by Amo Jones
He snorts. “Fucking chill. You don’t need to call red on her just to get me away, or have you forgotten? Incest isn’t my thing.”
I run my fingers through my damp hair, dropping down onto the bench while wiping the sweat from my chest. I can literally feel my heart rate descend as realization seeps in. “She doesn’t know that.”
Bishop moves to the front of me, picking up a dumbbell. “We can’t tell her yet.”
“Why?” I ask, though I’m sure I already know the answer.
“Because Hector doesn’t want her knowing yet.” He drops the weight onto the floor. “Think it has something to do with the old university reopening, and with Riverside Prep moving back to the old building. Has him on edge, he’s even keeping me out of the loop with some shit.”
“He’s probably keeping you out of the loop because of other shit, not that shit.”
Bishop ignores my Madship blow, resting his head on the wall. “You won’t have to worry about anything happening to her, Brantley. I see it in your eyes anytime she’s around or her name is brought up. She turns you into a monster.”
Wrong. I am a monster and he damn well knows it. She just made it her pet.
“I don’t trust anyone with her, Bishop.”
He raises his eyes to mine. “Right, and you shouldn’t. If it wasn’t me and she wasn’t my half-sister, I would agree. But I mean it when I say that I will protect her as much as you.”
“I trust you,” I say the words I know he’s been wanting to hear me say for months. “That has never been my issue with you. You know I’d take a bullet. I just took shit out on you and our friendship that I shouldn’t have.” For the first time, I feel a peace settle between Bishop and me. Something I haven’t felt between us in a long time.
“You gonna make me breakfast since you’re pouring your heart out to me?” He smirks, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him crack even close to a smile since she left.
I throw my water bottle at his head and stand from the bench. “Fucker.”
Once we hit the main foyer and make our way into the kitchen, Saint is already in there, flipping pancakes. She’s wearing pajama shorts and an oversized tee, with her hair in a high bun and a white bandana tied to the front.
Bishop and I both tilt our heads when my eyes land on the Gandalf slippers she’s wearing.
“I don’t even have words…” Bishop interrupts and she jerks in shock, spinning around to face us.
Her skin is pale, the same color as mine, her cheeks pinched pink. Her lashes are as dark as my hair. “You scared me!”
I roll my eyes, making my way toward her while Bishop answers his ringing cell, leaving us alone.
“Do you like pancakes? I mean, I know when we were kids you liked waffles, but I can’t be bothered whisking egg whites and—”
“—they’re fine.”
She breaks off a piece of one that looks to have chocolate chips in it and brings it up to my lips. The height difference between us is comical, so she has to stretch her arm out and inch up on her tippy toes just to be able to reach my mouth. “Try them. They’re Dutch.”
Some of the shit Saint does can come off as flirty, or teasing. People can easily get the wrong idea, but that’s just her personality. Anyone who takes her the wrong way will need their brain matter scraped off the tip of my steel-toe boots.
I sink my teeth into the fluffy cooked batter, fighting a groan when the butter coats my taste buds. I chew and swallow, and just as she’s about to turn around and flip more, my hand is on her belly while my other is on the counter, caging her in. If I pull her up against my chest, it would be clear what the fuck is going on in my mind right now. Fucking crystal clear.
She doesn’t flinch, busying herself with baking. Always so unaffected. I graze my lips over the back of her ear. “When were you going to tell me that you had a boy in your bed last night, Dea,” I whisper out her middle name, burying my nose in her hair to chase the scent that’s running off of her.
What the fuck is that shit? Baby powder? Bubble gum? Fucking what? I need it.
She chuckles, dropping the newly cooked pancakes onto the plate. “You’d be amazed what you don’t see if you’re never here…”
The statement throws me off.
First of all, what the fuck does she mean?
I open my mouth as the grip I have on her slim waist tenses, but as soon as I’m about to snap at her, Bishop is back in the room.
“That was Dad. He wants us at my apartment at three p.m.”
