Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
priest
the father, the son, and the devil within
M y phone won’t shut the fuck up, so I swipe it unlocked without checking who it is. Keeping my focus on her. Does she know I can see her? That I followed her after she was so quick to leave, only to have her wait on her mom. She knew I was watching. Always fucking watching.
“What?”
“Snappy, are we?” I don’t recognize his voice.
“Always. Who is this?”
Why’s her mom staring at her like that. As if she’d told her she was dying.
Which she is.
“Well, I figured that’d be your first question.”
Bet Vaden gave this fucker my number, thinking it’s funny. In fact, this probably is Vaden. Playing with the voice toys once again. “I’m neither here nor there….”
I pause.
“And I collect both times.”
“Who the fuc—” the call ends. I’m going to kick Vaden’s fucking ass.
Biting a cigarette out of my packet, a gust of wind blows past, stopping me. Nature herself just swept her scent straight to me.
I blaze up the end and inhale deeply as she and her mom go back and forth. She’s changed over the years, and I'm not sure why that bothers me.
I exhale the smoke from my cigarette, lacing her scent with poison. I hadn’t realized I was drawing closer to her until a car door closes and her mom calls out that she’ll be back soon.
This close, it’s even more potent. A scent uniquely hers. It’s the ashes of a burned rose. It’s dark… so fucking dark. “Tell me, Madness. Did you miss me?”
Her shoulders turn rigid, but she keeps her back to me, exposing how quickly the tiny hairs on her neck pebble. Her neck has always fascinated me, with its poised surface and the beat of her thrumming pulse.
Blood rushes to my dick, only deepening the grip I have on my cigarette. Seconds pass. I round her body until I’m directly in front of her, squinting around the harsh smoke.
She’s a little thing. All five-foot-fucking-nothing, which makes it easier to bend her into the trunk of my car.
“Never,” she hums, and my eyes fall to her lips as if they moaned my name.
“Mmm, I don’t believe you.” I’m teasing, but when her eyes turn to slits and her arms cross in front of her chest, it’s obvious that she’s that same kid. Easy to torment.
“I don’t care what you believe, Rabbit. Fuck you.”
The careless use of her nickname for me has me stiffening in place. Little fucking Madness. Still knows how to drive me mad.
“Watch it…” I warn, my lip curling. “Wouldn’t want a repeat of the last time you were left begging for your life.”
“I don’t beg anymore.” She drags her eyes away, and the rebellion catches me off guard. I remember her. The soft-spoken girl who always kept to herself. It made her an easy target. This side is different. It clouds my brain, causing my logic to slip like butter.
“Is that so?” I challenge, brushing off my moment of confusion. What the fuck am I doing? I don’t give a shit about girls, or boys, or fucking anyone. I fuck who I want and don’t give a fuck if I wake up to them dead.
Because I often did.
Very often.
Almost always.
In fact, Vaden ran statistics. Getting fucked by me leaves you with a two percent chance of survival, and that two percent only exists if he finished you off and not me.
So.
Here we are. Standing head-to-head with little Luna Nox while thinking of all the ways I’d love to fuck her ass into a new statistic.
Literally.
When my boot meets the tip of her heels, I lean down with a smirk, the tip of my nose touching hers. “I don’t believe you, Madness.”
She doesn’t cower, her defiance clear when she uses this time to search my face. “Good thing I don’t care.”
“Priest!” Vaden calls out from behind me, breaking the tension igniting between us.
“Saved by the damned?—”
She levels me with a glare.
I smirk. “Once again.”
* * *
I trace the borders of the window that looks over the bright streets of Riverside. Once upon a time, this view was a reminder of how much I’ve got to hold, but tonight, it only serves as a reminder of everything I must protect. Not because I have a heart, but because it’s my one purpose.
The Watch Tower is sacred to our generation. Absorbing the light from everything instead of mirroring it, its sharp edges tower through the sky in a blunt reminder of who sits behind the tinted glass. With a modern kitchen and boundless living spaces splayed out with an array of oversized couches, it’s our playground for business. A dimly lit bar hides in the corner, close enough to the main table.
