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

“Why the fuck hasn’t Bishop or any of The Kings stopped him?”

“Are you kidding?” Madison snorts, shoving through people to get to the middle. “They’re putting bets down.” She shoves a group of girls who are in the front. “Fucking move!” They slide away and I gasp. Nate is on top of a guy triple his size, Nate’s fist plowing into his face. Blood splatters everywhere and my eyes go to his chest and back where there is dry blood crusted over.

I’m at a loss for words, because what the fuck…

Something kicks up inside of me. “Nate!” I bark. He falters but then carries on.

I go forward. “Nate get the fuck off him before you kill him.”

He stops now, turning to face me over his shoulder. “Forgot About Dre” starts playing now.

Nate turns his head slightly and then climbs off the boy. He’s— “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I knew this was a bad idea, but fuck it. “Madison called—you know what? That’s not the problem here!”

His eyes are on fire, furious as they go up and down my body. Then he licks his lip and grins. “Actually, yeah, sure thing, baby, you stay here.” Then he turns to face the crowd, snatching his drink off Eli who is standing beside Bishop who is also filming this whole thing.

“Nate…” I warn, my jaw clenching.

“What the fuck do you want, Tillie? I fucking told you, I don’t want you near me. Stop acting like my fucking girl just because we have a kid!”

I freeze, my eyes flying to Madison, who looks at me apologetically. I scoff, shaking my head. “You know what, Nate? Sure thing, you’re right. Kill him for all I care.” Then I turn to leave, annoyed that most of Riverside Prep just witnessed Nate and I screaming at each other.

“Oh no you don’t!” His hand comes to my arm, yanking me back.

I turn around, seething. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

He smirks, his other arm snaking around my waist to yank me into him. Then his mouth drops to my ear and I try to block out his scent. Sugar, spice, and leather only now mixed with a pang of liquid metal and sweat. “You just caused a scene, baby. I don’t know why you’re here, but now, you’re going to do exactly as you’re told.”

Then he bites my ear and stands back, his hand coming to mine and turning me around. He starts dragging me toward Bishop and The Kings. and I turn just in time to see a smug looking Madison. She’s such a little shit.

Nate points to a seat around the pool. “Stay there.”

I roll my eyes, annoyed that I came. But when my eyes look around the party, I count five guys with busted faces, maybe I’m not that annoyed for stopping his fighting.

Nate stands opposite me, talking to Jase and Saint. “Numb” from Rihanna starts playing in the background. His eyes come to mine, a smirk evident on his face.

I fucking hate him and his sexy stupid body, and his cocky grin. Even with blood all over him, he’s by far the hottest guy I have ever seen in my entire life. He brings the bottle to his lips, his eyes still on mine, They’re not frantic or angry anymore though, they’re weak and heavy. These are the exact eyes that got me into bed with him in the first place. And Madison and Tate too—probably.

Goddammit. Tipping his head back, he downs the rest of the whiskey, liquid dripping down the side of his face and falling onto his chest over the two large angel wings. Those are my favorite, I decide. I don’t know why he got them, but they’re my favorite. He’s still talking with the guys, but his eyes never stray far from me.

Madison and Tate both drop down beside me, and when Nate sees Madison, he licks his lip but moves straight for me. “Take me home?” he slurs, heavily intoxicated.

I give him a bored expression. “Sure.” Seriously over his shit.

His fingers wrap around mine and he pulls me up, his other arm hooking around my waist. He buries his head into the crook of my neck. “Mmm, you smell good.”

I shove him.

His tongue glides across my collarbone. “Fuck, Tillie,” he groans, exhaling against my flesh. “Why do you fuck me up?”

My body freezes as I try to calm my racing and erratic heart. He doesn’t mean anything he says, he’s just drunk. “You’re being an idiot,” I answer, shaking my head.

“Am I?” He snarls as his lips brush over my skin. I have to mentally talk myself out of his games as his hips slowly press into me, planting me to the spot.

“You ready?” I ask, taking a step backward. When I look at him, he’s smirking down at me, his lips glistening from the drink.