by Amo Jones
“How” —Brantley leans over, his elbows now on his knees while his eyes remain completely on mine—“the fuck do you know that name?”
I square my shoulders, fighting the urge to fidget. “I—I don’t know.”
“You obviously know,” Hector adds, far too calm for my liking.
I cross my arms in front of me. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Explain anyway,” Bishop says, turning his body toward me.
“You won’t believe me.”
Brantley chuckles. “Fucking try us.”
“Okay, but I want the truth. I want your side to what I know.”
“Fucking speak, Saint, my patience is running thin.”
“I see her,” I admit, and because I can’t watch their reactions, my focus falls to the patterns engraved into Hector’s desk. “She, well, she started visiting me in my dreams a little after I first met everyone.”
“Great, the bitch is fucking walking into dreams and trying to tell her truth. Why don’t people just die anymore?” Bishop grunts to himself and I don’t have the energy to ask him what he means by that. They talk about people like they’re disposable.
“It was just that.” I search Brantley’s eyes. “But recently it has become, I don’t know, something else.”
“What do you mean, something else?” Brantley pushes, and I’m well aware how silent Hector is now.
“I mean, I—I actually see her. Like when I’m in the bathroom. It’s no longer only when I close my eyes. And that’s not only it. She showed me what you all did to her.” I lean closer to Brantley, pinning him with my eyes. “Brantley, I felt what you did. Every step of the way. I watched it through the eyes of her ghost. When you killed her, I felt it.”
Brantley winces, baring his teeth and finally dismissing me and leaning back in his chair, his eyes on Hector. “How the fuck do we protect her from a goddamn ghost?”
“Brantley,” I say, but he doesn’t pay me any attention. His jaw is tight, his knuckles turning white as his fists clench. Before I can stop myself, I’m reaching for them. At the connection, he instantly relaxes a little. “I need to know who she is and why she’s doing this.”
“Who she is?” Brantley turns to face me. “Is the product of very fucking bad people, Saint, but why she’s doing it? I don’t fucking know.” He stands abruptly, moving to the other side of the room. He leans against the window, gazing outside. “Bishop knows the story, but Hector, you don’t.”
Hector sighs, leaning back in his chair. “What the fuck did you all do now?”
Brantley chuckles, and I watch as he runs his hand over his face. I squeeze the sides of my chair to stop myself from walking over to him and jumping into his arms. “Remember Elijah?”
“I remember you telling me what he did, yes.”
Brantley’s jaw flexes. “His last name was Garcia.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hector whispers, shaking his head. “So she was?”
Brantley finally turns to face us, but his eyes are on mine. “She was part of my revenge.”
The grip I have on my chair increases. “So something happened between you and Elijah?”
Bishop clears his throat. “You could say that, but Elijah Garcia is the son of one of the most notorious families known in the state of New York. His father is a don, Elijah the beta, and Ava?” Bishop shakes his head slowly. “Well, she was basically the fucking princess.”
“Okay.” My eyes close as I try to undo all the knots inside my brain that these revelations have tied. “So you killed Elijah, and Ava—”
“Not Elijah,” Brantley murmurs, and when I look up at him, all of my instincts are screaming for me to run. This time not to him, away from him. “His time hadn’t come yet.”
“Yet,” Bishop bites out. “I’m thinking it has now.”
“Boys,” Hector finally interrupts. “This is King business.” He casts a look at me. “Is there anything else you would like to know about yourself or me?”
Feeling satisfied with everything, no matter how confusing it is to digest, I nod. There is one thing I do want to know. I think anyone who has been abandoned by a parent would want to know. “Why did you get rid of me?”
The lines around his eyes deepen, his smile harsh but somehow still gentle. “I couldn’t keep you. I understand your knowledge of The Kings and our legacy and law is fairly new to you, but you would have been classified as a Swan. They would have killed you. The Vatican took you under their wing with the assumption that you, too, would bear the curse. They weren’t completely sure you would; they just assumed”
I chew on my lip while scenarios play through my head. “I don’t know enough, but I know a little bit. Madison, she was a Swan?”
