Nate
Tillie stands from the floor in her room, cell phone in hand. Her little body disappearing into the bathroom.
“I’m telling you, if it was anyone else, we could have put a camera in there too,” Cash mutters, smirking at me.
“Put a camera in there and I’ll kill you,” I snap, glaring at him.
“What?” Cash mocks. “So Brantley gets to see her, but we don’t?”
“He got to see her,” I correct, my finger running over the top of my lip.
The table falls quiet.
“You two finally sort your shit out?” Brantley’s mouth turns to a half-smile.
“Is she in my bed?” I pine, my eyebrow quirked.
“No, but she’s on your dick, so I’m just wanting it to be a bit clearer,” Brantley further teases.
“I like you better when you’re angry at the world and not speaking.” I go back to the camera.
Brantley chuckles. “Fucker.” Then he flicks his finger to the camera. “You think that was him?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“And she’s going to meet him?” Brantley asks again.
“Yeah,” I repeat. “I need this shit done. She needs it done.”
“You think this will fix her?”
Putting a joint in my mouth and blazing up, I blow out a thick cloud of smoke and shrug. “Fuck knows. Maybe she has completely lost it.”
“Would that be an issue for you?” Brantley asks, and I turn to face him, giving him my undivided attention.
“You’re asking an awful lot of questions this morning, Bran Bran. You get your happy place licked last night?”
He laughs, his grin stretching wide. A few of the boys snicker.
Brantley’s eyes darken on me.
“Don’t fucking say it,” I snap at him and his grin only deepens. “Asshole.”
Bishop has been quiet through the whole thing. His eyes remaining passive on the same spot on the table.
I hand him the J and he takes it, biting it between his lips. “I don’t know what the fuck to do about Madison.”
Brantley shakes his head. “This is why I’m single.”
“Are you though?” I ask, my eyes going to him. Your turn now. Bastard.
He narrows his. “Fuck you.”
“Wait!” Cash interferes. “What does that mean?”
I chuckle, taking the J back off Bishop and putting it to my mouth. I smirk, shaking my head at Cash. “Nothing.” … that you need to know.
“She’ll come around.”
Bishop leans back, his eyes closing. He has been struggling a lot for the past couple of months, we both have.
“Halloween’s coming up,” I smirk around my joint. “We can play with the girls a bit.”
Bishop’s mouth curls. “I’m down for that.”
“Party in the cemetery?”
Brantley smirks. “I’m keen for that.”
Movement catches my eyes on the TV, and we all snap to it, watching as Tillie rushes around the room and then swings the door open. We hit the TV off as we hear the door open and close down the hallway.
She enters. “Hey, Bran—” Then stops. “What did I just interrupt?”
Her hair has been straightened, her face full of makeup. I know she loves that shit, but she doesn’t need it.
“Nothing.” Then I fish my keys out of my pocket and fling them toward her. She catches them in mid-air. “And you’re taking my car…” When I said she wasn’t riding on anything to do with Brantley, I wasn’t just meaning his cock.
Her eyes widen. “Thanks. Mine should be here tomorrow.”
“You bought a car?” Brantley asks and she drops to the floor, slipping her Chuck Taylors onto her feet.
“Yeah, when Madison and I went shopping, I bought a car.”
“What kind?” Brantley and his questions.
“Let me guess,” I mutter. “A Range Rover.”
“Nope,” she declares, standing back up with my keys in her hand. “A Porsche.”
“Did you get it in black?” I ask, my eyes coming to hers. It’s tradition for all of The Kings to ride in black cars. It started when we became Kings of course. It’s not actually part of The Commandments.
She keeps them on mine, but they lack the typical fire that she normally has. Because she’s hiding something, something she thinks I don’t know. Her lack of faith in The Kings is tugging on my patience.
“Nope.” She smirks, looking down at Brantley. “Blood red.”
Brantley laughs and then looks toward me. “I told you—red is her color.”
I roll my eyes. “Be back by three.”
She waves us all off and makes her way out the front door. We all sit in silence until we hear my loud engine start up and take off down the driveway.
“Three, two, one—” We all stand and make our way out to the two Range Rovers parked at the front. I jump in the driver’s seat of one, with Bishop in the other.
“Get Dough” by Dead Obies starts pulsing through the sound system and Brantley cranks it up. It’s good. I need a distraction from my thoughts.
We pull out onto the main road. Brantley pushes a few buttons, lighting up the GPS on my car. We all had them installed when we got them. It’s just something we do as a precaution. Every single King and close associate, like wives and such, have the same systems installed. A little green light flickers, signaling where she is. Heading into the city.
My phone rings. I switch it to speaker. “What?”
“I’m about to meet her now,” my dad says into the phone. “Nate?”
I don’t answer, running my hand over my jaw. “What?”
“She’s in danger. You must know this.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Yeah, I do.”
“And what are you all doing about the situation that holds the last living Stuprum in danger?”
I shuffle in my seat. “We’ve got a plan.”
“Care to share?”
“Fuck no!” I scoff. “You’re nomad, therefore you’re even less trustworthy than a fucking Rebel and The fucking Circle.”
He sighs. “I’m also your father, and the peace—”
I hang up, tossing my phone onto Brantley’s lap.
“How is this cunt trying to act like daddy Malum now?” Brantley mutters. “Motherfucker.”
I brush him off.
“You calling red on Tillie now?” Brantley
