Sancte Diaboli: Part One (The Elite Kings Club Book 6)

by Amo Jones

  The Devil comes with baggage, and not the kind you can lose. I was two years old when he saved me. I didn’t understand much at that age, but I remember the pale boy with hair as dark as ink saving me from two evils. He said he would protect me; I just didn’t know he meant from himself. I was raised in the arms of evil, tailored for the Devil like a custom Armani suit, and every day he wore it like a weapon. Brantley thought by keeping me locked in his manor, that it would protect me, and it did.

  Until it didn’t.

  As I slowly adapt to The Elite Kings Club and the dark, sinister world that exists around the outlaws in suits, I come to learn that the monster everyone fears is the very same one I crave for comfort…

  Like a prized trophy, I sit on his throne…

  Something quite pretty, an object he owns…

  She’s a porcelain doll, so shiny, so clean…

  Something I want to polish, but to never be seen…

  The time has come, I am in his world…

  Now his Dea, can be admired by all…

  The thing with porcelain, is it’s fragile and delicate…

  It would only take a second, for me to eradicate it…

  Sancte Diaboli

  Copyright © 2021 by Amo Jones

  Cover: Jay Aheer

  Copy Editing: Paige Smith

  Content Editing: My Brothers Editor

  Content Editing: Petra Gleason

  Proof-reader: Rosa Sharon

  Line Editing: Becky Fairest Reviews

  Beta Reader: Sarah Sentz, Amy Halter

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblance to actual person’s, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Other Books

  To us.

  Because we’re all fucking survivors.

  Saint

  Everyone has a story, and when you die, your memories cling to the minds of the people you leave behind, scripted in permanent ink. They can go back and visit their favorite chapters when they need comfort, or simply skip over the scenes they want to forget, but what they can’t do, is be removed. Even if you tear a page from a well-written book, there will always be telltale signs something was there. There you lie, embedded in their minds forever, so essentially you’ll live forever, right? I didn’t think much about this until I met him. The day that I would die, I mean. Would I leave behind a novella, or would it be a nine-book series that would need your undivided attention? You see, I’ve gazed into the eyes of death twice in my life, and both times began at the entrance of his soul. His stare was always heavy and roguish, but he lit a match inside my body that would burn a lifetime after I’m gone. I wasn’t sure what I felt the first time his cold, corpse-like skin sailed over mine, but I remember it was the exact day that I knew I would never be the same. I was touched by the Devil; Heaven would never want me now. Not that Heaven was where I belonged either, though I’m sure he thought so. Tortured souls still weep; they tear themselves apart in dark corners where no one can see. Brantley is just that—tortured—though he doesn’t conceal it. He wears his darkness like a souvenir, proud and indifferent. I knew Brantley from the inside out, and I say that literally. I was familiar with the notes that his blood left in my mouth well after I had swallowed it.

  And I think that will haunt me more than anything. It will haunt me so much more than this day.

  The day my book hit the final page.

  Brantley

  Past

  I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off her. If Dad looked up to my window right now and caught me watching him and Uncle Hector having a discussion that, clearly, looked heated, I may as well have had given him the key to my cell block and called it a fucking day. It wasn’t that I hated my father, it was that I hated my father. Yeah, there was a difference. I wish my problems with Lucan Vitiosis were as simple as most kids when they say they hate their parents. They weren’t. Anyway, back to the little girl. She looked strange. Like she didn’t belong to this world, more extra-terrestrial. Her hair was long for her age, around her shoulders, and it had to be the whitest shade of white I had ever seen. Almost translucent.

  I stepped back from the windowpane, and before I could think or even stop myself, I started making my way down the hallway and stairs. They creaked beneath my weight, all of the painted portraits of the Vitiosis family line were staring down at me, probably telling me to stay out of it. “Sorry, Aunt, whatever the fuck your name is. But did you see her?” I’m still making my way down the stairs while hitching my thumb over my shoulder. “She’s like a doll.” Never been a fan of playing with dolls, until I saw her. Now I want to take her pieces apart just to see how she works.

  I paused. My hand gripped the handle of the door. The gold lion emblem marking the palm of my hand. Fuck it. Turning, I rested my head on the back of the door, squeezing my eyes closed. I didn’t need to get involved. But then she screamed, and every note that left her mouth hid in all of the dark corners of my soul. Instead of running from me, she came to me. Anger sprang through me instantly and I spun around, whipped the door open, and froze at the threshold with my shoulders locked and my teeth bared. My eyes found her body instantly, and I didn’t even realize I was checking her for injuries until my eyes found Lucan’s grip around her little arms.

  I glared at my father. “Let her go.” She wore a purple turtleneck and white pants. They weren’t soiled or filthy looking, and her skin was bright and fresh looking. She had obviously been cared for wherever she had come from. A gold emblem on her top flashed when the sun hit it, but I didn’t pay that close attention to it.

