The Elite Kings Boxset Vol. II

by Amo Jones

  Pulling out one of the bar stools that are tucked under the oversized granite kitchen counter, I slide on top, picking up the glass of whiskey Madison has poured.

  “Just saying, aren’t you both too young to be starting this…” Bishop points to the glasses.

  Madison shoots him a glare.

  His hands come up in defense. “Alright, alright.”

  “Talk, Tillie. Quit fucking stalling.” That’s Nate.

  I take a long shot of the amber liquid, letting it rest on my tongue before throwing it back and relishing in its scorching travels down my throat before it blisters in my belly. “She took our daughter and she will not give her back. After Daemon’s funeral, she had us locked up in a place in New York City. I’m not sure where it is or what it is, because when they’d transport me, I’d be blindfolded.” Not a lie. This isn’t so bad. Daemon’s death impacted all of us. He was Madison’s long-lost twin brother who was the leader of The Lost Boys and held on an island called Perdita. An island my deranged mother ran and operated for The Kings. Something about a birthright to do so and family lineage, I’m not completely sure. I only not long ago found out about Katsia being my mother. Daemon spoke fluent Latin and hardly any English. He was silently disturbed. The kind you don’t speak about because you can never get close enough to him to have an opinion.

  Only, I did.

  My eyes finally go to Nate’s, and I regret it immediately. His pupils are dilated and He’s seething, absolutely livid, and all that anger is aimed at me.

  “If you hadn’t run in the fucking first place, then I could have fucking protected you!”

  I narrow my eyes. “I didn’t run, Nate! I was fucking taken! There’s a difference.”

  He steps closer to me and I instantly freeze, every single warning bell inside of me ringing, signaling me to shut the fuck up or this boy will kill me. “Yeah? There’s a difference is there? Care to test that theory?”

  “Nate!” Madison snaps, but he doesn’t retreat. His eyes are solely on me, and mine on his. I won’t back down, I refuse to. He can be angry, but I’m over being made out to be the bad person just because my options are tied and have been tied since I damn well came into this world. Not all of us have the freedom that money and power provide. Some of us have to actually unlock ourselves from what keeps us shackled, not pay our way out.

  “Maybe you should…” I counter, challenging him.

  His eyes weaken, and a lazy smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth. “Now, now, princess, don’t go asking for things you know you can’t handle.”

  “Last I checked, I handled it just fine, thank you,” I mutter, finally taking my eyes away from him and concentrating on my drink.

  “Okay! Sorry I’m late, but I had—” Tate cuts off from behind me. I don’t turn around to see her, because somewhere inside my brain, I know that she hates what Nate and I have.

  Madison leans closer to me, her elbows resting against the counter. “Stay here for as long as you need, okay? We will get her back. I promise.”

  I smile. “Thanks, Mads. I appreciate it.”

  She stands again, rounding the counter to take my hand. “Come on. I’ll show you into Daemon’s old room. You can stay there while you’re here.”

  Pain slices me in the chest, but I swallow it down, aware of all the eyes I have on me.

  I don’t make eye contact with any of them. I keep my head bowed low and let Madison guide me to Daemon’s room.

  We stop outside the door, and Madison’s grip tightens in mine. “I know about you and Daemon, Tills.”

  My head snaps up to hers. “What do you mean?”

  She swallows, and then her eyes slowly open onto mine. “I know about you both, and what happened between the two of you.”

  “Okay,” I answer because I don’t really know what else to say to her and I really, really hate lying to her. Out of everyone on this earth, she is the one person I really don’t want to lie to. I need to find a way out of this mess I’ve found myself in.

  “I just want you to know that it’s okay to mourn him in here. I haven’t come into his room since it happened, mainly because I haven’t been able to stomach it.” She pauses and swallows. “But also because I felt like it wasn’t my place to touch.”

  “That’s insane, Madz. He was your twin brother…”

  She shakes her head, cutting me off without actually cutting me off. “I know that it seems that way, but I’ve always felt deep down that it wasn’t my place to touch. I know that it is yours. So please, take your time. Sleep in here, and when you’re ready, maybe you can help me box up his items?”

