He chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe you need to talk to your friend when her nose isn’t lost in snow.”
My mouth snaps shut. “You did not—Bishop! You know damn well she doesn’t usually do drugs. She’s, she’s—”
“—changed,” Bishop snaps at me. “She has fucking changed, Tillie. She’s not the same fucking girl that I fell in love with. It fucking happens. It fucking happened,” he sighs, just as the limo pulls to a stop. Bishop buries his face in his hands, shaking his head. His hurt and agony fills the small space of the limo.
“B, do you want to talk to me about it?” I ignore everyone else in the car, because right now, none of these fuckers matter. All that matters is that the most epic love story to ever grace our world is on the edge of complete annihilation. An apocalypse of love.
“Just get out.”
We all pile out one by one and Nate leans back inside the car for a few minutes. When he finishes talking with Bishop, he shuts the door, his eyes going to Bran Bran.
“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Nate murmurs, yanking me with his arm until I have no choice but to follow as he leads us up the stone stairs to Brantley’s home.
It’s freaky, but I’ve been here a couple times now, so the air of surprise is gone. Nate pushes open the door and we’re met with complete silence.
“Bran Bran, where are your lights?”
He groans in pain. “I swear to god, Tillie, I’m going to start giving you warnings. You get three a day.” The light flicks on and we’re met with this beautifully dark and haunted mansion. “You get to three and I’m taking you over my knee and beating your ass blue. Deal?”
I raise an eyebrow in defiance. He doesn’t even look at me through all of that, it was a simple matter of fact. When he notices I’m not answering and everyone around us has fallen quiet, his eyes come to mine. “Deal?”
I shrug. “Deal.”
Nate yanks on the handcuff. “She’s just going to play up on purpose now. Stop feeding the monster.”
Brantley turns to look over his shoulder, his eyes darkening. “I happen to like my little terror.” He winks and then goes back to leading us through the house. The walls are blood red and black with old tarnished wood lining the framework. The windows are all stained glass with cross wood through them. The living room resembles a damn church and the fire is flickering slowly, burning to embers.
“Who lit the fire?” I ask, yanking on Nate’s arm in an attempt to drag him toward the sofa.
With my hundred thirty-five pounds against his what, one-eighty? That doesn’t do anything.
I pause, turning to face Nate who is trying his hardest to hide his laugh.
“Move!” I groan, getting angry at him and his stupid Nate antics. He finally follows and drags me onto the sofa beside him.
Brantley doesn’t answer my question. “So here’s the deal,” he says instead. “You all will stay here, but you will stay on the first level since there’s only one way in and one way out down there. You will be allowed up during the week, but know that I have guards all around this joint. They shoot to kill, so I wouldn’t try anything. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Vitiosis graveyard that sits in our backyard? Yeah, well, not all of the blood that has seeped into that soil is Vitiosis blood—if you know what I mean.”
Abel clears his throat. “What am I doing here?”
Brantley’s eyes come to his, and he leans forward, his face blank. “You, young pup, are going to be our little prodigy.”
I massage my temple with my free hand. “Oh no. Oh!” I answer, finally remembering. “Oh my god! Where is Bailey?”
Brantley stills.
“Bran Bran…” I swear if he has killed her or given her away, I’ll never speak to him again and the next body in the Vitiosis graveyard will most definitely be a Vitiosis.
“That’s your second warning, and she’s in the right wing. Never see her much. Thank fuck.”
I exhale, exhausted from the day.
I feel the heavy clip around my wrist loosen, so I stretch out my hand, turning to face Nate. “Thanks.”
His eyes stay on mine, and for a flash, I think I see something. Something familiar but broken. We haven’t spoken about her, or anything since he locked me in the cell, and I’m not sure whether I’d want to.
“How do I trust you?” I ask him, wanting to know the answer to the golden question. “You’re all always playing games.”
Nate’s lip slowly kicks up in a smirk. “Simple really, you don’t.” Then he grips onto my arm and yanks me to my feet. When Daemon stands, Nate comes face-to-face with him. “Do I need to warn you about your hands, young one?”