hands on my shorts and nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Metallic slapped my mouth as I fell to the ground. Everything in the room spinning in a carousel that I’m all too familiar with.

  “You were late. Why were you late?” A thick boot slammed into my rib cage and a loud crack vibrated through the air.

  “I was eating my ic—ic—ice cream.”

  He chuckled so loud that I winced. I hate your laugh. The smell of stale cheap whiskey danced with musky cigarette smoke and exploded around me to form the distinguishing smell of Darren Lovett, aka, my dad.

  I focus on a single dent in the floor of our trailer. The place my eyes always found when I was beaten into this position. I used to flick my marbles into it for fun, now I use it as sustenance to know that I’m still alive.

  The beatings carry on for around an hour. An hour of pure terror. The back and forth toss up inside of my head on whether I’m going to live through it. Will I want to be alive by the end of it?

  “It’s my fault, Dad. I let her get the stupid ice cream,” Peyton protested.

  Dad didn’t pay her any attention.

  Like usual.

  I close my eyes and let my thoughts carry me to a wondrous world where pain doesn’t exist.

  Pain exists everywhere though. It always has. At six-years-old, I knew that my life would be filled with nothing but pain.

  They say that losing your lover can be an agony that’s so unbearable the mere thought of it can cripple you.

  I take a tentative step toward the gravesite, placing a bouquet of flowers over the gravestone while ignoring the people that are gathered here today.

  They lied. The most crippling pain that comes isn’t from losing your lover, it’s from losing something that was so precious that you didn’t deserve it to begin with.

  Nate

  14 years-old

  “I fucking hate this place,” I murmured to Bishop around my chicken drumstick. I tried hard to ignore all of the stores that lined the main street of Perdita and watched as people moved away from us. I felt like Moses parting The Red Sea. People were afraid of us here, with good reason. Our reputation never failed us. Of all the times I have been here, there has always been one place that I can’t ignore—Caesar’s Chicken. The man grills his chicken to perfection, so every time we’re in Perdita, you can bet your ass I’ll be in Caesar’s first. Fuck our mission, or whatever else I have to do here. First stop is always Caesar’s. I make all The Kings wait too.

  “We don’t have to be here long, chill.”

  I take a big bite and tear the meat from the bone while eyeing a woman walking with her kid. Not a fan of kids. Annoying little fuckers. She quickly tucks her son’s head under her arm and pulls him along.

  I bare my teeth and bite down, snapping at her. She lets out a small scream and runs off like a panicked little rat.

  Bishop shakes his head. “Stop scaring the locals.”

  “Fuck em’.” I look forward to the endless path ahead of me, the path that I know leads straight to Katsia’s dungeon. You know, if a dungeon was a mansion that was built from the rarest marble and stone and then hammered together with carved diamonds.

  “What does she want?” I ask, tossing the bone into a passing bin.

  “Don’t know yet. Probably your dick.”

  I flip him off as we reach the entry gates, the gold metal stretching out in high stakes, enough for you to not get so much as a glimpse into the fortress that lies ahead. A guard steps forward and hits the button to unlock the latches, then steps backward, letting us through.

  Once we’re inside her house, bypassing the rock gardens that lead to her front door, Katsia greets u
s by coming down the stairs in a long gown, the blood red silk falling off her ivory skin in waves of slaughter. Her eyes light up on me. “Nathanial. You’re growing up to be handsome…”

  “I’ve always been hot. What are you talking about.” I don’t like Katsia, never really have. She looks at men like they’re pawns, and they are. As in, she actually has a group captive to use at her disposal. That’s her role as a Stuprum, though, always has been for generations before and Lord have mercy, the generations after her.

  The goddess of seduction.

  I almost choke on my own thoughts and words. I mean, it’s not that she’s not attractive, because she is—for her age, but it’s that she radiates desperation. I like my girls with a bit of bite because once they’ve mastered how to veil their fangs, they suck dick better.

