by Amo Jones
“Who came and set it all up?” I ask, looking around the large space.
The stairs that lead up to the bedrooms are directly to the right as you walk in. A large U-shaped leather sofa sits in the middle of the main living room, a massive open fireplace built into the wall behind the sofa. The trees look magnified from behind the large glass walls, and the kitchen is all varnished wood and marble. It’s a clean fade between traditional and executive. I love the cabin, and start to realize none of them spend much time here. What an absolute waste.
I pick up one of the photos that are sitting on the mantle above the fireplace.
Hector and Scarlet with Bishop in Scarlet’s arms. I put it back, not wanting to touch anything to do with Hector. Except Bishop.
Nate flops onto the sofa and kicks off his Adidas Original shoes. “I’m so fucked.”
“Yeah, because you got fucked last night.” Eli kicks his legs.
“Pretty sure I did the fucking,” Nate snaps back quickly.
“Really?” Hunter chuckles. “Because I’m pretty sure that black eye speaks otherwise.”
They all burst out laughing and I ignore them, making my way into the kitchen while removing my shoes. Total waste of shoes.
“Are you okay?” I ask Bishop as he pulls down a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses. The rest of the guys bring their shit inside, making their way up to the rooms. I haven’t even thought about where I’m sleeping, but I know that it won’t be with Nate again. We had a promise. We have to keep that promise.
Bishop pours the liquid into my glass and slides it over to me. “Not really. But I’m giving myself the two days we’re all spending out here to pull my shit together.”
I swirl the scotch around in my glass. “To pull your shit together, one has to completely fall apart. Put yourself together different this time, B. Better.”
He shoots the drink back and slams his glass onto the table. “Can I ask you a question and will you be honest with me?”
The TV goes on in the background, an NBA game playing.
“Yes,” I answer, taking a sip of the strong liquid. I swear I hate whiskey. It is not my drink. I toss it back anyway and gag when it all slides down my throat.
Bishop laughs, shaking his head and stands from his seat, making his way to a small bar that’s on the other side of the kitchen, behind the dining table. He comes back with a bottle filled with dark brown liquid.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Old Fitzgerald Bourbon. I think you might like this one more. It’s still whiskey, but it’s bourbon, so it’s not distilled in Scotland, but in Kentucky. One’s made with barley and the other, corn. It’s all boring, but usually if you can drink scotch, you can drink bourbon, but if you don’t like scotch, you usually like bourbon. Also, it costs four g’s a bottle.”
I screw off the cap and pour it into my empty glass. I take a sip and my cheeks heat. The sweet bitterness stings my mouth but soothes my taste buds. “Much better.”
He smiles. “Did Madison ever tell you about the time she spent in New Zealand?”
I take a gulp of the bourbon, slowly swallowing it and bringing my knees to my chest. “A little.”
I remove my jacket when I feel my blood heating. Raking my hand through my long hair. “Why?”
“Did she mention a guy named Jesse?”
I curl my lips under my teeth, placing my glass onto the granite table. “Briefly. She said they were friends. Is that who she’s with?”
Bishop nods. “Yeah, and I’m struggling to stop myself from flying over there and dragging her back by her fucking hair.”
I sink the rest of my drink, Nate comes into the kitchen behind Bishop. Grabbing chips and chocolate from the cupboard.
I pour more bourbon into my glass.
“Easy, tiger.” Nate points to my glass with a Twinkie in his mouth. He takes it out and tears the wrapper off with his teeth. “Don’t put yourself in a position where I can take your ass for granted.”
I roll my eyes, another sip, and then go back to Bishop as Nate sinks back into the lounge, throwing bags of potato chips at the back of Eli’s head.
“Don’t,” I say, and Bishop’s eyes come to mine. “She’ll come back when she wants. No point bringing her back. A lot has happened. She has changed the most out of all of us. If this is what she needs to do for herself right now, then let her do it. I’ll make sure I’m here if and when she comes back.”
Bishop swallows his drink and tilts his head, removing his T-shirt. Bishop shirtless is not a good thing. Because it’s a very good thing.
“For fuck’s sake,” I growl, diverting my eyes.
He chuckles, tossing his shirt behind him. “My blood’s running hot. Guessing yours is the same.” I don’t miss the dip in his tone.
It is. It’s rushing around me at speeds and a temperature I can’t grasp.
“Yes—”
“—Don’t even go there,” Brantley interrupts, yanking out the chair on the other side of Bishop while snatching my bottle of bourbon. He pours into his glass, his eyes on Bishop. Something passes between the two of them. Bishop’s eyes narrow on Brantley and then come back to me.
