Malum: Part 2 (The Elite Kings' Club Book 5) Page 18

  Can you spell vulnerable? Vulnerab—I can’t. Mainly because bourbon, but also because of something else. Something that tugs at my chest every time his eyes meet mine, or anytime that he’s in the same room as me, or any time that he’s angry at me, or sad with me, or happy with me, or playful with me—fuck.

  I swallow the rest of my drink.

  I am completely, utterly, and irrevocably in love with him.

  The room spins around me. I knew I was in love with him before, but that was different. I knew I had these feelings toward him, but I didn’t know what to do with them. Now that I’ve accepted these feelings, what the fuck do I do? He will never want to settle down. Ever. He’s Nate Riverside-Malum. His cock may had been bounced around on a lot, (high fucking traffic zone), but his heart and his soul? Completely unattainable. Now that I’ve found myself in this pool of feelings for him, I’m afraid I might drown in them. He can never know, because he doesn’t take me seriously. He banters with me, sure, but that’s all it is, and even I know that there’s no way I’d ever be allowed into his heart and soul. People think that he would fall in love easily because he likes to fuck around, but that’s not true at all. He gave his cock freely—to girls who he deemed worthy—for his pleasure. Putting love on the table will never be in his cards, he kept his heart in a cage.

  “Tillie?” Bailey laughs, swiping the tears. “Thoughts?”

  “On?” I ask, gulping past my revelations. I reach for the ridiculously expensive bourbon.

  “If you had to have sex with Johnny Depp—”

  I shake my head. “Stop right there…”

  Bailey tilts her head and the table falls quiet.

  “I will always do Johnny Depp…” I add casually.

  The table laughs and Bailey giggles. “See! Okay, so if you had to choose one of his characters to have sex with, who would it be?”

  “Easy, Jack Sparrow…”

  Bailey’s lips pinch in.

  “Why?” I ask, eyebrows raised. “Who did you pick?”

  “…Edward Scissorhands?”

  I almost spit out my drink. “What?” Then I start laughing, my tummy hurting. “Why? I couldn’t be more shocked if you had said Willy Wonka!”

  She shrugs. “Well, he would be my second choice!”

  Girl is weird as fuck, which is why I love her.

  Love. I wrap my lips around the rim of the bourbon bottle, fake laughing as I take gulps.

  “Alright…” Bishop says, grinning at us all. “Time to play a game.”

  “Oh no…”

  Bailey’s eyes light up in glee. This girl is so much like her twisted cousin she has no idea.

  Bishop rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing like that…”

  I sag in my seat. “Okay. Shoot.”

  An hour later we’re all strapped up with vests and helmets and little light boxes that are flashing on our chests.

  “Seriously…”

  “You wanted something normal, Stuprum. Laser tag is about as normal as we get.”

  “It’s not laser tag because you’re using bullets…”

  “Not real bullets.” Nate rolls his eyes, and I only know that he rolls his eyes because the spotlight on my helmet is faced directly at him. His sharp jaw and articulate features only accentuated under the shadows behind the light.

  “They are paintballs, still bullets!” I huff, irritation palpable.

  Nate leans over and licks my face. “Stop talking. It makes my dick twitchy.”

  I glare at him.

  There are two teams. Me, Bishop, Nate, Abel, Chase, and Cash on this team, and Brantley, Bailey, Eli, Hunter, and Ace, on their team. Saint is still a touchy subject, since he disappeared a couple of months ago. Nate had said he had gone rogue, which makes me sad.

  “Alright!” Chase snaps at all of us, his long blonde hair tied into a top knot. His eyes narrow on me. “Stop laughing at me Stuprum…”

  “I’m sorry, you’re just so pretty.”

  “You can braid my hair if you help us win…” He winks.

  I straighten. “Let’s do this shit.”

  We figure out a game plan and then go our separate ways. The forest blankets me in its darkness, spilling around my feet like a dead river, probably filled with the damn Loch Ness monster.

  An arm wraps around my waist and pulls me against a hard chest.

  I spin around, smacking Nate. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “We can’t fuck again.”

