by Amo Jones
Interesting, I think to myself. “So now I’m wearing it?”
Scarlet chuckles. “Yes, but yours will be the Stuprum design.”
Now I’m intrigued. Brantley continues getting his done and when he turns to face me, I smirk. “You look good, Bran Bran…”
He flips me off.
I take a seat on the chair Brantley was on, pushing my hair back.
Scarlet’s eyes come to mine. “Yours is the same as The Kings, only you have this.” She takes out a small jewel. It’s red glint glistens against the light. “On your forehead.”
I tilt my head. “What if it falls off?”
She laughs. “I can assure you, it will not. I will need you to look after it from now on, though. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I answer, offering a smile of reassurance. “I can do that.”
She gets started on the mask and I ignore Brantley beside me, his phone blowing up every two seconds.
“You look good,” Brantley says as I slide off the chair. “You can’t wear that though,” he comments, pointing to my outfit.
I raise an eyebrow, but it feels weird. Heavy, like a thousand layers of paint is on top of it. “Why?”
“Because you can’t.”
Scarlet clears her throat. “You’re a size four, right?”
I look at her. “On a good day, yes, otherwise a six. Why?”
She pulls out a black dress that looks more like a size zero and less like a four. I take it from her, skeptical.
“Wear it. Pair it with some thigh-high boots, and Tillie?” she says as my glance drops down the small black and lace… dress. “Own it like the queen that you are.”
Her words surge through me, power in each letter.
I smile, nodding my head. “I will.” I hope. I quickly stumble out of the dining hall and dip into Luce’s office that we were all in not long ago. I remove my clothes and am butt naked when the door opens.
“Woah!” Brantley spins around, covering his eyes.
“What the fuck, Bran Bran… how many times have you seen me naked?” I laugh, slipping the dress over my head.
His shoulders shake in amusement. “Yeah, but not so much anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I flip my hair out from under the dress, shimmying it down.
“It doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “You decent?”
I roll my eyes, gathering my clothes from the floor. “Yes. I just need to go and grab my boots.”
I dash in and out and I have my thigh-high boots fastened securely around my legs. Scarlet has set me up big time with this dress. It’s short, tight, and where the bust dips in between my breasts, there are layers of lace sewn in. There’s also a little slit on the left thigh that I’m pretty sure you can almost see my G-string through.
I stroll toward Brantley’s car, rumbling angrily in the spot. I open the door and slide in, fluffing my hair up.
“Jesus fucking—” He shakes his head, dropping into first gear and zipping us out of the driveway. “Yeah, Daddy is not going to be happy about that dress.”
I flip the mirror down and smear my dark burgundy lipstick across evenly. “He has never cared before.”
Silence.
“What?” I snap at Brantley when he doesn’t elaborate.
“Nothing, just that I say daddy, and you instantly know I’m talking about Nate…”
Shit. I slap the visor closed and shift in my seat to get comfortable. “Why am I coming? I brought the book.”
Brantley is silent again and I’m getting annoyed with his evasive behavior. I don’t know how Madison handled it for so long. So much as a sniff of a lie and I will pollute the air with toxic poison so when they inhale their own bullshit, they won’t be able to exhale it into me.
“You’ll see.”
We drive for about ten minutes before I open up Instagram. I flip the camera to selfie mode and snap a photo of me leaning into Brantley’s arm. He’s scowling, but whatever, he’s always scowling. Our face paint lights up the photo like we just rolled out of The Walking Dead and I smirk, proud of our first photo together.
“I hate photos.”
I shrug, tagging him in it and sharing it to Instagram—and Facebook. “Tough.”
Another five minutes later and we’re pulling down a familiar long gravel driveway. Apparently, it was also where Madison got shot by Daemon. I didn’t piece two and two together because I wasn’t around during that time. I try not to lick my lips, afraid of smearing the makeup.
We pull up and there’s the building that Madison and I were in watching underground fighting while I met a couple of younger Kings. I slam the door shut after I get out, looking at Brantley skeptically.
“Why are the lights off?”
He smirks at me, lighting his smoke. “Because I told you, you’re at a meet.”
“—and what the fuck are you wearing?” Nate barks, storming toward me, literally appearing from the forest.
“Excu—”
He grips onto my wrist, yanking me around the car.
I yank it out of his grip. “Fuck you and fuck off.”
His hand flies to my throat and his eyes narrow. His white, wolf-like contacts glare at me like I’m staring into the eyes of a corpse.
“Don’t fuck with me, Tillie. Now is not the time for that smart-ass mouth.”
I whack his arm away, but he only intensifies his grip, slamming me against Brantley’s car.
I search his eyes, his nose so close to mine. “When did you change so much?”
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a grin. “I never changed, Tillie. You just never knew me.”
He shoves me back, finally unleashing his grip. His eyes go to Brantley. “It’s started, but Bishop isn’t here.” I see a few other boys exit out of the clearing that Nate did.
“I haven’t heard from Madison either…” I add, my eyes going between Nate and Brantley.
They stay quiet.