Bishop laughs, his straight teeth flashing as his head tilts back. “You don’t fucking say.”
Then he turns his head over his shoulder, his eyes going to the back of Nate’s head, Nate who has also ditched his shirt and has put a backward cap on.
“I’ve been told Tillie’s color is red.” Bishop teases.
Nate turns to face us, standing to all his six-foot-two-inches. His tattoos sprawling out over his tanned and shredded skin. His Calvin’s peek out from under his jeans. Jeans that are unbuttoned and hanging off his hips. He cranks his neck.
“Yeah, fucking aye it is.”
My eyes dart between the two of them, like I’ve missed something.
“Just because my car is red doesn’t mean it’s my favorite color,” I say defiantly.
They all burst out laughing. Nate’s eyes come to mine. “We know, baby. Chill.”
Then he drops down onto the sofa, his eyes back on the game.
Brantley and Bishop chuckle, and Bishop stands up, ruffling my hair with his hand. “You’ve been a good friend to Madison, Tillz. And to us… can’t imagine this life without your pink hair in it.”
I clutch my chest, batting my lashes. “Aw.”
His eyes roll. “Don’t get used to the sweet nothings. You won’t hear them again!” He disappears through the room and up the stairs, bottle of scotch between his fingers. Scotch, not bourbon.
I lick my lips, the alcohol slowly coating my fear. “You okay, little terror?” Brantley asks behind his glass.
I nod. “Hey,” I lean forward. “The Tesla?”
He freezes, his eyes cutting to mine. “You saw her?”
“Yes,” I hiss, whispering. Why am I whispering?
Brantley’s eyes come to mine, darkening. “Why do I trust you?”
I tilt my head. “The feeling is mutual, Brantley.”
“No.” He shakes his head, tipping his head back to sink the rest of his drink. “Why do I trust you with the knowledge of the one person I don’t even trust myself with?”
Because I’ll protect her. I want to say.
Because I want to shield her. And you. And destroy anyone that comes near whatever it is that you both share. I also want to say.
“I don’t know,” I whisper instead. “Why do you?”
He pauses and then licks his lip. “I don’t know. When I know, I’ll tell you.”
He leans over, kissing my head and I play with my glass as I watch Nate get riled up in the lounge, shoving at Eli who is making jokes about the LA Lakers beating the Golden State Warriors. Who knows. I’m bored. But within my boredom, I see these Kings as an outsider. They’re the most feared individuals by anyone with half a brain in this world or the knowledge of who they are, but really, through my eyes, they’re still a pack of boys, just with extracurricular activi
ties, and who wouldn’t flinch at tearing a head clean off the shoulders of anyone who dared hurt anyone they cared about.
Does that make them bad people? I think it only makes them bad to people who have ill intent. I scoop up my drink and run my fingers through my hair, swiping my hair out of my face. Padding around the space, I take in things that I maybe didn’t notice the first time I was here. Like the fact that there’s a sharp tower sticking up in the middle of the forest in the mess of treetops. Or that there’s an array of photographs scattered all over the place, not just of Bishop’s family, but of Nate, too. And Eli, and Hunter and Jase and Cash. There are old black and white photos of other families, people who I’m guessing were also a part of The Kings. I stop in front of another image. It was of Hector, alone, cradling a baby.
“Who is this?” I nod my head at the photo that’s on one of the many small mantles nailed to the feature wall.
“Must be Abel,” Nate states, tilting his head. The baby isn’t wearing blue or pink. It’s colored, but old. Nate’s eyes scan it a beat longer and then he puts it back. “Definitely Abel. Way too fucking pretty to be Bishop.”
Bishop flips him off, parading down the stairs as Nate takes another seat on the sofa and goes back to watching the game.
I stand, my eyes scanning them all.
Do they think I’m fucking stupid?
I want to say that Hector isn’t supposed to know that Abel exists. That that is what they had told me, but I find my mouth glued shut. I’ll gather my information and hit them when I need, there’s no point announcing that I know this, because that gives them time to change their story, maybe throw a few lies around.
I’d rather play dumb.
I shrug, making my way back to the sofa and take a seat beside Nate.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at me over his shoulder. Half his face is covered by that shoulder, but his eyes scan me up and down.
“You good?”
“Peachy!” I smile, batting my lashes. He goes back to the game and my smile falls. Asshole.
My eyes swing around to meet Abel and he’s watching me closely. It’s scary how much he looks like Bishop. I’d bet my ass on the fact that they’re twins had they not had an age gap.
He grins at me like he knows what I’m thinking.
I wink at him.
The thing about fucking with people is that that person begins to learn the art that you fuck, and they fuck you back harder, with perfect precision and execution.
