by Amo Jones
I chuckle, my hand coming to her upper thigh, squeezing hard enough for her to cringe beneath that fake confidence. With my other hand, I grab her chin and tilt her face down to mine. “I’m well acquainted with your pussy, Princessa, but if you pull that shit again, I’ll tear off your clothes and fuck you until you’re black and blue and bleeding out on this table. Don’t fucking test me, baby, because your pussy will not be so testy once I’m done with it.”
Her eyes narrow on mine, and I wait for her to answer. “What?” I tease. “You know I can do this all day…”
“—I think we’ve been distracted enough. Nate, tell me what you mean by you wanting Tillie back on main soil. I thought we agreed she was to stay here until we figure out—” Bishop stops, with good reason.
Tillie can’t know what we know. Not because I’m being a cunt by not telling her, no offense to Bishop, but because I don’t think she can handle it right now. And that’s saying something because she can handle a fucking lot, but this? No.
I lick my lip, relaxing into my chair. “Changed my mind. We can’t be here. We need to be back and I’d rather her be with me all the way through.”
Bishop’s eyes fly between the two of us. He sinks back in his chair. “This is King business, Nate. You know the rules.”
I shrug. “Fuck the rules. This is her world too, B. She has every right to the information as we do. Hell, she’ll be here, running this shit once we’re done with her.”
“Ah—excuse me bu—”
I ignore her. “So it’s best for her to be with us until we’ve solved the first thing we’re trying to figure out—”
“—yeah, but I don—”
I cut her off again, “—Does anyone contest this?” I ask, my eyes going around the table to a shake of heads.
“—yes! I fucking d—”
My hand slams over her mouth.
“Good. It’s settled. Pack up the Lost Boy and Abel. The same goes for the two of you.”
Tillie slaps my hand away from her mouth. “Agh!” she screams. “I fucking hate you! Handcuff me to Bran Bran instead!”
“Woah!” Brantley glares at her. “I didn’t fucking lie to you! That nickname is only allowed if I fucking lie to you!”
She smiles at him, and I watch as his eyes narrow to slits. “I changed my mind.”
Brantley’s face morphs into a cold, neutral expression. I have to hide my laughter. “You’re a pain in not just his ass, but mine too, but I don’t get to eat that ass, so this shit isn’t fair.”
I push Tillie off my lap, and she fumbles to her feet like a new baby fawn.
I laugh, standing. “I might let you taste it if she doesn’t behave herself.”
Tillie swipes her hair out of her face. “Well, in that case, I’ll misbehave all I can.”
The teasing with Brantley doesn’t bother me. I’ve seen them do some pretty fucking questionable things, and it didn’t bother me to a degree, because I know what they have. The twisted little bond that they share isn’t something that I’m worried about, nor do I give a fuck about. He’s just her…me.
Besides all of that, he’s my brother. But Daemon? He so much as breathes near her and I turn into fucking Lucifer. Do I want to wife her? Fuck no. Do I even want a relationship with her? Also fuck no. I’m not ready to have my cock on a leash, but do I have feelings for her? Yeah. I’m man enough to admit that. To myself, not anyone else. Tillie plays with my emotions like a fucking fiddle. I’ve seen what happens when I give her half of me. I lose myself in her, lost in a fucking daze that I never want to wake from. Give her all of me? I’d never survive. So for now, she’ll just have to eat my words. Or choke on them. Whichever will work for me.
“Where?” Bishop interrupts. “Where are we going to be keeping these three?”
I tilt my head. “The parents are away from tomorrow onward, but with Madison walking in and out, it’s not the ideal place.”
“True. Also, that rules out my house, and my parents’ house,” Bishop says, his eyes going to Brantley.
“—I can just buy a fucking house,” I interrupt before he calls out Brantley.
Brantley looks at me, his jaw tensing. “Nah it’s good. We can put them at mine. Lots of rooms we can lock her up in if she doesn’t do as she’s fucking told.” He’s glaring at Tillie now.
