by Amo Jones
They both look between each other and then look back at me. “Yes.”
I tilt my head. “And?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
There’s a stretch of silence that seems to vibrate around us at a resonance that’s silent on ears. I wait for them to say something, anything. Maybe grab me and try to drag me out of here to kill me. Or worse, just kill me on the spot. What I was not expecting, was for them both to drop to one knee, their heads bowed.
“No…” I shake my head, panic gripping at my heart.
A familiar body presses against my back. The shadow.
“Just go with it, mea principessa. Do you feel it?” his voice whispers against me and my eyes close. His fingertips run up and down my arms, igniting that same flame. He’s right. This is my world, not just The Kings’. I feel the whispers of my ancestors echoing through my veins. I’ll turn those whispers into roars and bring every man to his knees.
My stomach clenches, goosebumps breaking out over my skin.
His hand travels up my stomach and near my throat. “Turn around, Tillie…” I hear more footsteps. Coming closer and closer. The echoing of heavy boots now a loud pulse behind me.
Then the sound stops. I turn in the man’s grip, my eyes closed.
“Open. Your. Eyes.”
I do as commanded, starting with his hands. Tattoos fill his hands that sneak out from the bottom of his sleeves.
Tattoos I recognize.
The words E L I T E stamped over his fingers on his left hand, and K I N G S over his right.
Fuck.
My eyes go up. I stop breathing. “Nate!” Just as his hand curls around the rim of his hoodie. He shoves it down to rest on the back of his neck. A smirk crawls onto his face, his eyes dark and deadly. This isn’t good.
I turn to face whoever it was that just walked in, finding Bishop, Brantley, Eli, and Hunter, standing guard. “What the fuck is going on?”
Nate’s hand comes to mine and he clenches it enough to cut off the blood circulation there. He yanks me into his chest, wrapping my hair around his wrist. “Perdita is King territory, now.” Then he smirks, his hand coming to my throat. “Everything that you went through to get to this point, Tillie, was planned and orchestrated. You are the last living Stuprum now—but you won’t be for long.” I notice he doesn’t flinch when the words pass his lips. “You are now a queen without a kingdom. A fucking dog without a home.” His eyes search mine, and I know he’s gone. Any part of who I knew as Nate is no longer living in the depths of this man standing in front of me. He is a mere shell of who he was before, a shell constructed of stone.
He shoves me backward until I slam against a cold brick wall. “I hope you like shackles, baby, because you’re our prisoner now.” He steps up to me, licks his lip and grins. He spins me back around to face the cell, the one with the rattle inside. “Open your eyes, mea principessa…”
I do, I open them.
“Look closely,” he whispers, his lips behind my earlobe. “Watch the fireflies…”
As the words leave his mouth, my eyebrows cross in confusion. Bright little fireflies float in the darkest corner of the cell.
“Show yourself!” Nate demands, his chest vibrating against my back.
The Kings part to give me more view. A figure crawls forward, out of the darkness in the cell, knocking the baby rattle out of the way.
My legs give away and I try to launch forward as a scream roars out of me.
“Daemon!”
My husband. Who tolerates my bratty, princess, needy, always hungry, nap-taking, love-needy ass. You deserve so much more than I can give you, but you’re shit out of luck because it’s me that you get and if you stray, thanks to this book, I now know how to completely dismember the two round things that hang between your legs.
My children, who drive me so crazy that I crave the dark places inside my head just to create chaos that doesn’t directly impact me. Cheers, my little monsters. You’re stuck with me.
Chantal Fernando. The friend that just keeps friending. I don’t know where I’d be without you. Probably saying completely inappropriate things online and pissing everyone off. Thank you for being you. You’re also stuck with me. Please refer to husband’s passage a couple paragraphs up…
Sarah Grim Sentz. My little Grim Reaper. The day you read your way into my life was one of the greatest days in my writing life. You’re my beta, my alpha, and the girl I trust 100% with my words, my world, and my characters. Thank you for always putting my ass in place when it needs to be and for being there through not just my writing, but through everyday shit too. You have become one of my best friends and my go-to woman. Thank you for being patient with your beta notes and for loving my stories like they are your own. Also refer to husband’s passage a few paragraphs up. You’re stuck with me.
Ellie McLove. I don’t know, man. I feel like if I explained every single thing that I loved about you, I’d be here all day. I partly want to, just to make you uncomfortable, but I won’t. You’re the real MVP here. You take my words and polish them respectively without meddling with my author voice. You are everything that we need. I’m annoyed it took me so long to find you, but whatever, because now, yup, you guessed it—You’re stuck with me.
Petra Gleason. Thank you for proofing my words. For your friendship, and the laughs. My darkness would like to drink with your darkness. You’re stuck with me.
Isis, Nichole, Lyla, Caro, Amiria, Jacq, Nikita. My little circle of home-people. My BFFs who know my crazy and tolerate me anyway. You’re all stuck with me. Obviously.
Leigh Shen. For being my favorite asshole. You’re as sexy as you are talented. That’s just not fair. Asshole. Thank you for being you. For becoming one of my closest friends who I trust in this industry. You’re stuck with me.