Hector nods. “Yes.”
“And The Lost Boys, they’re who killed them?”
Hector leans to the side of his chair. “Yes, along with your biological mother, who helped.”
This wasn’t news, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. I’d heard enough snide remarks from Tillie to know our mom was obviously not winning any humanity awards.
“But, why did you pull me out of The Vatican and bring me to Brantley’s?”
A range of emotions crumble over his face. His eyes harden, the wrinkles around his mouth seem to tense.
Brantley finally moves back to the chair beside me, and just as Hector’s mouth is about to open, there’s a knock on the door.
Hector keeps his eyes on me. “Come in.”
The door cracks open and Scarlet stands at the threshold. Scarlet, as well as being the first lady, was also a famous movie star. She’s featured in some of my favorite movies.
Her wide smile is directed right at me, as if no one else in the room exists. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s okay,” I say, standing. “I’m tired anyway.”
Bishop takes my hand. “Come, you can crash upstairs.” I let him direct me past Scarlet. It’s not until we’re outside of the office that I notice Brantley didn’t follow. Bishop pauses at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey.” My hand rests on his shoulder. “It’s cool. I can get the driver to take me home.”
“It’s not that.” He blows out a breath, his shoulders tense. “Come.” Then I’m following him out the glass sliding doors that open out onto a patio area and a large rectangular pool.
“Wow, party house, huh?”
“You have no idea,” he grunts, leading me around the sun loungers, past the DJ booth, and through the small garden. My attention wanes when I pass the overgrown rose bush.
“I could totally fix that.”
Bishop laughs. “You’re not doing our gardening.”
“I’m just saying, I could!”
We stop outside a house identical to the main one, only smaller. It’s adjacent to the pool, yet overlooks it at the same time. Completely constructed from glass with dark trimmings.
Bishop stops outside the door. “So many fucking memories in here. I almost don’t want to open the door.”
“Bishop, I can sleep at home.”
He spins around. “You don’t get it.” He steps forward, touching my cheek. I lean into his grasp. “This should have been your home all along, but because of who you are, you were deprived of that, just like Madison was. I can’t allow it to happen again. How Hector runs shit, is not how I will be.”
I touch his hand with mine. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, releasing his grip on my cheek and leaning against the front door. “Hector has always only taken care of The Kings. The men. The legacies. He has always seen women as disposable. He had no problem dealing with death, no matter the age or gender.”
“Sounds like a great father.”
Bishop scoffs, leaning his head back against the glass. I won’t push for him to open it. He’s obviously delaying it. “The fucking best.” His tone drips with sarcasm.
“And you?” I ask, leaning against one of the pillars. “How will you run it
?”
His eyes come to mine. “I will take care of everyone and their families.”
“And what about the others who aren’t tied to The Elite Kings?”
He pauses, and I watch as a dark cloud shifts over his eyes. Goosebumps break out over my spine. “They’re not my problem. My people will always come first. A civilian means less than shit to me.”
“So, Hector with civilians, and Bishop with The Kings?” I chuckle, but roll my lips between my teeth to stop from laughing too loudly.
He glares at me, before a sly smirk crawls onto his mouth. “Smartass.” He stands, his hand on the doorknob. “Get this fucking over with.” He pushes through and we make our way inside. It’s immaculate. With stairs that lead up to a second loft level, a modern kitchen and living space, and all the finest furnishings.
“It’s beautiful.”
Bishop laughs. “Not likely. Don’t eat off the tables. Cocaine and weed stain every inch of this joint.” He points upstairs. “I’m joking. Mom keeps it tidy. Bathroom and bedroom are upstairs. I’ll go grab your clothes.”
I head upstairs as instructed and scrub through the large shower, before finding my bags on the end of the bed and changing. My heart settles in my chest. I can feel Bishop all through this space. Madison, too.
Bishop enters, jumping onto the bed. “I take the gavel tomorrow.”
