Malum: Part 2 (The Elite Kings' Club Book 5)

by Amo Jones

  “…You gonna off me, too? Because I gotta say…” Brantley squeezes his jean covered cock. “Somethin’ about her…”

  I shove him, swiping the blood off my face. “Fuck you.”

  Hector shakes his head like a father scolding his young before looking back to the other three men Peyton had behind her. “We have a problem here?”

  They shake their heads.

  “Good. Because if I see any of you again, you’ll meet the end of my cane. You included, Peyton.”

  Peyton pauses, her eyes frantically searching Hector’s. “I can go?”

  “I’m many things, young girl, but we gave you our word. You gave him back his daughter, we give you your life.”

  Tillie

  Rubble is embedded into my flesh, my throat dry from thirst.

  “Daemon?” I whisper hoarsely, tilting my head to face his cell.

  He comes closer until he’s leaning into me, my back touching his. Warm comfort flushes through me, and I sigh, exhaling instantly.

  “What, Puella?”

  “How are you alive? I heard your death was brutal. You died.”

  When he doesn’t answer right away, I turn to face him, bringing my hand to the back of his neck. I crank his face toward me. “How?”

  His eyes search mine, empty black pits of obscurity. Daemon breaks my heart. He was doomed from the start, never given a fair go. Even less than me, or—I look toward Abel, watching as he tilts his head back to rest on the cold wall, his hoodie dropping over his eyes. Maybe even Abel.

  I go back to Daemon. “Then what happened?”

  Daemon, in his broken language, starts to slowly explain. “They fixed the parts they could and the others…”

  “The others?” I whisper, my hand coming to his arm.

  “Are still broken.”

  “You’ve been here this whole time?” I ask, anger simmering.

  He shakes his head. “No, Mic—”

  I shake my head. “No, Daemon. I won’t talk about her.”

  His face falls. “Okay, Puella.”

  “I will get us out,” I say, rubbing my palm up and down Daemon’s arm. I look to Abel who has already got his eyes on me. “All of us.”

  Abel gives me a strange look but doesn’t say anything else.

  A door cracks open and slams shut. Footsteps thud down the cold corridor matching the beat of my heart.

  I know who it is without looking.

  “Let me out,” I retort, my tone flat.

  I see his shadow shift out of the corner of my eye, kneeling down to my level.

  “I thought you didn’t mind playing games?” Nate’s voice takes hold of my heart and squeezes.

  I bring my eyes to his, dead and expressionless. “I do when I’m the coach.”

  I try to squash what he does to me, but it’s no use. I will always be powerless when it comes to Nate, but I control how I exude it. Conceal, don’t feel, and all of that.

  He stands, swiping his hands on his pants and unlocking my cell door. “The two of you need to come with me.”

  I crank my head over my shoulder to look at Abel. “I take it Bishop knows about him now?”

  Nate’s hand comes to mine and the electricity that zaps through has me rearing away from him.

  We start walking down the corridor, following Nate’s broad back. He unlocks a heavy metal door and pushes it open as he leads us up large rectangular concrete steps. Candles line every step, like something out of a medieval castle. The walls are elegantly decorated with expensive looking art, framed in thick gold metal.

  “Nate?” I whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

  We get to the top to find another door. He opens that and instantly, the aged medieval feeling is replaced with modern furnishings and marble floors. We’re in the foyer of the mansion. Flushed with crystal furnishings, white-washed walls. I follow Nate down the hallway until he stops at the opening of a room at the very end that has no door.

  He turns to face me, his eyes hardening on mine.

  “Why?” I ask the one thing I’ve wanted to know since I woke up in the dungeon. “Was nothing real for you? Was she not real for you?”

  His hand flies to my throat and he squeezes roughly. “Don’t fucking speak of her ever again.”

  I slap his arm and my knee flies between his thighs, hitting him straight in the dick. “I lost her too, asshole.”

