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

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

I shove through the crowd in my sitting room, half tempted to tell everyone to get the fuck out of my house and that I don’t want any of them here when the front door flies open and everyone stops. She’s like a fucking magnet for Kings, because they all slowly come into the sitting room, surrounding me.

I smirk devilishly, like I wasn’t just brewing in my own salt with how things ended between her and I.

“Careful with that door, Princessa. It doesn’t like being slammed half as much as you do.”

She glares at me from all the way the fuck over there, and my head swims in all the scotch I consumed.

“Is it true?”

I pause. What exactly is she asking me? Did she work it out?

“Everyone out!” I snap at all the people in the lounge. They slowly pile out and make their way out to the back where the pool is. There’s no way I’ll be able to shut this party down right now, so I turn and look at Bishop. “Shut that fucking door and lock it.”

“What are you talking about?” I answer her, but I’m pretty sure I slurred a few words in between. Fuck. I can’t help but take in her fucking body. Even in yoga pants and a fucking granny cardigan that looks two sizes too large for her, she will still make every other girl walking this earth look like a solid zero. And that’s being generous. She doesn’t know this yet, but I haven’t laid my hands on another girl since Micaela came into our lives. Never fucked Tate, even though I’m pretty sure, judging by her little cute confessions with her Bran Bran, she thinks I did, and fuck other girls often, but the truth is, I don’t see any girls past her. Yeah, so I dabbled in pussy before, and between her when she left the first time, but since she came back, I’ve not.

Shit. I haven’t fucked anyone since her. What the fuck.

She carefully steps farther inside, her eyes wild. She’s the kind of wild you can’t tame, but you wouldn’t want to anyway, because her turbulent soul is reckless, desolate and raw. You wouldn’t want her any other way, and if you did, well, fuck what you want.

“Is it true? Did Hector and Katsia have a baby girl…”

I slam my mouth closed, my eyes crashing into Bishop’s before they swing back to her. “Yes.”

She takes another step, her eyes narrowing. Oh, she’s fucking pissed. “I have a half-sister?”

I hiss, baring my teeth as I take a swig of vodka. “Yes.”

She’s right in front of me now, looking up into my eyes. Her sweet little doe eyes momentarily distract me from her animosity that’s throbbing off of her in waves. Then her eyes cut to Brantley.

“Who is the girl that lives with you, Bran Bran?”

Brantley’s eyes blaze, and I watch as his demeanor changes. He doesn’t like when Saint’s name is brought up in a conversation. We all learned that the hard way.

“Brantley,” Tillie whispers, her head bowing. “Who is she?”

Brantley softens, and then exhales, dropping down onto the sofa. “Saint,” he clips out and then reaches for a random bottle of alcohol off the coffee table. He leans back into the sofa and perches one foot up. “And yeah, she’s your half-sister.”

Tillie

I have a half-sister. Someone I didn’t know about—ever, and—I sink to the ground, fatigue settling into my bones.

“I’m tired.”

Nate’s shoes come into view. Nike Air Force Ones as white as his perfect teeth. He drops down, his fingers coming to my chin, tilting my face up to his.

“We only figured it out a couple weeks ago.”

I snatch the bottle from him, bringing the rim to my mouth. “What does this mean?”

Nate sits on the floor opposite me and I see out of the corner of my eye as everyone scatters to relax. The music is still blaring outside.

“It means Daemon knew about her, probably all along.”

“But why did he want me to find it? How would that have helped me?”

Nate chuckles. “He would have wanted you to know that you running Perdita wasn’t your only option, that there was someone else who shares that responsibility with you.”

I wince. Daemon. Sweet, beautifully haunted Daemon. Always there to look out and watch out for me, even from his grave.

“Which would never fucking happen, just to be clear,” Brantley growls.

I bring my eyes up to his. “How long have you known?”

Brantley licks his lip, his eyes never moving from mine. “All her life. Dad bought her when she was two years old. She’s lived with us since. I’m guessing your imagination can fill in the rest, what with everyone’s knowledge of Lucian Vitiosis.”

I pale. “Brantley… what did you do to that poor girl…”

He rolls his eyes. “She’s not my fucking slave or anything. She gets the best of fucking everything. She couldn’t go to school, so we hired tutors. Ones that I approved of. Her life before we took her, though, Tillie, it wasn’t fucking good. And when Dad was alive, it wasn’t much better, until I put a stop to it when she was thirteen.”