by Amo Jones
His eyes narrow, and mine drop down to what he’s wearing. Loose sweatpant shorts and no shirt. Sweat glistens off his chest.
“Did you just workout?” I ask, pointing down his body.
He removes the blender cup, slowly dragging his eyes from mine. “Yeah. Why?” I can see the side of his cheek turning up in a smile.
I carry on. “I need to.”
He nudges his head toward the stairs. “Level three.”
“Isn’t that where your room is?” I ask, stirring the batter again.
“Yeah, just my room and the gym. You should do it before pancakes, and anyway, the batter needs to sit in the fridge for an hour.”
“What?” I glare at him. “Since when?”
Brantley stares at me, hitting the blender off after mixing his shake. “Since forever. Everyone knows that pancake batter needs to sit in the fridge for an hour before you cook it.”
There are so many different layers to Brantley Vitiosis and I’m so thankful he peels a couple of them away for me. “Aw Bran Bran, you’re so sweet.”
“First warning of the day,” he mutters nonchalantly, pouring his protein shake into a shaker.
I put the mixture in the fridge, taking out a water bottle while I’m there. “I’ll listen, but you’re eating these with me.”
I turn around, laughing, but he’s already gone. How did I manage to live in a house with a bunch of moody, hot, sexually charged men?
Oh, that’s right, my fucking blood.
I made my way to the third floor after hassling Bailey for some workout clothes. We both agreed that we’re going shopping today, because I really do need clothes. I almost forgot about all the money that’s in my account. It’s unreal.
Walking slowly down the hallway, I see one door directly at the end. It’s black and has patterns carved into the wood. Brantley’s room, no doubt. I wonder what his room looks like? Will it be as dark as him, or will it be all white and bland? Somehow, the latter just doesn’t seem feasible.
I go for the second door and push it open. My mouth drops to the floor when I take in the space. I know that they all take their training seriously, but I could live in here. The walls are floor to ceiling glass, built to curve around the whole back of the house. You get the view of the forest and can see from here the clearing where the graveyard is. I shiver. Fucking sinister house. The gym is probably the most executive part about this whole house. The equipment is all laid out perfectly, with everything plus more that you will find in a regular gym. Including a stepper. Thank fuck.
There’s a punching bag in the corner too that calls to me. I could do with a punching session. I need to exhaust all this energy before tonight, when and I’m faced with Nate and his—virginity stealer.
I push my earbuds into my ears and flick through my Spotify as I slowly pace toward the treadmill. I climb on and hit level 12 instantly. I hit Halsey’s playlist, needing more of her soothing voice after this morning. “Without Me” starts playing and I pick up my pace. It always takes me a couple of minutes to find my stride, huffing and puffing like an unfit cow that hasn’t worked out in months—because I haven’t. Finally, my breathing becomes level and the lyrics to the song disappear. I need something angrier to match the raging sweat that’s dripping down my face, not to be the counterpart of the sad beat of my heart. “Go Fuck Yourself” by Two Feet comes on instead and I leave it, because who wouldn’t. This song is the best two-or so minutes in music history. That beat. I hit the ramp up to 2. My thighs burn, my heart is pounding in my chest and for the next twenty minutes, I’m thinking of nothing but the ache in my muscles.
Turning off the treadmill, I jump down but jerk in shock when I see Nate standing near the door. I rip off my earbuds. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer, just watches me as I reach for my water bottle. His eyes drop down my body and I curse Bailey and her skimpy clothes—once again. I’m in nothing but a bright green sports bra and little black spandex shorts. They’re so short that my ass actually falls out of them after a while.
Nate ignores me, pushing forward and going straight for the weight machines. “Working out. What do you think?”
I want to just leave after the run, but I also don’t want it to be obvious that his presence disrupts me in such an obvious way.
So I go for the punching bag, pushing the gloves on while glaring at him. He removes his shirt and slings it over a bench, stretching his back muscles.
The tattoos on his back flex above his muscles. The Elite King skull sitting above New York City is over his left side. He has old English writing curving across his traps that read “MALUM” like the one that sits over his pelvic area that says “King.”
I need to stop staring.
I push my earbuds back into my ears to distract me and hit play on Rihanna’s “Desperado.” I wrap my knuckles with the smaller gloves. Why are there girl sized gloves here? And stretch my neck. Bailey, obviously… I start with single jabs, launching them toward the hard, black sack. Inhale, exhale. I tense my abs with every hit, sweat continuing to pour out of my flesh. When the single jabs start to lose their effect, I start on one, two, three combos. I speed up and then slow down, all while keeping my abs tight and my core strong.
My arms burn the longer I punch, but it feels good. Ridge and I used to do this every weekend in his garage, so it’s easy to pick back up on the combos. Everything that has happened up to this point in my life starts to slowly drift through my head and I find my punches getting hard. My aggression hits a new level and I swing my leg around in a roundhouse kick before going back to the jab and hook combinations. I don’t want to stop. I want to beat this bag until my limbs fall off. My earbuds fall out of my ears and the loud base that Nate is obviously playing takes up every inch of the area. “Na Na” by Trey Songz is playing. I kick my earbuds out of the way so I don’t step on them. One two, three. My punching gets hard, my arms burning and my abs feeling like lava.