“How do you feel, son?” Dad’s reflection in the window catches the corner of my eye when he exits the elevator. The house was finished long ago, hidden in the deepest mountains of Riverside. Dad decided to keep it from Halen for as long as possible, since we all know how quick she is to throw her toys out the cot if I get something before her. Now that they all know it’s here, I wonder how long it’ll take before they throw their first party.
“Lighter than I thought.” I swirl my whiskey, staying fixed on the glowing streets down below. “If it’s the gavel that you’re referencing.”
Dad laughs a little, his shoulder brushing mine. We’d not long come back from the ritual, and as eventful as that was, whatever shit he’s going to say is only going to either annoy or bore me. Dad and I are different. At times, I thought we might be too different, but the way his jaw sets, hardening the darkness in his eyes when he looks back at me, I think I may have had it wrong.
And I’m never wrong.
“What?” I ask, standing straight. I hate when he does this because nothing good ever comes from Bishop Hayes being aloof. He always has some shit to say. Can never be the quietest in the room because he’s been raised to think he needs his voice.
“There’s something you need to know, and I couldn’t tell you until you took this.” He hands me the bone hammer, dribbled with gold. I’ve never thought about this moment. Not once has it crossed my mind the way that it did Dad’s because this, the gavel itself, is irrelevant to me. I don’t care for it.
My fingers curl around the trunk. “What? More secrets?” It’s a joke, but I’m not joking.
He chokes on his laugh, running his hand through his beard. It disappears beneath his suit jacket and returns with a black envelope. “When I give you this, you must understand that this is part of what it is to be a Hayes. For as long as your great-great-grandfather, this has been a requirement. Until me. How you handle it is your business. I’m not stupid, son.” He pauses, his eyes softening as he stares off into the distance. “I know you won’t be running the EKC the same way I did.”
I drown his words in whiskey. I’d kept much of how I would handle the Elite Kings close to my chest. When the time came, I’m sure those who need to know would.
“What gave it away?” I hide my smirk from behind my glass.
“Probably that you remind me of someone.” I fight my eyes from rolling. How many times have they compared me to my Uncle Daemon?
Too many.
I am nothing like him. From what they have said, he was sick. I’m not. My brain works at the same frequency as everyone else, without one essential component. Empathy.
“We don’t have to talk about that. You don’t owe me anything like I, your grandfather, but that right there…” He flicks the black envelope. “Is the key to your last name, as you will need to have this same conversation with your own.”
“I’ve given my sperm to Pop. I won’t be birthing any kids.”
Dad ignores me as if I’m talking a bunch of shit. I’m not. “The first thing you need to know about that is that it is never to leave us. No one is to know. Not Vaden, not War, not even your sister. This is for you and you only.” His eyes collide with mine. “Tell me you understand. I cannot go further until you say it.”
I stare back at him. “You don’t need to ask, but yes.”
“This goes back to Humphrey. When he created the Kings, he did so with intention. As deranged as he was, he had the intellect of a damn genius.” Dad swigs back another shot of whiskey. “There are translations of our last name being Devil or Fire. Ever wonder why?”
“Nope. Never once crossed my mind.”
Dad chuckles. “Inside that envelope, you’ll begin to find out the reason why.”
I tear the envelope open and tip it upside down. A key falls into the palm of my hand with a thud. With the surface of worn craftsmanship, the shaft of the key ends with the carving of a skull. “And what does this open to?”
When he doesn’t answer, I study him while balancing the metal between my fingers. “A nightmare that is now yours. I’m sure you’ll handle it with much better finesse than I ever did.”
I’ve idolized him all my life, but I’d be lying if I said I agreed with his choices when taking the gavel.
“A nightmare?” I flash a wide smirk. “Color me intrigued.”
Dad falls onto the sofa in the corner of the room, his mouth in a straight line as he loosens the buttons on the top of his suit shirt. “This is something I wish I didn’t have to give you.”
“Is there anything else I should know about this mysterious key?” He balances his glass on his thigh, regarding me closely. I’ve been told I am his replica all my life. I don’t see it.
He leans forward. “Three things about that key. But first, get me the whiskey.”
Even in the comfort of the Watch Tower, the air grows tight the closer I get to the bar. Passing the other bottles, my fingers find the encasement of Louis XIII Black Pearl. Only a few bottles still exist, and I own all of them.
