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

by Amo Jones

  I swallow. “That’s the problem,” I jest, chuckling softly.

  “I never cried.”

  I swallow. I know that. Daemon is as cold as ice, but he melted parts of him to let me in, and for that, I am so grateful. He has saved me in ways that he will never know. I crave his presence. “It’s okay, Daemon.”

  “Lie down.” He points to the bed.

  I do as I’m told, lying on my back, my nerves relaxing at his touch. He pats my forehead and it feels like a light of healing every time he caresses me. He doesn’t fix my broken parts, he just fills them with peace.

  A small bottle of blue liquid is sitting on a table. My feet are covered in wooden shoes with red tips, pointing upward. What the fuck? I search around the room. There’s nothing in here, just that small bottle. I try to take the liquid, but my hand can’t grasp it. I get frustrated, sweat spilling out over my flesh. Why can’t I touch the stupid bottle? I finally grab it, flicking the cork off. A tag is around the neck, on it reads “Drink me.” Okay, so I’m Alice in Wonderland? Those boys are clearly fucking with me again.

  I drink the liquid in one go. Sour goo clings to my tonsils, reminding me of that time when I tried to eat Play-Doh. The glass enlarges in my hand. What! It grows bigger and bigger, expanding as the seconds pass. Suddenly I’m standing beside the now monstrous-sized glass bottle.

  The room has proliferated. Everything is so much fucking bigger!

  The table leg catches my eye, because there’s a book shape that’s carved into the wood. I step closer. It’s an opened book, carved with perfect precision. Weird. I step even closer and run my fingertips over it. Puer Natus.

  I suck in a breath, turning to see who it is that’s playing a sick joke on me, but as soon as my finger touches it, a black hole opens up and sucks me in.

  I wake up in a graveyard.

  DAEMON reads over the stone.

  I’ve been here before. What is going on? The grass melts away from my feet as I sink six-feet under. I know what happens next, The Kings bury me alive.

  The dirt flies over the grave, their faces not clear enough to make out. My barefoot steps on something that feels like jelly. I look down, only to see Daemon’s eyes gaping up at me from beneath the dirt. He’s angry, his eyebrows pulled in harshly. His fingers grip around my ankle.

  “Have it your way!”

  He yanks me under the dirt.

  “No!” I scream, launching off the bed. That dream was scarier than the first one, and I feel like they’re getting worse and more vivid as time goes on.

  “Nightmare?” a dark voice asks from the corner. I instantly recognize that it’s Nate.

  I slither backward until my back is pressed against the headboard. “Yeah.”

  “Nightmares make you appreciate the good. They remind you that your life could be worse,” he answers, his voice level.

  I’m unsure what Nate I’m getting, and not being able to see him isn’t helping that fact either.

  “I guess.” I don’t know what else to say. He’s not helping my inconsistent heart rate. I’m all over the place from last night and honestly, still feel slightly drunk. I hate drinking.

  “I lied to you,” he whispers hoarsely.

  “I figured,” I answer, lying back and pulling my covers up to my chin. If I can’t see him, I may as well feel safe under some blankets. It’s like when you leave your leg to dangle over your bed, but then you can’t because you think a demon is going to grab you by the foot. Well, Nate is that demon and the probability of that happening is way too real.

  “I hate you, Tillie. There’s always going to be a part of me that hates you, and I think that’s something you’re going to have to come to terms with.”

  “Why?” I choke on my words, and I instantly hate that I’ve shown emotion.

  “Because you remind me of everything that I lost. You remind me of her. Everything about you is a reminder of her. Your smell, your laugh, your smile.”

  I can’t stop the tears now. They’ve got free rein over me. I don’t answer. I’ll let him finish.

  “Everything that I came to love about you was buried with our daughter. The way you would make her laugh in the morning when you’d change her diaper, or when you’d put her in the bed with us and we would just fucking admire the perfection that we both created. But that’s all gone, Tillie, and now all that’s left is anger and hurt, and a whole lot of fucking pain that I can’t afford to be feeling. It makes me distracted.”