You know when you feel eyes on you? My eyes shoot up, distracted by Nate and Brantley both standing there watching me. The bag swings and almost hits me, so I curl my arm around to steady it.
“What!” I snap at them both.
“That’s supposed to make you less angry. You seem madder than before,” Nate teases. “Any reason why?” He grins at me, stretching out his arms. I notice they’re both in work out gear. Both no shirts and both wearing appropriate sweat shorts.
I’m so fucking fucked when it comes to these two.
“Yes, there is a reason actually,” I mutter, bouncing up and swinging toward the bag again. “Pancakes.”
Brantley is on the other side of the bag in a heartbeat. “Wanna spar?”
My eyes fly to his.
“I mean, I get the feeling that you’ve done this whole thing before. Am I right?”
“A little,” I grumble, readjusting the gloves.
“There’s so much we just don’t know about you, little terror…” Brantley torments, picking up the sparring pads. My eyes catch Nate who has started on the skipping rope.
He’s skipping doubles, his eyes slicing through me with every swing. I know that out of all of them, Nate and Brantley are the more athletic guys. Especially Nate. He does all sorts of training to keep his body in check. Including CrossFit and Parkour.
He twists his arms over all while not breaking his skip.
My eyes fly to Brantley. I smile before I start swinging, now hitting each pad.
The boys are all out back of the house, so I start on the pancakes. I’m not showering before because then I might lose my appetite. All of The Kings are here—sans Abel, who has done a complete ghost. I start on mixing another load of batter, pouring it into the one that was in the fridge. Brantley won’t know that half of it wasn’t in the fridge. I heat up the griddle and start pouring two at a time. The sound dock is still on and I hit play on some music. When I first got to Brantley’s house, it was disturbing. But now I love it. I love the history and characte
r that lay within the aging walls.
“It’s a Vibe” from 2 Chainz starts playing and I lose myself in flipping pancakes.
I feel him before I turn around. Nate takes up every area that he occupies.
He comes closer, stealing a pancake. “Have you got something to wear tonight or are you going shopping?”
I glare at him. “They’re not ready!” I gesture to the pancakes. “I’m going to get a dress and other shit I need so I don’t have to keep squeezing my ass into Bailey’s. I’m also taking Madison with me.”
He freezes mid-chew. “Why?”
“What do you mean why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on him.
“She fucking cheated on Bishop. I can’t even—”
“—You’re a fucking hypocrite if you’re going to be mad at her about cheating when you’ve so happily done it to me.”
He laughs, but it’s not a nice one and I instantly know that I’ve just lit a match and—probably—am about to be burned. “I’ve never fucking cheated on you, Tillie.”
“Yes, you have.”
“How the fuck can I cheat on you when we’ve never really been together? Explain that shit to me because—”
I turn my face away from him before I smack him over the head with this spatula, but his hand grips my chin and he yanks my face up to face his, squeezing roughly. He searches my eyes, and I see by the way his pupils dilate that whatever he’s about to do, it is going to hurt. “How can I fucking cheat on someone who was never mine?”
Ouch.
I yank my face out of his grip, my heart sinking to the bottom of the ocean. “You’re right. That’s my bad. You do you, Nate.” I can’t even be bothered arguing with him right now. I’m too angry at his words.
He steals another pancake. “And that’s not why I’m mad at her.”
I clench my jaw, my anger refusing to let go.
He carries on. “It’s because—”
“—because it’s not fucking you,” I finish for him, piling the last of the pancakes up. This has always been an issue for me, how he cares for Madison. I’m irrational, I know, but we all want to be the only one. Not the one of two.
He doesn’t answer, only making me even more angry as I flip off the switch to the griddle and snatch the plate of pancakes. I ignore him as he’s clearly watching me move around the kitchen, and then I leave, going outside to where the rest of The Kings are, all of their eyes lighting up on the pancakes. I sit down beside Eli and Hunter, leaning back on my chair. Brantley is opposite me, unmoving. I zone out on the pancakes and watch as everyone digs in, only I’ve lost my appetite. A foot connects with mine under the table and I glance up to Brantley, who’s watching me carefully.
“You okay?” He mouths, searching my eyes.
I’m not.
I’m more than not okay. I wanted to be the stronger person and reign hell on Nate, but I can’t. All I can do, is move on. I need to move on and away from his toxicity. I’ll never be his. If I was Madison, he wouldn’t have treated me this way. I realize that now.
I shake my head, skating off the chair and storming back to my room. I need to get out of this fucking house. I fly past Daemon’s room, but he’s once again not there.
It makes me worse. I can feel my mind spiraling and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I kick open my door and yank out the same clothes I was wearing yesterday, slipping in and out of the shower. When I reenter, Bishop is standing at my open door, his eyes on mine.
“Hey,” I whisper, reaching for my clothes while clenching the towel around my body. Can I have a few seconds away from all of these assholes? I mentally remind myself to invite Madison out this morning. I need to be around girls.
“Is there something that you’re not telling me about the Madison thing?” he asks, licking his lip.