I dry my hair with the towel, before running a brush through it. “Are you excited?”
He kicks off his shoes and flicks a silver Zippo between his fingers. “Yeah, fuck, I am. I think I’m ready.” His eyes come to mine, a deep sparkle inside of them.
“Well,” I say, pulling back the sheets and sliding beneath them. “I hate to say it, but I’d be worried if you weren’t, since it’s tomorrow.”
He laughs. “Your dress will be here when you wake up. Mom chose it. She has good taste.”
My mouth widens as I yawn. “Brantley told me he kills people.” Sleep weighs on my eyes as I struggle to keep them open. “Is that true?”
Bishop turns to face me. “That’s probably putting it lightly.” I wanted to find a lie in Brantley’s truth, but I should have known better.
“You’re all bad people.”
“The worst,” Bishop whispers, and it echoes through my mind, sticking to the fibers inside my brain.
“So how come I don’t see it?”
There’s a long stretch of silence. “Because you’re not a civilian.”
“You see, don’t you? You see it as clear as day, yet you ignore all of the signs…” The voice was a high-pitched scream, so forceful and urgent. Her face. Pale. Blood-red lips. Fire hydrant hair. Angry brown eyes. She smirked through the dark, while laughter cackled in the background. “Now you’re going to die. I’ll leave you with that.”
I shoot up from the bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Foreign bed, white wallpaper, mirror on the ceiling. Bishop’s room.
I’m alone, with nothing but the sound of the AC blasting through the room. It’s dark. So dark. Dark enough to have me urgently seeking out the light switch. I reach aimlessly for switches on the wall as I walk around the room. Hands are on my mouth, and I jolt in shock. My shoulders relax when I recognize his energy.
His mouth is on my neck. “I need you.” He scrapes his teeth across the curve of my shoulder. “But you might not survive it.”
I turn my head, the fire in my belly spreading between my thighs. “I don’t care.”
His fingers dip beneath the waistband of my pants, his fingers teasing the upper edge, over my pelvic bone. His other hand comes to the front of my throat as he tips my head backward and runs one finger down the chambers of my throat. “I need this open…”
I stretch my mouth wide for him. When he picks me up by my feet and throws me onto the bed, the covers melt around my body. I can’t see a thing, with the light completely cut off. He tugs off the cover and I lift, allowing him to toss it wherever he does. His hands are on my knees, stretching me wide, and I prop up onto my elbows, my chest rising and falling with anticipation. The warmth from his lips grazes my inner thigh, his tongue following closely behind. He pushes my other thigh down onto the bed, pinning me down as his other is wrapped around my thigh, propped over his shoulder. I squeeze the sheets in my hand when he licks over the flesh where my thigh meets the middle.
A small moan slips from between my lips when he sinks his teeth into me. “Shit.”
His tongue circles the wound before he trails across and over my middle, where I ache for him most. I’m tossing and turning when his tongue flicks over my clit. His hand that was holding down my thigh is now over my lower belly.
He presses down. “Keep still.”
I groan, fisting the sheets in my hand while arching my back off the mattress. “Can’t.”
He chuckles, and it vibrates through his lips and slaps me across my clit. “Try.” His mouth covers me completely, his tongue pressing against my most sensitive area. Slick, hard and wet, he licks me over and over until the fire that is in my belly explodes and spreads throughout my body, embers dancing at the backs of my eyes.
Finally he lets go, and I hear his belt and jeans fall to the floor before he’s hovering over my body. I reach up, but I can’t find him.
“Turn the light on,” I say through heavy breaths.
“You don’t want to see me right now.”
“Lies,” I whisper, finally finding the back of his neck. I pull him down on top of me, and instead of fighting it like I expected him to, his nose grazes mine. “I’ll take you however I can get you.”