  I can feel myself slowly slipping away. “Then let me go.”

  There’s a pause. “I can’t.”

  I stop breathing. Will he finally admit it?

  “This is your world too. You deserve the crown that has been given to you, and also, you deserve the closure that I do too.”

  “Closure?” I ask, my attention spiked. “What do you mean closure?”

  Pause.

  I rip the blankets off, the dark room serving as a blanket of safety. I tiptoe to where I think he is, reaching out aimlessly to see if I can feel him.

  My hand lands on his hair, and I quickly flinch away, dropping to my knees when I have found him. I don’t want to touch him any more than I have to. His touch is everything good and bad for me. I can’t lose myself in him again. I have to be smart. I have to make him pay. No, you don’t. Yes, I do.

  “Tell me what you mean,” I whisper. I can almost feel his heavy breath falling on my lips, the smell of whiskey and cologne filling the space between us.

  “When I tell you this, Tillie, I need your word that you will do as you’re told and not be reckless. I think this will—” He pauses. “I think having you help us, and us getting our closure will help you.”

  “Help me?”

  He changes the subject. “Do I have your word?”

  “Yes,” I answer instantly. “You do.”

  He exhales. “We think Micaela didn’t die of SIDs.”

  I freeze, inching back.

  His arm hooks around my waist. “I’ve got you. Can you handle this?”

  Can I?

  No.

  Yes.

  I have to.

  “Yes…”

  His arm tightens around my waist, but he doesn’t pull me into him which I appreciate. It’s a subtle hint that he’s there. He will catch me.

  “We think she was murdered, and we think Hector has everything to do with it.”

  Everything goes black.

  Tillie

  My skin swells with heat. An arm tightens around me. The smell of old whiskey is being breathed into my hair. My eyes pop open and the room is bright, the morning sun coming through the small window at the top of the wall.

  “I’m trying really hard to be sensitive because I’ve just told you something dark as fuck, but your ass is pressing into me and if you wriggle it one more time, my dick is going in whether you want it or not—but let’s be real, you’d want it.”

  I turn in his arms, ignoring the typical Nate antics. “You slept in here with me.”

  “I did,” he agrees, his sleepy eyes searching mine, but they’re guarded. I don’t know if he’s always been like this and I haven’t noticed before, but he’s more shielded than before. It’s troubling.

  “Why?” I ask, my voice husky and desperate. “Why did you sleep in my bed?”

  “Because knowing you’re okay is worth the pain that having you in my arms causes.”

  I wince, my heart twisting in my chest from his words. “I don’t want you in pain, Nate.”

  “It’s just the way it is. I’m used to it.”

  My head thuds as I turn to face the ceiling. “He really did this?”

  Nate’s silent, so I turn to face him, desperate for answers that I’m not sure I want.

  “Yeah, we think he did. I need to ask you a few things about that night. Do you think you’re up for that?”

  My brain blurs like a television channel without reception. I exhale, closing my eyes. “I have to.”

  He inches up onto one
elbow, studying me. I ignore the way the sun sets behind him from the window, highlighting his dark blond hair, or the fact that first thing in the morning Nate is always a nicer version than the afternoon Nate.

  “When you went to bed that night, was there anything that felt odd? Out of place? Anything.”

  Pain grips onto my heart, squeezing while not letting go. I don’t want to think about this. I don’t want to let the memories seep into my already unstable soul. But it’s too late, because images are flashing through my head a hundred miles per hour, blinding me with their speed.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes, there was something.” The words come out softer than I intended.

  Nate remains quiet.

  I shut the door that night, the cool wind brushing through my hair as I closed it. I climbed into my silk sheets. I fell asleep. I woke up in a sweat, my face drenched. Why did I wake at this time?

  No, I didn’t.

  Did I?

  My eyes snap open and I fly off the bed, tearing the covers from my body. “I don’t think I locked the door, Nate…”

  He searches my face. “That’s not your fault. My house is safe enough to be able to do that. No one would set foot on King soil without given access. No one except Hector. He would have found a way in even if you did lock the door.”

