Malum: Part 1 (The Elite King's Club 4)

Spyder tsks from the back seat. “There are ninety-seven ways you can kill someone without drawing any blood.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that, but okay,” Cash replies. The complete opposite of his brother Saint, who runs in the same circle as me and Bishop when it comes to becoming the reaper when needed. We’re just below Brantley, who is a product of someone who has walked through the gates of hell and lived to talk about it.

We pull into an underground parking of a skyscraper building. As soon as Bishop parks, we all jump out, shutting our doors loudly.

Hector Hayes, Bishop’s old man and the godfather of all of The Kings, flicks his suit while grinning at us all. “Ready for playtime?”

Tillie

“Stop pacing and sit down. You’re making me dizzy.” Madison massages her temples, leaning forward. We’re all in the sitting room. Elena and Bishop’s mom, Scarlet, has joined us.

“Seriously.” Oh, and Tate.

I flop down onto the single sofa, flicking my rings around my finger. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Elena coos, offering me a gentle smile. One that doesn’t quite reach the corners of her eyes. “But don’t worry. She’s coming back.”

“That’s sort of not really what I’m worried about. I mean, I know she’s coming back. I know they’ll get her back.”

“What then?” Madison asks. She doesn’t snap at me, her tone is warm enough to almost melt the truth right out of my mouth, but I slam my lips closed.

I freeze. “Nothing.”

Tate curls up in a ball on the sofa and it’s not long before she’s snoring softly. She was drunk, very drunk, and an irrational side of me wants to hate her for everything that she’s making me feel, but I don’t. My beef isn’t with her, it’s more with Nate. He’s the one who is a whore and has made me feel like I’m just another girl he cares about in his life. Or maybe it is an underlying insecurity from my daddy issues. Who knows. Either way, I sigh as I get up from my seat and grab the throw blanket that is perched over the top of the sofa, spreading it out over her little body.

“She doesn’t mean to be the way she is,” Madison says through a whisper.

“I know,” I agree, and it’s as though neither of the moms are in this room right now. “Love changed her.”

Madison sighs. “When she figures out that it’s not love that she’s feeling, she will come back.”

“I hope so,” I answer softly, going back to my spot on the sofa. Unable to sit still, my fingers start twisting on my lap. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

Scarlet looks at me over her martini glass. “Yes.”

All of the cars pull up at once. The Range Rovers, the Bentley, and finally, the one I knew Nate was in. I chew on my bottom lip as the backdoor swings open. Madison grabs my hand beside me and squeezes. “It’s going to be okay.”

My breathing stops, my legs wobble like jelly and when I see Nate finally step out of the car, I let out a small exhale as he turns, and Micaela is cradled in his arms. I jolt toward them, reaching out to her, but Nate turns her away from me.

“Inside. Now.”

“What?” I snap, my eyes leaving my daughter and going back to Nate. “You can’t do this.” I barely noticed the blood stains on Nate’s hands or everyone else that was there because they’re blurred into the back of my brain.

Finally, I turn and leave, going back inside and into the sitting room. The gas fire flicks angry flames against the wall which is a direct display of my own rage.

Nate walks in alone with Micaela in his arms. He slowly brings her toward me, and I fly off the sofa, taking her in my arms.

“It feels longer than one day that she has been gone.”

Nate doesn’t say anything, he simply lowers himself onto the sofa. “Sit down, Tillie. I need to talk with you about something.”

I inhale Micaela’s scent, closing my eyes. “If it has to do with whatever you had to do to get her back, I don’t care.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning back in the sofa. Micaela starts stirring so I bounce her around. Nate’s eyes land on her. “She’s been looked after by that nurse.”

I nod, running my finger down her cheek. “I know. It’s why—” I stop. Biting down on my tongue. It’s too late, though, because he caught it.

“Oh?” He pikes up, leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs. “You knew?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. shit. “I knew that Peyton would us—”

“—cut the fucking lies, Tillie. You can’t fucking be honest even when it comes to our daughter.”

My eyes snap to his. “So you’ve never lied?”

He pins me with a glare, staring straight through me. “Never about her.” Then he stands to all his six-foot-whatever inches, his shoulders squaring in defiance. It’s at this very moment that I realize just how pissed he is.