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

Nate must drop opposite me because his face is directly in front of mine. “It’s not your fucking fault!”

Tears slip over my lips, their saltiness running on the tip of my tongue. “It was.”

“No, baby.” His hands come to my face through the rag. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you. No one blames you. The only person who blames you, is you—”

“—Daemon,” I whisper. “I have to make sure he understands. I don’t think he understands that I didn’t kill her, Nate.” The sobs take hold again, my throat swelling.

Nate yanks the hoodie off my head and rain falls onto my face. It’s dark, but there are two cars parked behind me with their headlights shining on us. The first thing I notice is Nate is on his knees in front of me, the second thing I notice is all of The Kings, Bishop included, in a half-circle behind Nate, and the third thing I notice is that behind Nate, is a gravestone. D A E M O N

My eyes go back to Nate. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

Nate licks his lips, his thumb pressing to mine. “Daemon understands, baby.”

“No—” I shake my head. “He’s different now. Lost. These nightmares—” I pause, my eyes going back to Nate. “Why are we here? This is where my nightmares are.”

Nate searches my eyes and I tilt my head to study him. “Daemon was never in that cell, baby.”

I rear back. “What? Yes, he was, and he’s been with me since. He’s in the room beside me at Brantley’s!”

Nate looks at me, his eyes softening for the first time in a long time. “He was never there. You created his existence as some sort of coping mechanism to deal with Micaela being dead. To deal with the loss, and the pain, the guilt. You grabbed onto the one person who always gave you a lifeline.”

“You…” I whisper, shaking my head. “This doesn’t make sense because he was there, Nate! He’s been there and now you’re telling me I’ve gone crazy?!” I shake my head again. “If that’s what I was doing, I would have grabbed on to you, Nate. Not Daemon.”

Nate’s jaw clenches, and then he presses his lips to mine. “No, baby. I couldn’t save you with this one.”

Tears pour out from me, my face falling. “I saw you both have a fight in front of me in Perdita!”

Nate licks his lips. “I’ve not spoken to him, babe. How could I?”

My shoulders slump, the tears free-falling. “I’ve gone crazy.”

“No,” Brantley murmurs from behind Nate. “You’re not crazy, little terror. You’re human. You reached for something that you knew would help you. Some take drugs, alcohol, sex.” He grins, kicking Nate. “You reached for love. That doesn’t make you crazy. That makes you human.”

Another round of tears come, but I end up choking on my sobs, falling forward and landing in Nate’s chest. “He’s really not alive?”

Nate shakes his head, kissing the top of my head. “No.”

I grip onto his soaked T-shirt, and we sit there for another twenty minutes in the pouring rain while I mourn my Thirteen crush. My crush who has been there for me more times than anyone ever has. Even dead, his spirit was an anchor for me.

I wipe my face with Nate’s shirt, finally leaning back and expecting The Kings to be gone, but they’re not. They’re still standing where I left them twenty minutes ago, drenched from the rain.

“Say her name, baby,” Nate whispers in my ear, kissing me gently.

“Micaela.”

Nate

I pick her up from under her legs and carry her back to Brantley’s car, shutting the door behind her. Tillie needed someone to help her mend. Because sometimes you do need someone in order to heal. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not a weakness to need another human. It’s humanity, and it’s Tillie. She’s fucking strong, but she’s human.

“She’s going to be okay?” Bishop asks, watching me carefully.

“Yeah, she is. Now I don’t feel so fucked up from doing that.” I unlock the handcuffs around her wrists and toss them onto the ground.

“Oh come on. It was like old times.” Brantley smirks.

I glare at him. “Until the part that I had to break her open and watch her heart snap in front of my very eyes, over another man, nonetheless.”

Brantley stiffens. “Yeah, I see your point.”

Fucker.

“Good. Because we have another issue,” Bishop mutters, shoving his hands in his pocket.

“What else could possibly go fucking wrong?” Brantley exhales, leaning on his car. “We still haven’t dealt with your old man, and then there’s The Rebels coming on hard with Tillie, her and Madison whacking off Madison’s side piece, and then there’s that book.”

“—Madison has run.”

I sigh, pulling open the passenger door and sliding in. I can’t deal with Madison’s dramatics. If she has run, then I’m not chasing her ass down. Tillie is all I give a fuck about right now. Brantley follows, rounding the car and slipping into the driver’s seat. I run my fingers through my hair, squeezing the water out.