His lips are on mine, his tongue swiping inside of my mouth and I raise my hips to his. The tip of his cock presses against my entrance, but he doesn’t stop kissing me. When his hips thrust forward and every inch of him is filling me to the hilt, he bites down on my lower lip and pulls back. “Fuck, Saint…”
I wrap my legs around his waist, not wanting him any farther away from me than he has been. I need to be completely occupied with him. Overwhelmed with the emotions that are running wild inside of me, I drag my nails over his back, his muscles clenching.
He snaps, his thrusts becoming urgent, fast. He drives into me until I feel him hit the tip of my cervix. I cry out, but he catches the words with his mouth, and his tongue is back inside mine.
Leaning up, he draws out of me, lifting me by my hips and flipping me onto my stomach. He wraps my hair in his fist and tugs on it roughly, until the skin on my throat flexes. “Up.”
I press my knees into the mattress as he runs his hand over the edge of my spine. “Fuck. I need to see this.” He grabs his phone and turns the flashlight on.
I turn to look over my shoulder, flicking my hair to the side. “That’s not fair. I still can’t see you…”
“Life with me will never be fair.” He tosses his phone onto the floor, allowing some light to bounce off the shadows, before his fingers are digging into my hips and he’s directing me over him. I stretch over the metal of his piercings, clenching and pulling with every inch he buries inside of me.
“Oh my God.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from screaming. I feel everything. The pleasure that tantalizes the pain. It’s a constant tug-of-war of which one will win. His pelvis hits my ass cheeks and I gasp, falling down onto the mattress while keeping my butt high in the air. He pulls out before driving back in. He continues with this slow pace, until I’ve relaxed around him, the sound of my wetness mixing with his. He speeds up, slamming into me relentlessly. I feel my stomach twist and turn as my heart rate speeds up again. I’m so close. So fu—I explode around him when his finger comes to my nipple. He pinches roughly, leaning over my back and sinking his teeth into my shoulder as he releases inside of me, his heavy body on mine.
“Your pussy is going to kill me.”
“Not before your dick splits me in two.”
He chuckles, his laughter vibrating over my back. “You handle it good, baby. Real good…”
He’s still catc
hing his breath when he rolls off my body, taking the sheet with him. I roll to my side and his arm slips over my back, so I snuggle beneath his arm as he pulls me in close, his nose in my hair.
I flick my finger over his nipple ring. “I want one of these.”
“Mmmm, we can do that.”
His finger hooks under my chin, tilting my face up to his. He kisses me. “Come sit on my face.”
“Tired.” I yawn, but he catches my bottom lip mid-yawn.
“Now.”
I run my hand over his chest, rubbing the sweat and moisture over his abs and pecs while pushing up against him and crawling up his body. His hands come to each of my thighs, pulling me down until I land over his mouth. I bury my hands in his hair, tilting my head back as his tongue dives inside of me, his hands on my ass possessively. Running my hand to the side of his head, I touch more sweat, only it’s alarmingly more.
My brows knit together in confusion as I bring my hand to my face. Adjusting my eyes to what little light his phone is offering, I pause when I notice whatever it is that’s on my hand is dark. Dark enough to see through the minimal light.
I go to push off him, but he pulls me back down.
“Brantley…” I whisper, but he flicks my clit and sucks on it gently and my mind is lost in the erotic place it goes to any time he eats me. Leaning up on his stomach with one hand, I relentlessly roll my hips over his face.
One hand comes up to my throat and he tenses as I continue to grind over him. Air is cut short when his grip tightens. I hold myself up by his arm, the ripples of muscles tensing under my palm.
“Fuck.” He unlatches from me, his hands on my hips. He slides my body down his chest like I weigh nothing, and guides me back over his dick. I shiver when he fills me again, falling on top of him like a fragile doll while catching my breath.
“You’re bleeding.” I lean up by pressing on his chest.
He forces my head down to his by the back of my neck. “Then clean it.”
I run my tongue over his sharp jaw, down his neck, and over his jugular. The strong tang of metal hits the tip of my tongue and slides down the back of my throat. I ride over him slowly while nibbling and sucking over his collarbone and neck.
