Malum: Part 2 (The Elite King's Club 5)

There’s a light chuckle from the corner and I freeze. “Who’s that?”

Daemon clambers backward, and though I can’t see much in this lighting, I catch a glimpse of the scar on the back of his neck, reaching to the front. How the fuck is he still alive?

I narrow my eyes in an attempt to get a better look at the silhouette hidden in the darkest corner of my cell. “I swear if that’s you again, Nate, I’ll cut your dick off this time.”

Another chuckle, and then the figure steps forward, the slight light from the small window forcing itself through the bars on the window.

He’s wearing a dark hoodie, shading most of his face but I can see the fine edge of his sharp jawline. His jeans are destroyed from wear, not for vanity. A heavy black belt hangs low around his waist. My eyes travel up both of his arms that are covered with long sleeves, but I can see tattoos sneaking out on his hands. I continue up his large chest, past the Nike emblem on his hoodie, up to his neck. His neck. I freeze, licking my lips. His neck is completely covered in dark ink, skulls and roses and some kind of scripture. Tanned skin lays underneath. I suck in a breath, coming to his lips. Perfect bow lips that curl in all the right places, his bottom one slightly plump. His jaw is cut sharp and perfectly symmetrical. Both points of his jaw are tipped at the same place on either side. Sunken cheekbones, and then I finally drag my eyes up to meet his.

Holy. Shit.

“Do I know you?” I whisper, all thoughts flying out of my head. He is beautiful. But he looks familiar. He looks. So. Familiar.

He brings his hand up to his hoodie and flicks it off to rest around the back of his neck. “No.”

“But…”

His jaw ticks, his eyes flying to the body lying in the cell opposite me. I can’t stop staring at him, though. I probably should stop staring. Next to Nate, he would be the second hottest guy that I had ever seen. That used to be Bishop, but—I freeze, my wits now one-hundred percent working because I step forward, grabbing his chin with my hand, forcing his face back to look down at me.

His emerald eyes search mine, not giving anything else away.

I stop breathing, my grip tightening around his chin.

The corner of his mouth kicks up in a dark smirk. The kind I know all too well, only this one is—frightening. “Yes, seems I have a relation that you know.”

“Relation?” I gasp, shaking my head and finally letting the poor boy go.

He cracks his neck. “Apparently I have a brother, and apparently we look like twins.”

I lick my lip. “You do. Does Bishop know that you’re in here?”

He grins, and his heavy eyes find the camera in the corner. “He does now…”

He flicks his hand toward Khales. A very dead Khales. “I wanted a turn with her. Didn’t think you’d finish her in one go.”

Ignoring his gesture toward her corpse, I keep my eyes on him, intrigue rushing through me. “What did she do to you, and what—how are you here?”

He shakes his head. “Too much to get into right now, but she killed my mother. I was outnumbered. I didn’t know about Bishop until I got here, and she dangled him above my head like fresh bait, waiting for me to snap and take my first bite.”

There’s so much I want to know, but I know this isn’t the time. So instead, I stare at him until I form the right words that I want to say.

“So Khales brought you here?”

He nods, taking a seat on the floor. I back up and slide down near the door, sitting opposite him but giving enough space between us. I don’t know him or his story, and the fact that I’m locked in a cell with him tugs on all the strings of my warning bells.

He pulls his hoodie back up over his head. “My name’s Abel, I’m Bishop’s younger brother, same dad, different mom. I’m still in fucking high school, and I’m a cage fighter.”

“Well,” I mutter. “Yeah. Definitely different upbringings.”

Abel shrugs. “It helped my mom pay for shit growing up. I learned the hard way, not the privileged way.”

A million thoughts are rushing through my head, but one, in particular, has hit a standstill and won’t move back into gear. “Why? Why did she bring you here?”

He shrugs, drawing one leg up and resting his elbow on his knee. “Long story.” His eyes pierce through me, and I have to take a moment to calm myself. “I have heard about you.”

“Really…” I quirk my eyebrow and draw my knees up close. I’m fighting to look toward Daemon, the process still not fully developed in my head right now. Something is going on, something that I don’t understand. “What was it that you heard?”