by Amo Jones
Bailey stumbles down the stairs, a bottle dangling between her fingers. “Nice house, Malum.”
I ignore her, my eyes flying back outside as I watch as horny fucking college students dive into my lagoon-style pool that’s outside my very fucking over the top mansion. The day I was told I had a daughter, was actually the day I started plans on building it. Took a while, but it’s done now. Still some things needing to be put in, like the basketball court, and a place I’ve decided to call “The Den.” Bishop and I have massive plans for it. Like a gentleman’s club, with no fucking rules. It’s where we’re going to train the new generation of Kings, Abel included. It’s going to be exclusive and fucking lethal.
From the foyer, the twin stairs lead up to the second level, that’s wrapped in stained marble. The whole second level is rounded in a circle, with a railing that you can look downstairs from. It has ten bedrooms, a theater, a show garage, and a room. The Room. I built this house around that one room. The room that started the plans. If you know me well enough and look closely at this house, you’ll see where I went dark. I started it happy, with Micaela’s room. Then it slowly went to shit and boom, The Den was built.
Everything spins around me, the alcohol pulsing through my system at a speed I can’t catch up to. “Swervin” by A Boogie Wit da Hoodie starts playing and I lean my head back against the top of the sofa, closing my eyes. I usually rage when I’m this drunk, but I can’t seem to find the energy to beat any of these fuckers tonight. I feel someone take a seat on my lap, wriggling.
My eyes fly open and I shove whoever it is off. The girl—who I don’t fucking know—falls to the ground.
“Ouch, Nate!” She turns and I see that it’s someone—I think—I’ve fucked with in the past. Her legs open slightly, and I see a flash of her pussy. Yeah, definitely remember that. I think. I’m drunk.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
I shove through the crowd in my sitting room, half tempted to tell everyone to get the fuck out of my house and that I don’t want any of them here when the front door flies open and everyone stops. She’s like a fucking magnet for Kings, because they all slowly come into the sitting room, surrounding me.
I smirk devilishly, like I wasn’t just brewing in my own salt with how things ended between her and I.
“Careful with that door, Princessa. It doesn’t like being slammed half as much as you do.”
She glares at me from all the way the fuck over there, and my head swims in all the scotch I consumed.
“Is it true?”
I pause. What exactly is she asking me? Did she work it out?
“Everyone out!” I snap at all the people in the lounge. They slowly pile out and make their way out to the back where the pool is. There’s no way I’ll be able to shut this party down right now, so I turn and look at Bishop. “Shut that fucking door and lock it.”
“What are you talking about?” I answer her, but I’m pretty sure I slurred a few words in between. Fuck. I can’t help but take in her fucking body. Even in yoga pants and a fucking granny cardigan that looks two sizes too large for her, she will still make every other girl walking this earth look like a solid zero. And that’s being generous. She doesn’t know this yet, but I haven’t laid my hands on another girl since Micaela came into our lives. Never fucked Tate, even though I’m pretty sure, judging by her little cute confessions with her Bran Bran, she thinks I did, and fuck other girls often, but the truth is, I don’t see any girls past her. Yeah, so I dabbled in pussy before, and between her when she left the first time, but since she came back, I’ve not.
Shit. I haven’t fucked anyone since her. What the fuck.
She carefully steps farther inside, her eyes wild. She’s the kind of wild you can’t tame, but you wouldn’t want to anyway, because her turbulent soul is reckless, desolate and raw. You wouldn’t want her any other way, and if you did, well, fuck what you want.
“Is it true? Did Hector and Katsia have a baby girl…”
I slam my mouth closed, my eyes crashing into Bishop’s before they swing back to her. “Yes.”
She takes another step, her eyes narrowing. Oh, she’s fucking pissed. “I have a half-sister?”
I hiss, baring my teeth as I take a swig of vodka. “Yes.”
She’s right in front of me now, looking up into my eyes. Her sweet little doe eyes momentarily distract me from her animosity that’s throbbing off of her in waves. Then her eyes cut to Brantley.
