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

Nate still hasn’t taken his eyes off me, his lip curled. “Fuck you.”

I shrug. “You can’t, but Brantley can.”

Nate works his jaw, dragging his eyes away from me. The rest of the trip is filled with everyone talking amongst themselves and Madison trying to plan a big Christmas. Typical of her.

We pull up outside a club with a massive line of people out the front and two big bodyguards holding a clipboard standing at the front entrance. It’s not until I get out of the limo when I realize how drunk I am. It takes a few moments for everything to start spinning, but I’m on a roll. I’m ready to grind up against some random person in the middle of the dance floor.

With Madison glued to Bishop and Tate with Nate, (not that I would drag her with me), I hang back behind them all until the guards let us through. I turn around to see the rest of The Kings following with a couple of other guys that I haven’t met before.

Jase throws his hand over my shoulder. “Tillz, this is Spyder and Ollie, and you know Saint.”

I nod, my eyes falling on the one who looks so much like Bishop it’s weird. The only difference is this guy has like, blue-black hair and strange eyes.

“That one is Spyder,” Jase whispers in my ear. “And if you wanna play, he and Tate have a thing going on.”

“Really.” My eyebrows shoot up, and I see the exact moment Spyder puts two and two together. He’s wearing blue jeans and a white shirt.

Spyder grins at me. “You’re the baby mama, aren’t you…”

I lick my lips. “I am.”

He pulls out a pack of smokes, biting one between his teeth. He lights it. “Yeah, this will be fun.” He steps forward and grabs my hand, pulling me into him where I go happily. Jase is laughing behind me and I’m thankful that even with the weird history between him and Peyton, we can still have a good friendship.

We enter through the doors where “New York” from Ja Rule is playing. This club is closer to Brooklyn, so a fair bit away from where they usually party.

I can feel eyes on me, and I look to the VIP area that’s tucked to the left of the club, away from the dance floor and opposite the bar, but with enough view to see the whole club. Everyone is watching us. Well, Spyder and I. We slowly start making our way over with Jase and Saint when I stop him, my hand grabbing at his arm. I lean up and whisper in his ear. “Let’s dance.”

I shoot a shocked Tate, and an uncomfortable looking Nate one final glare, and slowly grin at them both. I have to fight the urge to flip them off. I’ll save that for another time. Spyder and I make our way to the dance floor, swiping some drinks on the way.

“You and Tate?” I ask Spyder, my hand still on his arm. He’s lean, but not as big as Nate and Bishop. More on the skinny, lean side.

“Yeah,” he growls into my ear. “But since your baby daddy is always around, she’s been using him to ride on my shit.”

I chuckle. “Likewise.” We stop in the middle of the dance floor and his arm wraps around my waist. His eyes drop to mine, a smirk on his face. I don’t know why, but I feel completely comfortable with him. I know we’re using each other, and it feels amazing. I never claimed to be mature, or even sensible. My soul is deep, and the deeper you are, the darker it gets. I’m reckless, impulsive, and I think I’m acquiring an anger problem. So…

I fling my arm around his neck as we dance against each other.

When he drops his forehead to rest against mine, I lick my lips with a grin, but just as I reach for his to press them against mine, he’s being yanked backward, and I’m left with a seething Nate directly in front of me. I tear my eyes away from him as they go back to the VIP section.

Bishop is laughing so hard I almost think he’s going to die, and the rest of them are joining in on it too. Even Brantley looks amused.

I look back to Nate. “What the fuck are you doing?”

His hand comes to my throat and I’m well aware we look like a domestic violence case. He leans into the side of my ear. “What the fuck did I tell you earlier?”

I whack his hand away and he lets me, releasing his grip. “You don’t get a say in who I fuck!” I know I’m yelling, but I’m drunk, frustrated, and fucking hurt. Yes, I’m fucking hurt because aside from not telling him about Micaela, I feel like I have done nothing to warrant this much wrath.