I detach from Saint, my eyes fucking narrowed on the back of her head. “This isn’t over.” Grabbing a knife and fork from the drawer, I turn back to Bishop. “Any clue what that might be about?”
The front door opens and closes. “Morning, bitches!”
“Fuck. I liked my life better when this wasn’t the halfway house.”
Bishop slides up beside Saint while biting into a pancake. “Bound to happen. It’s only fair that you take a turn, and see it this way,” he says, his eyes glistening with ideas. “We can keep an eye on this one while we’re all here. It’s easier.”
He’s moving into the brother role rather fucking smoothly for a spoiled, only-child brat. With the exception of Abel.
“I know you’re all leaving this afternoon to Hector’s, so I’ve come to steal her for the day.” Tillie bats her long lashes up at me while placing her Balenciaga handbag on the table.
“Gonna have to swap those fancy bags for a diaper bag soon…” I tease, my mouth twitching. Couldn’t help myself.
She flips me off. “Actually, pretty sure Prada has a mothers’ line…”
“They don’t, but Louis does.” Saint shrugs, piling pancakes onto her plate before reaching for the chocolate syrup. That’s my bad. I basically hand-fed her the shopping addiction she so candidly utilizes.
“Where’s Nate?”
“He’s coming,” Eli says, entering the kitchen with Cash and Hunter right behind him. “Mmmm, pancakes.”
“I need everyone out of my fucking house.”
Saint
I never understood why Brantley was the way he was. Why he was filled with such anger and hatred. Not that I saw it often, because I didn’t. Once or twice. There were times where he would snap at me growing up, but it wasn’t in a way that made me fear for my life. I trust him to an extent, so that begs the question that I’ve been asking myself since hand-feeding him a pancake in the kitchen this morning—right before his fingers were against my skin and his whispers on the nape of my neck.
Why have I not told him about the texts I’ve received?
“So, I thought we could do some shopping, maybe? Go buy some food? Oh! I know!” Tillie grins, rubbing the palms of her hands together while swinging on the barstool. “Let’s get you drunk!”
“Ahhh.” My brows knit. “I don’t know. I’ve never had alcohol before—”
“Girl, you have a death wish,” Veronica interrupts, carrying countless bags of new groceries.
“V!” I jump up from my chair and wrap my arms around her neck.
“How you doing, Snow. He back now and allowing other visitors?” Veronica, or as I like to call her, V, has been the housekeeper since, well, since Lucan died and Brantley started disappearing. She and I bonded over a debate about the Salem witch trials. I argued that witches aren’t real and they burned people out of fear.
V doesn’t agree. She’s originally from Danvers, which was formerly known as Salem Village. V is firm on her beliefs when it comes to the history of Salem Village.
She was probably right, I just enjoyed finally talking with someone.
“He—yeah. He’s around a lot more often now. Tillie, this is V. V, this is Tillie. She’s Brantley’s friend’s girlfriend.”
V hooks her finger into the wire of her glasses and slides them down the bridge of her nose. “Hmmm.”
Tillie remains passive. She nods politely at V, but it’s far from the friendly girl I’m beginning to know.
&
nbsp; “Ahhh, she’ll warm up.” I tap Tillie’s arm before looking back to V, who is now emptying all of the food into the Tupperware containers. Brantley likes things to be in order—everywhere—so it’s part of her duties to make sure everything is labeled and in the right place.
He’s, what’s the word? Controlling.
“So, drinking?” Tillie waggles her brows. “Come on!”
I nudge my shoulders noncommittally. “Only if you agree no parties or bars.”
She crosses her heart.
“Oh, and we stay home and watch movies.”
Tillie rolls her eyes and hooks her arm in mine. “Yeah, yeah, all right.”
We drive to the closest 7-Eleven in Tillie’s Ferrari. I did offer to take my Tesla, but she said she was already in enough trouble with Brantley.
Once we’re parked out front, she removes her belt and rests her hand over her belly. I always forget she’s pregnant, because she’s so small. “In and out. No messing around.”