“You sure?” I ask, ignoring his statement about Tillie obeying orders. The girl will never obey fucking orders, only when her lips are wrapped around my cock. My eyes bore into his. I’m probably the only one who knows Brantley through and through, but even I know there are secrets that he’s hiding, all of which are confined in that creepy fucking house.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Lies.
Tillie
“Why am I still handcuffed to you? You know I’m not going to run!” I yank my hand up to illustrate my point. The flight was long, like it always is, and we’re pulling up to Nate’s house now in a large stretch limo. Bishop sits beside Nate who is beside Brantley. Next to me is Abel and Daemon, who hasn’t spoken much at all. I take this time to glare at Bishop.
“You keeping him from Madison is going to brew a storm that none of us are prepared for, B.”
His eyes stay on mine. “Maybe she should have thought about that a long time ago, Tills.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I question him, my eyes narrowing. I’m a girl’s girl. Yeah, so I might be spending more time than I want around all The Kings, but that means jack shit when it comes to Madison.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe you need to talk to your friend when her nose isn’t lost in snow.”
My mouth snaps shut. “You did not—Bishop! You know damn well she doesn’t usually do drugs. She’s, she’s—”
“—changed,” Bishop snaps at me. “She has fucking changed, Tillie. She’s not the same fucking girl that I fell in love with. It fucking happens. It fucking happened,” he sighs, just as the limo pulls to a stop. Bishop buries his face in his hands, shaking his head. His hurt and agony fills the small space of the limo.
“B, do you want to talk to me about it?” I ignore everyone else in the car, because right now, none of these fuckers matter. All that matters is that the most epic love story to ever grace our world is on the edge of complete annihilation. An apocalypse of love.
“Just get out.”
We all pile out one by one and Nate leans back inside the car for a few minutes. When he finishes talking with Bishop, he shuts the door, his eyes going to Bran Bran.
“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Nate murmurs, yanking me with his arm until I have no choice but to follow as he leads us up the stone stairs to Brantley’s home.
It’s freaky, but I’ve been here a couple times now, so the air of surprise is gone. Nate pushes open the door and we’re met with complete silence.
“Bran Bran, where are your lights?”
He groans in pain. “I swear to god, Tillie, I’m going to start giving you warnings. You get three a day.” The light flicks on and we’re met with this beautifully dark and haunted mansion. “You get to three and I’m taking you over my knee and beating your ass blue. Deal?”
I raise an eyebrow in defiance. He doesn’t even look at me through all of that, it was a simple matter of fact. When he notices I’m not answering and everyone around us has fallen quiet, his eyes come to mine. “Deal?”
I shrug. “Deal.”
Nate yanks on the handcuff. “She’s just going to play up on purpose now. Stop feeding the monster.”
Brantley turns to look over his shoulder, his eyes darkening. “I happen to like my little terror.” He winks and then goes back to leading us through the house. The walls are blood red and black with old tarnished wood lining the framework. The windows are all stained glass with cross wood through them. The living room resembles a damn church and the fire is flickering slowly, burning to embers.
“Who lit the fire?” I ask, yanking on Nate’s arm in an attempt to drag him toward the sofa.
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With my hundred thirty-five pounds against his what, one-eighty? That doesn’t do anything.
I pause, turning to face Nate who is trying his hardest to hide his laugh.
“Move!” I groan, getting angry at him and his stupid Nate antics. He finally follows and drags me onto the sofa beside him.
Brantley doesn’t answer my question. “So here’s the deal,” he says instead. “You all will stay here, but you will stay on the first level since there’s only one way in and one way out down there. You will be allowed up during the week, but know that I have guards all around this joint. They shoot to kill, so I wouldn’t try anything. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Vitiosis graveyard that sits in our backyard? Yeah, well, not all of the blood that has seeped into that soil is Vitiosis blood—if you know what I mean.”
Abel clears his throat. “What am I doing here?”
Brantley’s eyes come to his, and he leans forward, his face blank. “You, young pup, are going to be our little prodigy.”
