Abel stills. “What? How?”
Wait, what!
“I will need the champagne.” I press my fingertips to my temples and rub them in circles.
“Not for you to know right now, young pup! Go get her a bottle of Moët and hurry back.”
The young boy, Abel, turns and hurries down toward the bar. He’s handsome, too, with features still fresh enough to call innocent, though borderline on the scale of hardening. There is a resemblance to Bishop, too. Obviously, Hector’s genes are strong. My father was a problem. How many kids did he have?
Bishop tilts his head up to Brantley. “Are you going to stand there throughout this conversation, or are you going to sit down like a civilized human?”
Brantley finally pushes away, rounding the table. The sound of rubber scraping against timber vibrates beside me as he drops onto the chair. I ignore him because Abel is back with a metal bucket filled with ice and the tip of a bottle of champagne sticking out of it. He places it onto the table with a frosted flute wine glass. I take the bottle out of the bucket, pour the champagne and watch as the bubbles turn to foam on the top before pouring more.
“Thank you,” I say to Abel, who smiles at me before leaving. I set the bottle back into the bucket and take the first sip.
“Brantley told you a little about The Elite Kings Club, yes?”
I nod my head, my finger grazing the liquid off my lips as my eyes find Brantley’s. He pins me to the spot. Intense. Crazed. Possessed. Addicted. “He did.”
Bishop remains still, his shoulders tight and his eyes passive on me. “Hector, our father, and his father, and his father’s father have been at the table since the beginning of time. It was our great-great-great-grandfather who formed The Elite Kings. I could have you read Tacet a Mortuis…” Bishop pauses, the corner of his mouth curving in a half-smile. “But I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“So you’re a cult?”
Silence between the two of them. Bishop leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. I’m momentarily distracted by the cuts on his jeans. “No, not exactly. More like a… society.”
“Like a secret society?” I sip on my champagne between answers.
Bishop shakes his head. “Eh, actually, it’s more of a lifestyle. Traditions. Something we’ve all been raised around.” He pops a cigarette between his lips, lights it, and takes a long pull before blowing out the angry cloud of smoke.
“And this lifestyle, what does it entail?” I look around the area. “Aside from owning schools.”
“A lot,” Brantley interrupts, glaring at Bishop. “In short, every family has a job to do in order to maintain the dynamics of The Elite Kings. We have people in the White House, the CIA, in the mafia, MCs. Where there is power, you will find a King.”
“What do you do?” I ask Brantley.
Finally, his head turns until he’s face-on with me. “What do I what?”
Bishop’s chuckle is loud enough for me to look back at him. “What?”
“Please do tell.” Bishop smirks. “Tell her what the Vitiosis family provides…”
Brantley flips him off, his fingers wrapping around the metal bucket that houses my bubbles, pulling it away from me. “Enough of that shit for you.”
“So, my mom and your dad?” I say to Bishop. “Where are they?”
“Well, your mom is dead, but your dad isn’t.” There’s an eerie silence that stretches among all of us.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me from the start.”
“With power comes enemies. When you have power, there will always be people who want to take it away from you, but those who need to take it, burn it out fast. If it gets out that Hector has a Swan, it wouldn’t end well, and aside from that, it would put you in a dangerous spot. In essence, us telling you has just put a target on your back, which is why you’ve probably noticed one of us is always with you, and security has leveled up.”
I learned quickly what happened after I got the wrong answers. Which were the right answers, but not the ones that they wanted to hear. There was a light, a phone recording, and a knife.
Blood. So much blood.
Brantley leaned down and ran his tongue over the blunt side of the blade. “Every time you get an answer wrong, my dick gets hard. Keep going.”
Brantley
The foundation of this house was built upon the carcasses of our enemies. That was why it was haunted. If you peel back the wallpaper, blood would spill. It was, and remains, the house that never sleeps.
Nine years old
Lucan kept his promise. He never laid a finger on Saint. Not ever, not once. She was the trophy we kept on our mantel, pretty to look at but never to be held. He liked it that way, too, I was sure. But that meant one thing… he needed me more. It was two weeks past the night he had Silver and me on the bed together. Two weeks since the final crack inside my already doomed soul shattered completely. I never wanted to revisit that night. The night I took her virginity, all for what? Some sick old fucks to get their rocks off from a video. I was dangerously close to snapping at my father. So fucking close. But I had to be patient.