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

by Amo Jones

  My phone slips from my hand, and I quickly catch it.

  He texts again.

  Brantley: Don’t fucking text me again until you’re on US soil.

  I turn off my screen and flush, my thighs clenching together. Shit.

  “Sorry about that,” Madison says, swiping the tears away. Her cheeks are swollen red, her eyes puffy. She makes her way to the coffee pot, pouring the black liquid into a mug. “They say this stuff is bad for the baby—” She pauses, laughs, and shakes her head. “Babies, but I say whatever right now.”

  She heads for the fridge and pulls open a drawer. “Do you want wine?”

  I shake my head. “I’m good. Not much of a drinker. Unless I’m—”

  “—partying. I get it. I’m just old and I really miss wine.” She slams the door closed and drops onto the chair, sipping on her coffee. “I don’t—I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  I shuffle in my seat, picking at the grapes on my plate. “Well, whatever you decide, I will support you, but please, just—”

  “Tell Bishop?” She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t know what Bishop you have met, but it’s not the one that most people know.”

  I curl my lips between my teeth.

  Madison’s eyes zone in on me. “You got some sort of witchcraft happening?”

  “I wish, then I could maybe make Brantley not be mad at me anymore, though it’s like a daily thing these days.”

  Madison snorts, rubbing her belly. “Oh, he’s just lucky that you didn’t come into this world a year or so ago. We would have fucked you right up and made him wish he never let you around us.” I watch as she ties her long brown hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. “They said they’ll have the results back to us in the morning.” Her eyes come to mine. “Tillie told me about you and how you came about, but did that psycho really leave you locked in that creepy house all of your life?”

  “He did,” I say, smiling. “It wasn’t all that bad. Especially after Lucan died. It became silent. Lucan always took up a lot of energy with his presence.”

  Madison doesn’t answer, and when my eyes come back to hers, I notice her whole face shift. Her eyes fall, though her shoulders sit up straighter, and the grip she has around her coffee mug seems tighter, based on the way her fingers are turning red. “Do you know how he died?”

  I shake my head. “No. Brantley never got into the details. Before I knew about The Elite Kings, I assumed an accident of some sort, but now I’m thinking no.”

  “You could say that,” Madison whispers, bringing her knees up to her chest. “He, ah…”

  I tilt my head.

  “Let’s just say I knew him and Brantley before I met Bishop.” My brows curve in. She caught my confusion. Her mouth opens. “Did—wait. Did Lucan ever do anything to you?” Her eyes widen in shock, her mouth agape.

  I begin a French braid to the side of my head. “No. There was one time something was going to happen, I think, but Brantley, he—”

  Madison sighs, running the cushion of her finger over the rim of her mug. “You don’t have to say any more. You are very lucky.”

  “Lucky?” I repeat, struggling to taste the sense of the word.

  “Yes, lucky. Brantley is vicious and evil, but not with you. Have you heard of that quote, ‘I don’t care if I will fall in love with a devil, as long as that devil will love me the way he loves Hell’? Or ‘He set fire to the world, but never let a flame touch her’? That’s Brantley with you.”

  “It’s all I’ve known from him, but he’s not easy to deal with. In fact, I’ve come to learn after being around so many of you that he is the most difficult.”

  “Ah, but that’s what makes his love so rare.” Her eyes collide with mine. “Because his love is the hardest to find. Beneath that hard exterior and void behavior. It’s like finding a gold mine after living in poverty all of your life.”

  “Exactly.” I laugh, my shoulders shaking. “Because he starves people of love and affection until they’re wilted and dead.”

  “—Or,” Madison says, raising a finger. “He starves them to see who is the last one standing. Loving Brantley will be no easy feat for any girl. It will take a tough-ass female to handle all of the love that boy has to offer. He will be demanding, moody, distant at times, and wildly untamed with his love, but he’s smart. He does it to protect himself.”

  I sigh, ignoring the list she just blurted off. She couldn’t have described Brantley more perfectly. “You’re right. He doesn’t love me, though. It’s not in that kind of way, if it is. It’s more of a little sister way, I think.”

