Malum: Part 2 (The Elite Kings Club #5)

by Amo Jones

If you hurt someone enough, they acclimatize to pain, but just like a wound, if you don’t seal it, you’ll bleed out.

My eyes catch Brantley, who is already watching me. “Aw, what’s the matter, Bran Bran. Why are you looking at me like that?” Perdita isn’t good for my soul. I can feel it digging its claws into me. I need to get out if I’m not going to stay. I need to escape and take Abel and Daemon with me. Brantley doesn’t falter, his lip kicking up in a snarl. “Bran Bran? Pretty bold nickname coming from someone who I can fuck without permission, don’t you think?” I tilt my head and give him back his smile. “Who’s to say permission wouldn’t be granted, Bran Bran.”

Once you expose your love for someone, you’ve surrendered your power,

“Think she will work out what we’re doing?” I take the glass from Brantley and bring it to my lips, shooting it back. “Yup. She’s fucking smart. Way smarter than anyone we’ve ever had around.” “Agreed…” Brantley nods. “But she can’t know what we know. She will get reckless in her revenge and we can’t have that.” Brantley leans forward, resting his arms on the barrier. “Also agreed.” “You care about her….” I try the unspoken words on the tip of my tongue. Don’t much like how they taste. Brantley chuckles, shaking his head and hanging it between his arms. “No. I don’t think I care about her, but I also feel a little bit protective over her. If that makes sense.” “It doesn’t.” I sigh. “But I get it, man. Who would have thought, though. Out of everyone…” “That she’d be the one who would pull on my rusted strings?” We both laugh. “Yeah. Exactly. Was beginning to think you were built without those…” Brantley’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, unfortunately, I am.” “So we agree?” I add, watching him carefully. “She isn’t going to know?” Brantley nods. “Yeah. We all agree. Right now isn’t the time. It might make her worse.”

Nate doesn’t say anything, his jaw set taut and his eyes glaring at me like a demon. A beautiful, unhinged, total bad boy demon. What the fuck. I need a drink.

“Why did you all bring me here?” I try him. “Because this is where you should be.” I pause, contemplating whether I should or should not cuss him out for pulling a Bishop on me and lying straight to my face. “Every time you’re vague to me, I’m calling you Bran Bran.” His head snaps in the general direction of yours truly. “I think the fuck not!” I chuckle, swirling my whiskey around inside my glass. “Your reaction has just solidified the fact that I indeed, will be calling you Bran Bran every time you are vague, or I think you’re lying to me.” He kicks my chair, so I look at him. Which I do, over the tumbler glass as I bring it to my smug lips. “Don’t like that name, Princessa.” “Then don’t lie to me.”

Brantley has surprised me most when it comes to The Kings. He’s the one I thought I’d least have a connection with. I thought maybe Eli, the jokester, or Hunter, the up-and-coming dark and moody rock star. Or even Bishop, or Cash, or Ace. Any of them but Brantley. The connection we have is something that I will feel until the day I die. It’s easy without being boring. Like a shadow, I always know he’s there.

“One day, when this asshole isn’t lurking around you like a hungry lion protecting his prey, I’m going to play some games with you.”

“Because your demons whispered all your secrets into my ear the day you dragged me through your hell, and let me tell you something, you are a monster, Nate. And a liar.”

I can count on one hand how many times I have been shackled by a woman. Rendered fucking speechless and brought to my damn knees by a simple blink of her eye. Three times. Twice was Tillie, and the other was Micaela.

She’s always cute, but when she’s angry, there’s something inside of me that recognizes her fire and wants to build an inferno with her. The only problem is that those closest to us get burned. She holds all of the cards when it comes to me. But my poker face is too good, so she just doesn’t know it yet. Connection is rare, I fucking know this. As much as there’s still so much that she doesn’t know yet, I have every intention to keep her safe.

She’s the only one who can reach the string and tug on every single fucking emotion that is inside of me.

“You think you have the power, but last I checked, I’m the one with the pussy.”

“I’m well acquainted with your pussy, Princessa, but if you pull that shit again, I’ll tear off your clothes and fuck you until you’re black and blue and bleeding out on this table. Don’t fucking test me, baby, because your pussy will not be so testy once I’m done with it.”

