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.”
He seems to ponder my words until we’ve sat for another fifteen minutes in pure silence. The only sound is coming from the rustling trees, and very faintly, the soft crashing of waves in the near distance.
He lights a smoke. “Have you spoken much to Daemon?” He tosses the pack onto the table in front of us.
“No?” I reach for the pack, suddenly itching for something a little extra to take the edge off. “Well, not as much as I would have liked. Not yet. I will. He seems more distant and stranger than usual.”
Brantley snatches the packet from me, glaring and tossing it back onto the table. “That’s expected. After everything he’s been through. I’m surprised there’s anything left of him at all upstairs….” He bites out the end of his sentence, which again catches my attention.
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer, and I catch the way he licks his lower lip with his tongue against the moonlight. 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.
“He’s not the same as he used to be, Tillie. Just be wary of the way you are around him. He’s not the same boy you knew.”
I figured as much, from what I’ve seen so far but the fact that Brantley has confirmed it only intensifies my feelings.
“Okay. I will. Thank you. One more question… is Nate going to let me go?”
Brantley’s eyes go over my shoulder. “Maybe you should ask him.” He starts to stand, moving closer to me and wraps his fingers around my chin, tilting my face up to his. “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.”
I bite my lower lip, my cheeks igniting in flames at his words. My thighs clench together as his grip tightens around my chin, his thumb pressing against my lower lip.
“The kind where there are only two players until it’s Game Over.”
He leans down and presses his lips to my head. “Night, Princessa…”
I’m still shocked by what just happened, but when he’s walking away, I quickly compose myself and yell back, “Night Bran Bran!”
The whiskey isn’t helping much, so I look down at the table and see Brantley’s left his pack of smokes. I snatch up the packet and take one out, inhaling deeply. The thick nicotine sets in my lungs before I exhale. It’s been a long day, and when I step back to evaluate everything that’s going on in my life right now, it still doesn’t make much sense.
“Bad habit,” Nate interrupts from behind me. I forgot he was there.
I don’t look back. “So it seems. Just add it to my list of the others.” I bring my eyes to his as he rounds the table. I suck in the smoke and curl my lips in an O to puff out perfect smoke rings. “Bad habits.”
He pins me with a stare, not answering. He looks good, but then, he always does. No one has said anything about Nate Riverside-Malum’s appearance. Because they can’t. It’s what he hides beneath the pretty smile that people should talk about.
“When are you taking me back to civilization?” I ask, flicking the ash off my smoke and picking up my glass of whiskey. The liquid is doing what is intended, my head spinning in a Ferris wheel of confusion.
“Do you want to go back to go back? Or do you want to go back to be away from me?” he asks, and I don’t have to be able to see his face to know that one eyebrow would be cocked and a slight smirk would be on his lips.
I ignore him, not ready to admit how it feels to be here. Away from reminders of—my life before. Not ready to admit that his danger dances around me, teasing me to come play. Until I get lost in the maze that constructs their world. Their beautiful, fucked up world.
His shadow moves closer to me and the chair scrapes against the concrete as he takes a seat.
He’s so close. Close enough I can almost hear his thoughts.
“Tillie.”
I ignore him.
“Look at me.”
“Fuck you.”
Silence. He brings his hands to both sides of my chair and pulls me closer to him. I still don’t look. He wraps his fingers around my chin and forces my attention on him. I clench my jaw.
He’s wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. I can see his eyes peering at me from underneath, and even more so, the gloss of his high cheekbones.
“I meant after Micaela died. Not before. Everything after was planned.”
I bring my smoke to my mouth and suck, inhaling. I blow out in his face, because I know how much he hates cigarette smoke. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
He snatches the smoke from between my fingers and squashes it with his bare hand. “It’s supposed to make you fucking realize that I’m not a goddam monster, Tillie. My shit has purpose. Real fucking purpose.”
“You’re not a monster?” I ask, tilting my head while softening my