  He lets go of me like I stung him and backs up, his face going pale. It annoys me that he doesn’t falter at my violence. I at least wanted him to fall to his knees in pain.

  I shrug him off and step forward into a room large enough to hold a business conference. There’s one stretched rectangular table that’s displayed in the middle of the room with about twelve chairs all placed with precision around it. And every chair that’s around it has a King sitting in it. Bishop is at the head, and when Abel and I enter, Bishop’s eyes go straight to him.

  “Sit.” Bishop points to the chairs and I move over to them with Abel right behind me.

  We both take a seat, Nate pulling out the empty one beside me. His presence instantly makes me queasy.

  “Tell me why Khales had you locked in a cell and why the fuck do you look like me?”

  Abel flicks his hoodie off his head.

  Nate chuckles. “Twins?”

  Abel shakes his head. “Nah. Different moms.”

  Bishop works his jaw so hard I think it might pop. “Carry on.”

  “Khales had been using my mom as bait since I met her last year at a party. We fucked, and then fucked some more. Obviously now I know why…” Abel runs his fingers through his hair. “She told me about you. She came clean with the parts she wanted me to know, but not everything I should know. She told me that I had a brother and that he didn’t know about me. A few days ago, she caught me in bed with someone else. Lost her shit and killed my fucking mom before bringing me here.”

  “Sounds like her,” I mumble. Nate’s thick thigh presses against mine under the table and my chest tightens from the connection, but my fury simmers above the surface.

  Bishop pauses, tilting his head. “Why did she keep you, that’s the question. I’m not at all surprised about your existence, but Khales never made impulsive decisions. Everything was always calculated with her.”

  Abel shrugs. “Don’t fucking know. But she kept me for something.”

  Bishop nods, his finger working over his upper lip. “We’ll find out.”

  My eyes catch Brantley, who is already watching me. “Aw, what’s the matter, Bran Bran. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Perdita isn’t good for my soul. I can feel it digging its claws into me. I need to get out if I’m not going to stay. I need to escape and take Abel and Daemon with me.

  Brantley doesn’t falter, his lip kicking up in a snarl. “Bran Bran? Pretty bold nickname coming from someone who I can fuck without permission, don’t you think?”

  I tilt my head and give him back his smile. “Who’s to say permission wouldn’t be granted, Bran Bran.”

  “Tillie!” Bishop snaps at me and I divert my attention back to the head of the table.

  “Yes?”

  Bishop stills, his eyes piercing into me like I had seen him do to Madison so many times before. Being on the receiving end of it, though, not so funny. I won’t show him that. If you cower in the presence of a King, he’ll have you kissing his feet for life.

  “Let me go—”

  “No,” Nate interrupts, and I snap my attention straight to him. This table is full of Kings and Abel is sitting right beside me, but all I see is Nate. All I care about is Nate and why he thinks he can hold me here.

  “Why!” I throw up my arms to add to my dramatics.

  My chest tightens when he looks at me. His eyes are enough to grip onto every single human emotion that’s inside of me and flip it upside down. I feel for Nate. I do. I’m in love with him, but I will never expose my feelings to him. You can’t. Once you expose your love for someone, you’ve s
urrendered your power, and in this case, my forgiveness. I won’t let him win. Not this time, and not any time soon.

  Nate leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Because I don’t want to.”

  I pause, allowing his words to sink into my brain. I blink a few times, count to ten, and then open my mouth. “Because you don’t want to?” Then I look around the table, my eyes falling on Bishop. “You mean to tell me that the reason you’re keeping me here is because he wants me here and that’s it?”

  Bishop grins. “That, and the fact that I can’t have you running back to Madison and spilling all of our secrets.”

  I freeze this time, balling my fists under the table. “She doesn’t know about Daemon, does she?”

  Bishop runs his index finger over his upper lip, shaking his head with a smirk. “Nope.”

  “Why are you doing this to her, Bishop? You guys are solid. Set in stone. Fucking Madshop. Why?”

  He seems to ponder over my words and then leans back in his seat. “You wanna know why we’re fighting so much lately?”

