Malum part 2

Nate

Two things happened to me the day that Tillie left Perdita.

One, I realized that Brantley was right. I had to let her go. She needed to come back to me when she was fucking ready, and not because I’m forcing her to be in this life. In other cases, I’d be a selfish bastard and take her anyway, but with all the pain that this world has inflicted on her, I couldn’t bring myself to force her to be here. I set her free. But mark my fucking words, the second she walks her ass back through any door of the house that I’m in, I’m calling it check-fucking-mate and stamping my name across her ass.

Bailey stumbles down the stairs, a bottle dangling between her fingers. “Nice house, Malum.”

I ignore her, my eyes flying back outside as I watch as horny fucking college students dive into my lagoon-style pool that’s outside my very fucking over the top mansion. The day I was told I had a daughter, was actually the day I started plans on building it. Took a while, but it’s done now. Still some things needing to be put in, like the basketball court, and a place I’ve decided to call “The Den.” Bishop and I have massive plans for it. Like a gentleman’s club, with no fucking rules. It’s where we’re going to train the new generation of Kings, Abel included. It’s going to be exclusive and fucking lethal.

From the foyer, the twin stairs lead up to the second level, that’s wrapped in stained marble. The whole second level is rounded in a circle, with a railing that you can look downstairs from. It has ten bedrooms, a theater, a show garage, and a room. The Room. I built this house around that one room. The room that started the plans. If you know me well enough and look closely at this house, you’ll see where I went dark. I started it happy, with Micaela’s room. Then it slowly went to shit and boom, The Den was built.

Everything spins around me, the alcohol pulsing through my system at a speed I can’t catch up to. “Swervin” by A Boogie Wit da Hoodie starts playing and I lean my head back against the top of the sofa, closing my eyes. I usually rage when I’m this drunk, but I can’t seem to find the energy to beat any of these fuckers tonight. I feel someone take a seat on my lap, wriggling.

My eyes fly open and I shove whoever it is off. The girl—who I don’t fucking know—falls to the ground.

“Ouch, Nate!” She turns and I see that it’s someone—I think—I’ve fucked with in the past. Her legs open slightly, and I see a flash of her pussy. Yeah, definitely remember that. I think. I’m drunk.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

I shove through the crowd in my sitting room, half tempted to tell everyone to get the fuck out of my house and that I don’t want any of them here when the front door flies open and everyone stops. She’s like a fucking magnet for Kings, because they all slowly come into the sitting room, surrounding me.

I smirk devilishly, like I wasn’t just brewing in my own salt with how things ended between her and I.

“Careful with that door, Princessa. It doesn’t like being slammed half as much as you do.”

She glares at me from all the way the fuck over there, and my head swims in all the scotch I consumed.

“Is it true?”

I pause. What exactly is she asking me? Did she work it out?

“Everyone out!” I snap at all the people in the lounge. They slowly pile out and make their way out to the back where the pool is. There’s no way I’ll be able to shut this party down right now, so I turn and look at Bishop. “Shut that fucking door and lock it.”

“What are you talking about?” I answer her, but I’m pretty sure I slurred a few words in between. Fuck. I can’t help but take in her fucking body. Even in yoga pants and a fucking gra

Shit. I haven’t fucked anyone since her. What the fuck.

She carefully steps farther inside, her eyes wild. She’s the kind of wild you can’t tame, but you wouldn’t want to anyway, because her turbulent soul is reckless, desolate and raw. You wouldn’t want her any other way, and if you did, well, fuck what you want.

“Is it true? Did Hector and Katsia have a baby girl…”

I slam my mouth closed, my eyes crashing into Bishop’s before they swing back to her. “Yes.”

She takes another step, her eyes narrowing. Oh, she’s fucking pissed. “I have a half-sister?”

I hiss, baring my teeth as I take a swig of vodka. “Yes.”

She’s right in front of me now, looking up into my eyes. Her sweet little doe eyes momentarily distract me from her animosity that’s throbbing off of her in waves. Then her eyes cut to Brantley.

“Who is the girl that lives with you, Bran Bran?”

Brantley’s eyes blaze, and I watch as his demeanor changes. He doesn’t like when Saint’s name is brought up in a conversation. We all learned that the hard way.

“Brantley,” Tillie whispers, her head bowing. “Who is she?”

Brantley softens, and then exhales, dropping down onto the sofa. “Saint,” he clips out and then reaches for a random bottle of alcohol off the coffee table. He leans back into the sofa and perches one foot up. “And yeah, she’s your half-sister.”