  She rolls her eyes and gestures to the large sitting room that is tucked behind the twin glass stairs she just descended from. “Ever the cocky Malum…”

  My body stills at the mention of my dad’s last name, but I ignore her proverbial jabs and follow Bishop into the room. She takes a seat on a large single sofa that resembles a throne straight out of a posh medieval set.

  She smirks, then looks over my shoulder. “Ah, here he is. Boys, I want you to meet someone very important.”

  I turn around to see who she is looking at and I’m met with a dude that has to be at least a year younger than me. He’s skinny looking with sharp features, murky shaded hair, and the darkest colored eyes I have ever seen. They almost look black, and it’s not even the color that makes them look dark, it’s the manner in how he stares at you. Like you’re an object, not human. I’ve seen that stare before, my brother and King Brantley shares that same look.

  Only I know Brantley, and I don’t know this fucker, so the way he’s staring at me and Bishop right now has me sitting on the edge of my seat, a little twitchy.

  “Daemon, meet Bishop and Nate. They’re the head of The Kings in this generation.”

  Daemon walks toward us, and I go to put my hand out to shake it, but he strolls right past it, pushing my very generous hand out of the way. He leans into Katsia, kissing her on the lips.

  “Homeboy must have major mommy issues,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  Katsia licks her lips and watches as he dips behind her chair to stand guard like a good puppy. Her eyes stay on his. “Oh, you have no idea…”

  I kick my leg up to rest my foot on the coffee table. “Why are we here?”

  Her hand comes to Daemon’s, who has his resting on her shoulder. It’s creepy. The dude is Norman Bates creepy. “I need to tell you something, and I need your word that you will keep this secret for years to come.”

  Bishop doesn’t flinch.

  I laugh. “You have the audacity to ask for our word on a secret like you’re a King.”

  Her eyes come to mine. “I have a daughter. I would like to not have a daughter. I need your word that after I’m gone, you will see to it that she no longer exists. In return, I will give you all that you want.”

  I lick my lips, tilting my head to try and get a read on her. She’s not lying. I can see it in the way her eyes meet ours after every word. “Go on.”

  “If, and when I leave, you will make sure that my progeny will not take this throne, and in turn, I will let my people know that you are to take charge of Perdita. I know how long The Kings have wanted this.” Her eyes go between both of us.

  “Good plan. Let us know when you’ve done that, and I’ll be sure to kill you myself,” I answer smoothly, blowing her a kiss for added sugar.

  “Oh, Nathanial. Ever the charmer.” Then she lets her attention settle on Bishop. “If my death is by the hands of any King, the deal is off.”

  I open my mouth to tease her a bit, maybe tickle her in the right places and make her all wet, right before slapping her across the face with my cock and telling her to go fuck herself.

  But Bishop beats me to it. “Deal.”

  Tillie

  Pregame

  “Love is savage, love is blind, love is something they may not find…”

  Droplets of water slide down the glass, reminding me of that one time my sister and I stayed up late, waiting for my mom to come back from grocery shopping. We sat near that window for two hours. I may have only been four-years-old, but I remember the memory so vividly that I could replay it in full HD inside my head for the rest of my life. On repeat. Constantly. With every detail, every scent, every gentle tick of the old clock ringing inside my head.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  When she walked out on us, she didn’t just take herself, she also yanked away diminutive parts of my sister and me, and more viciously, my father.

  That’s when the beatings began.

  That’s when he morphed from a deferential father to impertinent evil.

  I don’t remember much of him prior to that day, only the good things, but every single day after that day is imprinted in my head like a boulder cemented into the ground after a volcanic eruption.

  “Are you okay, Puella?”

  Releasing a thick inhale of breath, my shoulders relax and my muscles release tension at the mere sound of his voice.

  Licking my lips, I turn to face him, my hand resting on top of his. “I’m okay, Daemon.”

  His eyes drop to the baby in his arms, my baby, and then come back to me. His beautiful eyes light up when they rest on me, like they’ve been dead all his life until this moment.