I massage my temple with my free hand. “Oh no. Oh!” I answer, finally remembering. “Oh my god! Where is Bailey?”
Brantley stills.
“Bran Bran…” I swear if he has killed her or given her away, I’ll never speak to him again and the next body in the Vitiosis graveyard will most definitely be a Vitiosis.
“That’s your second warning, and she’s in the right wing. Never see her much. Thank fuck.”
I exhale, exhausted from the day.
I feel the heavy clip around my wrist loosen, so I stretch out my hand, turning to face Nate. “Thanks.”
His eyes stay on mine, and for a flash, I think I see something. Something familiar but broken. We haven’t spoken about her, or anything since he locked me in the cell, and I’m not sure whether I’d want to.
“How do I trust you?” I ask him, wanting to know the answer to the golden question. “You’re all always playing games.”
Nate’s lip slowly kicks up in a smirk. “Simple really, you don’t.” Then he grips onto my arm and yanks me to my feet. When Daemon stands, Nate comes face-to-face with him. “Do I need to warn you about your hands, young one?”
I tap at Nate’s arm, anger simmering to the surface at how he’s being with Daemon. “Nate, leave him alone.”
Daemon’s eyes come to me, and then back to Nate. “No. You do not, though I am not sure she likes your hands either.”
“I’m tired. Just, let’s go to bed.”
“Abel stays up here,” Brantley murmurs, pointing to the sofa. “You’ll be sitting in during our meet tonight. Better you start learning now.”
Abel drops back onto the sofa.
“Here, I’ll take them down. You sit with Abel and talk him through shit,” Brantley orders Nate, who is watching him with careful eyes. Something passes between the two of them and I’m not sure we catch it.
Nate switches with Brantley. I have a feeling that whatever it is that passes between the two of them, it has nothing to do with me.
Brantley pushes past me, and my eyes find Nate once more, but he’s already talking with Abel. We make our way down the dark hallway. It’s furnished with old portrait paintings that cling to the ancient walls. Nate has been even more complicated since being in Perdita and leaving. He’s like a stitch, trying to seal all the splits that have happened with him, but his evil is too dark and strong, spilling between the seams. I want to help him, but I also want to punish him. Punishing him only encourages him and turns him on, so I need to go the opposite way of both love and hate.
I need to go numb with him.
Brantley was right, there are a few bedrooms downstairs. It’s a weird level, giving me creepy vibes. The walls are all dark burgundy, and there’s just one stretch of hallway that’s so small it has my fear of small spaces acting up. There are three doors, all of which open up into a bedroom. In those rooms is one single bed and a small bathroom.
Brantley is leaning on the door frame when I lower myself onto the mattress.
“Are you locking my door?”
“No,” Brantley says. “But I will be locking the main door up the hallway.”
I sigh, leaning forward. “Why do I still feel like a prisoner?”
“Because you are.” He turns to leave, tilting his head over his shoulder slightly. “I’ve left both yours and Daemon’s doors unlocked. Try talking with him, Tillie. See where his head is at.”
“Brantley?” I call out just as he’s about to leave. “Where’s Nate’s dad?”
Brantley chuckles. “All in good time.”
“B?” I whisper and I see from the corner of my eye his footsteps falter. My focus remains on a rough patch on the wall, isolated. So fucking isolated. “Tell me he will be okay. That this up and down bipolar thing isn’t going to be forever.”
Brantley turns around, and I finally bring my eyes up to his. My throat swells with emotion, but I choke down any tears. They cannot see any of my weaknesses, and Nate is my biggest.
“You’ll come to learn, or are already learning, that there are two sides to Nate. This is just him. This is how he is. How he reacts to different circumstances is always erratic, we can never be sure which side we’re going to land on. There’s the jokester side, then there’s his Malum side. He battles with the two personalities a lot, I know this, but one thing you should always remember is that both of those sides have one thing in common.”
I tilt my head, snuffling my nose. “And what’s that?”
He stares at me blankly. “You.”
