by Amo Jones
“Bro…” someone says.
“Leave her,” Nate mutters.
She goes to hit me again, but I smack her fist out of my way while my other hand flies to her throat. I squeeze so roughly my nails sink into the flesh of her neck. I lock my grip further, until I feel blood slowly trickling down my fingertips. My laughing stops and her hitting stops, and everything fucking stops, because motherfucking terror is here.
“You kill my daughter and have the nerve to fucking hit me?”
Keeping my grip firmly on her throat, I shove her off me and stand to my feet as she remains on her knees, peering up at me like I’m motherfucking Mary and she’s confessing all her sins.
“Nate…” I call for him softly, an unspoken question passing between the two of us.
“You got it, baby.”
I grip harder until I feel the muscles and tissue beneath her skin click and her face turn puffy. Leaning down, my eyes search hers.
“Look at me, Peyton.”
Her eyes fly to mine as I squeeze harder, then I slam her onto her back and climb onto her chest. I press down brutally until I know her airways are blocked off.
“You suffocated my little girl. You knew she was dying under your action.”
Tears start streaming down my face as my heart once again splits open from what Peyton had done. How could you kill a baby?
“You showed no mercy. You were relentless. Now it’s my turn. Open your eyes, so I can watch as the life slips from your worthless body and your soul gets dragged to hell.”
Her face is purple now, the result of her gasping for air with desperation. Memories attempt to flash in my head of us when we were little, but at the end of every memory, all I wish for is that I had killed her back then. Her eyes start rolling back and I lean into her ear, my grip remorseless.
“I’ll be here until my fucking hand cramps, Peyton. Can you feel your organs shutting down? Your heart slowing as it takes its final beats? The blood desperately crashing through your veins, chasing life it doesn’t deserve?”
Her body feels limp and I lean back, her head fallen to the side, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. I thought it would be satisfying, putting an end to her, and it somewhat is. But I still have anger inside of me. She still got out of that too easy.
“I’ll meet you in hell, bitch.” I spit on her face just as arms wrap around my stomach, bringing me to my feet. I don’t have to look back to know that it’s Nate. My body responds to him whether I want it to or not.
“It’s done.” He kisses my nape. “But I need to leave my mark.”
I step backward, gesturing to her dead corpse. “Be my guest.”
Nate steps forward, removing his shirt and giving it to me. A small gesture that means so much. He’s calculating, flicking an army knife between his fingers. He leans over the top of her and cuts her shirt off. I watch as he sinks the knife into her chest, over her sternum, and slices her with seamless precision, all the way down to her belly button. My stomach churns, so I look away for a second. When I hear slushing, gushing and heavy things falling to the concrete floor, I close my eyes. Don’t do it. Don’t look at what he’s doing. The room is silent, with nothing but the sound of, what I’m guessing is organs falling to the ground and the strong scent of metal suffocating me. I hold my breath. But I feel him in front of me. My eyes slowly open and find their way up to him. He’s watching me carefully, searching mine with something else this time. Peace? Tranquility?
“Kiss me,” he whispers.
I can see the blood on his chest, but I don’t care. I lean up on my tiptoes and crash my lips against his. He doesn’t move into me. He simply opens his mouth wide and licks me across my lips as I devour him. Losing myself in all that is him. He consumes me more than anything in this world, the feeling is stronger than love. It’s stronger than hate, or pain. He smothers me and owns every single bit of who I am. Something wet, hard, and heavy drops into my palms and I pull away out of instinct, but his hand grabs mine, forcing it back on. I squirm, my lips moving against his.
“What is it?”
He shuffles back enough to watch me. “Look at it.”
“I don’t really want to. Also don’t really want to hold it. Whatever it is…”
He repeats. “Look at it.”
I suck in a breath and then my eyes drop to my hands. Her bloody heart rests in the palms of my hands, the cardiac valves and tissue still hanging from the organ. My legs start shaking and my stomach churns.
