Sancte Diaboli Part One (Elite King's Club #6) - Amo Jones Page 0,4

or angry. His tone had a dismissive, roguish edge to it. Maybe he didn’t need to yell to be heard, people just listened. It was obvious that was what was happening right now.

Tillie cocks her head to the side until her pink hair falls over one slender shoulder. “Well, that has to change, and you know it.”

I’m confused.

Everyone danced around me to the heavy sound of Korn. I loved Korn. Their music was enticing, exhilarating, and, if I was being honest, kind of exhausting, but it pulsed through me anyway, relentless with its mission. I just wanted to feel. To get lost within the sea of sweaty teenagers and to pretend I was just like them. So like them. Even if I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t, and if they didn’t know I wasn’t, they would have thought something was wrong because everyone who came near me, always made sure to stay just far enough away to not lose their fingers. If anyone had gone out of their way to ask me, I would have told them that they’re wasting their time fearing for their lives. They can dance up on me. No one is here watching. No one.

I raised my arms above my head and moved my body to the menacing tone of Jonathan Davis. I wanted to have sex with his voice. Wrap him between my legs and swallow him whole. A smile traced my lips at that thought, and I slowly peeled my eyes open. That smile only grew when I noticed two guys sitting on a sofa, watching me. They wore dark clothes, but one had white sneakers on and the other black boots. One had tattoos running up an arm while the other seemed to have none. They had the same build, only one was taller, broader, and angrier, while the other just seemed simply disinterested. He could pretend he wasn’t interested all he wanted, but I felt the flames of his eyes lick me from my waist down.

I flung my hair over my shoulder and slowly made my way toward them. I was confident, to put it lightly, and that probably—no, definitely—came from always getting everything I wanted in life. That amongst other things.

Once I reached the edge of the sofa, I looked down at the two boys. “Well? Are you both going to sit there and stare, or are you going to show me if you can fuck me like your eyes just did?”

Brantley

Secrets. The Elite Kings were notorious for keeping them, hiding them away where little girls couldn’t find them, and then shoving it down their throats when it was convenient. It’s how we checked if you had a gag reflex. It was what we did. We spilled the blood of our enemies over the same floor we all learned to walk on. This was our life. Some assumed we were a secret society, but that’s not it either. Secret societies have boundaries, we have none. TEKC was formed generations and generations ago between the founding fathers. Bishop’s great, great, great whatever pop was the Don, the fucking creator, along with mine, Nate’s, and Eli’s. Evil didn’t fade out through the generations; it only grew stronger with every spawn. We found new ways to torment our enemies. I mean… just ask Madison.

Tried it on Tillie, didn’t work.

Tillie, who just announced to all of us that she’s pregnant.

Everyone is excited. Fucking ecstatic. Nate’s arms are around her, his hand on her stomach protectively. The Elite Kings’ next generation is about to kick off, which gives the rest of us roughly one year to knock someone up if we want our lineage carried on.

Not fucking likely. Knew that I was cutting off the Vitiosis line long before we killed my dad.

“Bran Bran…” Tillie teases from the other side of the room. She thinks I hate the name. Admittedly, I don’t care. She can call me whatever she wants. Bishop’s dad, mom, and Nate’s parents have long since left, leaving just Nate, me, Bishop, Tillie, and—my eyes fall on Saint. Her. My fucking five minutes.

“I’m not congratulating you, Tillie,” I answer flatly, moving away from the fact that Saint walked herself down into this mess that I call my family. Having her in the same vicinity as these savages has the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight. When she came downstairs, no one batted an eye. But the range of looks I’m getting from Bishop and Nate is enough to tell