  I start pacing back and forth, my legs tingling with speed. I need to exercise or I’m not going to make it through. “What does this mean? Is that why you kept me locked up—” The color in my face drains and my blood turns cold. “What about the masquerade party…”

  “Don’t know,” Nate mutters, climbing out of the bed and removing his shirt, making his hair stand all over his head again. “But we’re finding out tonight.”

  “How?” I ask, once again needing to stretch my legs. Surely Brantley has a gym in this house.

  “There’s another dinner party tonight. Same attire. You’re coming with us, but you’re sticking close to us.”

  I nod, rubbing my sweaty palms down my legs.

  “Oh.” Nate pauses at the threshold right before he disappears. “And this is a bigger dinner party than last time. Kings from all over will be there, and other girls. Girls I know.” He pins me with a stare.

  I pause. “Why would I care? I know your ho past.”

  “That’s the thing, it’s not really a past. I’ve known these people since I was little. There’s someone there who I haven’t seen since I was fourteen and she is the one that took my virginity.” He watches for my reaction, but my poker face is too good, because he’s not going to get one.

  “Why are you telling me this? We’re not together, Nate.”

  “Well aware of that, but just so you know, she’s meeting me there—”

  “—You’re disgusting, and you can leave.”

  Which he does.

  I want to ignore that once again, Nate has hurt me. But it’s my own fault for having emotions. Feelings. I’m curious to know who this girl is, but as far as he and I are concerned, we’re obviously finished. I need to remember that the only reason why he’s being civil with me about this is because of Hector. Because he wants revenge, and so do I. Once that’s done, he will throw me away like a bad memory—I know this.

  I exhale a shaky breath. “Pull it together, Tillie. Just play the game.” I flash a fake smile to myself, because you know, practice. If he wants to bring his ex—whatever she is—that’s fine. I’ll play, but I’m playing to win, and my first move after rolling the dice is being the hottest bitch in the room.

  I’m walking past Daemon’s room when I peek in, wanting to ask if he will come with me. He’ll be wearing a mask and Madison most likely won’t be there, so what’s the harm, but his room is empty.

  Again.

  The space looks untouched, the bed covers are neat, like no one has so much as sat on the bed.

  Maybe he’s clean and he makes it tidy. He must be out again doing God knows what, or maybe The Kings have him back on Lost Boy duties.

  I sigh, marching up the stairs and heading straight for the kitchen. I’m hungry and I want pancakes.

  No one is in there when I arrive, so I start searching through the cupboards to find all of the ingredients I need.

  Flour, eggs, butter, milk. I fucking love pancakes.

  I turn the sound dock on and push play. I need something to make me feel better about Nate and his stupid confession this morning. I hit play on Halsey’s “Young God,” tossing all of the ingredients into the bowl and stirring it together. I start beating it fast until my hair comes out of its bun.

  I stop, swing my head over by bending at the waist and rake all of it to the front before knotting it into a high bun. When I fling back to standing position, Brantley is standing directly in front of me, leaning against a cabinet.

  “What are you doing?” he yells over the sound.

  “Making pancakes!”

  I swipe some of the batter with my fingertip, just as Halsey sings, “if you want to go to heaven then you should fuck me tonight,” and I keep my eyes on Brantley, sucking the batter off my finger. This will be fun.

  His eyes narrow, and mine drop down to what he’s wearing. Loose sweatpant shorts and no shirt. Sweat glistens off his chest.

  “Did you just workout?” I ask, pointing down his body.

  He removes the blender cup, slowly dragging his eyes from mine. “Yeah. Why?” I can see the side of his cheek turning up in a smile.

  I carry on. “I need to.”

  He nudges his head toward the stairs. “Level three.”

  “Isn’t that where your room is?” I ask, stirring the batter again.

  “Yeah, just my room and the gym. You should do it before pancakes, and anyway, the batter needs to sit in the fridge for an hour.”

  “What?” I glare at him. “Since when?”