“Let’s go,” Nate says, nodding his head toward the forest. I run to catch up to him and fight with walking beside him or Brantley, but before I can make a decision, I find myself beside Nate, with Eli, Cash, and Hunter on the other side of me. The forest is dark, the only lighting from the moon touching the slight curves of the pathway. Orange flames lick the midnight air, and the clearing finally turns into one large circle. It’s the same place we were at with Bailey, only I have obviously come in from a different entrance. There is another group of boys sitting on a log. Younger. I recognize them from that night. There are four, all slouching down and glaring at me. On another log, behind the big bonfire, is a line of three men. One, I recognize as Hector. I freeze, my jaw clenching. The reason I’m here has to be with him—right? My eyes catch movement on another log to the side and opposite the young Kings, and there’s another line. I see Jase, Spyder, and I can’t remember his name, as well as another guy.
These are the closest generations of Kings.
I see behind them there are other logs, but they’re empty. Nate yanks me down onto the one that they all sit at.
Hector looks over at us. “Malum, where is my son?”
I look up at Nate to see his jaw clenched from behind the face paint. “Not sure. Was about to ask you.”
Hector leans into a man who is seated beside him. I don’t recognize anyone, but I don’t really know because of the face paint.
“What’s going on?” I look up at Nate. Nerves break through my body when I realize why he didn’t want me dressed like this. I’m in the middle of a cage with some very hungry lions.
He looks down at me. “It’s a meet. When all of The Kings join for one night a month to touch base.” He exhales. “Look at me, Tillie.”
I do, slowly bringing my eyes to his.
“This is not the place to be a brat. You will start a war if you do, but most of the men here wouldn’t speak to you unless they are spoken to. Most except for Hector.” He pauses, another jaw clench. “Do you remember last year when Madison came to
the races? Her and Bishop had a massive fight and she ended up riding shotgun in his car to make a delivery?”
No, but I don’t say that.
He carries on. “Well, that was on a meet. Every time is different. If there has been betrayal, the person who did the betraying will be there”—he points to a cage, the same cage that Bailey was in—“and we deal with it appropriately. If there’s a test that needs to be done, there will be a race or a fight. The Kings run the distribution of every underground dealing in all forty-eight states across the US, although we reside in NYC and The Hamptons, we own this fucking country. We have ties to all nationalities of the mafia: Italian, Russian, Yakuza. All outfits of the five families, the MS-13, and bikers, but they don’t matter. We have direct lines to The White House, the CIA, and every other fucking organized crime group you can think of, and wanna know something, Princessa?” he whispers. “They’re all our allies. That’s what makes The Elite Kings different. No one touches us because they’re all our allies and we can wipe any organized crime group out with a snap of our fingers. Now, the CIA and government affiliations are a little different. We can’t exactly wipe them out, but we both have an understanding.”
I’m overwhelmed with the information. I’ve always known that The Kings were lethal, but this information wasn’t something I was prepared for.
He continues. “And aside from all of that, we have our own world. We run in our circle, have our own rules.”
“Sounds like too much power.”
He chuckles. “It’s only too much to people who don’t know how to harness it. We’re trained and bred for this. We not only know how to harness it, but we utilize it. Often.”
I change the subject. “So these are all The Kings that are left?”
He nods. “Yeah, the ones older than Hector are either dead or have moved away, so they don’t bother every month though they come when they can.” He shakes his head. “Kings are rare, but they’re needed in this world because without them, there’s no structure.”
“Why am I here?” I ask the question that has been nagging at me.
“Because this time next month.” Nate’s eyes go up to Hector. “It’ll be Hector in that cage, and I want you there for it. I need you to recognize the setting right now. Remember who is sitting where.” I look to my left, goosebumps breaking over my skin. I see the younger generation already watching me.
“When do they initiate?” I ask, nodding my head to them.
Nate chuckles. “After Christmas and New Year’s. Though we have a dilemma because Abel is here, Nix isn’t going to be too happy about being kicked off the throne and tossed down to second.”
My head hurts. There are so many complexities to this world that my brain cannot catch up.
“But why am I here, Nate?”
He takes the book from me and I hesitate to give it to him. He flips through the pages and I notice how the atmosphere has fallen deathly silent.
“Have you finished it?”
I nod. “Yes, though it doesn’t make much sense. I mean, I see that Daemon knew me when I was younger, and I remember him vividly. But—”
“—Why?” Nate asks, slamming the book closed and turning to me. “Do you know why or how he knew you then?”
He’s searching my eyes for something. Anything. Maybe for me to finally catch on to whatever the fuck is going on, but I’ve got nothing because none of this makes sense to me.
I sag. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”
Does he know and he’s waiting for me to know or does he not know and that’s why they need me to figure it out.
“Wait.” My hand comes to his arm and I ignore the zap of electricity that passes between us—like usual. “You don’t know, do you?”
Nate shakes his head. “No. We’re trying to figure out what fucking game he’s playing.”
I snort out a laugh. “Daemon is playing the game and you guys don’t like it. God, I love him.” Jaw and fists clench. “Why don’t you just ask him?”