  Lucan turned his head over his shoulder until he met my gaze. “What?”

  Hector grabbed the little girl. “I will handle it another way. Brantley,” Hector demanded my attention, but all I could fixate on was the grip he had on the little girl. I never gave a fuck about much in life. Not because I didn’t want to, because I did. I wanted to. But I couldn’t. Everything was white noise to me. I wish I cared about the mundane shit that my brothers cared about. Girls, sex, drugs, fast cars, and all that shit. I had a fragile attention span when it came to everything in life. Y
ou got about three seconds to blow my mind or I’m out.

  It had been around five minutes.

  “What you’ve witnessed cannot leave this circle, son.” Hector was still talking, but I didn’t pay him any attention, which in itself is mad disrespectful to our King Pin. Hector was the Godfather of not only the streets, but the fucking suits, too.

  “Who’s the girl?” I asked, this time forcing myself to disconnect from her until my eyes landed on Hector.

  He looked up at Lucan, who then brought his attention to me. “Go inside, son. This isn’t your business.”

  I took the six steps it was toward them, kneeling down in front of the girl. She blinked away her tears and finally looked at me for the first time.

  Silence. Dead. Silence.

  The wind picked up and I could faintly hear something in the background. Talking, I was sure, but I didn’t care. Everything and anything fell away from around me, and all that existed in this moment was her and me. What the fuck? She had my attention completely. Eyes so light, if not for the flecks of green in them. Her lashes were so dark they could match all of the secrets I kept hidden in my closet.

  She sniffed.

  My eyes narrowed.

  “What’s your name?” I asked her.

  “Brantley,” Lucan snapped from above. I didn’t care. I would take the wrath that I knew he would lay out for me tonight, do whatever the fuck it was that he would want me to do, but there was no way in hell this girl was leaving my side.

  Ever.

  If someone tried to take her from me, they would only be able to do it by walking over my cold, dead corpse.

  Her little head tilted, causing her hair to lengthen down one side of her body. She searched my face like she was intrigued. From my eyes, to my nose, to my mouth, to my collarbone. She reached out and pressed her palm over my chest, right over my heart, and I felt the electricity zap me from the outside in. It was as though she literally reached inside my chest and planted herself deep in my bones.

  “Fuck.” Yeah, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She chewed on her little lip, tucking her hair behind her ear, and reached for my hand confidently. The very same hand she squeezed for protection was the same one that men would soon fear.

  I stood to my full height, which was above average for a kid my age, but nowhere near as big and scary as my dad and uncle. I tilted my head to look up at them both. “She is mine. You two can sort it out, and Uncle? The secret will be more than safe.”

  I started walking the girl toward the house. Me, clothed in black. Her, dressed in color. I knew at the back of my mind that I was leading her into the darkness, but at least she wouldn’t be there alone. She’d be there with me.

  “Nephew…” Hector called out, and I paused just shy of the door. “No one can know about her. Ever.”

  I nodded. “Understood.”

  I didn’t ask why they were here. I didn’t ask any of the questions that, right here and now, I should have asked.

  Present

  Saint

  The day I came into the Vitiosis family burned my brain like a hot iron. His touch. The iciness of his grip around my hand. He led and I followed. He spoke and I listened. I think over the years, I confidently became the girl I am today because I had him beside me. Not always physically, but spiritually. There was an invisible bond that knitted our souls together from the moment he took my hand. I think he hated it.

  I hear voices downstairs. None of them familiar. Brantley doesn’t have visitors often. At least he hasn’t for a while. The manor is always noisy, but it’s not from the people who live here, more from the ghosts of those who have left.

  I flex my fingers around Medusa as she wraps her sleek black tail around my arm. Medusa was the first pet Brantley bought me when I was ten years old. I came upstairs to my room after my English session with my tutor and she was already set up in her enclosure. Brantley was leaning over the glass, stroking her back. “What do you want to name her?” he had asked, never looking up at me. I took the steps toward him, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the glass.

  “You can name her,” I said, chewing on my lip nervously. Not that he made me nervous, because he didn’t.

  His eyes came to mine at the exact moment thunder cracked outside my window. “I named you, Saint. You can name the snake.” Rain slapped the glass of my patio doors, but I was too focused on naming my new pet to appreciate the rain like I usually do. I liked anything dramatic and sullen.

  “Hmmm.” I studied the curves of Brantley’s features. He had grown a lot over the past couple of years, aging into his new body gracefully. He was fourteen but looked more like sixteen. Lucan always had him busy doing family business things. I never knew what that was because I was never allowed out of this house unless accompanied by Brantley and only Brantley. Never a guard, just Brantley. He hid me, too. Never let me come out of my bedroom when his friends would come over. I didn’t mind.

