His features remain frozen. The first clue that he’s lying. Bishop’s face can be animated. He’s going to lie. Instantly I want to argue with him.
“Of The Elite Kings…” He brushes past me, entering through the front door when my eyes find Tillie’s. She’s rubbing her belly—though you wouldn’t know she is pregnant—while keeping her eyes on mine. Her brows are bent inward, her lips pinched together slightly. She looks upset, and when I finally take in Nate, his jaw is set to stone, a slight snarl on his mouth.
“Nate!” Tillie grabs at his arm, but he moves past her and to the front of the doors. Spinning around, he glares at her, and I turn slightly so I can see both of them.
“Fuck no, Tillie! You did that without even fucking talking to me! Fuck. No!”
Eli lights a cigarette, nudging me with his shoulder while blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Don’t worry. This is their foreplay.”
My heart beats loudly in my chest. I find myself slowly stepping toward Tillie, and I’m not sure why. It’s not until I’m beside her that I realize how much foot space I’ve made. Her eyes come to mine, covered in wetness. She swipes a tear from her cheek. “Don’t worry. He’s just mad that I told you.”
“Told her what, Little Terror…” Brantley growls from behind me. I knew he was there. Not because he had his hand on me, or because I saw him move, but because any time Brantley is near me, I feel him. His shadow. The darkness that hovers around him is strong, and anytime it’s here, I feel it. My soul recognizes it.
Tillie runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “Ah, I may have told her, and Madison, that Saint was mine and Bishop’s sister…”
Silence.
If you wanted to hear a pin drop, you probably could. Wind whooshes through the trees that line the sides of the monstrous-sized school, but other than that, all there is, is silence.
“Fucking fuck!” Bishop yells, jogging up the steps to the door Nate disappeared through.
Eli chuckles, following behind Bishop before Hunter and Tillie follow behind them. Then it’s just Brantley and me. I haven’t turned to face him, mainly because I can still feel the anger boiling inside of me, threatening to spill over the edge.
“Saint…” he says, and I don’t know what that simple word does to me. I can’t explain it.
Turning slightly, I find him closer than I initially thought. He takes yet another step, and my hand comes to his chest. I trail my eyes up, past the veins that swell over the pale flesh of his neck, his jawline that has been carved with a scalpel sharp enough to cut through stone, swollen lips slightly pinched pink, and finally up past his sunken cheeks. Dark and stormy eyes peer back down at me, with lashes that fan out any time he blinks.
“Not now.” I go to slip past him to follow the rest inside, but fingers connect with mine and electricity sparks through my blood, rushing straight to my head.
He pulls me back roughly, and I find myself once again facing his chest, his shirt fisted in my hands.
He tenses his jaw a couple of times, because the muscles on either side swell. “Don’t fucking question the shit I do.”
“I didn’t say I did,” I whisper softly. I can’t take my eyes off his lips. They look so soft. Curved in all the right places, with a perfect Cupid bow in the middle.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his mouth moving around the words perfectly. He has asked me this same question numerous times through our life, and every time I’ve said a simple yes. Because I did. I do. Maybe. I did. I trusted him. But now that I have this information, something he didn’t think to tell me, it has left a hazy residue over that simple sentence.
“Bran, yo!” Eli calls from the door. But we don’t disconnect. I don’t push away from his chest, or look away from his lips, and he doesn’t stop glaring down at me.
“Fuck off, Eli.” His fingers trail up the side of my neck and it’s the first time I’ve truly felt the power his touch contains. Skin on skin. Death caressing life. Heaven invaded by Hell. Cold. So cold. “Do you?” he asks, and my fingers inch up his shirt, to the vein that pulses beneath the skin on his neck. I brush my fingertip over it, closing my eyes as my heart sinks in my chest.
Fingers are around my chin, his nose touching the tip of mine. “Open. Your. Fucking. Eyes.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?” he growls, his warm words falling on my lips. He’s close. So. Very. Close.
“Because I can’t lie to you.” Finally, I step away, holding my breath. Betrayal isn’t an emotion I can control, but I’m no liar either. The truth is, I don’t trust him the way I did. Maybe the lie is only small, I’m not sure yet. I haven’t had enough time to truly think on it, but betrayal is betrayal, and right now, it’s the only thing I feel.