  Brantley stares at me, hitting the blender off after mixing his shake. “Since forever. Everyone knows that pancake batter needs to sit in the fridge for an hour before you cook it.”

  There are so many different layers to Brantley Vitiosis and I’m so thankful he peels a couple of them away for me. “Aw Bran Bran, you’re so sweet.”

  “First warning of the day,” he mutters nonchalantly, pouring his protein shake into a shaker.

  I put the mixture in the fridge, taking out a water bottle while I’m there. “I’ll listen, but you’re eating these with me.”

  I turn around, laughing, but he’s already gone. How did I manage to live in a house with a bunch of moody, hot, sexually charged men?

  Oh, that’s right, my fucking blood.

  I made my way to the third floor after hassling Bailey for some workout clothes. We both agreed that we’re going shopping today, because I really do need clothes. I almost forgot about all the money that’s in my account. It’s unreal.

  Walking slowly down the hallway, I see one door directly at the end. It’s black and has patterns carved into the wood. Brantley’s room, no doubt. I wonder what his room looks like? Will it be as dark as him, or will it be all white and bland? Somehow, the latter just doesn’t seem feasible.

  I go for the second door and push it open. My mouth drops to the floor when I take in the space. I know that they all take their training seriously, but I could live in here. The walls are floor to ceiling glass, built to curve around the whole back of the house. You get the view of the forest and can see from here the clearing where the graveyard is. I shiver. Fucking sinister house. The gym is probably the most executive part about this whole house. The equipment is all laid out perfectly, with everything plus more that you will find in a regular gym. Including a stepper. Thank fuck.

  There’s a punching bag in the corner too that calls to me. I could do with a punching session. I need to exhaust all this energy before tonight, when and I’m faced with Nate and his—virginity stealer.

  I push my earbuds into my ears and flick through my Spotify as I slowly pace toward the treadmill. I climb on and hit level 12 instantly. I hit Halsey’s p
laylist, needing more of her soothing voice after this morning. “Without Me” starts playing and I pick up my pace. It always takes me a couple of minutes to find my stride, huffing and puffing like an unfit cow that hasn’t worked out in months—because I haven’t. Finally, my breathing becomes level and the lyrics to the song disappear. I need something angrier to match the raging sweat that’s dripping down my face, not to be the counterpart of the sad beat of my heart. “Go Fuck Yourself” by Two Feet comes on instead and I leave it, because who wouldn’t. This song is the best two-or so minutes in music history. That beat. I hit the ramp up to 2. My thighs burn, my heart is pounding in my chest and for the next twenty minutes, I’m thinking of nothing but the ache in my muscles.

  Turning off the treadmill, I jump down but jerk in shock when I see Nate standing near the door. I rip off my earbuds. “What are you doing here?”

  He doesn’t answer, just watches me as I reach for my water bottle. His eyes drop down my body and I curse Bailey and her skimpy clothes—once again. I’m in nothing but a bright green sports bra and little black spandex shorts. They’re so short that my ass actually falls out of them after a while.

  Nate ignores me, pushing forward and going straight for the weight machines. “Working out. What do you think?”

  I want to just leave after the run, but I also don’t want it to be obvious that his presence disrupts me in such an obvious way.

  So I go for the punching bag, pushing the gloves on while glaring at him. He removes his shirt and slings it over a bench, stretching his back muscles.

  The tattoos on his back flex above his muscles. The Elite King skull sitting above New York City is over his left side. He has old English writing curving across his traps that read “MALUM” like the one that sits over his pelvic area that says “King.”

  I need to stop staring.

  I push my earbuds back into my ears to distract me and hit play on Rihanna’s “Desperado.” I wrap my knuckles with the smaller gloves. Why are there girl sized gloves here? And stretch my neck. Bailey, obviously… I start with single jabs, launching them toward the hard, black sack. Inhale, exhale. I tense my abs with every hit, sweat continuing to pour out of my flesh. When the single jabs start to lose their effect, I start on one, two, three combos. I speed up and then slow down, all while keeping my abs tight and my core strong.