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Brantley
The first time I figured out that my parents weren’t like other parents, I was probably around five years old. I don’t remember much from that age, but their toxicity was something that poisoned my view on things like marriage and starting a family. I knew from a young age that I didn’t want any of that. Then I grew to be who I am and knew without a shadow of a doubt that I did not want to carry on the Vitiosis last name. It was to end with me.
Now I’m met with the reality of not getting something I firmly wanted.
“Hey.” Madison sits on the empty chair beside mine. I’m glad we got the fuck off that island ASAP. I’m desperate to put Cash and Bailey to rest, and we have the issue of pulling Abel out of a dark fucking tailspin. Since leaving Saint in bed this morning, I’ve made it a point not to have anyone approach me right now. I can’t. I know I should talk with Saint about why I’m feeling so apprehensive about things, but will she really understand? Has she ever really understood me? No. Because I’ve made damn sure that darkness didn’t touch her. That’s on me, not her.
“Mad, I don’t want to talk right now.” I clench my jaw and sip on the whiskey as the jet jolts when we hit turbulence. “Well, I don’t fucking care.”
Her words shock me, but I’m impressed. Madison and I didn’t have a surface friendship. Ours went deeper than that, but it wasn’t by choice, it was by the unfortunate events we went through together as children.
“Man, if I knew swearing at you would be all I needed to do to get a smile out of you all those years ago, I would have had a field day.” She crosses her legs at her ankles.
I glare at her. “Would you have?”
She sighs. “No. No, I wouldn’t have.”
I chuckle, my lip curling.
“You’re going to be a great father, Brantley.”
I shift in my chair, turning to face her. “How do you know that, Madison? Did you find a time machine while you were in New Zealand that could show me my future?”
She fake laughs, her eyes dead. “So fu
“Well, I don’t have a choice now, do I?” I snap, resting my head back on the headrest.
“Well, you do, technically speaking. Saint could have an abortion.”
My fists clench on top of my knees. “The only thing that would anger me more than having a kid is killing it.” I run my fingers through my hair, covering my mouth. I bring my eyes up to hers.
Madison leans forward. “Brantley. We are all in this together forever. You having a child is probably a good thing because it’s in the window for this generation.”
I divert my eyes to Saint, where she’s sleeping with her head resting on Bishop’s shoulder. She has an earbud in one ear and him with the other. “Why the fuck are they like this?”
Madison turns over her shoulder to follow my sight. Her shoulders relax and her mouth breaks into a smile. “She brings out a side to him that I’ve not seen.” She turns back to face me. “Has that happened before?”
“Are you fucking talking about Khales? Still?”
“No!” Her eyes are wide in shock.
I glare at her.
She winces. “Okay, sort of.”
I shake my head in disbelief, pulling my gaze off her and back out the window. “Madison, shut the fuck up.”
“Always nice chatting with you, Bran.” She stands but rests her hand on my shoulder. “I mean it. You’re going to be a staunch father and uncle. We need that. We all need you.” Then she leaves, and I’m left with the faint echo of her words for the remainder of the flight. I can’t think about it right now. I just need to bury Bailey and Cash.
The jet lands and I stretch my arms over my head, yawning. Saint and Bishop are laughing together, and an unreasonable side of jealousy rears its ugly head.
“So, did she tell you the good news? Hmmm?” I say to Bishop.
Bishop looks between her and me.
Saint shakes her head. “No, I haven’t yet.”
I choke on a laugh. “That’s a fucking first.” I make my way to the door. “Congratulations, Uncle Bishop. You’re having another baby.” I take the steps down onto the tarmac and smirk when I see the Bugatti parked up beside Bishop’s Maserati, Nate’s Lambo, and Spyder’s Porsche. I make my way for the Bug but pause when my hand is on the door handle, staring up at the jet. Matte black with the letters TEKC in cursive writing on the side. So fucking extra.
I point to it when Bishop steps off the stairs and onto the tarmac. “We need to upgrade to a 747 if we wa
Bishop cracks out a laugh, dragging his aviators down over his nose. “Actually not a bad idea.”
Saint is walking down the stairs, hoodie on, loose ripped jeans, and Converse. I don’t know if she means to do it, but everything looks like a fashion show with her. Saint looks between the Bug and the Mas.
I flex my jaw. “Try me, Saint. See what happens.”
She turns toward the passenger seat of my car and opens the door. I nudge my head at Bishop. “We’re going to stay at the hotel until I figure shit out with the house.”
“Which one?” Bishop raises his eyebrows at me. “I mean, the manor or The Coven?” My face falls. I forgot about that fucking house. Every parent in The Elite Kings leaves their houses to their kids when they pass, as well as all businesses. It’s why I’m stuck with Vitiosis Hotel in New York, passed down from generation to generation. Remodeling the hotel after Lucan passed was one of the first decisions I made. The hotel was child’s play. It’s the casinos we all own where the real money is, and it makes it easy for us to fu
I slip into the driver’s seat and hit the window down. “I’ll go there after the burial. Be
Bishop disappears into his car beside me. He revs his engine. “To VH?”
Nate’s car roars loudly, and then Spyder’s. “All in!”
I slide into first gear and floor it forward. We shoot back in our seats as I direct us toward the exit gates where men are holding the tarmac lights. Saint is on her phone, unbothered with the speed before she turns the radio on. I look into my rearview mirror, ripping up the emergency brake to drift sideways onto the street that leads to the freeway. She starts humming to the song in the background, and I instantly want to know what the song is called just because of how it sounds coming out of her mouth. Ray-Bans are covering her eyes, her hair wild and sprawled around her shoulders, and I fucking swear to God my heart skips a beat as the setting sun hits her skin. “JOYRIDE” by Sonia reads across the computer screen built into the dash. Damn. She sings the shit out of this. Once we hit the freeway, I settle down to a more respectful speed, letting Nate and Bishop have at it. We all know Nate won’t give it to anyone else, and I don’t give enough of a fuck about wi
I wait until she’s finished the song before I turn to face her. “What if the baby is a girl?”