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

I stand, turning around to head back out the door when my eyes connect with Brantley, who is sitting in one of the booths behind me. He hasn’t changed his clothes, the black bandana still resting around his neck. With all of that willingness to find him, I’m now left with no words at all.

He still hasn’t looked at me, his leg stretched out in front of himself and his hoodie resting around the back of his neck. The lighting casts green shadows over his jawline and high cheekbones, but I can still see how angry he is. Enough that he hasn’t said a single word.

“Were you ever going to tell me that you’re pregnant?”

Oh.

“Yes,” I answer truthfully, “I was.”

“When?” he bites, his eyes colliding with mine finally. Now that I have his attention, I just want to give it right back to him. “When you were four months? Six? Hell, after you had the baby?”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. For the first time, I’m nervous around him. I can’t move. My feet are cemented to the ground. “No, I was going to tell you when you got back.”

“And what if I didn’t make it back, Saint? Hmm? Because Cash sure as fuck didn’t.” He winces and looks away from me. Right now, a smart person would retreat from Brantley. They’d read the signals he’s setting off and stay away. You don’t walk into a lion’s den after it tried to eat you, right? Apparently, I would.

I slide into the seat beside him. He doesn’t move. The whiskey in his hand is halfway full. “But it wasn’t you.”

“It should have been.” He shakes his head. “That’s all I kept thinking when it happened, was that it should have been me. Cash matters to people. He has parents who care about him, and a job that is important.” He brings the bottle to his mouth and takes a hard swallow. He hisses, “I have no one. No family. No important job. In fact, I’m almost certain that people would live without me here for that job. Literally.” He turns to face me. “But then I was told that you were pregnant.” His eyes travel down to my stomach. “And do you know what that does, Saint? It makes me weak. Because now I do have something.”

“Listen to me,” I say, grabbing his cheek and turning him to face me. “Even without this child, you still had a family. You have people who love you. Everyone loves you, Brantley. Your duty with The Kings, it’s what you’ve been raised to do. If you don’t want to do it, I’m sure Bishop will work around that for you, but here’s the fact.” I take a slow but deep inhale, running my thumb over his cheekbones. “I love you. And if it was you who died tonight, I wouldn’t have been too far behind.”

His eyes narrow. “You would fucking kill yourself? If you say yes, I’ll do it for you right now because that is not fucking happening. Ever.”

I shake my head. “No, but my heart would literally break. We’re darkness and light, and one cannot exist without the other, or what is the point?”

“I don’t deserve you,” Brantley whispers, his eyes losing focus.

“You deserve so much more than you know.” I lean backward and rest against the chair. “I’m sorry about Cash.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Me too.” I shuffle around to look at him, curling my leg under my other. “We can talk about this baby when you’re ready. I don’t want to rush you into having the conversation.”

He runs his finger over his upper lip, his eyes not moving from mine. My neck always aches at how high I have to look up at him. “How long have you known?”

I stifle a sarcastic laugh. “Since yesterday. Veronica knew somehow, and then when the girls got me out of wherever that was, we stopped off at the convenience store on the way here. I took a test and swore them not to tell.”

He rolls his eyes. “So they’ve all been hiding it, too?”

“They have, only because I asked them to. They didn’t want to and warned me that they can’t keep secrets from Nate and Bishop.”

“And can you?” he asks, and the smooth tone he allows his words to wrap around makes my stomach flip.

“Can I what?” I play dumb.

“Can you hide shit from me?”

I rest my head on his outstretched arm, shaking my head. “It only made it easy because so much was going on.”

He takes another swig of whiskey. “I can’t right now, Saint. I can’t have this conversation. I can’t even—” He clenches his jaw. “Meet me upstairs. We’re sleeping in the room opposite Madison’s.”

“Brantley, I—”

“—Saint? Please. I just need a minute.”

My mouth closes and I pull back from him, giving him his space. When I climb out of the booth and make my way to the doorway, I know whatever is going on inside his head right now is a war that only he can fight.