  “Yes. I do.” Even though I know he’s not going to tell me. Bishop always answers a question with a question, or words his answers in a way that you don’t understand.

  Bishop opens his mouth, and then just when he’s about to say something, fucking Nate steps in and interferes. “—Don’t.”

  Bishop instantly looks to Nate, and I watch as Bishop’s hard exterior slowly melts away and for a second, he looks vulnerable. Hurt. Deceived. God, Madison. What did you do?

  Bishop shakes himself off and then shrugs. “Fine. But she’s going to find out sooner or later. You can’t protect her from everything, Nate.”

  I scoff, because Bishop must be on some A-class shit to say that. Only I know that he is.

  Abel, who has been quiet, finally speaks. “Where does this leave me?”

  Bishop looks back at him and licks his lips. “How do you feel about the sight of blood?”

  Nate

  I run my fingers through my hair, watching the sun set over the trees behind the mansion. I fucking hate staying on Perdita for longer than a day, but we’re in day two and I’m getting fucking cabin fever. I mean, I’m about to slaughter some fucks if they say the wrong thing. Bishop let them out of the cells. Keeping Abel locked in a cell wasn’t our play, it was Khales. We don’t see either of them as a threat, and there’s no way they can get out of this house, let alone off this fucking island.

  I hear the bedroom door open and close behind me, and then a tumbler glass of whiskey on ice coming into view. “Think she will work out what we’re doing?”

  I take the glass from Brantley and bring it to my lips, shooting it back. “Yup. She’s fucking smart. Way smarter than anyone we’ve ever had around.”

  “Agreed…” Brantley nods.

  “But she can’t know what we know. She will get reckless in her revenge and we can’t have that.”

  Brantley leans forward, resting his arms on the barrier. “Also agreed.”

  “You care about her….” I try the unspoken words on the tip of my tongue. Don’t much like how they taste.

  Brantley chuckles, shaking his head and hanging it between his arms. “No. I don’t think I care about her, but I also feel a little bit protective over her. If that makes sense.”

  “It doesn’t.” I sigh. “But I get it, man. Who would have thought, though. Out of everyone…”

  “That she’d be the one who would pull on my rusted strings?”

  We both laugh. “Yeah. Exactly. Was beginning to think you were built without those…”

  Brantley’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, unfortunately, I am.”

  “So we agree?” I add, watching him carefully. “She isn’t going to know?”

  Brantley nods. “Yeah. We all agree. Right now isn’t the time. It might make her worse.”

  Her being worse than she is now isn’t something anyone wants.

  Tillie

  I run my finger down his skull, over the lumps where the stitches were. “I’m sorry, Daemon.”

  He cranks his head, and I watch as his slim neck glistens under the candlelight in the room Nate put me in. Technically, Daemon should be in his room, but he and I have too much to talk about. I’ve yet to tell him about Micaela, which I’m dreading.

  I climb off the bed and kneel down in front of him, where he’s sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. I search his eyes, black orbs that any other person would be afraid to look into. They’re someone’s nightmare, but my fantasy.

  “I found your book, Daemon…”

  He searches my eyes, and it’s the first time I’ve noticed his hair. They must have had to shave it all off for surgery. It’s not as short as it probably was, now it looks more like a military cut. It hardens his handsome features.

  “I know, Puella.”

  “Do you need to tell me something?”

  He opens his mouth and then closes it. “Yes, but—”

  I lean forward, running my finger over his bottom lip. “I need to tell you something too, Daemon.” My throat swells before I’ve even so much as flicked my tongue over the first syllable. He doesn’t speak. He merely watches me with fascination. God, he’s so beautiful. Too beautiful for earth, but too haunted for hell. “She passed away.” It’s the first time that the words have been on my tongue, threatening to slice me across the heart.

  Daemon doesn’t flinch. His eyelashes flutter closed and a flash of pain passes his face. “How?”