“Nate…”
“She took ours, so we take hers.” He brings the tip of his knife into the center of it and sinks it down, until blood streams between my fingers. “We done?”
I nod, dropping the heart to the ground. “Yes. We’re done.”
Nate looks over my shoulder. He nods at The Kings and then curls his arm around my neck, pulling me into him. “Good. I’m hungry.”
We all start making our way out of the cell and just before we leave out of sight, I turn around slightly and take a mental picture of the sight inside the cell. Peyton torn open from the chest, and her bloody dead heart on the dirt-ridden floor with Nate’s knife lodged into it.
“Peace out, bitch.”
Tillie
After a quick shower in Katsia’s bedroom—which by the way, is insane. The structure and architecture is articulate and the décor is something I have never seen before. Her bedroom is laced in soft lilac and dark greys, with large windows that overlook the front of the mansion. The bathroom is at the end of the bedroom, but open. It’s odd, but freeing. The shower has six—yes, six—large shower heads that drop from the ceiling, which is one large mirror. This entire room was made for sex and screams orgasms louder than any orgasm receiving girl.
I dress in new clothes but wash my shoes carefully because I’m not leaving them here, before heading back down to the main living areas where The Kings wait. Nate hasn’t said a word to me since showing me where Katsia’s room was. I’m not confused anymore, I know he cares for me, maybe even loves me to a certain extent, but I’m not delusional about my future with him. It’s probably not going to happen, but just because you know you might not have a future with someone, it doesn’t numb the feelings you have for them. Unfortunately.
As soon as I enter the sitting room, everyone falls silent.
I roll my eyes, leaning against the door frame. “Don’t worry, I’m not seeing dead people.”
Eli chuckles.
Brantley watches me carefully.
Nate is glaring at me.
“What’d I do now? I always feel like I’m in trouble.”
“Okay, I have to know who voted to have a girl in the group?” Ace murmurs. “I mean she is in our fucking clique.”
I press the palm of my hand to my heart. “Aw, I’m touched. Can I call myself a King?”
Nate rolls his eyes. “I need to talk with you.” He brushes past me, and out of habit, my eyes find Brantley.
Brantley nods, so I turn and follow Nate toward the foyer and out the front door. He heads straight for the gates. I run, catching up to him.
“What’s going on?”
“You asked me if there was another option to who would take over the island if you don’t want to.”
“Yes,” I say, falling into step beside him.
We make our way down the main street, passing all of the stores until Nate turns us toward a small alleyway between a weapon shop and a bakery. I follow behind him.
“Why?”
We come out the end and tree’s line the back of the shops, with lights hanging in the branches. There are small cleared footpaths that lead into the forest, and he carries on forward.
I look down at my heels, and then look back up at him, praying to the fashion gods that they forgive me for the treatment I’ve been laying out to Jimmy Choo. The sun is setting in the sky, the day turning to night. I know that this is when the people of Perdita come out, and a big part of me is eager to see their way of life.
W
hen I catch back up to my grumpy leader, I chew on my bottom lip. “Where are we going?”
“I’m going to introduce you to someone. I want you to have an open mind to her and not react with your fangs.”
“I don’t have fangs…”
As we tread deeper into the forest, I find myself looking around. The trees are all separated perfectly, giving me enough clearance to see through them. There are multiple paths that lead off in different directions, with little wooden signs that point down the dusty lanes. The names are all in Latin, so I don’t understand what they say. Nate takes a turn down Adamantem and I follow closely beside him. I itch to reach for him, but since his attitude has been cold, I retract the urge.
“Wow,” I whisper, my footing slowing as we trudge deeper.
There are small cottage style homes that line each side of the lane. Not many, maybe three or four? Nate nods his head toward a larger style cottage home with white flushed wood and glass windows.
“Come on.”
