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God. Has he always been this perfect?
Yes.
Then everything crashes into me.
Half brother. Half brother.
A shudder rolls over my exposed flesh. His eyes narrow slightly as he raises a glass to his swollen lips.
Brother, Saint!
I squeeze Samael’s arm involuntarily, and that’s the exact moment Brantley breaks eye contact with me and lands straight on the grip I have on Samael. He pauses for a couple of seconds before he leisurely finds his way to Sam’s face. The way he does it sends a chill down my spine, as if he were thinking of all the different ways he could kill Samael without even trying. The corner of his lip curls, the look in his eyes some sort of weaponry. It’s not until I look beneath his table that I see Nate and Bishop holding his arms back casually, while attempting to maintain a conversation with three older men. They’re keeping him tied down to his seat like an animal, stopping him from doing what? I don’t know.
Veronica’s face pops in front of mine. “I need you to stay near me, Saint.” Her voice is above a whisper. “You’re my get out of here alive card.”
“What about your son?” I ask, though I realize Brantley hasn’t been around The Coven lately to see his mother. I mainly assumed that had to do with me and our situation and less his hostility toward his mom.
“My son is hardly my son. We don’t have a relationship; we have an agreement.” Her eyes move around the room. “Samael, did you notice how many of The Kings are here tonight? Have you seen any of The Gentlemen?”
Sam shakes his head. “None.”
“Wait,” I say, turning to face Sam. “You know who The Gentlemen are?”
“I’ve seen photos, yes,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. I find a white smudge in his words. I believe it’s called a white lie. I release my arm from around his, stepping backward.
“Excuse me, I need to talk with my brother.”
Veronica turns over her shoulder, a smug smirk on her face. “Which one?”
My fingers flex in the palm of my hand. I’m beginning to really not like that woman.
I make my way toward their table, trying my best to ignore Brantley and reaching for Bishop’s hand. He pauses his conversation with one of the men, excusing himself and turning to face me. “You okay?”
“No!” I whisper toward him. I know Brantley is close enough to hear Bishop and me. Even though he’s lost in conversation about money trade from China, I know his attention is solely on me. “Something’s wrong.”
“Why?” Bishop asks, not an ounce of worry on his face.
I look around the room. “Sam knows about The Gentlemen, yet when I first moved in there, he said he had never heard of The Kings.”
The balls on either side of Bishop’s jaw flex.
There’s a dark chuckle that reverberates—no—violently shakes the ground under my feet as Brantley tosses back his drink. “Your precious new toy isn’t as innocent as you thought, hmm?”
I pause. “What? What do you mean mine?” I’m whispering, but I’m well aware how dangerously close I am to yelling at him.
“Okay, you two, can we not do this right here?” Nate scowls at us, the other men who he was talking to now gone. I force myself back to Bishop. “He’s hiding something, Bishop.”
Bishop leans down, his mouth near my ear. “We know.”
I step back, confused. “What?”
I turn to leave when Brantley’s eyes burning the back of my head feels too hot to ignore. I retract my steps. “I’m sorry, but what is your problem?” I snap under a whisper, leaning down with my hands resting on the table. He stares at me in defiance, and I’m suddenly aware of just how angry I am with him. I just don’t know why.
He leans back farther in his chair, kicking his leg out and cocking his head. He glares at me with the same interest one would have toward something as irrelevant as paint drying. “Are you talking?”
“Screw you, Brantley,” I rasp out, swallowing back the pain in my chest.
He leans forward, running his tongue over his teeth manically. “You already did,” he snarls. “Multiple times.” I turn back around and push my way through the sea of people. I don’t know what I expected bumping into him again, but that wasn’t it. I find my group of girls again, Tate and Ophelia laughing mid-conversation.
“What’s wrong with Brantley?” I say to no one in particular, swiping another glass of whiskey on the way. I already know I’m partially tipsy, even though our drinking has been vastly spread out.
“You mean aside from being a homicidal maniac the entire time that you’ve been gone?” Tillie quirks an eyebrow. She shrugs. “Not much else.”
I find his eyes again, already on mine. This time Bishop and Nate aren’t holding him discretely in his chair, but they’re standing obviously close to him. In fact, too close.
