Tacet a Mortuis (Whispers from the Dead) (The Elite King's Club #3)
Amo Jones
To Amy:
You are woman.
You are power.
You will understand this after you’ve read this book.
We love you, girl, and we got you.
#FuckCancer
Recap
The Broken Puppet
“No!” I scream, dropping to the ground. Shaking my head, I clutch my hair and pull at it, wanting to scratch the memories out of my head.
“Madison!” Who is that? It sounds like Bishop. “Brantley—”
Looking toward the bed, I swallowed, slowly stepping into the room. It was a big room. Gigantic. It was dim, almost dark in the room, and there was a big bed sitting to the side. I looked closer, stepping toward the bed, my heart beating in my chest and my throat clogged. All the lights were dim, but there was one shining on the bed. Only when I got closer, I saw it was a camera sitting on a stand with a light pointing toward the mattress.
My eyebrows pulled together. “Wha—”
“Go to the bed, Silver.” That voice. I hated that voice. I felt sick, my tummy not feeling good. Something was wrong, like it was always wrong when he was around. I hated him, but I obeyed because that was what I’d been told to do. I had to listen to adults; they always knew best. But why did he make me feel dirty? No other adult made me feel dirty. He made me sad, hurt, and angry all at once. I was confused, I think.
Walking toward the bed, I stopped at the foot of it. There was a small boy curled up on top of the covers, but he was wearing no clothes. Why was he wearing no clothes? He must’ve been cold.
“Silver, on the bed!” Lucan raised his voice at me, and I flinched, quickly crawling onto the soft mattress.
“Hi,” I whispered to the boy who was crying. “What’s wrong?” I asked, wanting to know why he was so sad. Did he feel like I did? Did Lucan make him feel the same way I felt?
The boy sobbed then buried his head into the blanket. “Go away!” he yelled as he continued to cry. He was angry and sad, so maybe he did feel the same way as I did.
I stopped, sitting on the mattress as Lucan loosened his tie and pointed the camera at us. “Silver, take your clothes off.”
“No!” I scream, sweat oozing out of my flesh. “Leave me alone. My name isn’t Silver! It’s Madison! Madison Montgomery! I’m not Silver!” I rock back and forth on the gravel road, trying to pull myself out of the memory.
“I—what about the boy?”
Lucan looked toward the boy on the bed, his lip curled. “Brantley, make room for Silver.”
My eyes pop open and I shoot off the road, ignoring the tiny stones that are embedded into my flesh. “Brantley!” I scream.
Brantley turns to face me, a blank look pulling over his features.
I turn pale, all blood leaving my body. The pain, the anger, the sadness, it’s all been cracked open again, and suddenly I’m that scared little girl again.
“What the fuck are they talking about?” Hector booms, losing his cool slightly. “And what the fuck just happened there, Madison?”
Headlights light up the cabin, but I ignore them. I ignore everything.
And suddenly, rage. Pure rage electrifies me like a rush of adrenaline. Squaring my shoulders, I finally look directly at Lucan, the man who abused me as a child. The man my parents trusted. The man I thought I could trust. The man who made me keep secrets by using his “I’m an adult” card on me.
The man I want to kill.
“You!” I seethe.
His eyes join with mine, and he still looks the same, only older. So much older. His head is bald now, his face free of hair, but his eyes. His eyes will forever be the trigger to that feeling. That same feeling I felt when I was a little girl starts slowly slipping into me, but I fight it. I’m not her anymore. I’m older. More experienced. And though I may feel this pain for the coming months after being face-to-face with him, I know whatever I do it will be worth it. Car doors close in the distance behind me, but again, I ignore it. I ignore everything because my focus is solely on Lucan. Everything in my peripheral is closed.
I can hear people, or someone, walking toward us behind me, their feet crunching against the gravel, but I ignore it.
He chuckles. “Ain’t no one gonna believe you, Silver.”
The footsteps stop.
Ice cold wind whips my hair across my face, and that’s when I know. I know those footsteps belong to Bishop and the Kings.
Lucan lunges at me, gripping my hair and pulling my back up against his front. It happens so fast I barely blink, but when I do, I see them. With my back pressed against Lucan’s front, his gun pressing against my temple, I look pleadingly right at Bishop, but he’s not looking at me. His shoulders are rising and falling in anger, his eyes zoned directly in on Lucan.
“What the fuck is going on here, son?” Hector asks calmly, not fazed I’m about to get my brains blown out everywhere. My heart pounds in my chest, and goose bumps prickle all over my flesh as fear ripples through me. No. There’s no way. I didn’t survive through all the memories, all the suppressed bullshit, only to go out by his hands. His hands already took so much from me; I won’t let them take my life too.
Bishop steps forward, his lip curled and his eyes black. So black. I’ve not seen this look before; this is feral. Casting a look over his shoulder, Nate is there, the same position, his knuckles cracking. He starts jumping in his spot, cracking his neck as if he’s ready to fight. Which I have no doubt he is. The rest of the boys are there too, ready to throw down if they need to. Whether they know the story or not, I see it right there. Their loyalty to Bishop. It’s unquestionable. This is The Elite Kings in full form.
“Ah!” Lucan presses the gun into my temple more. “Don’t fucking move. Now, since people will be dying tonight, I want to get a few things out there for Silver so she knows the deal.”
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, my lip slightly curling.
“Hey, I’m doing you a favor.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs, his breath falling over my neck. I can’t hide the disgust; I dry heave, ready to spill my guts all over the road.
“What the fuck is going on?” Hector asks again.
Where is Brantley? This was all a setup. He and Khales are nowhere to be seen. I look around again, as much as I can from the position I’m in, and sure enough, they’re both not where they were a few minutes ago.
Hate.
“First, let me start with this. Silver, do you know much about the last names of these boys here?”
What?
“The hell has that got to do with you and what you did to me all those years ago?”
“I’ll get to that part.” He grins. I can hear it in his sick voice how much he’s getting out of this, and that’s the thing about age. The tone of your voice is one of the last things to change. Therefore, Lucan still has the same voice.
“What are you doing, Lucan?” Hector warns. His tone should be enough to put the fear of God into Lucan, but it doesn’t, because he continues.
“Hector and Bishop Hayes… Hayes meaning ‘The Devil,’” he starts, and just as I open my mouth to ask another question, his hand slams over it, pausing me. “Everyone shut the fuck up and let me finish, or I swear to God I will shoot her.”
He clears his throat, before smugly murmuring, “Now, where was I? Oh yes, the names. Lucan and Brantley Vitiosus. I’ll get to the meanings of the names and the English translations when I’ve finished.” He laughs. Then his lips skim over my earlobe before he whispers, “And you know how theatrical I can get, don’t ya, Silver?”
The first teardrops, followed by anger. Rage.