Tillie slaps my hand away from her mouth. “Agh!” she screams. “I fucking hate you! Handcuff me to Bran Bran instead!” “Woah!” Brantley glares at her. “I didn’t fucking lie to you! That nickname is only allowed if I fucking lie to you!” She smiles at him, and I watch as his eyes narrow to slits. “I changed my mind.” Brantley’s face morphs into a cold, neutral expression. I have to hide my laughter. “You’re a pain in not just his ass, but mine too, but I don’t get to eat that ass, so this shit isn’t fair.”

The teasing with Brantley doesn’t bother me. I’ve seen them do some pretty fucking questionable things, and it didn’t bother me to a degree, because I know what they have. The twisted little bond that they share isn’t something that I’m worried about, nor do I give a fuck about. He’s just her…me.

Nate yanks on the handcuff. “She’s just going to play up on purpose now. Stop feeding the monster.” Brantley turns to look over his shoulder, his eyes darkening. “I happen to like my little terror.”

“You’ll come to learn, or are already learning, that there are two sides to Nate. This is just him. This is how he is. How he reacts to different circumstances is always erratic, we can never be sure which side we’re going to land on. There’s the jokester side, then there’s his Malum side. He battles with the two personalities a lot, I know this, but one thing you should always remember is that both of those sides have one thing in common.” I tilt my head, snuffling my nose. “And what’s that?” He stares at me blankly. “You.”

“Well, well, well, my little terror clearly looks like she’s out to play tonight,” Brantley mutters, sidestepping Nate and making his way to me.

I fight the urge to chase him and see what’s going on. What is with the people—myself included—in my life. We’re all a fucking mess, but maybe that’s why we all found each other, because we were all lost on the same path.

Pain doesn’t define us, it shapes us. We come into this world as newborns, a fresh start. New life, a crisp soul. Then life happens, and every single choice you make has an implication. Every scar has a story, or it doesn’t and it’s just a scar, but whether or not it has a story, it’s still a scar, and that scar doesn’t define us, so why should pain?

“Nightmares make you appreciate the good. They remind you that your life could be worse,”

“Because knowing you’re okay is worth the pain that having you in my arms causes.”

“Yeah, just my room and the gym. You should do it before pancakes, and anyway, the batter needs to sit in the fridge for an hour.” “What?” I glare at him. “Since when?” Brantley stares at me, hitting the blender off after mixing his shake. “Since forever. Everyone knows that pancake batter needs to sit in the fridge for an hour before you cook it.”

“Breathe, my little terror, you’re okay. You’re fucking safe when we’re around…”

When Nate bears his soul to you, he takes yours as collateral.

I release a little as she leans over and grabs it before taking her spot back on my lap. Where the fuck she belongs. This queen doesn’t need a throne, she just needs my dick to sit on.

“We’re all fucking crazy, Tillie, but it’s who we stay sane for that matters. You need to for you. Love is just an anchor. It can either be the reason you drown or the reason you float. You can’t ride on that to keep you sane.”

“You like that, baby?” he asks, his fingers tightening around my chin and yanking my face up to his. “On your knees, bound by your cum-drenched panties, and gazing up at the words that own you, because I do, Tillie. This King fucking owns you.”

“Your second sin? Was not trusting me enough.”

“I always said that I loved breaking you just so I could put you back together exactly how I wanted, maybe pocket a few pieces of you that you’d never get back. Maybe we could try that literally…”

The thing about fucking with people is that that person begins to learn the art that you fuck, and they fuck you back harder, with perfect precision and execution.

I’m exhausted. This isn’t love. It’s pure and undiluted possession. He doesn’t need to throw me around to possess me, his soul attached itself to mine a long time ago, and now I can’t breathe with the thought of being too far away from him.

and we are Kings. The mother fucking Elite. The monsters people whisper about in fear because they’re too afraid to say our name out loud.

I can see the blood on his chest, but I don’t care. I lean up on my tiptoes and crash my lips against his. He doesn’t move into me. He simply opens his mouth wide and licks me across my lips as I devour him. Losing myself in all that is him. He consumes me more than anything in this world, the feeling is stronger than love. It’s stronger than hate, or pain. He smothers me and owns every single bit of who I am.

“You’re not a woman who can be owned. I knew that a long time ago. You may not belong to me, but you belong with me. And there ain’t shit you can do about it.”

“Little terror?” Brantley teases once the silence stretches out into awkward territory. “You will be the most protected woman, and that baby will be guarded by Hellhounds, I promise you. I fucking promise you.”