Sancte Diaboli Part One (The Elite King's Club 6)

He stands, tossing his bottle into the trash beside him. “Do you remember much about your life before Lucan took you?” The music is still playing in the background. I think it’s an Eminem song.

His question knocks me out of focus, because out of everything that I was wondering, that was not one of them. “No, not a single thing. Why?”

I stand beside him when he doesn’t answer, my hand on his arm. “Brantley…”

His lips curl between his teeth as he finally faces me. “There’s a whole world that you don’t know about, and I’m hoping it doesn’t know about you.”

“What do you mean?”

He sits back in his chair, shaking his head. “Said I didn’t want to do the secrets thing, since Bishop went theatrical with his bullshit with Madison and it ended up ruining them both.” I can sense he’s not finished, so I don’t interrupt.

One second.

Two.

Three.

After a few seconds of silence, he opens his mouth. “I’ll start by explaining The Elite Kings Club.”

“Okay,” I say, taking the seat beside him.

He starts talking and I remain silent. I absorb all of the information he tells me, even the parts that are hard to follow.

“You have commandments?” I ask, and I don’t know why that’s the first thing I want to ask, but I do.

He nods. “Yeah. They’re engraved into the Vitiosis tombstone in the graveyard. We take them seriously.”

“Tell me one of them.” I’m fascinated by the story that he told me. How from generation to generation each last name has a legacy and a meaning. Bishop Hayes, Devil. Eli Rebelis, Rebel. Nate Malum, Evil. Brantley Vitiosis, Cruel or Vicious. He went on to explain the other last names, like apparently Madison’s real last name is Venari, Hunt. All of their last names stem from Latin, the dead language, which is the original tongue of their ancestors. It’s all confusing and hard to follow, but I think that’s what makes it all the more magical. I’ve always loved fantasy and fiction. It opens the human mind, spins the mundane and basic into worlds that we could only ever visualize in our dreams.

Harry Potter, for one. As a fellow Ravenclaw, I rewatch the movies and reread the books any time I need to be reminded that I’m home.

I look to the Slytherin.

Slytherin chuckles. “All right, but the first thing you have to know is that nothing in our world makes sense to commonfolk.” His finger is teasing his upper lip, his eyes remaining passive on mine. “Fourth commandment. What is yours is your brothers’, unless a King calls red.” Brantley pauses, leaning his elbows on his knees while never disconnecting. The flames are dying down now, but the music is still playing. The night is as dead as the corpses that are not ten feet behind us. “Do you know why they called it ‘red’?”

I shake my head. I’m not sure I want to know, which is ridiculous because it was me who wanted to know everything to begin with. “But I don’t understand the yours is your brothers’ part either?”

“It means that if one of us likes the other’s girlfriend, wife, fiancée, whatever bitch we have warming our cock at that time, then by EKC law, she is still free game.”

“You mean, she can sleep with you both?” I ask, cocking my head.

His eyes narrow. “Yes.”

“But, not many girls would want that, right?”

He doesn’t answer, and when I chew on my bottom lip in an attempt to calm my nerves, he reaches forward and catches it with his thumb. Electricity buzzes through me, followed closely by warm liquid that turns my bones to mush. “You would be surprised how easy it is for some girls.”

“Have you?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I’m not so sure I want to know. “Shared, I mean.” Seems like I’m still asking…

He releases my lip and reaches forward for another beer out of the cooler, flicking off the cap and tossing it in the trash. “Not interested in having a girlfriend. Ever. But yeah, it happens often.”

“Who was your last?” Seriously, Saint.

He pauses, his bottle to his lips. “Tillie.”

My head whips around to him, my eyes wide. “Tillie and Nate? That Tillie?”

Brantley shrugs. “Never went the whole way because Nate’s a fucking pussy, but yeah.”

“Humph,” I wonder out loud.

“What?” Brantley asks, resting the bottle on his knee.

I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know, I was just thinking…”

“What?” he snaps, his tone edgy. Syllables spill from his lips and slip into my veins like a shot of fluid through an IV. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean.” I clear my throat and lower my voice. I’ve always been comfortable around Brantley, even when he’s turning my insides into puree. I’m relaxed around him. “I’ve never had anyone, you know…”