Home > Sancte Diaboli : Part One (Elite King's Club #6)(3)

Sancte Diaboli : Part One (Elite King's Club #6)(3)
Author: Amo Jones

“I’m Tillie,” the pink-haired girl says gently. She points to the guy next to her. “This is Nate, the two people who just walked out were Scarlet and Hector Hayes, and that—” Her finger lands on the guy who is sitting on the chair with his leg propped on the coffee table. “Is Bishop Hayes. That is Eli, but you can ignore him.” Eli snickers under his breath as she carries on. “Hunter and Chase are the older generation, so you probably won’t see much of them, but they’re around a lot—” she rambles, but my eyes are stuck on Bishop, who seems to be watching me carefully. I hold his stare obstinately, ignoring the fact it’s like an open flame in a dark room. Finally, I pull my gaze away from him. “—so what else did I miss?” Tillie asks, oblivious to my wane of attention. I don’t know what she was talking about because my mind was trapped in one dimension and one dimension only.

“Ah,” I murmur, shuffling on my feet. My palms itch. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, me coming down here after all.

“She doesn’t know anything, Little Terror, shut up,” Brantley growls from the other side of the room. It wasn’t harsh, or loud, or angry. His tone had a dismissive, roguish edge to it. Maybe he didn’t need to yell to be heard, people just listened. It was obvious that was what was happening right now.

Tillie cocks her head to the side until her pink hair falls over one slender shoulder. “Well, that has to change, and you know it.”

I’m confused.

 

Everyone danced around me to the heavy sound of Korn. I loved Korn. Their music was enticing, exhilarating, and, if I was being honest, kind of exhausting, but it pulsed through me anyway, relentless with its mission. I just wanted to feel. To get lost within the sea of sweaty teenagers and to pretend I was just like them. So like them. Even if I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t, and if they didn’t know I wasn’t, they would have thought something was wrong because everyone who came near me, always made sure to stay just far enough away to not lose their fingers. If anyone had gone out of their way to ask me, I would have told them that they’re wasting their time fearing for their lives. They can dance up on me. No one is here watching. No one.

I raised my arms above my head and moved my body to the menacing tone of Jonathan Davis. I wanted to have sex with his voice. Wrap him between my legs and swallow him whole. A smile traced my lips at that thought, and I slowly peeled my eyes open. That smile only grew when I noticed two guys sitting on a sofa, watching me. They wore dark clothes, but one had white sneakers on and the other black boots. One had tattoos running up an arm while the other seemed to have none. They had the same build, only one was taller, broader, and angrier, while the other just seemed simply disinterested. He could pretend he wasn’t interested all he wanted, but I felt the flames of his eyes lick me from my waist down.

I flung my hair over my shoulder and slowly made my way toward them. I was confident, to put it lightly, and that probably—no, definitely—came from always getting everything I wanted in life. That amongst other things.

Once I reached the edge of the sofa, I looked down at the two boys. “Well? Are you both going to sit there and stare, or are you going to show me if you can fuck me like your eyes just did?”

 

 

Brantley

 

Secrets. The Elite Kings were notorious for keeping them, hiding them away where little girls couldn’t find them, and then shoving it down their throats when it was convenient. It’s how we checked if you had a gag reflex. It was what we did. We spilled the blood of our enemies over the same floor we all learned to walk on. This was our life. Some assumed we were a secret society, but that’s not it either. Secret societies have boundaries, we have none. TEKC was formed generations and generations ago between the founding fathers. Bishop’s great, great, great whatever pop was the Don, the fucking creator, along with mine, Nate’s, and Eli’s. Evil didn’t fade out through the generations; it only grew stronger with every spawn. We found new ways to torment our enemies. I mean… just ask Madison.

Tried it on Tillie, didn’t work.

Tillie, who just announced to all of us that she’s pregnant.

Everyone is excited. Fucking ecstatic. Nate’s arms are around her, his hand on her stomach protectively. The Elite Kings’ next generation is about to kick off, which gives the rest of us roughly one year to knock someone up if we want our lineage carried on.

Not fucking likely. Knew that I was cutting off the Vitiosis line long before we killed my dad.

“Bran Bran…” Tillie teases from the other side of the room. She thinks I hate the name. Admittedly, I don’t care. She can call me whatever she wants. Bishop’s dad, mom, and Nate’s parents have long since left, leaving just Nate, me, Bishop, Tillie, and—my eyes fall on Saint. Her. My fucking five minutes.

“I’m not congratulating you, Tillie,” I answer flatly, moving away from the fact that Saint walked herself down into this mess that I call my family. Having her in the same vicinity as these savages has the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight. When she came downstairs, no one batted an eye. But the range of looks I’m getting from Bishop and Nate is enough to tell me that the conversation isn’t over. It won’t be. The reason why nothing can ever come between Kings is because we never invite shit in.

I yank the cork off my bottle with my teeth and pour the thirty-year-old Japanese whiskey straight into my glass.

I’m watching everyone around me, but my attention is solely on Saint.

Tillie moves closer to her, her nervous tics in full effect. The tucking her hair behind her ear, the shuffling of feet, and looking down at the floor before looking back up. Tillie was an open book. She was always so animated and fierce and had absolutely no problem putting people in their place. It’s what I liked most about her. She handled shit, no matter how wild it was in her hands—she still controlled it. I mean, Nate. Case in point. “Who knew this bastard was holding you hostage.” Tillie would attach herself to Saint, not only because they’re siblings, but because they are two halves that have always needed to be whole.

Saint moves her long snow-like hair over one stiff shoulder, and my fingers flex around the glass. She peers up at Tillie with her doe-like eyes. The whitest gray you could ever imagine, they almost look unreal.

The first thing I noticed about Saint was her eye color.

The second was how easily she took hold of the burning rage that simmered deep in my gut and stored it away to use as a weapon. I was her weapon; she just chose my targets. How, you ask? Well, for one, you could breathe in her vicinity, and if I think you’re just a little too close, it’ll be the last one you ever fucking took. Touch her? The last memory your family will ever have of you is your hands in a fucking box. She took hold of my rage and stamped her name across it in block letters.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.” I swirl the amber liquid in my tumbler, my eyes on Tillie.

She huffs, crossing her arms in front of her. It’d be cute, if I gave a fuck. “That, I don’t doubt.”

I slowly shake my head at her. Drop it.

“Fine,” she says, hooking her arm into Saint’s. “We’re going to be friends.” Tillie continues to walk Saint out of the room and into the kitchen area, leaving Nate, Bishop, Eli, and me. Don’t fucking know where Cash and Hunter left to. I missed everything while counting to one-fucking-hundred.

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