I follow, because now I’m intrigued. Lights begin to flicker on along the pathway and the trees behind and in-between the homes. The darker it gets, the more lights start to turn on, around the houses, framing the windows and doors. We climb the few steps that lead to the front door and Nate knocks on it twice. And then twice again. As we wait, I admire the small gardens that decorate the front yard, with flowers I’ve never seen before. Mind you, I’m not a flower person so I wouldn’t actually know if we have them. Pinks, and lilacs and soft beige petals flourish through the greenery, like little spurts of life springing from nature.
The door opening brings my attention back to the forefront. A girl around my age is standing still, her eyes on Nate. She has to be around my age, maybe younger, with long brown hair and sparkling blue eyes.
“Salve, Malum.” She bows slightly, her head hanging between her shoulders as her eyes twinkle up at him.
Nate stands strong, nodding. “Salve, Adamantem. Qui scis haec?” The dead language drips off the tip of his tongue like melted chocolate. Addictive, teasing, and everything that you’ve ever wanted. Also an easy way to get diabetes.
The girl’s eyes come to mine. I see fire flash through them before recognition takes hold and has her dropping to her knees.
“Etiam, domine. Stuprum…”
Nate turns to face me. “I asked her if she knew who you were. She didn’t at first, but does now.”
“Right. Can you tell her that she doesn’t have to stay on her knees?”
“Sursum, Adamantem.”
She stands instantly, running the palms of her hands over her flannel pants and coat. Their clothes are much like ours, only dated back in maybe the 90s. She moves to the side and gestures for us to enter.
Nate shakes his head as he continues to speak in Latin to her. I watch as her eyes scan over him with lust. She’s hanging off of every word, her nipples hard for him.
“Have you fucked her?” I ask Nate, interrupting his rambles.
He pauses, his eye twitching as he brings his attention to me. I don’t give him the same courtesy, and I’m loving the fact that she can’t understand English.
I keep my eyes on hers, as she keeps hers on him. On someone who belongs to me. At least he does inside my head. And heart. The more I think about it, the more the rage burns.
“Yes. Frequently. Why?”
I tense, along with my jaw. I’m biting down on it so hard I’m sure my teeth will crack. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting about that?”
I finally bring my eyes to his. “The fact that even in this world, you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
He tilts his head. “You really want to do this right now. Right here?”
“It’s your tune, baby. I’m just dancing to it…” I sass, grinning at him. He infuriates me. Just when I think I’m ready to address and claim my feelings for him, this frustrating man goes and does something dumb like this.
“Don’t fucking throw metaphors at me, Tillie. Speak your fucking mind. I fucked her. Regularly. I fucking enjoyed it, and I’m pretty sure she did too. What do you want from me? You know I have a past.”
Just how far back does she go, though…
I exhale. “Good thing she doesn’t understand or speak English.”
“Actually,” she whispers softly. “I do.”
I still, my eyes flying to Nate. “Who is she?”
His jaw clenches a few times. “She’s an Adamantem, the English translation is Diamond. Basically, they’re the only living family that has a direct blood line to the Stuprum tree. So in short—”
“—she could run Perdita…” I whisper. Nate’s slut antics bumped to the back of my brain.
“Yeah,” Nate murmurs. “But you would have to announce it in front of the people for them to recognize her as their new queen.”
“Nate,” the girl says. The fact that I don’t know her name bothers me.
“What’s your name?”
Her eyes meet mine. “Valentina, your majesty.”
“Please don’t do the ‘our majesty’ thing. It’s creepy and makes me feel old.” I look up at Nate. “What makes you think you can trust her?”
Nate’s anger loosens as his hand comes to her chin, lifting her head up to face him. Nope. Nope. I’m about to crush this bitch.
“Because she’s of pure heart, Tillie. I trust her. That should be enough.”
His hand falls from her face and jealousy roars so loud in my chest that I find my feet moving in front of each other until I’m standing directly between the two of them.