Anne Malcom. My best friend. You are so much more than you realize. You deserve the world, even if I have to give it to you myself, I will. But you’re a queen and handle your shit, so go chase the damn thing, and guess what, I’ll be right beside you, because why?
Because you’re stuck with me.
The bloggers who read and promote me. Your support and the time you put into reading and reviewing will never go unnoticed by me. I adore every single one of you. Thank you. Thank you so much.
My Wolf Pack and my readers! YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME! Don’t test me. I love you all so much. Thank you for riding with me on my journey. For your undying support and love. I will cherish you all until the end of my days.
Jay Aheer. My designer, my everything. Thank you for meeting my demands. Your covers challenge me in ways I have never been challenged. Every time you send me a new cover, I shiver with anticipation. I hope I do your beautiful art justice with my words. You’re stuck with me.
Sarah Valentino and Kayla Thomason! You girls rock my shit. Thank you for the hours you put into creating the perfect teasers and Pinterest boards. There were times when your teasers helped push me through bad cases of writer’s block. I love you. You’re stuck with me.
Stacey from Champagne formatting for making this manuscript all pretty!! You’re stuck with me.
I think I have successfully threatened every person I love. If that doesn’t say Amo Jones, then I don’t know what does. Good luck.
This is dedicated to my Wolf Pack. For having my back when I didn’t have myself and for the daily laughs, cries, and impactful messages. This is for you.
Tillie
Nate backs me up against the cold cell, examining me. “You like this, huh, Princessa…”
I shake my head, refusing to show any fear. Nate is like a shark with fear. He senses it in the water, and he thinks it’s feeding time. “No. I don’t. What are you doing and why am I here?”
My eyes go over Nate’s shoulder and land on Brantley, who watches me carefully. “Brantley?”
Just when I think he’s going to say something, maybe put me in my place for questioning them, his mouth snaps shut. I watch as he disappears back through the way we
came.
“He won’t help you. Stay here and don’t move, Tillie. If you try to escape, we will kill you.”
I don’t know why there’s a part of my brain that doesn’t believe he would do that. You don’t keep someone alive through a lot of turmoil only to off them if they do something so insignificant like not listening. Nate smirks as if he hears what I’m thinking. Backing up slowly, he exits my cell, flicking the lock closed. His eyes never leave mine.
“There’s always a reason why we do the things we do, Tillie—remember?”
I don’t take the bait, sliding down the cold wall and landing on my butt. There’s a long pull of silence before I hear the door open and close again, and then Brantley’s boots come into view out of the corner of my eye.
“What is it, Brantley? You guys won. Go and celebrate by snorting more cocaine or fucking more girls…” I don’t want to talk to Daemon until they’ve all left, and part of me is still trying to calm my erratic brain from all of the possibilities of why, and how, he’s still alive.
Brantley unhooks the lock, the heavy clinking of metal jerking me out of my thoughts. He opens the cell, stepping inside. I brave myself to bring my eyes up to his as he leans down to my level, his elbows resting on his knees.
His palm comes to my face. “Kiss me.”
“What?” I ask, confused. My eyes fall to his swollen lips.
He squeezes my cheeks slightly, his face coming closer to mine. “Kiss. Me.”
I lean forward until our lips touch, warm velvet skimming against mine. Slinging my arm around the back of his neck, a moan slips out of me as I pull him closer. I kiss him because I’m angry. I kiss him because I’m hurt. And I kiss him for the probability of Nate watching somehow. Just as his tongue slips into my mouth, I exhale from the intrusion. His kiss is as calculated as his character. He gives enough without giving too much. He sucks on my bottom lip, licking me across the rim. His arms wrap around my waist, bringing me to my feet. Thick thighs separate my legs, stretching me wide as his body sinks against mine, shoving me up against the metal bars. He lifts me up by my thighs as I wrap my legs around him, all while his mouth continues to assault mine. My stomach flutters, my core pulsing. I want him. I have always somewhat wanted him, to an extent, and now that Nate has well and truly shattered any and all trust that I had in him, I’m feeling reckless. If you hurt someone enough, they acclimatize to pain, but just like a wound, if you don’t seal it, you’ll bleed out.
Brantley pulls away, placing me back on my feet while grabbing my hand. “Now, you owe me twice for getting him mad, and princess, I will be collecting.” He continues to drag me out of my cell, unlocking the one beside Daemon and shoving me inside. I turn, just in time to see him shutting the door.
“Brantley…” I want to apologize. I want to say so many things.
He shakes his head. “Don’t, Tillie.”
I know I owe him for saving me from Nate more than once or twice, but before I can address my gratitude, he leaves, and it’s not until I hear the heavy steel door slam closed that I slide down to my ass, drawing my legs up and turning my head to face Daemon.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Daemon scrapes closer, grasping onto the bars that separate our cages. “I have seen much worse, Puella.”
My heart squeezes in my chest from the use of my nickname. I thought I’d never hear it again. “I thought you were dead, Daemon. We all thought you were dead. We all mourned you.” Madison pops up inside my head and I wince. “Did everyone know but me?”