  I let out a loud gush of breath. “I don’t know if I can do it. Sleep in here that is.”

  She smiles, her hand finding the door handle. “You will. But if you don’t, you know you can jump in with Bishop and me.”

  “Hard pass,” I mumble, smiling at her from the corner of my eye.

  She chuckles, then twists the handle and pushes it open. “You know where I am if you need me.”

  Tillie

  There should be a color that is darker than black. The word “black” just doesn’t seem enough to be able to express a color as dark as the ones that are licked on Daemon’s bedroom walls. The trimmings and windowsills are white, but the walls display a color so dark and bleak, that they somewhat almost matched the pits of his eyes.

  I squeeze the door, trying to find a balance before I lose my footing. Closing my eyes, I try to ignore the soft scent of cologne that he always wore. Clean soap mixed with sugar and spice. I take another step inside, the floor creaking under my weight. Shutting the door, I lean against it and swipe at the tears that are flowing down my cheeks. I hate that he is gone. I hate that I wasn’t there to say goodbye, and I hate that he lied to me.

  “You promised you wouldn’t die,” I whisper, it comes out hoarse. I clear my throat and push off the door, making my way to his bed. Silk black sheets are unmade on his bed, and it stops me for a moment. Before I can think of anything else, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I fish it out, answering without checking to see who it is.

  “Hello?”

  “Go to the window.”

  “Who is this?” I answer, looking around the room.

  The muffled voice has been filtered through a voice box to hide the owner. “Follow my instructions very carefully, Tillie. Now, go to the window.”

  Slowly, I switch sides and push my phone to the other side of my head as I tenderly make my way to the window, pinching the net curtain between my fingers to crack it open. There’s a dark tree right outside the window cutting off most of the view of the driveway, but when I look to the right, I see a dark SUV parked with its lights on.

  Confused, I crank my head to try to get a better look, when the driver’s side opens up and a man in a dark suit steps out.

  “Now open the window and climb down. Be careful not to disturb anything too much.”

  “Who are you? I’m not coming down there until you tell me who you are.”

  “I’m someone who has a lot more pull than your sister. I can help you, Tillie Stuprum, but you have to follow my orders and move now.”

  “I can’t. She has my daughter and she is watching my every move.”

  He seems to pause and then retreat back to his SUV. “I’ll be back, and when I do, you’re mine.”

  He hangs up and I watch as the lights sink into the darkness before disappearing toward the street.

  I don’t know who that was, and I don’t think I want to know.

  There’s a sort of bliss that comes with ignorance, like the saying goes. Because if you ignore all the signs that are being flashed in front of you, you can pretend that your world isn’t burning to a crisp.

  I slowly make my way back to Daemon’s bed, flopping down onto it and pulling his sheets into a tangled mess around my ankles. I wish he was here, just to remind me that everything is going to be okay. To put pressure on the wound that Nate always seems to inflict, to just be here
to mend my broken mind. My eyelids feel heavy, my mind slowly sinks into oblivion.

  “You’re a Stuprum. Power comes with that name, but you have to learn to harness it, Tillie, or it will destroy you like it did Katsia.”

  “No!” I shake my head, running through the dark corridors of some random abandoned building. Old graffiti is splashed over the aged concrete, and every single door is hanging off its hinges.

  “You can’t run from this life, Tillie!” The voice laughs, echoing from the walls and sinking into the bones in my body. “You will never be able to run from this life. You think you know, but you don’t. You’ve just begun to know.”

  I crash through the first closed door I see, one that isn’t open and grungy, one that needed to be open. I lean forward on my knees, sucking in each breath with deep inhales and exhales. An arm latches around my stomach, and I still before turning in the embrace. I recognize the ink that’s displayed so professionally onto the golden skin and turn to face him.

  “Nate?” I whisper, confused. His touch is like fire and ice, it both burns to the touch and freezes to be healed.

