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

I turn to face V. “I’m so sorry.”

She offers a small smile of sympathy, but her eyes have new worry lines indented around the edges when she goes back to Brantley. “Please don’t take her away yet.”

“You fucked up.” He grabs me by the hand and begins dragging me toward his bike. “And you’re really fucking lucky I don’t peel the skin off that piece of shit she touched.”

“Ever the romantic, Brantley.”

“You would know…” he snaps, shoving the helmet into my chest.

“How would she know?” I ask, though I wish I’d said it louder, maybe with some bite. How can he threaten the life of some innocent boy just because I touched him, yet he and Veronica clearly have history?

“Do tell her…” Veronica says from the side of me.

Brantley turns over his shoulder, flipping her off before swinging his leg over the bike. I see the back seat where I’m supposed to sit. Even the pegs where my feet go. But I don’t want to leave.

“Brantley…”

He turns around, his eyes hooded and his jaw tight. I shouldn’t be testing him right now. “You really want to do this right here?” His fingers find mine and he yanks me into his leg. His fingers are around my chin as he tilts my head down to him. “Never pegged you as the jealous type, Dea.” A crooked smirk is on his mouth.

I pull away from him defiantly. “You wanted me here, but since I touched someone, you now want to take me away?”

“No—” He turns partially to face me. “I was coming here to take you home anyway” —his traitorous eyes fall on Veronica— “because everything is sorted with The Gentlemen.”

My mouth closes, but goose bumps break out over my skin. How can everything be resolved with The Gentlemen so quickly?

“Then when I found you with your hand on his chest, yeah, I almost went ripper. But I didn’t. You should be thankful. That’s progress for me.”

I cross my arms. Heat radiates from the side of my face, as if someone is watching our exchange. My eyes flick to the side where The Hunt began. Darkness through the trees, so thick I can’t imagine how they would be able to see.

“Saint, honey, you might want to take the monster home before the rest of the crew gets back.”

I hook my leg over the bike, wrapping my arms around his torso. “But we’re staying here. We can leave tomorrow.”

He revs the bike loudly before we zip forward onto the man-made pathway.

We pull into the long driveway, where I see Brantley’s Bugatti parked on the curb outside the front steps. He turns off the bike and helps me off the back while I pull off the helmet.

“Saint…” he says, but it’s too late.

I’m walking to the front door, not interested in continuing any conversation with him. For the first time ever, I don’t know what I’m feeling. Jealousy? Anger? Betrayal? Do all of them somewhat feel the same?

I’m still climbing the oversized steps when his hand comes to my arm, spinning me around. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I don’t have one.” I wince, unable to look him in the eye. “I don’t have a problem.”

With his fingers beneath my chin, he tilts my head up to his. “Have you forgotten that I can read you like an open book?”

“How! How do you do that? And more so, can you stop?”

His grip on my arm tightens. “Because every fucking chapter you have is written for me.” His fingers spread from my chin and onto my cheeks. He clenches gently while tugging me closer to him. “And I ain’t stopping.”

I pause, my eyelashes fanning out over my cheeks. “Why are you doing this?”

He licks his bottom lip and nudges his head to the side. “I’d rather do this in the morning. I’m fucking tired.”

We make our way upstairs and into my bedroom. He closes the door and heads into the bathroom while I slip out of my dress and into the shirt he dumped onto the floor when he removed it. I wipe off my makeup and brush my hair as he moves to one side of my bed, running his hand through his thick hair.

“How did you take care of The Gentlemen so easily?” I place my brush on the dresser and make my way to my side of the bed. I slip beneath the sheets and watch as every muscle in his back tenses and moves.

He exhales. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

I yawn loudly, shuffling deeper into the sheets. My soul feels as though it’s wrapped in a gentle peace I haven’t felt in a long while. “Why was I in so much danger?”

The mattress sinks as he shuffles on top of the covers. “Because I was their main enemy. His son and I had a beef so fucking thick you couldn’t cut through it.”