Dad’s eyes fly up to mine when I lean forward to pour a finger or two into his waiting glass. “Luna was there tonight.”
I snicker, placing the bottle between us and falling onto the chair opposite.
He continues, because of course he fucking does. “You gonna talk with her?”
“Why would I?” Lifting the glass up, I follow the hue of polished honey.
“You know why. Because of what happened when you were last together.”
I sigh. “When I fucked her or when I killed her?”
He swallows his liquor and clears his throat, swiping the residue off his lip. “Gonna skip the underage sex and go right to the kill part, even if I do think your colorful wording is a matter of choice.”
I shrug. “Wishful thinking, and she wasn’t underage.”
He ignores me. “There are a million reasons why you both shouldn’t be near each other.” I wonder when the time will come when he finally asks me the question he’s dying to ask.
“Let’s start with the three things I need to know about this key.” The warmth from the light reflects off the bronzed metal. “Since we don’t have much time.”
Dad tears off his tie. “One, is the power that is on the other side of that door isn’t something that should be handled lightly. Take the first step with intention.”
I wave my hand. “Next.”
“Two, is that once you unlock it, there’s no going back. You choose what you’re going to do, but you can’t backpedal. You have a chance to leave it as is. It’s not a requirement to you taking the gavel or being a Hayes, but it’s something that is your choice.” I must look as confused as I feel because he continues. “I mean it, Priest. You can leave it.”
“Did you?” My fingers snap closed around it, bending my head to the side. “Unlock it?”
Dad’s eyes turn to glass as he relaxes back into the leather sofa, blowing out a deep breath. “No.” He pulls out a rolled joint from his front pocket, lighting the end and blowing on it. “Fuck no.”
“Why?” My intrigue is at an all-time high. Which is saying something, since I don’t have much to begin with.
“Because I don’t walk into rooms where I don’t know who awaits on the other side.”
“That’s your control talking,” I jest under my breath. We both know I’m not joking. Bishop Hayes is, if anything, a control freak.
His eyes snap to mine. Could it be? The legend of BVH showing his ugly head? They soften. I should hit him. That softness is what put us in this position to begin with. Not that he’s weak, but I’d heard stories of what he was like before her. My mother practically lulled him to sleep like a monster that’s OD’d on narcotics. That was a mistake. He should have kept things separate instead of handing her his balls on a silver platter.
A lit joint lands on my lap, and I chuckle, placing it between my lips. I inhale, filling my lungs with warmth as it eases the tension in my muscles.
Smoke stings my eyes, but when it clears, I find Dad watching. “Can I ask this one thing?”
Plucking the crumb of herb off my tongue, I shrug. “Pretty sure you’re going to anyway.”
“Look after your sister and those girls.” The trunk of herb between my thumb and forefinger gets heavier. He needs reassurance now that I have the power he once did.
“You know I will.” It’s the easiest promise I’ve made. And the only one.
“Priest.” His voice remains passive. “She’s included in this.”
My head drops onto the top of the sofa as my lips form into an O and smoke rings billow into the air. “She’s not.”
“She’s a King too. Like Stella and River.”
I fill my lungs with more smoke, ensuring to hold in the inhale until it suffocates the heaviness in my chest. “She’s nothing like them.”
“Promise me you won’t kill her.”
My head tilts, the ember from the joint distracting me. “Promise I won’t kill her.”
But I won’t promise that I won’t try.
It never occurred to me that he was getting older. Maybe I never noticed the dusting of salt and pepper through his beard and the fatigue in his eyes.
He clears his throat when he notices me staring too long. “I realize you’ve taken the gavel with everything laid out for you. There’s no impending war or tensions. Everything was worked out when I took over and it’s been smooth sailing since.”
My mouth opens, but he shakes his head for me to give him a minute.
“Then I realized that that is your worst nightmare. That I’ve possibly handed you the kingdom without allowing you the perks that every King so desperately craves.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “So that key is what I’m hoping you use to fill the void, instead of what the other option could very well be.”
“And what is it that you think I’m going to do?”
His pupils swallow the green in his eyes. “Destruction.”