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

He smiles up at me. “Sure.”

As I make my way up to my bedroom, I can’t fight the feeling of Abel. He’s a good kid, but there’s a sadness in his soul that I’m not sure anyone can fix.

Closing my bedroom door, I breathe out a sigh of relief, finally having peace and quiet. Both Kore and Hades jump off my bed and I let out a small squeal, dropping to my knees to be slobbered in dog saliva.

“Oh, I missed you both, too.” I laugh as they jump and dive over me.

The door opens from behind me and I pause, turning to look over my shoulder. Brantley’s standing dressed in black. Dark jeans, hoodie, leather jacket, and military-style boots. He shakes his head though a small smile hints on the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got to head out, but I’ll be back in a couple days.”

I pause, standing to my height. “Where?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes say the words his mouth does not. I swallow past the swell in my throat. “I haven’t decided if I want you to know the full extent of what I do.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper, blinking. “It won’t matter to me.”

He allows the silence to spill between us before taking a step in and closer to me. “You say that you could handle me. This, what I do for The Kings and what I will most likely be doing until it’s passed down to” —his mouth snaps closed— “until it no longer needs to be done, but it’s not going anywhere.”

I reach for his fingers and he tenses, but I feel him relax slightly before our fingers intertwine. “I want to know what you do. I want to know everything.”

“Saint…” he warns. “This is real shit.”

I bring my eyes up to his, hooking my hand around the back of his neck. “When I said I would be happy with you, I meant all of the parts you aren’t happy with, too.” I squeeze his neck when he doesn’t answer. “You don’t have to live with your demons alone.”

He chuckles softly, wrapping his arm around my waist to pull me closer. “I don’t have demons, Dea. I am my demons.” Chills break down over the arch of my spine. He leans down until his lips trace the shell of my ear. “Does that scare you?”

My eyes close when my blood turns warm. I shake my head.

He nibbles on my earlobe. “I’ll have to see about changing that.” He steps backward, rubbing the back of Hades’ ear before reaching inside his pocket and tossing a small black rectangle device at me. “Your Tesla.”

I squeeze the glossy black device. “Freedom?”

He snorts. “Hardly. Install the Tesla app on your phone so you don’t need to use that and risk the chance of losing it. I’ll see you when I get back.” He turns and leaves, throwing his hoodie over his head.

A sadness throbs deep in my belly. How long has he been living this life, and just how much damage has it done to an already dark soul?

She stood at the end of the hospital bed, watching as nurses and doctors rushed around, frantic to take control of the situation.

“You need to push!” the nurse said. My fingers tingled with anticipation. I knew what was coming. Oh, but I knew what was coming. My heart raced, as did Saint’s. I could feel it. Taste it as it drummed against her chest.

I stepped up beside her. “Why did you bring me here?”

I laughed so loudly that I almost thought I would interrupt what was happening in front of us. “Did you know that anything you see in your visions can’t be fabricated, they can only be displayed? It’s why it’s called a gift. The gift of truth.”

“Yes,” she hissed. “I knew that, but why are you showing me this?”

“I’m not controlling this one, child.”

“What do you mean?” she asked around the screams of the woman lying on the hospital bed.

“I mean, this vision is not from me, I’m merely here for observation.”

I kept my eyes on the woman, my knuckles white. Saint wasn’t afraid of me. I got that. It was hard to scare a girl who was raised in the belly of the beast. Nothing would frighten her. I knew that. But I also knew that nothing would separate the pet from the monster. Nothing. Not ever. I didn’t even want to try; I don’t think anyone did.

Until now. I couldn’t say I was surprised with the extent of the effort.

“It was you who texted me, wasn’t it?” she said and the words left her mouth in a type of revelation as if she knew all along, or at the very least had an inkling. That had nothing to do with what was unraveling right now, but I answered anyway.