“Who is the girl that lives with you, Bran Bran?”
Brantley’s eyes blaze, and I watch as his demeanor changes. He doesn’t like when Saint’s name is brought up in a conversation. We all learned that the hard way.
“Brantley,” Tillie whispers, her head bowing. “Who is she?”
Brantley softens, and then exhales, dropping down onto the sofa. “Saint,” he clips out and then reaches for a random bottle of alcohol off the coffee table. He leans back into the sofa and perches one foot up. “And yeah, she’s your half-sister.”
Tillie
I have a half-sister. Someone I didn’t know about—ever, and—I sink to the ground, fatigue settling into my bones.
“I’m tired.”
Nate’s shoes come into view. Nike Air Force Ones as white as his perfect teeth. He drops down, his fingers coming to my chin, tilting my face up to his.
“We only figured it out a couple weeks ago.”
I snatch the bottle from him, bringing the rim to my mouth. “What does this mean?”
Nate sits on the floor opposite me and I see out of the corner of my eye as everyone scatters to relax. The music is still blaring outside.
“It means Daemon knew about her, probably all along.”
“But why did he want me to find it? How would that have helped me?”
Nate chuckles. “He would have wanted you to know that you running Perdita wasn’t your only option, that there was someone else who shares that responsibility with you.”
I wince. Daemon. Sweet, beautifully haunted Daemon. Always there to look out and watch out for me, even from his grave.
“Which would never fucking happen, just to be clear,” Brantley growls.
I bring my eyes up to his. “How long have you known?”
Brantley licks his lip, his eyes never moving from mine. “All her life. Dad bought her when she was two years old. She’s lived with us since. I’m guessing your imagination can fill in the rest, what with everyone’s knowledge of Lucian Vitiosis.”
I pale. “Brantley… what did you do to that poor girl…”
He rolls his eyes. “She’s not my fucking slave or anything. She gets the best of fucking everything. She couldn’t go to school, so we hired tutors. Ones that I approved of. Her life before we took her, though, Tillie, it wasn’t fucking good. And when Dad was alive, it wasn’t much better, until I put a stop to it when she was thirteen.”
My eyes glass over. “She looks so young and…pure.”
Brantley’s eyes drift over my head as he loses focus. “Yeah. I know. She’s younger than you, though. Not by much.”
“Her name is Saint?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Yeah. I named her.”
I study Brantley’s posture, how he positions himself in a defensive stance while we speak about her. Yeah, I wouldn’t breathe near this girl without his permission. At all. It’s frightening while being beautiful at the same time. To witness the scariest man I have ever met, ever known, with such a dark past and soul, soften toward a girl who is the opposite of him, is some sort of witchcraft.
“Okay. We don’t need to talk about her anymore, but I do want to meet her…”
Brantley relaxes. “Yeah. Well, since everyone knows about her, and Nate is owned, I have no problem bringing her around.”
“Aye!” Nate laughs, his head tilting back. “What, me? Little old me? You didn’t want to bring her around because of me?”
Brantley rolls his eyes. “Don’t fuckin’ play dumb, Malum. Chicks fall to your cock. Though I kne
w she wouldn’t, I couldn’t risk killing you just in case you, or she, did.”
“Mmm!” I whine, swiping my mouth after I take a sip of alcohol. “So Valentina staked her claim on you, since you’re owned now?”
The room falls silent, all that’s filling the space is the music from outside. When Nate doesn’t answer me, I bring my eyes to his. My stomach flips at the way he’s looking at me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
I don’t want to admit that I want to know what happened when he and Bishop stayed behind, because that would show I care.
He props one knee up and rests his elbow on it, leaning his head back against the wall. He smirks. “You think I fucked Valentina when I stayed behind in Perdita…”
“—Okay,” I hear Eli mutter from somewhere in the room. “I’m going to get pussy. Mommy and Daddy are fighting again.”
