Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

I kick off my shoes. “He’s not as scary as you think…” I say, removing my clothes to dip into the tub, leaving on my bra and undies.

“Wrong,” Frankie says. “He is, just not to you.”

I ignore her, sinking into the scalding hot water that feels like silk wrapping its way around my body.

“Look, and I’m just saying, okay, we all know Brantley has a taste for older women.”

I freeze, despite the fact I’m neck-deep in hot bubbling water. I push my hair above my head and tie it up into a loose bun.

“So what’s the bet he and Veronica are fuck buddies? It’s not the first time he’s been here.”

“Shut up, Frankie! For fuck’s sake, do you ever know when to fucking stop?” Alessi takes a cigarette out of a packet and lights the end, exhaling while submerging farther into the water before resting her head against the edge.

Warm condensation floats around all of us. I can’t stop thinking about what she just said, and I know it’s true. I recognize the paintings on the ceiling from Brantley’s Instagram. The angel reaching for heaven.

I sigh. “I’m not here to cause trouble, Frankie. I was forced here by Brantley and my father.”

“What are you to Brantley, Saint, if you don’t mind me asking?” Ophelia. Sweet, beautiful Ophelia. Her chocolate skin glistens from the water, her bright green eyes pinned on me. Her hair is curly and rogue as she piles it on top of her head with loose tendrils falling down to her sharp shoulders. I love Ophelia, I decide. Which is a big statement since I barely like any of the others right now, but there’s something about her that is trustworthy. As if she comforts the side of me that has always been alone.

“Well, he raised me since I was two years old. My father dropped me off at his house to his father, but Brantley took it upon himself to, I guess, take ownership of me. I never had a life outside of the manor. He hired tutors, cooks, cleaners. He gave me pets—” I try to smile through the sadness that intoxicates my soul while thinking about Medusa and Kore. “He gave me the only life I know. Then, not long ago, I was introduced into The Elite Kings, and well, it’s sort of been chaos since then.”

Silence. “Ah, yes, the infamous Kings,” Ophelia mutters. “How could we ever forget them?” Said more in amusement than animosity. “So what about you two, have you ever?”

“She’s not his age preference.” Frankie snickers, pretending to look at her nails.

“Yes.” I fight her, and I get great satisfaction when her lashes flick and her eyes come up to me, wide. “But not anymore. It was a mistake.”

“He was a mistake?” Ophelia asks softly.

I shake my head, fighting the godforsaken tears that keep coming out. “No.” I bring my eyes to hers. “I was.”

It’s late. My muscles protest as I slide into a pair of silk pajama booty shorts and a cotton crop. After relaxing in the spa with the rest of the girls, and ducking and hiding from Frankie’s constant verbal jabs, I told them goodnight and made my way back to my bedroom. I couldn’t think straight. Words and theories were running rampant inside my head.

Pulling my bedcovers down, I’m about to shut off my bedside lamp when my door opens.

I turn the light off anyway, drowning us in darkness because I don’t want to look at him right now. I can’t. Not now. Not if I don’t want to cry again, and not if I don’t want to picture him and Veronica all over each other. If his hair is messy, I’ll only picture her long fingers running through it.

“I know you’re angry with me.”

I lie down on the bed, squeezing my eyes closed while knowing he can’t see me.

The door clicks closed. “How’s your neck?”

I grit my teeth. Silent. Don’t say anything.

The mattress sinks beneath his weight. “Saint, this is the only way I can keep you safe for now.”

“Safe?” I snap. Dammit. I sit up quickly, shoving the covers off my body. I don’t know where he is or what he’s looking at right now. “How is me getting shot at keeping me safe?”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen…” Brantley growls, his tone so feral I almost don’t recognize it. “That for sure was not supposed to fucking happen. You were supposed to come here until—”

“—until what? Until you wanted to continue with your secret texts to me?”

Pause. He shifts. “What texts?”

I tear the final blanket off my body, my feet about to hit the ground when his hands are on my arms, shoving me back down onto the mattress as if he knew where I was all this time.

He shakes me. “What. Fucking. Texts?” I feel his breath on my lips now, warm and familiar.