Tillie
You can’t explain why people do the things they do or why they can be so vastly different. I’ve tried. Being surrounded by somewhat off-balance individuals for the better part of my life has been the biggest teacher of all when it comes to this.
So why is it that when it comes to Daemon, I can feel so strongly for him while really knowing nothing much about him. Connection? Sure. Love? A little bit. But mystery? Danger? Definitely. Daemon is the calm before the storm. You know it could be deadly, but it’s also controlled. I used to think the same about Nate and Bishop, but lately, their decisions have been driven by something far more powerful.
Love and Hate.
“How’s your head?” I ask, taking a seat on his bed beside him. This room is much like mine. They’re identical. “This place gives me the creeps.”
Daemon shuffles closer to me, his feet dangling off the bed. I turn to face him, for the first time with it just being him and I and a long stretch of silence.
“I’ve missed you.”
I lick my lips and turn to face him, my hands coming to his. He looks so different with short hair. It gives his very pretty face a rougher edge. I miss his hair. My hand comes up to his head and I stretch my fingers out over his scalp, feeling the spikes brush against the palm of my hand.
His eyes close, peace falling over his features. “I missed you too.”
His eyes slowly open onto my mouth. I freeze. With the language barrier, we’ve always gone by what feels right in the moment. He comforted me when I needed it and I lit him on fire when he craved it, but kissing him right now would feel wrong. I can’t lead him into thinking that we can pick up where we left off all those months ago. Too much has changed, so much has hardened. I’m not the same girl I was when he left me, and he’s not the same boy who I knew when I left.
I run my finger down the side of his face, dragging it over his bottom lip. “You need to be free, Daemon.”
“Free,” he mimics, his lips curving with each letter.
I nod. “Free.”
He leans away from me slightly. “I’ll never be free, Puella. Nothing can free me. Not even you.” His eyes bore into mine.
I stifle a laugh. “How could I free you?”
He doesn’t answer me, his eyes staying on mine. I fight the urge to crawl onto his lap. “Did you—” He pauses, searching around the place. “Finish my book?”
Everything fast-forwards and I’m instantly thrown back into t
he pages of Puer Natus. I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“Finish it,” he orders and then turns to face the wall.
I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t know where it is right now, so I settle on, “Can’t you just tell me how it ends?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s shut off. I slowly stand from his bed and tiptoe to where he lays. Leaning down, I press my lips to his head, holding it there for a second while inhaling the smell of dirt, blood, and something sweet.
“I’m sorry, Daemon.”
I leave, sinking into my bed once I get back into my room.
Why can’t I save him? I want to save him. I can’t save him. No one can save him but himself, and even then, I don’t even think he could save himself.
Wind whisks through my hair, flicking it up into the air as I run down the concrete path. The city is empty, and when I stop and look up, I see I’m directly outside Madison and Bishop’s apartment. There’s no doorman. No cars. No lights. No power. The sun is setting, and the burnt orange hue is slowly dropping into a deep brown. My toes curl against the rusted leaves that have fallen. Why was I running? I turn around to see ten men standing in a line, black hoodies covering their faces. Their heads slowly come up and the Día de Los Muertos face paint comes into view, but then the paint starts to slowly melt from their faces. I scream as the song “Pop Goes the Weasel” starts playing. Slamming my hands over my ears, I fall to the ground and begin rocking back and forth.
“Stop!” I scream so loud my throat throbs from the pain.
Silence finally cuts through the torturous sound. I slowly peel my eyes open, only now I’m in the middle of a cemetery. I recognize it. The stone in front of me catches my eye and I see D A E M O N spelled in Celtic font over it. Nothing else. Just Daemon.
“What?”
“Pop Goes the Weasel” starts again as the grass melts away from beneath my feet and I’m falling.
“No!” I shake my head, darkness enveloping me in the small grave. “No!” I scream, reaching for the walls but dirt fills my hands and the darkness gets more opaque. The ten Kings all circle the grave above, peering down at me.