“I don’t even care,” I answer with a level voice.
Nate reaches out and grabs my hand, tugging me forward. I end up on my knees in front of him as he looks up at me from sitting on the ground. His hand drifts up my cardigan and then he yanks me down so I’m face-to-face with him.
“Liar.”
I search his eyes. “Does it matter?”
He chuckles. “Not fucking really.”
I shove at his chest, pushing off him. “I don’t even know why I bothered.” He doesn’t let me move so I shove harder until I’m back on my feet. I find Bishop. “You need to get in contact with Madison.” Then I look at Brantley. “Thank you, Bran Bran. It’s been fun.”
Brantley’s eyes shift to Nate desperately.
“I feel so much fucking better now that everything is deciphered. Only took a few murders, some hot sex, and losing my best friend, daughter, the man I fucking love, but whatever. Sayonara, bitches.” I throw up deuces and turn, bearing straight for the front door. I need to run. One-thousand miles and clear my head.
“There’s one little issue with your big dramatic exit, baby…” Nate murmur-slurs from behind me. Khalid’s “OTW” thuds through the speakers.
I freeze, my fingers on the door handle. Slowly, I turn back around to face him, finding him a few steps in front of me.
“And what’s that?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Just before you walked your little ass up in here, I made a promise to myself.”
“Oh, you did, huh?” I humor him. “What was that promise?”
I’m tired and drained. I just want to finally mourn losing him. Losing him. I’ve never had to do it because we’ve always lingered together.
“Yeah.” He smirks, taking a tentative step.
I step back.
He counters that by coming further.
My back slams against the door.
His hands fly up to either side of my head, his head dipping down to mine. He runs his nose tip over mine. “I promised myself that I’d let you go—until you walked your ass back into a house that I’m in, then I’m not letting you go. Ever.”
I roll my eyes, shoving his hard chest, but he doesn’t move. “Stop being ridiculous. I’m tired of the games.”
His eyes narrow, then drop to my lips. “Not a game, baby. Gamechanger.” He comes closer, his body pressing against mine and leans down, his lips floating across my ear. “I’ll lock you in my room if I have to. You’re not leaving me this time, or ever again.”
I swallow. “I can’t do this, Nate.” I can feel all the emotions and feelings I have for him roaring to the surface. “I can’t continue to love someone who isn’t manufactured to love back. I can’t fucking compete with other girls when it comes to your affection, and I can’t fucking handle not having all of you!”
He slams me up against the door, his hands coming to my thighs. He lifts me off the floor and out of instinct, I wrap my legs around his lean waist. One hand rests on the front of my throat as his thumb caresses my collarbone. His other is wrapped around my lower back.
“One, you’ve never competed with any fucking girl. It’s always been you and it makes me fucking testy hearing you say shit like that so I would advise that be the last time those words spill out from those lips, or I’ll feel obliged to shove something else between them. Two, there is one person on this earth who gets all of me, Tillie. One fucking girl. And it’s not the dispensable hos that have bounced on my dick. It’s the one that fucking stole my heart, and lastly.” He smirks, his lips brushing softly against mine. “I must have malfunctioned along the way somewhere, because I fucking love you.”
I search his eyes when the first tear slips from the corner of mine. My heart feels like it’s beating to a different tune now.
“What?”
He kisses me softly, his lips brushing against mine. I open my mouth to let him in further as his tongue touches mine. My stomach flips and my thighs clench. He loves me.
“Wait!” I stop, pushing at his chest. “You’re drunk!”
He rolls his eyes.
The Kings in the background groan out loud. “For fuck’s sake, Stuprum!” one of them curses.
Nate grins. “I’m not that drunk. Stop being difficult.”
I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck and bring my nose tip to his. “I love you, too, but I have one condition for us going forward. You know, consider it a new trend, if you will. Our girl version of calling red.”
Nate’s eyes narrow, then he starts pressing small kisses over mine. “Anything.”
