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Saint
My throat dries as the black Hummer pulls down the drive, stopping outside the doors. Tillie squeezes my hand. “Should we tell him now?”
I shake my head. “No. He needs to be focused. This will stress him out.”
“Just to be clear.” Madison clears her throat, speaking from one side of her mouth. “I’m not very good at lying when Bishop is around. He can sniff out lies from my lips before I even speak them.”
“If you manage to slip, it’s fine. But please try. I’m—” Sweat beads around my brows, “simply not ready to tell him.”
They both squeeze my hands reassuringly, and I’m, once again, thankful for both of them. I sometimes wonder how I survived without them for so long. I understand what The Elite Kings’ world is like. How their rules work and boundaries are pushed. Maybe our co
The door opens and Brantley is the first to step out. I freeze. Suddenly, I’m afraid he can read my mind, or even see I’m hiding a bump. Shit. How far along am I? Would it be possible to even have a bump yet?
He takes the steps up to me and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest while his hand is on the side of my head. “I’ve had about enough of people hurting you and getting away with it, Dea.” His tone is almost too calm for the words he spoke.
“I’m okay.” I smile up at him, resting my hand on his chest. “Because of the girls and Sam.”
Brantley grunts, his hand sliding down my arm and to my palm. After taking the test, Madison ran me a bath and Tillie cooked some food. I’m now in a pair of ripped boyfriend jeans that belong to Tillie and a Slasher shirt of Madison’s. I couldn’t find two of the same sides to wear but managed to find the perfect one from each.
I squeeze his fingers with mine until he looks at me from behind his shoulder. I always feel small beside him, but even more so when he’s angry. “I’m fine.”
He ignores me, turning back to face Bishop and Nate, who are jogging up the stairs. “Where is she?”
“We can’t get ahold of Sam. Hector is tracing him now, but while we wait—” Nate hooks his arm around Tillie’s neck and drags her into the house. “I need to fuck my wife.”
Tillie throws up deuces and they both disappear upstairs. Bishop and Madison still seem tense around one another, but the love they have for one another is louder than the way they hate each other. It’s what makes their relationship so real, seeing them this way.
“Hungry?” Madison asks, sidestepping away from Bishop and making her way through. We follow behind them and into the kitchen. The atmosphere feels heavy, as if Brantley is barely containing his anger.
The kitchen is at the rear of the house, adjacent to the main living room. The architecture is articulate and classy, with windows that overlook the greenery in the back yard. No pool. Though I didn’t suspect there would be, as it’s so cold here. Not an obvious cold, more of a comfortable one. As if the rain only trickles, not pours, just enough to leave a constant mist in the air. The kitchen is a loud red that makes me uncomfortable, and the stools that are tucked beneath the varnished wood counter are pulled together with cream leather. I’m not sure what she was thinking when decorating this area, but I’m assuming she wasn’t at all.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Madison fills the silence as Bishop and Brantley meet with whoever else they came over with in the living room. “This kitchen is ugly.”
“Maybe.” I stifle my laugh and watch as she pulls out a capsule from the fridge and pops it into a large bowl-shaped mug.
She pours cold milk over top and then places it into the microwave. “It’s your mother, by the way.” The microwave beeps and she takes out the mug. The smell hits me instantly. Cocoa, ci
“Sounds amazing.” I widen my eyes at Madison and smile.
“One of a kind!” Madison mocks back.
I take the first sip and groan. The harsh notes of cocoa beans mixed with the sweetness of the honey and spices taste almost exotic, or something I should not be eating. Otherworldly. Forbidden.
“Right? They have the best chocolate ever in Perdita. You can’t get anything like their chocolate anywhere.” I place my mug down and rub my temples. I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel guilty for asking the girls to keep this secret from Nate and Bishop, and then I feel guilty for keeping it from Brantley and everyone, too. But I’m scared. I’m scared because Brantley and I are already so volatile. I just need to know if this volatility is something that is part of our relationship or if it’s a product of him not being happy about something.
Bishop enters behind us with Spyder. Spyder is Bishop’s first cousin and has dyed blond hair. They seem similar, but it’s not obvious unless they’re standing side by side or if you’re really looking. His brows are pulled in and Spyder shuffles beside him. Brantley is nowhere to be seen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sensing the unease between the two of them. This right here is another reason why I don’t think a
Bishop pulls out a stool beside me and rubs his hands over his face.
“Bishop, spit it out, please. I can practically taste your emotions.”
He smiles at me, reaching forward and brushing my hair out of my face. “I just got off the phone with Dad.”
“Okay?”
“Seems there’s been an incident back home.” He breathes in and out, and I automatically know this isn’t going to be good. Not just the words he’s saying, but the way he’s saying them.
“My dogs?” My hand is on my stomach as a range of emotions forces their way up my throat. I think I’m going to be sick.
He shakes his head, his eyes on mine. Pained, but serious. The muscles in the sides of his jaw flex a couple of times before he takes my hands with his. “When the explosion happened, it wasn’t just you, Ophelia, and Ivy at the house.”
“What?” I pause. White noise fills the gaps between him. I think I stop breathing altogether.
He blows out a breath. “It’s Bailey.” I don’t hear anything else because I shove back from my chair until I’m standing upright, only it happens in slow motion. “She was in her bedroom when it happened. She didn’t make it, princessa, I’m so fucking sorry.”
I shake my head. Sadness spills into the cracks of my mind as I try to wrap my head around Bailey not being here anymore. “No. She can’t be. I just saw her the other night. It can’t be.”
Bishop pushes off his chair and takes my hand with his, wrapping two of his fingers around my chin to bring my eyes to his. “It was her, Saint. I’m so fucking sorry.” The ball that was clogged in my throat explodes as pain, loss, and sorrow sink their nails into the marrow of my bones and begin tearing away at me from the inside out.
“No.” Tears stream down my face, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. I can’t seem to care.
Madison sobs in the background, but I don’t hear anything else. Bishop pulls me into his chest and wraps his arm around my waist. “I’m sorry, Saint.”