Nate’s eyes close as he shakes his head. He angrily shoots up from his spot and disappears behind the fire. I look to Brantley. “What’d I say?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Confessing your love for another man and all that.”
I roll my eyes.
Hector stands, a cigar in his hand and a fedora hat secured on the top of his head. He’s everything evil, I’ve always known that, but to—I pause my thoughts.
“Commandment one—” he says, and The Kings all answer in unison. “Drink from the blood of your enemies and spit on the grave of your loved ones.”
What? My eyes go around all of them slowly.
“Commandment two—”
“A brother in a king, open up, and share him in…”
“Commandment three—”
“Silver Swans, clipped wings, drown deep, in their sins…”
Fear grasps my heart with an iron fist, refusing to let go. I can feel myself start to hyperventilate and my eyes involuntarily seek Nate. When they land on him, I see him already watching me.
“Commandment four—”
“Betrayal is a sin, slit the throat and drain him clean…”
“Commandment number five—”
“Kill those that cross you, bury your sins with their corpse…”
Silence.
Holy shit.
My breathing is loud and thick.
“Stuprum?” Hector announces, and my eyes snap to his. I know I need to compose myself or I’ll get eaten alive, but I just witnessed some creepy ritual thing that has obviously been passed down since the beginning of time. “Stand.”
Oh shit. I stand, squaring my shoulders and exuding confidence that I know deep down, I do not have.
“Wear that dress and own your crown.” Scarlet’s words come back to me, echoing inside my head.
Hector points to me. “You’re all probably wondering why Stuprum is here. She is the newest line since Katsia, and is taking her rightful place in Perdita.”
No, the fuck I’m not.
I quirk an eyebrow.
Nate coughs from behind the flame, and my eyes once again fly to him. The orange flecks lick every defined feature on his beautiful face. He shakes his head.
I deflate a little, knowing I can’t correct Hector.
“She needs to see how things work as her mother did not teach her the way we do things. She has a lot to learn.” Hector’s eyes come to mine. The fire blazes through his dark orbits. “And we need her full attention.”
I freeze.
Nate flinches.
Brantley’s head whips up to Hector.
He just confirmed it. He, without knowing it, confirmed to us that he—Tears well in my eyes, my brain fuzzing. Hector yaps on about other shit but I can’t hear anything because all I hear is my blood pulsing through my veins, threatening to spill through my eyes. My ears bleed with a high-pitched screeching sound and everything cloaks in red.
Without even knowing it, I take a step forward.
And another.
And ano—
A thick arm wraps around my waist, crushing me into a hard chest.
“Don’t do it, baby. Stick to plan.” Nate’s voice caresses my rage, soothing it like cool balm to a hot burn. “His time will come. I promise you.”
He starts pulling me backward slowly, and then I’m sitting on his lap. I can’t look at Hector now, and I want nothing more than to leave. I curl into Nate’s chest, burying my face into his neck. I feel his pulse pump against my lips, his cologne wafting into my senses like a subtle reminder that he has me. Even if he hates me, he has me. His thumb circles my upper thigh, but his arms are dead bolted around me. I feel safe and warm. My eyes close as I attempt to bring myself down.
Stick to plan.
He did it.
Stick. To. Plan.
Daemon. Usually, when I think of Daemon, it’s a comfort like nothing I have felt before, but being wrapped in Nate’s arms, it does nothing. When I think of
my go-to safety line, Daemon. It. Does. Nothing. Nothing because Nate was all I need. It’s a dangerous thing to need someone who does not need you. After Hector has gone on, he cuts the meet short as he explains he needs to find his son. Something is going on between Bishop and Madison, or maybe she has told him the truth finally and he’s spiraling out of control. After all, I took that kill from him.
The older Kings disappear. I inch back from Nate’s chest, searching his eyes.
“Thanks. For doing that.”
His fingers wrap around my chin as he forces my mouth to his. “You’re the strongest fucking girl in this world, Tillie. You’re smarter than most of the fuckers sitting here. Use it.”
I think over his words. Then nod. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and slaps my ass to get up, which I do.
“Where the fuck is Bishop?” Brantley growls, and the younger generation and Jase’s come toward us.
Jase’s jaw clenches, but his eyes come to mine as he shakes his head. “He’s probably with Madison.”
“Madison, who I have not seen for almost two days?”
Jase looks around The Kings again and I step into his space. “I’m talking to you, not them. What is going on?”
He shrugs. Fucking shrugs. “Don’t know.” Then he leaves, and I watch as his retreating back disappears into the bushes.
We’re on our way home in Brantley’s car when Nate hits the music down. “Go to Bishop’s.”
“Why?” Brantley turns into the shoulder and hits his blinker on.
Nate runs his finger over his mouth. “Tate just texted me.”
I freeze.
“Chill out, Tillie, it’s not like that,” Nate sneers, and I want to kick myself for giving off obvious vibes of jealousy. “She said he’s throwing a party in his condo. This motherfucker has a death wish because Madison has always said no parties.”
Brantley hooks a U-turn, his tires skidding up in smoke.