Daemon shakes his head. He’s wearing tattered jeans and a shirt that looks like it’s seen better days. “No.”
I massage my temples. “My god. Madison doesn’t know you’re still alive?” I screech, shaking my head.
Selfishly, it does make me feel better knowing that my best friend didn’t betray me, but a bigger part of me is now terrified about what’s going to happen when she does find out. Her and Bishop are already on struggle street, I’d hate to know what’s going to happen when she finds out that he’s been hiding the biggest secret of all from her. Her fucking twin brother being alive. My eyes fly up to the little camera that’s sitting in the corner of my dark cell, the bright red dot signaling they’re watching. I flip the camera off.
There’s a light chuckle from the corner and I freeze. “Who’s that?”
Daemon clambers backward, and though I can’t see much in this lighting, I catch a glimpse of the scar on the back of his neck, reaching to the front. How the fuck is he still alive?
I narrow my eyes in an attempt to get a better look at the silhouette hidden in the darkest corner of my cell. “I swear if that’s you again, Nate, I’ll cut your dick off this time.”
Another chuckle, and then the figure steps forward, the slight light from the small window forcing itself through the bars on the window.
He’s wearing a dark hoodie, shading most of his face but I can see the fine edge of his sharp jawline. His jeans are destroyed from wear, not for vanity. A heavy black belt hangs low around his waist. My eyes travel up both of his arms that are covered with long sleeves, but I can see tattoos sneaking out on his hands. I continue up his large chest, past the Nike emblem on his hoodie, up to his neck. His neck. I freeze, licking my lips. His neck is completely covered in dark ink, skulls and roses and some kind of scripture. Tanned skin lays underneath. I suck in a breath, coming to his lips. Perfect bow lips that curl in all the right places, his bottom one slightly plump. His jaw is cut sharp and perfectly symmetrical. Both points of his jaw are tipped at the same place on either side. Sunken cheekbones, and then I finally drag my eyes up to meet his.
Holy. Shit.
“Do I know you?” I whisper, all thoughts flying out of my head. He is beautiful. But he looks familiar. He looks. So. Familiar.
He brings his hand up to his hoodie and flicks it off to rest around the back of his neck. “No.”
“But…”
His jaw ticks, his eyes flying to the body lying in the cell opposite me. I can’t stop staring at him, though. I probably should stop staring. Next to Nate, he would be the second hottest guy that I had ever seen. That used to be Bishop, but—I freeze, my wits now one-hundred percent working because I step forward, grabbing his chin with my hand, forcing his face back to look down at me.
His emerald eyes search mine, not giving anything else away.
I stop breathing, my grip tightening around his chin.
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a dark smirk. The kind I know all too well, only this one is—frightening. “Yes, seems I have a relation that you know.”
“Relation?” I gasp, shaking my head and finally letting the poor boy go.
He cracks his neck. “Apparently I have a brother, and apparently we look like twins.”
I lick my lip. “You do. Does Bishop know that you’re in here?”
He grins, and his heavy eyes find the camera in the corner. “He does now…”
He flicks his hand toward Khales. A very dead Khales. “I wanted a turn with her. Didn’t think you’d finish her in one go.”
Ignoring his gesture toward her corpse, I keep my eyes on him, intrigue rushing through me. “What did she do to you, and what—how are you here?”
He shakes his head. “Too much to get into right now, but she killed my mother. I was outnumbered. I didn’t know about Bishop until I got here, and she dangled him above my head like fresh bait, waiting for me to snap and take my first bite.”
There’s so much I want to know, but I know this isn’t the time. So instead, I stare at him until I form the right words that I want to say.
“So Khales brought you here?”
He nods, taking a seat on the floor. I back up and slide down near the door, sitting opposite him but giving enough space between us. I don’t know him or his story, and the fact that I’m locked in a cell with him tugs on all the strings of my warning bells.
He pulls his hoodie back up over his head. “My name’s
Abel, I’m Bishop’s younger brother, same dad, different mom. I’m still in fucking high school, and I’m a cage fighter.”
“Well,” I mutter. “Yeah. Definitely different upbringings.”
Abel shrugs. “It helped my mom pay for shit growing up. I learned the hard way, not the privileged way.”
A million thoughts are rushing through my head, but one, in particular, has hit a standstill and won’t move back into gear. “Why? Why did she bring you here?”
He shrugs, drawing one leg up and resting his elbow on his knee. “Long story.” His eyes pierce through me, and I have to take a moment to calm myself. “I have heard about you.”
“Really…” I quirk my eyebrow and draw my knees up close. I’m fighting to look toward Daemon, the process still not fully developed in my head right now. Something is going on, something that I don’t understand. “What was it that you heard?”
Abel grins. “That you had a baby to a King, and that Katsia was your mom.”
Nate
The way some people can manipulate you with their personality and decide what you want to see in them is bullshit. Unfortunately, most of us are those people, and I’m a fucking expert.
I slam the door closed, shaking my head and pacing back and forth in the room like a caged lion. Brantley keeps watching me from across the table, a smug smirk on his face.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, challenging him with my shoulders back.
He doesn’t falter. “That was an angry Tillie, and you know what she gets like when she’s angry…”