  He clenches his jaw in the way that makes it pop out slightly, his eyes on mine. This isn’t playful Nate, this is angry Nate. “You’re my enemy, Tillie. By blood, and now by choice.”

  I launch from the bed, rubbing my drenched skin viciously to get rid of the residue of sweat. The dream was vivid, a little too vivid because minutes later I’m still trying to get the images out of my head. After tossing and turning, I give up on sleep and crawl out from the sticky sheets. One of the drawers is slightly open in the bedside table. I don’t remember it being open when I went to sleep, but then again I don’t remember actually looking at it to know for sure. I quickly check the door is closed before kneeling down to open it farther.

  I feel like maybe I’m intruding on Daemon’s privacy, and for a second, I pull my hand back, shame washing over me. “Actually,” I whisper as if he can hear me. “Maybe if you didn’t want me snooping through your shit you should have stayed alive.” Fleeting anger possesses me, so I yank open the drawer, and a medium-sized wooden box catches my eye. The words Puer Natus are engraved into the ancient style wood box with burnt crusted markings on the edges. It looks mystical, otherworldly. I pop it open, and a black book with the same words are scribbled sharply over the top. My fingers run over the markings, the flap of leather catching the cushion of my thumbs. Whoever did this carved the wording with some sort of blade.

  There’s a voice inside of me that says to put it back. To not open things that I find in this house. That I shouldn’t open boxes that I have no intention of closing. But there’s another voice, one that lives in the particles that float in the air I breathe. One that has urgency rippling through my veins. Quickly pushing the box and drawer closed and slipping back under the sheet, I wriggle into the mattress and squash every thought that is echoing inside of me and let the one outside have its way. The soft lampshade gives me just enough sight to read, but I run the palm of my hand over the words anyway and my heart catches in my chest. My throat swells with a strange stir of emotions and I know instantly that this is Daemon’s writing.

  I open the cover and the first page shows a drawing of a young boy standing in front of a small cabin style home. It’s all shaded in pencil, smudged with black and grey, no color. Madison can draw, and I guess Daemon could too. The art makes me sad and I’m not sure why. There’s something empty about the image that shows little while feeling like it’s displaying just enough. The window in the building is cracked, there’s no grass or any detail of the landscape, just a small boy facing a diminutive style cabin. There’s an old chair that’s facing the doorway and a fireplace behind it.

  On top of the image, are the words CAPITULUM I. I grab my phone off the bedside table and type the words into Google translate. Chapter One.

  I suck in a breath, chapter one? As in a novel? I know that Daemon wasn’t very good with English, but he was fluent in Latin, why didn’t he choose to write it in Latin, instead of using images? I ask myself this, but realistically I know the answer. He’s Daemon, his brain worked inversely to others. Almost like where we saw numbers and words, he saw pictures and evil.

  I let it go for now, running my hand over the first page. Was this him as a child? Is he showing me his first memory?

  “Goddammit, Daemon.” I flip the page over to find another drawing, this time the boy is inside the house, the door slightly open with his shadow sprawled out over the busted porch. There’s a dark rocking chair that’s opposite him in front of a fireplace, again, with very little detail. I feel like he didn’t add anything extra to the drawings that he didn’t feel necessary, therefore, what is in here is very important. Squinting my eyes, I look closer at the rocking chair. It’s all smudged in with grey pencil, but if—I freeze. Eyes peer back at me in almond blue orbits. They’re not obvious, only there.

  Licking my lips, my eyes feel heavy again, but I want to go through the book more and see what else is in it. Another part of me also knows that I can’t rush through. Every page is a chapter to a story, a story I have no idea what it is about. A story that needs to be whispered like a gentle lullaby to be sure you don’t miss any important lyrics rather than speed rapped and everything goes over your head.

  Tillie

  My phone vibrating on the bedside table alerts me as I viciously rub the sleep from my eyes. Reaching for it visionless, I hit answer. “What?”

  “I need an update, sister.”

