Sancte Diaboli Part One (The Elite King's Club 6)
She pushes her plate away. “Hector wanted to talk with them.”
I clear my throat, candidly shrugging. “Have you given my number out to anyone?”
She brushes me off, shaking her head. “No. Why?”
I smile. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” I continue chewing the crispy bread, swallowing and deciding I’ve had enough after three bites. My stomach rumbles with hunger, but my appetite is suppressed from anxiety. I haven’t spoken to Brantley since last night and someone is texting me who I don’t know, who will also be here tonight. Chills snap over my spine, spreading over my lower back and raising goosebumps over my skin until I shiver.
“You look cute in that outfit.” Tillie waves up and down my body with half a pancake.
“Shit.” I stand from my chair. “Be right back.” I take my phone out of my pocket while turning a corner outside on the patio. I drop down onto a swing seat, scrolling over Madison’s name. It’s safe here because I can see when cars come down the driveway. I hit dial and hold my breath.
I was running again. Ran so fast. This time the cocaine was out of my system and the alcohol had long since burned into sweat. I ran through the forest, jumping logs and dodging trees. I needed to get out of here. Run. Away. My shoes were slipping off my feet, my shirt torn with blood soaked into the material, but all I wanted to do was run.
I screamed when someone jumped from the tree branch in front of me, his white skull makeup clear against the full moon. “Blessed be the EKC.”
Bang! A shot rang out.
Brantley
There are a lot of things that people know, or assume they know about The Elite Kings, and then there are the things that truly never leave the covenant. Things like Hector having enough power to initiate the damn Purge if he wanted. He doesn’t, but he has come close. Many fucking times. When he’s trigger-happy, we need to clean house and make sure he doesn’t. Which is ironic because it’s the exact reason why he hasn’t handed the gavel over to Bishop yet, because he thinks Bishop is volatile. Which he is.
I kick my leg up against the conference table. The fucking third meeting he has called in the past three days.
“These people are dangerous. I’ve never said that before, but these ones are.”
“What makes them so dangerous?” I challenge, clenching my jaw.
I’ve known that Hector was her dad since the second she came into my house. The anger I feel inside of me is aimed at him for abandoning her. In hindsight, I get it. At the time, no Swans could exist. But now, he still hasn’t asked me about her, and that pisses me right the fuck off. I slam down any and all thoughts about Saint because the mere mention of her has my fingers flexing and my teeth throbbing to sink back into her soft flesh. Fuck. My cock swells against the zipper of my jeans and I shuffle, turning to the side to get comfortable. She took it better than I would have ever imagined. Not just the sex, but the blood play. I had every intention of not fucking her again, but now she has my interest. As if she fucking lost it all those years ago. I’m invested in her now on a sexual level, though. I won’t lie, there have been times where I’d think about those innocent fucking eyes looking up at me with my fist around my cock, but they never left my fantasy. Never. There was another time when I was balls deep in a woman three times my age, fucking her over her husband’s workbench in their garage when I thought about Saint’s little body beneath me, too. Then I felt even more like a fucking creeper for thinking that, and carried on pounding into Mrs. fucking Robinson.
“The fact that they are our oldest allies. They’ve studied how we work, what we do. We can’t underestimate them.”
“Maybe,” Nate says, adding in. “But they don’t have what we have, and that’s money and power.”
“Sometimes you don’t need those two things to get what you need done.” Hector’s eyes come to mine. “Sometimes all you need is the burn to destroy something.”
“That bad, huh?” Eli asks, lighting a cigarette and blowing out smoke. We arrived at the EKC headquarters this morning, which is around a two-hour drive from the cabin. It’s right smack in the middle of New York City. Bishop has been living in the penthouse since Madison left. The King Hotel. Just one of the many real estate dippings we all have. I prefer mine in Europe.
“And how is Perdita?” I ask the question that no one seems to care about. Especially Nate.
Raguel, Eli’s dad, rests his elbows on his knees, where he’s seated on the ledge of the window. “It’s fine. The Peacemaker is doing his stage job and the little Adamantem seems to be natural with leading, though she’s becoming a little distracted. They’ve had a few run-ins with a couple of The Lost Boys who are not warming up to her particular style of sovereignty, but I’m sure it will work out.”