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

“Be down in a second.” I pat her hand before she moves out of the room, following Tillie. I wait until I know they’re both out of earshot.

“I hope you take her threat seriously.” Valentina’s eyes travel to mine. I know she’s been knocked around emotionally since we’ve been here, but I need her to understand. “I need you to do as she says, and do it very well.” I stand from my chair. “I don’t envy you at all, and could probably come to like you, but I need you to listen to what she says. Handle this island. Because if you don’t and this happens again and she does take it back from you, that will draw a rift between her and Nate. That will destroy their relationship.” Valentina blinks, watching me with wide eyes. “And if you do that, I fear I cannot guarantee your safety from any of us.” I offer a small smile. “Thank you for opening this home to us and for helping. If there’s anything I can do for you in the future—” I make my way to a table in the corner, picking up a pen and making my way back to her. “This is my number.” I scribble my phone number on her arm. “Come down and see your guards home.”

I knew as soon as they walked through the front door that something was off. I could smell the war on their hands and it had nothing to do with Veronica’s blood.

“What happened?” I ask, looking amongst all of them. Nate goes straight for Tillie and wraps her in his arms. Brantley doesn’t so much as look at me as he makes his way into the living room with Jase and Hunter. Hunter who has red-rimmed eyes.

“Where’s Cash?” Madison glances around the room. The guards move to Valentina to update her as my hand flies out to Madison’s. I’ve known all along how close Madison truly was to The Kings. She doesn’t need to be worried about being a great mom; she’s already been the best one to all of these men. She’s a natural at sitting beside Bishop. I squeeze her fingers with mine because I already know what has happened.

Bishop’s eyes are on hers, and only her. I see the swell in his chest as he takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No. No, Bishop. You will not say those words to me. You will go out that door and come back in with better words.”

“I can’t,” he says, stepping closer to her. I back away, giving them space. “I can’t, baby, and I’m so fucking sorry I can’t do that.”

She begins falling to the floor, but Bishop catches her by wrapping his arm around her back. Her whimpers fade out all the way up the stairs, and then it’s just me standing in the foyer with nothing.

Nothing but another death on my name and Brantley being distant. I wrap my arms around myself and make my way to the left side of the house, needing space and silence. Usually, I have Bishop to cry to when I’m feeling this way, or Brantley. But not now. Right now, I have to cry to myself. I find a hallway light and flick it on, following the path to the end. Past the abstract artwork hanging on the walls, and toward a door. I push it open and pause when I’m met with a bar. Of course there’s a bar in this house. It’s big enough. A long wooden bench lines the side, seats tucked beneath. Sprawled around the room are small booths, each with a pole on the tables in front of them. A strip club. There are records hanging on the wall, and a large picture of Scarlet hanging behind the bar. A paparazzi obviously took it, with Scarlet and Hector climbing out of a city car at a red-carpet event. They look younger than what they are now, and the image is filtered in sepia.

I rest my head in my hands after taking a seat in one of the booths. It’s dim, with nothing but the green neon lights offering what they can. The death and loss that I’ve come to live with is overwhelming. Frankie and Alessi didn’t deserve what they got, not like Veronica did. Bailey. Tears spill from my eyes and land straight on top of the table. Ongoing. One after another. I can’t stop them, even if I tried, but I don’t. Crying is therapeutic. Like releasing your sadness into the universe and allowing the pain to go with it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. I don’t know how long I sit in this same spot, but the tears have dried and I’m ready to go back out. I need to tell him.