  Madison raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me over her mug. “Does someone who thinks of another as a sibling deflower them?”

  “Madison!”

  She laughs, resting her mug back on the table. “I’m not sorry.”

  My cheeks flush, but I giggle. “Also true. You’re good at this.”

  “At fixing other people’s problems while my world falls apart? I know.”

  My heart squeezes in my chest. I hate it. “I’m an honest person. Brutally so. In fact, I think it makes Brantley want to strangle me most of the time, and I’ve had this discussion with Bishop on more than one occasion.” I run my tongue over my lips and hold my breath. “Why did you run?”

  Madison pauses. She whines, running her hands over her face. “I was scared. I’m a runner. I think it has to do with my dad and how I was raised, and the fact Bishop is so erratic. When I found out, I ran. I was scared this baby wasn’t Bishop’s, and scared it was Bishop’s. I didn’t know what to do. So much just went down with some really bad people that I just—I needed…”

  “Silence,” I answer for her.

  Her eyes meet mine. “Exactly.” She sighs. “I know it’s bad. Bishop taking the gavel, he needs me to be strong. Be Scarlet so he can be Hector.” I flinch at my father’s name. “But I couldn’t offer that to him right now. I needed the clarity.”

  “And when you go back?” I ask, digging for answers. “Will you do this to him again?”

  A small smile tips the edge of her lips. “Ah, you fit that sister role perfectly.”

  “Sorry.” I wince. “It’s just really hard to see you both go through this. He’s so lost.”

  “I will never do this again if he takes me back.”

  I want to believe her, but I can’t. Not right now, at least.

  I wake, my body drenched in sweat with sheets sticking to my limbs. Four a.m. I groan, kicking the sheets off and opening the curtain. The city down below hasn’t slept. There’s a tall skyscraper building a few blocks away from us, with lights around the spaceship style ring near the tip. It’s pretty. So I leave the curtain open and head back to the bed, taking a seat on top of the soft mattress. I can’t remember why I woke, or why I’m this sweaty, since the temperature in the room is cool. A cold shiver slips down the curve of my spine, and I spin around, expecting to see someone behind me, but I’m met with darkness. I massage my temples and let out a light sigh, before turning on my bedside light.

  It doesn’t work.

  I lean back in my bed and bring my phone with me, opening up Instagram. I scroll past Tillie and Nate’s latest photo. Nate’s tattooed hands covering Tillie’s little bump. It’s in black and white with one of Nate’s hands flipping the camera off. The caption reads: You called him daddy, so I made him one. A chuckle gets caught in my throat, and I shake my head. Give it to Tillie to be so passive-aggressive. I don’t know how they got together or the troubles they went through to get there, but I couldn’t imagine it. It had to be chaos. They’re both so intense. I scroll down and fall on Bishop’s photo of Eli. He’s sitting on a sofa, looking at the camera with a dead expression. Free to good home.

  Eli commented below it. @elirebel: Only so I can make it bad.

  I blow out a breath of air. I haven’t posted on Instagram since our selfie, which I ended up deleting right after anyway, and I’m not sure I really want to. I flip the camera to selfie m
ode, roll onto my belly, and fluff my long hair to one side. Resting my face in the palm of my hand, I roll my eyes to the back of my head and stick my tongue out one side. With the flash, it turned out okay. I scroll over the filters, but don’t seem that fussed by them, so I leave it natural. I type out the caption: Witching hour. Can’t sleep.

  I push post and then find my profile. I pause. I had four followers last time I checked, and that was Tillie, Bishop, Nate, and Eli. Not even Brantley. Now it reads 12.4k Following 5 because I followed him. I don’t care. A red dot lights up over the heart and I click on it, as likes roll in for the photo I posted.

  @jrolley this is Brantley’s girl? Pretty.

  @hijakr omg

  @minnieg of course she looks like this. She’s Bishop’s sister.

  @kiolad OH. MY GOD SHE POSTED

  @daffidi obsessed with you SAINT! Can we be friends?