  “Medusa,” I said, smiling.

  “You studying Greek mythology or some shit?” he asked, his thick brows curving inward.

  I nodded, peeking into the glass. “Yeah, that’s why.”

  I didn’t want to tell him that it was because he also reminded me of one of the Greek statues. Cold, pale, and lifeless.

  I bring Medusa up to my face, searching her tiny beady eyes. She’s a little weird and always wants to eat. If I go too long without feeding her, she will try to eat me, and if that doesn’t work, she’ll try to eat herself.

  So dramatic.

  She’s my best friend. Well, she and Kore.

  “Should I go down this time?” I whisper. I was highly disappointed when I found out Parcel Tongue was, in fact, not a legitimate language. I watch Medusa closely, as if waiting for her to answer while remaining far enough away from my face so she doesn’t snap at my cheek.

  Standing from my bed, I move across the room and put her back inside her enclosure. “You just ate. Stop being greedy.” Her silky body slides over my arm as she slithers her way onto one of the small branches. I designed the inside of it just like this home. There’s a small mansion that’s made of steel which sits in the middle. The design is actually the house from The Addams Family. I just thought it looked similar to the manor and bought it off Etsy.

  I turn and lean against the enclosure, finding Kore curled up on my bed, sound asleep with Hades beside her. Hades is Brantley’s dog and Kore is mine. Both Dobermans usually sleep outside my door, but when people are over, they’re in my bedroom. My white bedding will have black fur sprinkled over it in no time. Should I go down? I make my way to the mirror that’s built into the door of my closet. I could go. Brantley would probably get upset, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. A big part of me used to wonder why he never let me meet his friends, but then I remember this was Brantley. He still to this day controlled my every movement.

  And I owe him.

  I owe him so much.

  I take in my appearance.

  Yellow sundress with thin spaghetti straps. Not too loose, but fitted enough to show the curve of my hips. My hair falls over my shoulders in sleek waves, like an avalanche spilling over mountains, while my face appears far too pale for the heat that’s rushing around inside of me. I reach forward and touch the mirror. “Screw it.”

  Picking up my white Converse shoes, I slip them on and make my way to my bedroom door. My fingers flex over the knob as Kore and Hades stir on the bed.

  They know I shouldn’t be doing this as much as I know I shouldn’t be doing this.

  I pull the door open and step outside, walking toward the first staircase which then leads to the main one. I pace myself as I make my way down, my eyes fixed on the floor and my fingers grazing over the aged wooden rails.

  Silence cuts through the chatter and I know I’ve been spotted.

  I bring my eyes up to face everyone. “Hi. I’m Saint.”

  They look around at each other; some confused, others not so much. There has to be aroun
d ten people in here, along with a couple of adults.

  “Ahh, I think this is our cue to leave,” an older man says. His hair is slicked back, with a spray of salt and pepper strands that cling to shaved sides. Tattoos crawl all over his hands and neck—so many tattoos. He takes the hand of the woman next to him and slowly escorts her out of the room. Just before they round the corner, they both cast a tight smile toward me. Pinched lips and droopy eyes. Strange. Yet both oddly attractive.

  “What the fuck are you doing down here?” Brantley growls, taking the first few steps toward me all while snapping the awkward silence that clings in the air with an iron fist.

  “Bran Bran!” A girl, the same one I saw in the gym not too long ago, interrupts him, her long pink hair tucked behind her ears. “It’s time.”

  She knew about me? My cheeks heat. In fact, none of them seem really surprised to see me.

  “She’s right,” another voice says, this time a male. I find him perched in one of the chairs, a foot pressed against the coffee table. He, like the older man, has some spraying of tattoos over his arm and neck, though not a lot. Not as much as the other guys who are in here with them. One even has them on his face. “You can’t hide her in this house anymore. She’s part of this and you know it.”

  “Part of what?” I muse. My English is fluent, but the end of some syllables still has my tongue slipping and struggling around. I was told I had a speech impediment from a young age, though that has long since left the building. Now Brantley probably wishes he could get me to shut up.

  Brantley moves away from me and heads toward the alcohol cabinet. His long fingers wrap around an aged bottle of whiskey as he slams it closed again and spins back around to face me. I can feel the heat radiating off of him in waves, with a tide that’s directed at yours truly. I find his gaze instantly, offering a small smile. I’ll be fine, it says. I’m going to kill you, his replies. We both know it’s not true. He tolerates me like one would a pet. He keeps me close because he thinks he has a responsibility to take care of me, but I’ve grown to know the truth. I’ve always been a pest to him, nothing more and nothing less. Me coming down here was hopefully the first step to me gaining some sort of separation from him, to remind him that he isn’t stuck with me. Or at the very least, he doesn’t have to be. I owe him my life, but he doesn’t need to be in it forever.