  “Listen, I’m doing what you told me to do, Peyton. They know you have Micaela, you’ve successfully awoken Nate’s feral side, what is the next step?”

  She stays silent for a beat, and I swing my legs off the bed, pulling my hair out of my face. “This time next week, I need them all, and Tillie when I say all, I mean all, at a location I will send to you the night prior. Understand?”

  “Yes,” I grumble, and then notice the door open. Nate leans against the frame in nothing but grey Nike sweatpant shorts. He looks sweaty, ripped, and did he get his nipples pierced? The tattoos over his body have multiplied since I last saw them too, including two large angel wings that fan out over his chest. They’re beautiful. I’m drawn to them right away.

  He clears his throat and my eyes go up to his, only I flinch. It’s hard coming face-to-face with someone you once loved. It’s like a big fuck you from the god of love. My stomach sinks.

  “Who’s that?” he asks, pointing to my phone.

  “Ah, I need to go…” I mumble into the phone before hanging up quickly. “What do you want, Nate?”

  He licks his bottom lip. “Answer the question, Tillie, who was that?”

  Oh well, nothing has changed where his possessiveness is concerned, though I’ve heard through Madison that he usually doesn’t get into the whole caveman antics and that he’s more into sharing.

  I’ve yet to see that side of him.

  I stand, ignoring his jab and head straight for the bathroom. My travels don’t get far because, in a flash, Nate is right in front of me, one arm hooking around my back and his other hand coming to my hair. He tilts my head up until he’s glaring down at me. “Who the fuck was that?”

  I clench my jaw. “I don’t remember the part where I have to answer to you, so fuck you.”

  His lip curls, the grip he has in my hair intensifying. “While you’re invading my fucking life, there are to be no fuckboys sniffing around you. In fact, you can grab the shit Madison left on the bed for you and move your ass into my room.”

  “Nate!” I yell, fighting the anger that’s simmering to the surface. This is going to be a lot more difficult than I imagined. “I’m not staying in your damn room, and though there are no fuckboys, unless you count yourself, I do not have to freaking answer to you!”

  He unlatches his hold and shoves me onto Daemon’s bed. My hair flies out around me, and just as I inch up on my elbows, he pushes me back down with his body, crawling up like a predator. His arms cage me
in on either side of my head. I keep my legs closed, my head tilted sideways to stop from vanishing into his gaze. You can’t get lost there again, Tillie. Remember? He doesn’t give every part of you back.

  “Listen to me, princess, you will do as you’re told whether you like it or not, in fact, keep not liking it, you know that bravado gets my dick hard.” His chest presses into mine as his mouth comes to my ear. “Did you think you could just walk into my fucking house and not live with a set of rules? I mean, come on, baby, I know it’s been a while since I’ve been balls deep in this.” He shoves one of his legs between my thighs, forcing my legs open.

  I hiss, slamming my eyes shut. Out of sight, out of mind.

  He chuckles, his chest vibrating against mine. “But you know how I play.”

  “Actually,” they pop open and I turn to face him square on until he’s leaning up on one elbow to look down at me again.

  His eyes come to mine, his face so close I can feel his deep breath fall against my lips.

  Agh, this feels like too much. Too much Nate.

  “Actually, what?” He challenges me with a grin, his voice cracking with a tone that my insides are all too familiar with. He’s too much and you’re too weak right now.

  Fuck. “Actually,” I continue, gripping onto some false sense of security my subconscious has created out of the undiluted fear this man sets off inside of me. “I’ve heard you don’t play like that usually, so I don’t actually know how you ‘play.’”

  He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “You’re right, Tillie, I don’t. The same set of rules that apply to every other female walking this earth have never applied to you. You feel me?”

  I do. I feel you everywhere which is precisely the problem. Asshole.

  “No, I don’t. You said that I know how you play, when in fact—”

  He cuts me off. “You have about three seconds to stop talking before I fuck you on Daemon’s bed, and you and I both know how fast that act alone will conjure his spirit back to us. I’m not really keen on being haunted, so…”