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

“Why?” I choke on my words, and I instantly hate that I’ve shown emotion.

“Because you remind me of everything that I lost. You remind me of her. Everything about you is a reminder of her. Your smell, your laugh, your smile.”

I can’t stop the tears now. They’ve got free rein over me. I don’t answer. I’ll let him finish.

“Everything that I came to love about you was buried with our daughter. The way you would make her laugh in the morning when you’d change her diaper, or when you’d put her in the bed with us and we would just fucking admire the perfection that we both created. But that’s all gone, Tillie, and now all that’s left is anger and hurt, and a whole lot of fucking pain that I can’t afford to be feeling. It makes me distracted.”

I can feel myself slowly slipping away. “Then let me go.”

There’s a pause. “I can’t.”

I stop breathing. Will he finally admit it?

“This is your world too. You deserve the crown that has been given to you, and also, you deserve the closure that I do too.”

“Closure?” I ask, my attention spiked. “What do you mean closure?”

Pause.

I rip the blankets off, the dark room serving as a blanket of safety. I tiptoe to where I think he is, reaching out aimlessly to see if I can feel him.

My hand lands on his hair, and I quickly flinch away, dropping to my knees when I have found him. I don’t want to touch him any more than I have to. His touch is everything good and bad for me. I can’t lose myself in him again. I have to be smart. I have to make him pay. No, you don’t. Yes, I do.

“Tell me what you mean,” I whisper. I can almost feel his heavy breath falling on my lips, the smell of whiskey and cologne filling the space between us.

“When I tell you this, Tillie, I need your word that you will do as you’re told and not be reckless. I think this will—” He pauses. “I think having you help us, and us getting our closure will help you.”

“Help me?”

He changes the subject. “Do I have your word?”

“Yes,” I answer instantly. “You do.”

He exhales. “We think Micaela didn’t die of SIDs.”

I freeze, inching back.

His arm hooks around my waist. “I’ve got you. Can you handle this?”

Can I?

No.

Yes.

I have to.

“Yes…”

His arm tightens around my waist, but he doesn’t pull me into him which I appreciate. It’s a subtle hint that he’s there. He will catch me.

“We think she was murdered, and we think Hector has everything to do with it.”

Everything goes black.

Tillie

My skin swells with heat. An arm tightens around me. The smell of old whiskey is being breathed into my hair. My eyes pop open and the room is bright, the morning sun coming through the small window at the top of the wall.

“I’m trying really hard to be sensitive because I’ve just told you something dark as fuck, but your ass is pressing into me and if you wriggle it one more time, my dick is going in whether you want it or not—but let’s be real, you’d want it.”

I turn in his arms, ignoring the typical Nate antics. “You slept in here with me.”

“I did,” he agrees, his sleepy eyes searching mine, but they’re guarded. I don’t know if he’s always been like this and I haven’t noticed before, but he’s more shielded than before. It’s troubling.

“Why?” I ask, my voice husky and desperate. “Why did you sleep in my bed?”

“Because knowing you’re okay is worth the pain that having you in my arms causes.”

I wince, my heart twisting in my chest from his words. “I don’t want you in pain, Nate.”

“It’s just the way it is. I’m used to it.”

My head thuds as I turn to face the ceiling. “He really did this?”

Nate’s silent, so I turn to face him, desperate for answers that I’m not sure I want.

“Yeah, we think he did. I need to ask you a few things about that night. Do you think you’re up for that?”

My brain blurs like a television channel without reception. I exhale, closing my eyes. “I have to.”

He inches up onto one elbow, studying me. I ignore the way the sun sets behind him from the window, highlighting his dark blond hair, or the fact that first thing in the morning Nate is always a nicer version than the afternoon Nate.

“When you went to bed that night, was there anything that felt odd? Out of place? Anything.”

Pain grips onto my heart, squeezing while not letting go. I don’t want to think about this. I don’t want to let the memories seep into my already unstable soul. But it’s too late, because images are flashing through my head a hundred miles per hour, blinding me with their speed.