  “I know,” I snap, shoving his chest. “Why did you have to scare the shit out of me just to say that?” My heart sinks.

  “Just making it clear so you stop looking at me like I’m a fucking snack and you’ve been starved all your life.”

  You’re a six-course meal, not a fucking snack.

  “Whatever.” I turn in my steps, raising my gun up and looking through the scope.

  I leave him behind, confused about the arbitrariness of his words, but it only settles the fact that I can’t express the way I feel about him to him. I’m not ready to say it and he’s not ready to hear it.

  I raise my gun at movement that shuffles through the bushes and a flash of green swipes through the blackness like a neon headlight. I shoot. Bang Bang Bang. Anger at Nate ripples through me. I jog to where I hit and smirk down at Ace, his black hair falling over his face.

  “Fuck me, Stuprum. You trigger happy or what?”

  “I’m trigger happy.”

  The light on his chest flips to the word “Shot” that flash over his small screen, and then I help him up and watch as he heads back to the house.

  Something smashes against my back and I yelp, spinning around as ten more bullets fly into my chest.

  “Alright!” I yell, falling to the ground.

  Whoever shot me doesn’t come to check on me, so I stand, rubbing off the dirt and make my way back to the cabin. There’s a fire that’s been started in the pit and I rip the vest off me, tossing it to the ground while snatching the familiar bottle of bourbon from Brantley.

  “I hate this game.”

  He chuckles. “Same.”

  My eyes go to Ace. “Sorry about shooting you.”

  He shrugs, just as Bailey comes stumbling down the stairs. “Why is there three on your team here and only one from my team?”

  Brantley rolls his eyes. “She accidentally shot her teammate.”

  I burst out laughing, swallowing my drink. “These two days are going to be great.”

  Once everyone is back, we all pile inside and the subject of bedrooms starts. I’m still angry at Nate, and not ready to talk to him about what he said earlier tonight, but when I find him, it’s his retreating back ascending the stairs, so I guess I don’t have to worry about that.

  “She can sleep with me!” Bailey says, winking at me. “I stole a bed as soon as I got here. It’s a double, and has another double in there, but I think Eli took it so it’s fine…”

  I smile. “Thanks.”

  Yeah, I take that back. These next couple of nights might go slow.

  Nate

  When I say shit to Tillie, it spills out. There’s no fucking filter that it goes through first to have a second thought on what I say or even how the fuck I say it.

  I fall onto the bed. The queen bed that I always take whenever we’re at the cabin. Bishop, Brantley, and I are the only ones who always have a bedroom when we get here. We don’t have to fight over the other four rooms. It’s furnished with a queen bed and a fireplace, no TV. The whole point of being out here is to get away from the world. A fucking TV just replaces your world and gives you a false one. But Hector battled for the one downstairs so that got put in.

  I kick the blankets off my body, my eyes drifting out the large windows. I prefer my room to Bishop’s because of these windows. They’re tinted heavily so the morning sun doesn’t assault you as much as if they weren’t. Should I have let her in here? I settle on no. We have too much on the line, including going against our fucking Godfather. Bishop is st
ill not on board and refuses to allow us to conduct a plan to kill Hector. I get it. Not only is Hector his old man, but he’s the fucking Godfather. You can’t kill someone like Hector without triggering the fucking apocalypse. So he has asked for time. Time to build an army against Hector, a case, but the only thing about building an army against Hector is the fact that we have to share our reservations. To our enemies, that’s a fucking weakness.

  I rub my hands over my face and then grip onto my cock. I should just sneak into Tillie’s room and fuck her to sleep. But I won’t. Instead, my hand dips under my briefs and I slip my thumb over my wet tip, squeezing roughly and thinking about blood dripping down her thighs.

  The sun pounds down on me as Eminem raps through my earbuds. I pick up my pace, running through the forest like someone is fucking chasing me. This is my legacy, legacy… yeah, yeah… Sweat drips down my temples, my shoulders aching from doing the same back and forth swing motion. I pause, and turn around, sprinting back to the cabin. I push myself until my heart is slamming against my chest and my knees wobble from fatigue. I thrust through the clearing and ignore Bailey and Cash who are on one of the logs that surround the bonfire pit. Falling to the ground, I rip the earbuds out of my ears.