  @giafro lol @daffidi no. You couldn’t. Remember, they don’t associate with us lesser folk.

  @vienna THE ELITE

  I stop reading when it becomes too much. “What the hell?” My phone rings in my hand and I scream, tossing it onto the bed. Picking it back up again, with my heart pounding in my chest, I relax when I see Brantley’s name flashing over the screen.

  Then I panic again because he’s calling me at this time. Something must be wrong.

  I swipe it to answer. “Hey! You okay?”

  “You alone?” My heart rolls around in my chest.

  “Yes. It’s four in the morning.”

  “Yeah, I saw that…”

  “Saw, what?” I ask, lying back in the bed and dragging my sheets up to my chin. “Why’s it loud there?”

  “Hmmm?” he says, and it almost kills my internal organs with how smooth he sounded. Lazy, almost.

  “I said why’s it loud there?”

  “Oh, Nate and Tillie had a fight, so he threw a party to piss her off.”

  “And you’re there to take her side?” I smile, because he is a lot of things, all bad, mostly, but when he cares about someone, he cares.

  He grumbles. “Sort of. Send me a photo.”

  “What?” I bite down on my lip, even though I know what kind of photo he wants.

  “Don’t play dumb, Saint. Send me a photo.”

  “Why?” I might like his attention, too, even if it is extreme.

  “Because when I wrap my hand around my dick later tonight, there’s only one girl I want to be looking at. Send it.”

  I try to hide my smile. My cheeks sting. “Okay, wait there.” He doesn’t answer, so I flip the camera to selfie, throw my shirt off and toss it into the corner. I debate with myself about my underwear, before unclipping my bra and sliding my panties down. I finally get the lamp to turn on, resting my phone on the bedside table against it. Leaning against the wall, sideways to the phone, I hold my nipples, while arching my back, and take three shots. One with me looking naturally at the camera, another with my leg perched and smiling, and another while looking down. I pick up my phone and swipe through them, shrugging and then sending them straight to him.

  “I sent them.”

  “You just took photos now?” he asks, seemingly surprised. “Didn’t you just wake up?”

  “So?” My cheeks flame red. Was I not supposed to?

  “Nah, nothing. Usually chicks need to spend hours to get ready, go through one hundred filters to make them skinny, and then tweak whatever shit they think I won’t like.”

  Instantly I cower. He’s done this before. Of course he has. I don’t know why it bothers me.

  He goes silent on the other end. “How much have you had to drink?” I ask.

  “A bit. Hold up…” He disappears, and I figure he got the photos, so I quickly slide back into my clothes and under the covers, resting my phone against my ear. “Jesus fuck, Saint! I didn’t mean send nudes!”

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  His tone drops to a growl. “I didn’t mean send me fucking photos of you naked!”

  “I don’t know what nudes mean!” I snap back at him. Shame washes over me. He doesn’t like them? “I can take other ones if you don’t like them.”

  “If I don’t?—” He laughs, and it’s maniacal. It reminds me of the night he took my virginity and licked the blood clean from between my thighs. A door slams in his background and I jump, even though I know he’s not here. Suddenly I wish he was. I wish he was here so I could calm him down, because I’m well aware of the kind of turmoil he’s creating inside of his head. “Don’t ever fucking say that again.”

  I gulp, my throat swollen. “Brantley?”

  He doesn’t answer, but I hear his breathing heavy on the other end.

  I continue. “I think I miss you.” His breathing stops, and my chest tightens again. I struggle to breathe as I wait for his answer, but the sadness that weighs down on my heart tonight is heavy. “I’ve never been this far away from you, I don’t think, or at least that I know of.”

  “It doesn’t seem like a good idea now, does it?” he bites at me. He’s angry. I get it. His answer to everything is anger and silence, which usually never go hand in hand, but that’s one of the many reasons why Brantley Vitiosis is exceptionally unique. There will never be another like him—which is both a good and a bad thing. He exhales. “Come home.”

  “I will.”

  “When?” The fact he’s allowing me to make a decision without interfering is proof he’s allowing me to grow a little.

