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

“Yes.” I swallow around the boulder that swells in my throat. Bringing my eyes up from his shoes, I repeat, “One hundred times over, yes.”

Bishop leans forward, his finger grazing my neck where Vitiosis is tattooed. “And that is exactly why he needs you.” Bishop leans back, just as I hear chatter coming toward us from behind. “Don’t give up on him.” His eyes go over my shoulder, and when I turn to see who he’s looking at, Madison is coming toward me, smiling.

I shoot up from my chair and pull her into a hug when she’s close enough, sighing. “How are you?”

“Good. Pregnant, but good.”

I step back, tucking my hair behind my ear and pointing at both her and Tillie’s bellies. “This is too cute.” I pull out my phone and snap a photo. “How far apart are the two of you?”

“We’re due in the same month.” Madison rests her hands on top of her swollen stomach. “Sorry it took so long for me to get out here. I had to yell at Brantley for a bit.” I reach aimlessly behind me for the bottle when Bishop’s fingers come to mine to take the glass from me and refill it.

“Yes, well…” My throat is swollen with emotion.

Bishop pulls me in and kisses the top of my head again. “Speaking of, I’ve got to talk with him.” He leaves and I find myself watching his back as he disappears through the open doors. My heart aches, but my soul feels as though it has one hundred knots through it.

Both Tillie and Madison take either side of me and hook their arms into mine. “Let’s go somewhere quiet where you can drink that and no one can hear us talk.” I clutch the bottle in my hand and allow them to direct me through the garden until the music dissipates and we’re standing directly in front of the cemetery archway. It’s a quiet night, but the air feels restless.

“I’m all for creepy shit, but this place really scares me.” Tillie tilts her head up. “I mean, who the fuck has their own cemetery? Do people even check the graves to make sure every death is legal? I swear Brantley could write a book on how to get away with murder.”

I stifle a laugh, dragging them both through the high-wire gates. “That would give away all of his secrets.”

Madison snickers. “They’re all such top-notch men.”

I’m dodging the aged concrete headstones until I find myself in front of the one that is unmarked.

“Well, that probably wouldn’t be such a smart move.” Tillie gestures to the stone. “An unmarked grave is just begging to be discovered.”

Their joking dies out in the distance, that same eerie wind whipping me across the face. “Every time I’d have a vision, Brantley would find me right here. In this spot.”

Silence.

I run the palm of my hand over the cement. “Never thought much about that until now.”

“Well, can you not?” Tillie shivers. “Honestly, this is—can you imagine the Vitiosis family as fucking ghosts? I mean, as humans, they’re creepy enough.”

I fall down onto the grass, leaning against the headstone. They both glare down at me.

Madison is the first to slowly lower herself, opposite me, while holding the bottom of her stomach. “I’m not bold enough to sit on an unmarked grave, but I’ll sit here.”

Tillie remains on her feet.

I bring the bottle to my lips and swirl some back. It’s not until the burning leaves my throat and drops to my belly that I open my mouth. “I’m seeing Brantley in my visions.”

They both pause, but I don’t move my attention away from the dark, starry night.

“What do you mean, you’re seeing him?” Madison asks, stretching her legs out in front of her. “As in he’s—wait, what do you mean?”

I clear my throat. “I don’t know what it means right now, but he is very real.” I look up at Tillie, who’s already watching me with worried eyes. “It’s sort of like Ava Garcia, only this time, instead of Ava showing me what’s happening with me, watching and experiencing it through her eyes, I’m seeing it from his point of view, only he’s showing me, me.”

They’re both gawking, though Madison looks more confused than concerned.

“Have you told Brantley?” Tillie asks, finally resting against a larger tombstone beside Madison.

“No.” The cool rim of the bottle sits on my bottom lip as I tilt my head back and take another sip. “I don’t want to add another load onto his already heavy shoulders. He’ll blame himself, push me away, and then we’ll be back at square one.” I’d learned the hard way how Brantley copes with most things, and it’s self-destruction.

“Well, okay. We will help you,” Madison murmurs. “And anyway, I need to be distracted since Bishop is finding it difficult to hold more than one conversation with me a day.”