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

“Ophelia!” I scream, pushing through the rubble and ruined furniture. “O—” A hand slams over my mouth and pulls me backward. I’m being dragged farther and farther away from wherever she may be, and it’s not until whoever has me is outside the house that I see the carnage. The entire right side of the house looks like it has been torn off and flames lick up the sides.

Whoever is behind me removes their hand and yanks on my arms instead to pull me back. I launch forward. “Ophelia!” My tiny wrists slip from their hands as I run forward, desperate to check on her and Ivy. I’m about to hit the first step when a sharp crack explodes from the back of my skull and I’m falling forward. Tangy metallic liquid squirts up my throat and spills down the sides of my lips. I can’t walk. I’m falling. The concrete is getting closer and closer to my face.

Everything is black.

It’s nice here.

Quiet. The world, my problems—they don’t exist here.

Just peace. Silence. Peace.

Brantley

She’s too good for me and I’m not enough for her. I know this. But it still doesn’t stop me from fucking her. Didn’t stop me from chasing her, and it sure as fuck did not stop me from marrying her. I’ve protected her all of her life, but I missed an obvious villain I should have kept her from all along.

Myself.

But you give a villain something worth fighting for and he won’t just fight for it, he’ll kill for it. Why do you think villains are so feared? It’s not because they’re evil. Sure, they can be, but no, that’s not it. It’s because they—I mean—we—have no boundaries. At all. It took two days for us to go through all six of the most deadly gangs in New York. In order to lift the bounty that Veronica had placed on Saint, we had to offer all six of them something they wanted. They knew we were good for it. Hell, if you were worth us knowing about, you would know we were good for it. The Russians, Italians, The Rebels, and The Circle were easy enough. Even gangsters have something they want but don’t have. The trick is to find it and use it. The Rebels will always have a beef with us, but we knew they wanted money more. We knew The Circle wanted off our radar. Since the whole Nate and Tillie fiasco, they wanted to lay low and didn’t want us to start spraying bullets—like we were planning to do one day. We knew granting them that was a risk, since they’re so fucking inconsistent, so Bishop threw an easy three million at them to shut them the fuck up. Three times the amount Veronica would have placed on Saint’s head. But Veronica was smart. She didn’t just go after any gang in New York, she went after all of the ones who would love to take us down a notch. Stupid bitch forgot the power of greed. We knew what they all wanted from us before we walked into their territory. Was it convenient? Fuck no. We didn’t like being at a disadvantage, but it was for her. The two who were not easy were the MS-13 and fucking Midnight Mayhem. Who would have thought this fucking cult dark sex show had such a fucking pull with the underworld? Newsflash, they fucking did. Thank fuck for Eli and selling his dick for a good cause, so we didn’t actually need to meet with them. He was living his best life. We had just come from the meet with the MS-13, delivering them their fucking one wish. I was fucking tired. Ever since the ceremony, everything has been all go, especially today from jumping around and meeting with all these fuckers. Meet after meet, all I did was picture them being the one to kill Saint and it made me fucking feral. I’m over playing fucking genie and granting one wish to these fuckers to not kill Saint. So here I sit, right where I never fucking wanted to be. In the ass middle of a fucking meeting with the new head of The Gentlemen and his two henchmen. Truthfully, my patience is hanging below zero, and I already hate these motherfuckers, so all it will take is one. Fucking. Thing. To tip me over and start dropping bodies. I’m all the way fucked-up. Suddenly, I understand all the bullshit that Bishop and Nate go through for Madison and Tillie.

I fucking get it.

I fucked up. I should have told her those three words. I was wrong. I can love. But I can only love her. She is the exception and will always be the exception.

I need to see her.

“Are we done?” I ask, looking up at the new capo of The Gentlemen, Danny Dale. Danny is just shy of twenty-four, so around our age, and, if we want to believe the shit that’s coming out of his mouth, is wanting an alliance with The Kings. That’s all he wants. This has never happened in the history of Kings and Gentlemen beef. Not even with The Rebels, who are still going to be rebelling just for the fuck of it.