I shake my head, gripping my clothes. “Even if I did, Bishop, my loyalty will always be to her. She’s my best friend and I would never do anything to mistreat that trust.”
He tilts his head, his eyes going up and down my body. “Even though she and Nate are so close? That has never aggravated you. How?”
I exhale, sitting on my bed. I guess we’re having that talk. “Because I’m nothing to Nate. I was something, the mother to—” I pause, my eyes closing. “But in essence, he’s never loved me. He has n—”
Bishop shakes his head. “Girls and their need for love. That’s part of the problem.” He enters my room farther, leaning back against the wall.
“Love isn’t unreasonable if you’ve poured everything into one person,” I remind him.
“I did that,” Bishop says, his eyes on mine. “And she broke my fucking heart. Now I’m feeling unhinged.”
The energy in the room shifts.
He wouldn’t.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
Okay so maybe he would?
“I’m not going to fuck you, Tillie. Chill out. I’m not that kind of guy. I have to admit that it would make me feel a fucking shit load better what with her and Nate.”
I exhale, relaxing. “Except I mean nothing to Nate.” I roll my eyes, standing up to make my way back into the bathroom.
Bishop takes one step forward. I freeze. He’s so close, towering over me like a mountain.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m tempted by the idea of making myself feel better by hurting Nate, but no way in hell would that ever be with Bishop. Madison needs to talk with him before he makes a bad decision.
My door swings open, and Bishop steps back quickly.
Eli scans Bishop and me.
“What?” Bishop snaps before storming out of the room.
Okay that looked bad. It was nothing and that looked like it was something.
“Well, well, well, looks like you’re finally learning the game…” Eli teases and then exits the room without even telling me what he came down here for.
I groan, going straight for the bathroom and changing before this gets worse. I need to buy a car today. And undies.
Tillie
With Bailey bailing on me at the last minute, I’m here waiting for Madison in Brantley’s car. I could have taken Nate’s, but I don’t want to give him any more reason to talk to me. The deep V8 growls under my ass and I regret not taking maybe one of his new cars. Which reminds me, how the fuck am I going to park this big beast in town?
Madison jogs out of her house, down the steps and climbs into the passenger seat. I don’t like this house. It holds too many bad memories. This is the exact place the hearse was parked not long ago.
I gulp, turning the radio down so we can talk.
“You stole Brantley’s car?” Madison smirks as she piles her long hair onto the top of her head. “I’m impressed.”
I shift it into gear and press on the accelerator. “I didn’t steal it. He let me use it.”
“Wow,” Madison murmurs. “That’s weird.”
She doesn’t understand and that’s okay. To her, Brantley is still the big bad wolf, which he is, he just doesn’t huff and puff my house down.
“I need to buy a car and clothes, including something to wear tonight,” I say, driving us onto the main highway.
She clears her throat. “How has he been?”
“Well,” I say, shuffling uncomfortably. “He came down to my room this morning to talk, and then Eli walked in and it didn’t look good. I was in a towel because I just got out of the shower and it was right at a moment that Bishop was standing directly in front of me.”
I turn toward her slightly to find her arms crossed and her eyes following the trees outside.
“Nothing happened,” I clarify, feeling the need to defend myself.
She turns to face me. “I know. I know you’d never do that. But I’m worried that he’s going to go to someone like Tate, who would do that.”
“Why do we keep this bitch around?” I grumble under my breath. “You think she would do that to you?” I mean, I know that she did it to me, but I’m not as close to her as Madison.<
br />
“She did it to you,” Madison gapes at me.
“Well, I think you need to come clean about what happened before he does something that he’s going to regret, ya know?”
She exhales. “Yeah, I know.”
“Can you tell me anything else about what happened?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. It’s too dangerous.”
I sigh. “Okay. Well, let’s go spend my mother’s money.”
Madison laughs, her face changing. It’s like old Madison is fighting to come through.
We end up at Porsche.
Why am I at Porsche?
“Buy it,” Madison says, sucking her iced caramel macchiato. “I’m serious. I think you should.”
The car salesman looks between both of us. “Are you old enough?”
I roll my eyes, pulling my card out of my wallet. “Yes.”
He takes the card with his chubby fingers, greed lighting up his eyes. “And ID please, ma’am.”
I hand him my ID.
He nods, reading it quickly and matching the two names on the cards. I watch as excitement takes over full force and he straightens his back. “So the 918 Spyder?”
I pinch my lips.
“Yes,” Madison agrees, hooking her arm in mine. “And we should get it wrapped in pink! To match your hair!”
“No!” I snap at the salesman. “Please don’t do that and ignore my friend.”
“What color would you like? If you want a custom color, we can get that done and have the car shipped to you in a few business days. As well as any other modifications that you’d want.”
I think over his words. “I just want it fast.”
He nods. “We can add in—” He loses me with all the engine mods that he yaps on about.
I smirk, my eyes going to the car. “I want it red. Blood red.”
He pauses and then gawks between me and the car. “Done.”
We enter his office and I fill out the paperwork. Paying for something that is ridiculous but makes me happy. This is her money that she left me, and it’s enough to last me until I die while buying one of these a day, but I still don’t feel like it’s mine.