  Tillie is standing over my head, blocking the sun. “Hungry?”

  I look at her pussy. “Starving.”

  She rolls her eyes and leaves. I roll onto my side. “Hey!”

  She doesn’t stop, because she never fucking does. “Breakfast is ready, Nate.”

  I chuckle, ripping my shirt off and tossing it across the grass. I make my way inside, stacking pancakes on my plate with bacon. I love her cooking. I don’t know what it is, but when Tillie cooks, it’s like she creates fucking magic. I push my fork into the cakey fluff and swipe it into the maple.

  “You sleep well?” I ask, winking at her.

  “Fine.”

  She drinks a bottle of water, wrapping her arms around her body protectively. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but I already know. She wants justice served and I don’t have it in me to tell her that that might take a little longer than she was expecting.

  Instead, I lean over, wrapping my fingers around the legs of her chair and pull her toward me. “Talk.”

  Her eyes come to mine, and then she smiles, flashing me every fucking fake emotion she possibly could. “I’m fine.”

  I laugh. “No, the fuck you ain’t…”

  “Nate…” Bishop growls beside me.

  I wave him off, going back to my pancakes and watch as she leaves the room.

  “We need to talk about what’s going to happen on Friday…” he continues.

  I lick my front teeth. “Why would he call a meet so soon?”

  Brantley shoves his empty plate away, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “It can’t be good, and he specifically asked for Tillie to be present.”

  “Bishop,” I growl, and the table falls silent.

  Bishop’s eyes come to mine. “I know, brother, but I can’t. We can’t be reckless with it, either. You will get your revenge, but give me a minute.”

  I swing my head back, my eyes catching the roof. Did he give my fucking innocent baby girl a minute? I come back to reality, my eyes landing on Brantley.

  He kisses his two fingers and throws them up slightly. Baby Kay. It’s our thing. When she passed, it was our thing to do that.

  “Fine,” I grumble, swallowing the entire contents inside my glass. “But we need a plan and we need one fast.”

  I want to say that I want my shit ended on Friday. I want to fucking hand his ass to him on a silver platter, but I know it won’t happen. Not only because Bishop is being sensitive about it, but because he’s right. It’s going to take more than us wanting revenge to actually obtain our revenge, 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.

  He will get his retribution.

  It’s coming, but when it does—my eyes snap to Bishop, who is already watching me. Is that why he’s stalling too? He’s not ready? Because when we do go through with a plan, it’ll be Bishop who will be taking the throne.

  “And then there are The Rebels, rubbing up against Tillie…” Eli reminds us, and my eyes flash with rage.

  Bishop sits silently across the table. “That’s a plan that needs to go into motion. Remember, everything that we do from here is for our plan.”

  Bishop’s phone starts ringing and he snatches it off the table, his eyebrows furrowing. He swipes it and presses it to his ear. “Yeah?”

  Silence. I lick the maple syrup off my fingertips slowly as we all try to listen in.

  “Why?” he asks, his eyes narrowing in on me. “Yeah. Okay. Are you going to tell me why the erratic schedule with this meet?” Must be Hector, my eye twitches. “Alright. I’ll wait to hear back.” Then he hangs up before announcing, “He called it off. We are to wait for further instructions.”

  “I’m just going to say it,” Ace mutters, tossing the crust of his toast onto the middle of the table. “I’m too old for this shit and totally fucking get why Saint bounced.”

  We don’t speak, and Brantley flinches at the mention of that name. He and Saint were cool, so I know it has nothing to do with that. Weird motherfucker.

  “Saint is fine…” Bishop nudges his head. “He’s happy.”

  “Well fuck, I want me some happy too!” Ace smirks, just as Bailey comes padding into the kitchen, groaning. She flicks the coffee pot on and leans over the sink, her mess of hair sticking up all over the place.

  “You all right there, Bails?” I ask, smirking.