  “We’re not too far away from being done, Tillie. You’ve done really well,” Tinker assures me softly from somewhere between my legs. I’ve managed to numb out the pain, or maybe it’s because I’ve just pushed out a monstrous-sized baby girl, but whichever is correct, I know that I wouldn’t have the strength to do this if it wasn’t for him.

  Daemon looks back at me, his eyes glimmering in a way that I pictured her father’s eyes would twinkle. “She’s beautiful, Puella.”

  I chew on my lip nervously as he places her small body onto my chest. She lets out a small crackle of a cry, her fist going to her mouth as her little head shakes from side to side.

  Tinker comes up beside me, removing her surgical gloves. “Oh, sweet girl. She is hungry.”

  “I don’t know how to do that?” Because I don’t. I actually didn’t think I had one maternal bone in my body until this very moment. This moment that sheer panic set into my bones from the thought of not being able to effectively feed my spawn. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I will protect this child until the day I die.

  “It’s okay,” Tinker says, propping the baby up so she’s closer to me. Her little face looks squashed against my boob. “She will know what to do. It may feel uncomfortable at first, but it should not be painful. If it’s painful, hook your pinkie finger into her mouth gently and unlatch your nipple from her, and then start again. Her mouth should cover all of this part.” She gestures over my areola.

  I do it again, this time following closely to Tinker’s instructions, and her little mouth latches on. My nipples turn hot, like water is rushing to the tips of them, and then her loud drinking breaks the silence.

  Tinker giggles. “She’s hungry!”

  The other nurse who was helping stitch me up downstairs packs up and leaves. It’s not until she’s out of earshot when Tinker says, “They’re coming, Tillie. They’re all coming.” Her tone remains balanced and even, she could have been talking about the weather that’s how calm she was.

  I freeze. “What?” For months now, my brain and my heart have been in a tug-a-war of feelings where Nate Riverside-Malum is concerned. Some days, the bad ones when I’m locked in my room in Katsia’s mansion in Perdita, I have nothing but the memories of Nate and I playing on repeat. I’ve used our time together, the feelings I had for him, as comfort. I undoubtedly fell in love with Nate, my heart and brain know this, right down to the very veins that run through me. It has and always will be him, but I’m not naï
ve. I knew what I was getting myself into the day I allowed myself to open the gates that contained my feelings toward him.

  Nate is a player.

  I have no doubt at all, that he would absolutely despise me. Not because he probably thought I ran from him, but because I have now, in his mind, hid his own daughter from him.

  “Tinker,” I whisper-yell, my grip tightening around my daughter. “What do you mean they are coming? The Kings?”

  Tinker runs her finger down my daughter’s face and smiles lovingly while answering, “Yes. You don’t understand, Tillie. Katsia wants to hurt this baby.”

  “Hurt?” I almost screech. The mere thought of anyone coming near this baby with ill intent has my claws rearing to the surface.

  Tinker shoots a look at Daemon.

  Daemon grabs my hand. “I have a plan, Puella.”

  My eyes zap around the room, unconsciously looking for any exit. One door that leads to the main hallway that is most likely heavily guarded as is every sector in this shitty big house.

  “There’s no other option, Tillie. Hear Daemon out, okay?” The door opens and the nurse from earlier comes back in, clutching a phone. I tense, but Daemon rests his hand on my shoulder.

  “Trust me, Puella?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. His endless black pits that I have no doubt hide some of the most disturbing secrets known to man.

  I swallow and then nod. “Yes. I trust you.”

  He presses a kiss to my forehead and reaches for the phone the nurse is handing to him. She clears her throat. “You have roughly around five minutes before they ask why I’m back in here. Please hurry, Daemon.”

  I tilt my head, examining her. Was she a good one too? Seems there was only Tinker and Daemon, but maybe I was wrong. My attention falls to her name badge. J E S S I C A is sprawled out in black block letters.