  I curl my legs out from under my butt, massaging my temples. “Sudden Infant Death.” I stand abruptly, my mind shutting down from the conversation I so openly started.

  I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

  Why did I tell him? I wasn’t ready. I thought I was ready. I start banging around the room in search of something to numb the ache that has started in my chest.

  Daemon’s hand comes to my arm.

  I freeze, turning in his grip slowly.

  His fingers come to my face, his thumb on my lip. I know what he’s trying to say, I see it in the way his eyes peer into mine, like they’re trying to speak a foreign language.

  I smile, laying my face into the palm of his hand. “Go to bed. I will see you in the morning. I have a plan.”

  “A plan?” Daemon asks just as I reach for the door handle.

  I smirk, not bothering to give him another look. “Yes. A plan.”

  I’m making my way down the twin staircase after Daemon heads to bed when Nate appears at the bottom. He’s wearing grey sweats and nothing else. He’s been working out, judging by the sweat that is dripping off his finely chiseled torso.

  I cross my arms in front of my chest.

  He smirks, his eyes eating up my body. “You look good in that…”

  I roll my eyes, taking the final steps down and shoving past him. “Let me guess, you fucked my mom too.”

  A strong palm collides with my arm at the very place that Daemon just touched. Only where his was gentle, this was dominating.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” I snap, spinning to face him. “The no-talking-to-you thing? Get used to it, Nate, because I hate you. You kidnapped me, brought me here, told me that everything was a plan from the beginning, told me you wanted to kill me—all for what?”

  Nate doesn’t say anything, his jaw set taut and his eyes glaring at me like a demon. A beautiful, unhinged, total bad boy demon. What the fuck. I need a drink.

  I turn to go find some alcohol when his voice stops me. “I wasn’t lying, Tillie.”

  “Yeah, well neither was I when I said that I hated you, so leave me the fuck alone.”

  Finding a bottle of Proper Twelve in the cupboard, I take down a tumbler and fill it with the amber liquid, shooting the first one back and inhaling the cloak of numbness that comes with the first swallow. The pain begins to dissipate into the back of my mind, so I pour another and put the bottle back tidily near the—fully stocked pantry.

  I gro
wl softly, piecing things together. They obviously had been planning this for some time to have all this food. There’s shit in here from our world, not from Perdita. Swirling the liquid in my glass, I take a closer look around the kitchen. It’s splashed in white marble and black trimmings, with one glass window that overlooks the backyard. There’s an adjacent dining room on the other side and I quickly step in, noting the twelve-piece dining suite. To the right is floor to ceiling glass that opens out onto the backyard. No pool. Interesting. I push on the door, stepping out into the cold soft wind, closing it behind myself. There may be no pool, but there are beautifully kept flowers that are blossoming against what lighting there is.

  “Can’t sleep?” a deep, familiar voice interrupts my downtime.

  I don’t bother to look toward it. I know that it’s Brantley. “Well, that amongst other things.”

  “What do you think of flowers?” he asks, and that question was random enough to conjure me to look at him. He’s sitting on a small iron set chair near a stone fountain that’s decorated by small hedges and vines of roses.

  I take a couple of steps down, sinking deeper into the dark night. “Hmmm, I’ve never thought much about it. Why?”

  Brantley chuckles and then stands. When he comes opposite me, his presence is intimidating, but I don’t falter.

  “Why did you all bring me here?” I try him.

  “Because this is where you should be.”

  I pause, contemplating whether I should or should not cuss him out for pulling a Bishop on me and lying straight to my face. “Every time you’re vague to me, I’m calling you Bran Bran.”

  His head snaps in the general direction of yours truly. “I think the fuck not!”

  I chuckle, swirling my whiskey around inside my glass. “Your reaction has just solidified the fact that I indeed, will be calling you Bran Bran every time you are vague, or I think you’re lying to me.”

  He kicks my chair, so I look at him. Which I do, over the tumbler glass as I bring it to my smug lips. “Don’t like that name, Princessa.”