“Agreed.” We both slide out and make our way through the electronic sliding doors. Heading straight for the junk food section—because V would never buy this food—we start piling snacks into the baskets.
“You know, my best friend’s chocolates are Sulpice Debauve’s pralines. We used to hang out in her room, get drunk, eat chocolate, and at that time, I used to have to put up with one of our other friends fucking Nate.”
I pause, my finger hovering over the Reese’s cups. I grab seven. “Wait, you mean he had sex with your friend?” Once I remember the discussion with Brantley last night, I toss the candy bars into the basket. “Never mind. Brantley sort of filled me in last night with calling red on girls.”
Tillie ignores my comment, falling quiet. “Mmmm. It’s a little weird to most people, but the dynamic of The Kings has always been like this. With every woman that a King falls in love with, another King also has, well, a kind of bond with her. Usually not platonic and always sexual.”
I toss in a bag of hot Cheetos. “And no one gets jealous that someone else is touching that person?”
Tillie shrugs as we make our way to the counter. “I mean, yes and no. For me, it was Nate and Brantley. For Madison, it was Bishop and Nate. For you… I’m not sure.”
That catches my attention. “What do you mean, for me? I’m not with any of them.”
Tillie’s eyes come to mine as she blindly piles our poor eating choices onto the conveyer belt. “Oh, but you are…”
We make it back home safely, and I quickly run up the stairs and into my room while V vacuums the living area. Once Tillie kicks the door closed, she comes up behind where I am, gazing out the curtains to the three men who are stationed outside the house. They’re all dressed in suits, wearing black glasses and gun holsters outside their clothing. One is even carrying an AK.
“He’s never been this over-the-top with security,” I say, closing the curtain.
Tillie kicks off her sneakers and climbs into my bed, pushing Kore over. “I know I’ve met these dogs before, but will they bite me?”
I shake my head, removing my shoes and finding my Givenchy hoodie, zipping it up. “Nah, not unless I feel threatened.”
I push a button on my bedside drawer and the TV slowly rises from the floor in front of my bed until all eighty-four inches of it is occupying the entire space at the foot.
“Holy fuck!” Tillie gasps midway, opening the Cheetos. “I need one of these.”
I flop onto the bed with my phone in hand. “All I did to pass time was garden, read, self-study, watch TV shows and movies, and shop online.”
Tillie pops a bottle of champagne and pours some into a flute, handing it to me. “I’m a little pissy that I can’t share this with you, but at least I can take care of you if it goes straight to your head. Which it will.”
I take the first sip and wince as the bubbles evaporate over my lips. “It tastes better than it smells.”
Tillie winks at me. “Exactly.”
We snuggle into the covers as I sip on my champagne and nibble on the Cheetos when her phone starts ringing.
She pulls it out of her handbag and I watch as her face pales. “Sorry, I have to answer this.”
“It’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. “You want me to leave the room?”
“No.” Tillie’s eyes come to mine. “We don’t roll with secrets like the boys do.”
My chewing slows as she unlocks her phone. What did she mean by that?
“Everything okay?” Instantly her tone is different. She’s guarded, uneasy, and instead of her slouching, her shoulders are square, as if she’s ready for battle.
“Yeah, sorry I had to FaceTime you. I hope you’re alone?”
I don’t recognize the voice on the other end, but I figure it must be one of Tillie’s friends.
Tillie’s eyes fly to me before going back to the phone. She flips the screen around and the girl on the other end squints her eyes.
“Who’s that?” She has long brown hair, a sharp heart-shaped face, and a skinny frame. From what I can see. She is beautiful. I mean, she doesn’t even need to try to be either.
Tillie turns the screen back around. “This is Saint.” She looks to me and smiles gently. “Saint, this is Madison.”
Oh!
“What have I missed? I know you wouldn’t put me on blast if you didn’t trust her, but should I be worried that you’re becoming weak?”
