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

I type out a text to our group chat named King Bitches. I don’t know who is going to tell Madison that the name can be read one or two different ways.

Me: What’s with the dress?

The speech bubbles pop up straight away before Tillie’s text comes through.

Tillie: Berta. Wear it. It matches ours but your own style.

Madison: What she said.

Me: You okay?

Tillie: She’s not. You’ll understand why soon.

Madison: You can’t relate because you’re you. And you have one.

Tillie: Chill. We’re not halfway. The dress looks amazing on you. With your bump and all.

Madison: Okay. Yeah. Sure.

Me: Madison, Tillie is right. It’s impossible for you to look anything other than beautiful, and even if by some miracle you’re not, who cares. You’re literally creating a human being. Let your body do its thing.

Tillie: Wise, my baby sister.

My heart cracks and I leave the chat. I know it’s probably habit for her to talk that way, but it still hurts to know it’s not true. Thinking I had Tillie for a sister filled me with a kind of femininity I felt I needed, what with being around Brantley and Lucan all of my life. Now I don’t even have that. I have nothing.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Veronica asks, blowing into her mug while looking at me over the rim.

“Yes.” I push up from my chair. “I think I need to lie down.” I tap Ophelia. “Can you wake me a couple hours before, so I don’t sleep through?”

Ophelia laughs. “Oh, I’ll wake you up four hours before because we have hair and makeup.” I grab the box and empty my coffee into the sink, ignoring the feel of Veronica’s eyes on the back of my skull. Once I’m back in the safety of my bedroom, almost breathless from how much ground I had to cover, I toss the box onto my bed until the duck-down-filled cover puffs around it. I chew on my thumbnail and then stop when I realize that’s a habit I don’t want to adopt. Rubbing my sweaty palms down my legs, I open the box and ruffle through the tissue paper until the embroidered rose gold and white material glistens beneath the light. I suck in a deep breath before carefully taking it out, careful not to touch it too much. I hook it onto a hanger and lay it out over my bed, before reaching for the shoes at the bottom. Rose gold Valentinos with white diamantes sewn over the heel.

I sigh, resting on top of my bed, my headache still lingering somewhere between the left and right of my cerebrum. I massage my temples and lie flat on my back. I should text him.

I lose myself in the art on the high ceiling. Pastel purple and pinks are glittered through clouds of ancient Greek gods. So far away. I feel so far away. “I should text him.”

I grab my phone and click on his name in my messages, ignoring our old ones. The last message he sent me before finding out—I pause, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. I hold my breath as I type out the message, and I swear I almost pass out after I hit send.

Me: The dress…

Delivered.

And then read.

I’m going to faint.

Seconds turn into minutes. He doesn’t reply. I wait for five more minutes, staring at my phone like an idiot before I finally put it down and close my eyes. I need rest. My muscles ache from fatigue.

This time when I sat in front of her, I was in two minds about my delivery. Maybe using Brantley’s face wasn’t smart.

I should have known better.

Why didn’t I know better?

I knew she was going to see him again. Be around everyone again. I could feel that it was almost time. Almost but not quite. The darkness that had lived inside of me since I was a small boy throbbed to the surface. That urge possessed me. No! I yelled to myself. Not now! Not now! No, please no. Hmmm. Too late. The urges too strong. I needed it like humans needed air. The feeling of filth against my skin.

“Have you heard from Brantley?” I asked, resting my ankle on my knee.

She stared at me blankly, as if she wasn’t bothered by the fact I came baring the skin of her lover. “No.” Saint was strong. She wasn’t like other people. Beneath the raw beauty and softness laid a thick pavement of cement. To have her must be—fucking marvelous. I’d find out soon.

So soon.

But for now, I needed to find out about Brantley. If he had found out what separated them to begin with to be a lie. Stupid boy.

Brantley Vitiosis would no doubt unleash his wrath amongst all and leave no survivors in his wake. He showered in the blood of his enemies and drank from the blood of those he killed. His name alone instilled fear amongst people whom he didn’t know existed.