I look down at her with a snarl. “You can have my kingdom, but you cannot have my King.”
Her head bows acquiescently. “I understand.”
Then I turn, walking away from both of them. I’m so angry with Nate, with everything. I want a normal fucking life. I want a house to come home to. I want to do nightly dinners and go clubbing with friends. I’m so sick of this fucked-up world and the fucked-up man I’m so severely in love with. Before I can think too much on the fact that it’s now dark and I’m alone, because of course Nate didn’t chase me because why the fuck would he, I’m back on the main street of Perdita. I push past people who don’t automatically move as everything spins around me. The events of my life that have happened, all that I’ve lived through. I’m having a moment of self-pity when I push through the guards. It’s not until I slam the front door closed and my eyes meet Brantley and Bishop’s when I realize I’ve been crying.
“Take me home.”
The door slams behind me, and I’m angry that I jump. “What the fuck is your problem, Tillie?” Nate barks out from behind. Maybe I’m being irrational, but Nate makes me ugly. He brings out my jealousy and leaves it out raw in the open, like a fatal gaping wound. I hate how much power he has over me, but that’s power he doesn’t need to know he possesses.
I turn to face him. “I want to go home.”
His eyes narrow, and when my eyes drop to his lips, all I picture is Valentina’s mouth on his. Did he kiss her when I left? Oh my god, why do I not like this girl? Is it because she reminds me of me? Because she’s almost at the same level as me in this world? Or is it because I watched as Nate showed her kindness. Kindness he hasn’t used on me in some time. My heart hurts and my stomach throbs from that realization.
“You can’t,” he answers harshly, shouldering past me and disappearing into the kitchen. Bishop follows closely behind him. Brantley rolls his eyes, tilting his head back like he’s exhausted from the same shit.
He wraps his arms around me, burying his face in my hair. “Little terror. You didn’t play nice with Nate’s little plaything?”
I growl.
Brantley chuckles, his chest shaking. “You wouldn’t be my little terror if you did.”
“He has feelings for her?” I ask, but it comes out mumbled because my face is buried so deep in his clothes.
“Yes and no.”
“I’m so sick of competing ag
ainst other girls when it comes to his affection, Bran Bran. Throughout our entire relationship—if that’s what you can even call it—I’ve had to compete for a spot in his heart, only to watch him treat everyone nice, and me? Not so nice.” I pause when I realize I’m about to choke on my sobs. Snot and everything dripping down my nose. I rub it against Brantley because I know he won’t care. His arms squeeze me tighter.
“It’s not that, Tillie. It’s so much more complex than what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not, though. I fell in love with a man who has no heart for me.”
Brantley pushes me back, his hands squeezing my arms. He searches my eyes. “Baby, that man has everything for you.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper, searching his eyes. “Bran Bran.”
I pull away from him and make my way upstairs. I need a bath and two hundred shots of vodka. One for every time Nate has broken my heart.
Nate
Hearing her open up to Brantley like that didn’t bother me as such.
The tears did a little.
But hearing her say that she has had to compete for me, messed with me on a new level. I’ve been fucked a lot, and no pussy has fucked me as hard as Tillie’s words did in that sentence. I feel hollow, and fucking shit.
I slide down the wall in the kitchen, hearing her footsteps drag upstairs. I lose myself in a daze as Brantley’s boots come into view when he enters. He stops, goes straight for the cupboard, and then drops down on the floor directly opposite me.
Flicking off the top of the vodka, he takes a swig.
“I feel like we’ve done this more times than I’ve had my dick wet lately,” he murmurs, handing me the bottle.
I reach for it, desperate for something. Anything to numb the ache that’s roaring in my chest. The ache that I put there myself, as a product of the epic fuck up that is me.
“More than I care to admit,” I answer, hissing when the poison hits my stomach.
“Two questions…” Brantley mutters, his eyes coming to mine. “One, are you going to fix this? And two, or are you going to let her go?”