Tillie flips her off. “Fuck you. You wouldn’t have to be worried if you were home.” The silence is piercing. I get the impression they care for one another, but there is also tension between the two of them. “Anyway, so…” Tillie nibbles on her bottom lip. I don’t know if her obvious nervousness is from Madison being on the phone or from me. Either way, it steals my appetite.
Tillie props the phone up onto a pillow on the bed opposite me so we’re placed in a circle. Madison eyes me closely. “What am I missing here?”
“Okay.” Tillie turns to me, her hands on my knees. “Take another drink.”
“Oh no, she’s getting you drunk. This is bad,” Madison jokes.
“Well, I have never been drunk before so this could end badly.”
“Wait, what? Tillie, what the fuck is going on?”
Tillie ignores us both, and just as I sip my second gulp, her mouth opens. “I promised myself that there will be no secrets among the girls.”
“The girls? Who is she?” Madison is half-yelling now.
Tillie silences her with a flick of her wrist. She’s obviously well acquainted with Madison as a friend. “Saint, I’m going to tell you something that I’m almost certain Brantley hasn’t told you yet—” I don’t miss the loud gasp from the phone. “—For God knows why, because why do the boys ever hide secrets from us?” Tillie rolls her eyes. “All it does is hurt people, and I’m not letting it happen again, so a pact…” She points around to all three of us.
“I don’t know if you notice this, but I can’t draw blood through the phone…” Madison mumbles. I think she’s joking.
Tillie ignores her and keeps her eyes on me. “We don’t need a fucking blood oath. This isn’t The Craft.”
I gulp, swallowing another mouthful of the sour champagne. “I wouldn’t be mad if it was as long as I can be Bonnie.”
I wasn’t sure what was happening. I’m not surprised by the secret comment. Brantley has always lived a separate life from me and this house, but if this is half as important as I’m getting the feeling it is, then I might need more champagne. They drink a lot of it in the movies I watch. It obviously helps.
I drink more.
“Saint.” Tillie squeezes my leg. “You’re my half-sister.”
Champagne sprays from between my lips.
I cover my mouth with my hand. “What?” both Madison and I scream. Ice spills through my blood as chills break out on my flesh. What? I don’t know what it is that fills my body, but the feeling is foreign, not something I have felt before.
“And Bishop’s half-sister.�
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My brows knit together, and my mouth involuntarily closes. I can’t. I have no words that are willing to come out.
“I—um.”
“Wait! What do you mean? How?” Madison is yapping in the background.
Tillie tosses a pillow in front of the phone, muting her whining before turning to face me. She obviously notices the panic that’s displayed all over my face. “Listen, I don’t know when they were planning to tell you about this, but I didn’t want you to be kept in the dark any longer, and I hate secrets.”
My mind is spinning so fast that stars prick behind the backs of my eyes. “I don’t understand how that could happen. Before I was a Vitiosis, I lived in Switzerland.”
“Well,” Tillie says, pulling the pillow back from the phone, bringing Madison back into the conversation. “Anything you have been told about your life pre-Vitiosis, I would take with a grain of salt.”
My brows knit, pulled in by my obvious confusion. “That makes no sense.”
“Listen, I don’t know why, and I don’t want to speculate either. In short, my mother and Bishop’s father, Hector, had an affair and you were the product of that.”
I curl my legs under my butt, leaning forward to place my drink onto one of my bedside tables. My mind is chasing clarity, and mixing that with alcohol isn’t ideal. “I need to talk to Brantley.”
“Nah uh.” Tillie shakes her head. “Not a good idea.”
I’ve come to like Tillie. She’s clearly loyal when it comes to her friends, or why would she be talking to Madison behind Bishop’s back. The only thing I am worried about is why she wants us to keep this from the guys.
Madison exhales. “Okay, Tillie is right. We need to figure out why they haven’t told you yet. Speaking from experience, they do everything for a reason. You don’t know yet because they don’t want you to know yet. This is the first time we’ve ever been a step ahead of them.”
“You need to come home, Mads,” Tillie whispers, and the sadness that drips off each syllable is enough to make my heart hurt. “You just need to come home.”