  She flips me off.

  Tillie

  Later that night, we’re all chilling around the bonfire, roasting marshmallows and drinking mulled wine. I have Chase sitting between my legs on the ground and I’m halfway through French braiding his hair, his broad shoulders pressed between my thighs. Tash Sultana is playing through the sound system and everyone is lost in their talks. I look up to catch Nate watching me with every tighten on the braid.

  “Pretty sure he’s jealous,” Chase murmurs, so only I can hear. “Pretty sure he’s about to kill me.”

  I roll my eyes, finishing off his braid and tapping his shoulder. “He will live.”

  They told me today that Hector had canceled the meet until further notice, and as much as that news should have settled my nerves, it didn’t. It only intensified the fact that I need my revenge. I understand revenge, though, probably more than Nate. I was raised in a world where people were cruel to me. It toughened my willpower to wait for the right time to strike, instead of lashing out at every person who does me wrong. Hector will get his at the right time, because it needs to be done right. And I still want to know why. Aside from getting me to Perdita, why did he need me to have nothing to live for? We drink more, dance a little, and Bailey pulls out her little camera again. Later that night we all settle back into our beds, but I’m restless. Bailey is snoring softly beside me, already deep in her sleep when I fling the blankets off my body and head for the door.

  Why didn’t he talk to me all night?

  Why is he mad?

  Now I’m mad, which is why I find myself standing outside of his door, my fingers clenched around the handle. I twist and shove it open, the back side of it hitting the wall. Nate is lying on the top of the covers, leaning on one elbow with nothing but his white Calvin’s on. He’s doing something on his phone and his eyes slowly come up to mine, like me barging into his room was expected.

  “What, Tillie?”

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  He finishes what he’s doing on his phone, not meeting my eyes. “I’m not mad at you.”

  Am I being a twat? No, no I’m not. Because I’m sick of his mood swings. “Why haven’t you spoken to me?”

  He exhales, tossing his phone onto the other side of the bed. “Have I not been giving you enough attention? Come sit.”

  “I’m
not your pet, Nate. I won’t sit when you tell me to sit.” … outside of the bedroom.

  A dark smirk slides onto his mouth. “Really?”

  I don’t know if it’s the alcohol that’s coursing through my body, or just the fact that he is Nate and I am Tillie, but I narrow my eyes on him. “What did I do wrong?”

  “Wrong?” he asks, his eyebrows tipping up a little. “Nothing. Why would you do something wrong?”

  “Can I ask you something?” I say, leaning on the door frame.

  “You’re going to anyway…”

  He’s right.

  “Where do you see yourself in five year’s time?”

  He pauses, seeming to think over his next words. Just when I think he’s not going to reply, he opens his mouth. “Living in my house.” His eyes flick to his phone. “Sitting beside Bishop as he reigns over this fucking world. Why?”

  My heart stops beating for a second, or at least it feels that way, and my gut squeezes. “Doesn’t matter.” I turn on my heel. “Goodnight, Nate.”

  And that, is why we could never work.

  Tillie

  Pressing my earbuds into my ears, I stretch my neck out and watch as the sun peeks up behind the trees, burning the dark with its light. Fergie starts rapping about being hungry as I stretch my legs briefly. I have become dependent on exercise since being in Brantley’s house. Now I crave the burn that comes with pushing your body to the absolute limit. I slip my phone into my armband and start jogging at a slow pace until I find my stride. There’s nothing for at least six miles, nothing but the long driveway that leads you to the cabin, and I love it. I’ll run to the end, where the high wired gates are, and back again and that would be twelve miles. The perfect distance to get me hyped. My feet hit the road faster as I find my stride, the music blaring through my ears, distracting me from that stupid conversation last night. I see the gate at the end, but I haven’t had enough. Pushing it open and off the latch, I slip out and keep running. I don’t know where I’m going but I know I just need to run. My chest burns, my heart thrashing in my chest so fast that my throat feels raw. A dark Range Rover pulls up beside me and I freeze, my body instantly stilling. I tear the pods out of my ears as the tinted window slides down.