Between kisses, I smirk. “We’re going to visit the same tattoo artist that Madison and Bishop visited, and I’m claiming what’s mine.”
Nate bursts out laughing, his head tilting back as he lowers me to the ground. He takes my hand and kisses the front.
“Sure thing, baby. So where are you stamping your name?”
“That is not a thing,” Brantley announces, flicking his finger between us.
“It actually is…” I raise my eyebrows in challenge.
“Says fucking who?” He glares at me.
“Says fucking me, and since I am royalty, what I say goes. Also, Madison agreed.”
Brantley glares at Nate. “Tell her that it’s not a thing.”
Nate begins carrying me upstairs. “Oh, it’s a thing, and tell everyone to get the fuck out of my house.”
Tillie
Nate’s bedroom bleeds opulence, the only kind that you could expect from him. I roll off his California king bed, dragging the sheet with me while leaving him completely naked behind.
I smirk, raking my hair out of my face as I make my way to the glass wall that is on the other side of his room. I find it interesting that they’ve all moved to NYC instead of staying in The Hamptons. Maybe it’s a King thing. I run my fingertips over the walls. Dark grey with white trimmings. They almost look angry as they reach high up to the ceilings. The bathtub is behind a free-standing wall, along with a large shower head that stretches into a long rectangle. There are two walk-in wardrobes, one filled with all his clothes, and—I flick the light off, ducking into the other, where it’s filled with some of my clothes.
“Shit that you left at Mom’s.”
“Oh,” I whisper, not bothering to turn around to face him. “You just knew that I would take you back, huh?”
He chuckles, and I look over my shoulder to watch as he moves fluidly around the room, in all his naked glory. Muscles twitch with every movement and tattoos sprawl out everywhere with it. “Yeah, I did.” He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my torso while hugging me into his chest. He bites on my neck roughly. “You’re not a woman who can be owned. I knew that a long time ago. You may not belong to me, but you belong with me. And there ain’t shit you can do about it.”
I laugh, tilting my head as he drags his teeth over my shoulder. My eyes close as I fight the urge to moan.
He slaps my ass, pulling me out of my sex-induced haze. “I want to show you something before we leave.”
“Before we leave?” I ask, tilting my head and watching as he turns the show
er on. Steam instantly fills the room.
“Yeah,” he smirks. “I promised you a fucking tattoo.”
“And you really do want to?” I ask, an eyebrow cocked.
He glares at me. “Baby, I don’t give a fuck. I would put your name across my head if I wanted to.”
My eyes drop down his body, taking every single bit in. I grin when I get to the K I N G that sits over his pelvis. “I know just the thing.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, slipping into the shower. “Bet you fucking do.”
We wash up, in between the sex, and get changed in record time. I end up throwing on something of mine that he had brought here. Casual Vans, skinny jeans, and a leather jacket.
We’re walking downstairs when he takes my hand and gestures down the elongated hallway. “When I built this house,” he starts talking while leading me down. The walls drip in blood, the red a darker take in the very eccentric home. “I mean, when I started on the designs, it was when I first found out I had a daughter. I designed her room first and then built around it. That’s why if you haven’t noticed—”
“—the house changes in themes. Based on your mood,” I finish for him, absently running my hand over the walls as we walk.
His fingers twitch in mine. “Exactly.”
“What did you do with Micaela’s room when she passed?”
He stops outside of a door and turns to face me. “If this is too much for you, I can change it. You can decide what to do with it. But for me, I figured this was what I wanted to do for now. A place we can go to feel her again when it starts to get numb.”
Nate opens the door and I pause. The walls are pure white with Victorian style window panes that overlook the backyard of the house. There’s a large purple rug in the middle of the floor and the walls are filled with large bookshelves, where all sorts of items sit inside little cubes.
“It’s perfect…” I whisper, stepping farther into the room. “I love it.” I turn around, flinging my arms around his neck and pulling him into me further. “Let’s get that tattoo.”
Tillie
