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

I look down at her with a snarl. “You can have my kingdom, but you cannot have my King.”

Her head bows acquiescently. “I understand.”

Then I turn, walking away from both of them. I’m so angry with Nate, with everything. I want a normal fucking life. I want a house to come home to. I want to do nightly dinners and go clubbing with friends. I’m so sick of this fucked-up world and the fucked-up man I’m so severely in love with. Before I can think too much on the fact that it’s now dark and I’m alone, because of course Nate didn’t chase me because why the fuck would he, I’m back on the main street of Perdita. I push past people who don’t automatically move as everything spins around me. The events of my life that have happened, all that I’ve lived through. I’m having a moment of self-pity when I push through the guards. It’s not until I slam the front door closed and my eyes meet Brantley and Bishop’s when I realize I’ve been crying.

“Take me home.”

The door slams behind me, and I’m angry that I jump. “What the fuck is your problem, Tillie?” Nate barks out from behind. Maybe I’m being irrational, but Nate makes me ugly. He brings out my jealousy and leaves it out raw in the open, like a fatal gaping wound. I hate how much power he has over me, but that’s power he doesn’t need to know he possesses.

I turn to face him. “I want to go home.”

His eyes narrow, and when my eyes drop to his lips, all I picture is Valentina’s mouth on his. Did he kiss her when I left? Oh my god, why do I not like this girl? Is it because she reminds me of me? Because she’s almost at the same level as me in this world? Or is it because I watched as Nate showed her kindness. Kindness he hasn’t used on me in some time. My heart hurts and my stomach throbs from that realization.

“You can’t,” he answers harshly, shouldering past me and disappearing into the kitchen. Bishop follows closely behind him. Brantley rolls his eyes, tilting his head back like he’s exhausted from the same shit.

He wraps his arms around me, burying his face in my hair. “Little terror. You didn’t play nice with Nate’s little plaything?”

I growl.

Brantley chuckles, his chest shaking. “You wouldn’t be my little terror if you did.”

“He has feelings for her?” I ask, but it comes out mumbled because my face is buried so deep in his clothes.

“Yes and no.”

“I’m so sick of competing against other girls when it comes to his affection, Bran Bran. Throughout our entire relationship—if that’s what you can even call it—I’ve had to compete for a spot in his heart, only to watch him treat everyone nice, and me? Not so nice.” I pause when I realize I’m about to choke on my sobs. Snot and everything dripping down my nose. I rub it against Brantley because I know he won’t care. His arms squeeze me tighter.

“It’s not that, Tillie. It’s so much more complex than what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not, though. I fell in love with a man who has no heart for me.”

Brantley pushes me back, his hands squeezing my arms. He searches my eyes. “Baby, that man has everything for you.”

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper, searching his eyes. “Bran Bran.”

I pull away from him and make my way upstairs. I need a bath and two hundred shots of vodka. One for every time Nate has broken my heart.

Nate

Hearing her open up to Brantley like that didn’t bother me as such.

The tears did a little.

But hearing her say that she has had to compete for me, messed with me on a new level. I’ve been fucked a lot, and no pussy has fucked me as hard as Tillie’s words did in that sentence. I feel hollow, and fucking shit.

I slide down the wall in the kitchen, hearing her footsteps drag upstairs. I lose myself in a daze as Brantley’s boots come into view when he enters. He stops, goes straight for the cupboard, and then drops down on the floor directly opposite me.

Flicking off the top of the vodka, he takes a swig.

“I feel like we’ve done this more times than I’ve had my dick wet lately,” he murmurs, handing me the bottle.

I reach for it, desperate for something. Anything to numb the ache that’s roaring in my chest. The ache that I put there myself, as a product of the epic fuck up that is me.

“More than I care to admit,” I answer, hissing when the poison hits my stomach.

“Two questions…” Brantley mutters, his eyes coming to mine. “One, are you going to fix this? And two, or are you going to let her go?”