  “Today, I think.”

  “Good. Because Saint, if you’re not on that jet today, I’ll have Trevor—the man who I have stationed outside that swanky little hotel you’re staying at down Queen Street—gag you, tie you up, and throw you onto that plane. Got it? Don’t fucking test me. I’ve given you enough time over there to do whatever the fuck you think you have to do to help the Madship mess, but mark my words…” He pauses, and I’m still holding my breath. “If your sexy little ass is not on that jet today, I’ll show you exactly why people are scared of me.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’m trusting you,” he says, and I hear a door open again wherever he is.

  “You can always trust me.”

  “Brantley…” a girl’s voice comes through the other end on a whine. “Come back out!”

  All of the feelings that were brewing inside my belly suddenly pause.

  “What? Fuck no. Get out.” He slams the door shut.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” I didn’t mean to sound so cold, but it came out that way. These guys are just Brantley, Bishop, Eli, and Nate to me, but I’m starting to learn they’re gods to everyone else.

  “Saint… don’t be stupid.”

  “Bye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sai—”

  I hang up on him. When my phone rings again, I turn it off. Maybe I’m being immature, but I’ll chalk it up to my age. I’m seventeen, they’re all early twenties, but I know deep down that’s not it.

  Tossing and turning and knowing I won’t get any more sleep after that whole conversation, I find the clothes I’m going to wear, something comfortable for the flight home, and take a quick shower. By the time I’m dressed and cooking breakfast, the sun is rising through the windows, setting the sky on fire. Through my frying eggs, I go back and forth on whether I should turn my phone on, but I end up on no. No, because I know he’s going to be angry at me and I can’t face it right now. And anyway, by the time I get back to the US, he’ll be calmed down, right?

  Brantley

  I flick the Swiss Army knife around my fingers, the limo idling on the tarmac. My hair is a mess, I haven’t slept since she fucking hung up on me, and on top of all that bullshit, her flight was delayed because of the weather, so what happens when you get this tragic concoction of unfortunate events? You are left with a deprived fucking monster awaiting to unleash all its wrath the only way he knows how.

  The window separator winds down. “Sir, she just touched down.”

  I clench my jaw, nod
ding. “Good. I’ll wait here while you help Miss Vitiosis with her bags.”

  He nods, sliding out of the car and making his way to the trunk. I watch as the black jet with the gold lettering EKC rolls into view, my teeth clenched so tight I’m almost certain they’re about to crack. I watch as the steps roll out and finally, she comes walking out. Her belly showing, with a small crop top hoodie and black yoga pants. She looks like a fucking model fresh off the runway, if she wasn’t so fucking short.

  She notices the car and I watch as her body stills slightly.

  I smirk, even though I know she can’t see me.

  She slowly makes her way down the stairs, heading straight for the car. When she’s reaching for the handle, I swing the door open and it hits her on the hand.

  She flings it back. “Ouch.” Before sliding in. She slams the door closed, her eyes on mine. Saint is what you would call demure. She has more self-restraint when it comes to keeping her mouth shut, but when she talks, people listen. They take her seriously. She doesn’t waste her breath on drama, or bullshit fights. It’s what I like most about her, but right now I don’t like her that fucking much.

  Her arms cross in front of her. She was smart sliding opposite me, a decent arm’s reach away. We sit in silence until the driver is back in the front and the window is back up. Some MGK song is playing in the background and I keep my eyes fixed on her. She does everything she can to ignore me, which admittedly only makes me more amused.

  Her eyes finally come to mine. “I’m sorry! Okay!”

  I don’t answer, boring my eyes into hers. At first they were a shade of green, but as she got older, they turned a greyish blue. Fucking weird. I slowly shake my head.

  “Brantley…” she deadpans. “I don’t want you angry with me.”

  “Oh, I’m angry with you.”

  “I had to go and help her!”

  “That’s not why, though…”

  She pauses, her fingers twisted in her lap. “Then why?”

  I run my tongue over my teeth. “Come sit on my lap and find out.”