The sun has set a burnt orange hue in the sky, and I’m feeling itchy to get off this couch.
“Is there food in there to cook?”
Nate slaps my ass as I get up and I turn around, glaring at him.
He blows me a kiss. “Yeah, there should be.”
I round the sofa, still glaring at Nate, who is still smirking at me. When I enter back into the kitchen, the front door swings open.
“Sorry I’m late!” Bailey hollers.
The boys don’t move from their spots.
“Thank god!” I wave her into the kitchen. “I’m starting to grow a dick.”
Bailey laughs, removing her large puffy jacket and placing it on the hook.
“Oh, I can assure you, I’ve fucked that pussy way too hard for it to turn into anything other than a drippi—”
I slap the back of his head as we head into the kitchen.
Bailey rolls her eyes, laughing.
“Okay, so I figured we can all eat outside tonight because I did say I wante—”
I turn around, and Bailey has stopped. I follow her line of sight, and hello, Abel.
I lean into her. “Oh I see…”
She flinches, turning to look at me. “What?”
I chuckle. “Nothing. Come help me before you kill yourself with all those hormones.”
She blushes. Straight up blushes. Sweet, sweet girl. That boy will eat you alive. But she’s a Vitiosis, so maybe not…
Bailey gets started on the salad as I pull out all the freshly cut meat. Steaks and marinated chicken.
I point to the alcohol. “Pour yourself a drink, young one…”
She laughs. “Okay, since you insist. How has everything been? Sorry I’ve been absent around the house.” She pours some gin into a glass and then tops it with juice. “I’ve been studying my ass off so I’m ready when I start RPA, and when I’m not studying, I’m dancing, so it has been a little jammed in my schedule.”
I raise my eyebrow at her as she sips on her Snoop juice. “Alright, Snoop Dog, not too many of those. I still feel somewhat responsible for you. Don’t think that will ever change.”
And it won’t. I feel connected to Bailey, so it’s natural. Effortless. I look at her like a little sister. She plays the part well too because I feel like she looks at me the same way. Therefore, I’d rather not get her blind drunk. Maybe I’m still a mother after all…
“It’s fine,” I murmur, heating up two large frying pans as she gets back to tossing grapes and pineapples into the colorful salad. “I’ve had a few things to deal with so I’m glad you didn’t see me in that state.”
She tosses everything into the bowl and then comes up beside me. We’re the same height, because I’m so fucking short and she’s going to be the next top fucking model. Adriana Lima looking little wench.
“Who is that?”
“Oh, so it seems you have missed that too?” I ask, laughing. “That is Bishop’s brother.”
“Bishop as in The Bishop Vincent Hayes?”
“The very same. The lord and the light. The fire in every young girl’s heart…”
Bailey blushes. “Well, that would be Nate, no offense, but everyone is obsessed with him.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s overrated.”
“I heard that!” Nate snaps from the couch. “And I’ll remind you to check between, and on your thighs before throwing around that word again, Princessa…”
Bailey’s eyes instinctively drop to my legs.
“Bails!”
“Sorry!” She giggles, sipping her drink.
“Go butter the garlic bread or something…”
She doesn’t bother to tell me that you don’t butter garlic bread, she simply slides onto a bar stool and watches me move around the kitchen.
“What else did I miss?”
We fall into easy conversation as the scent of sweet chicken and steak fills the crisp night air. Bailey tells me about some guy Nix and how him and his four friends at school think they fucking run the show. How when everyone found out she was starting Riverside Prep, everyone started adding her on social media and her online popularity has already spiked. She went from being a home-schooled nerd to the most popular girl at an exclusive private academy. I wanted to tell her to be careful, that RPA is not to be taken lightly. That school ruins kids, and almost ruined Madison, but I don’t. Instead, I’ll let her explore it on her own and just be here when she needs me. That I promised her.
Eli and Cash come into the kitchen and take out all the things we need to the table. Nate carries out the hot food and Bailey finishes up with the cutlery and setting the table.
I pull out the seat opposite Bailey. I’m also next to Nate, who is on the other side of the table end to Bishop. It’s funny how they all fall into position. Even when they’re driving.
Bishop heads to a switchboard and flicks on the fairy lights that hang above the long marble table that’s tucked to the side of the kitchen outside, overlooking the rear of the house. Nature surrounds us, the crisp green leaves and heavy cedar wood cycling with the freshly cooked food. The boys all start digging in and my eyes find Bailey’s, who has had a few too many to drink. When I say few, I mean three. Lightweight teens.
Music starts playing softly from little speakers that surround the wrap-around porch. I catch Bishop fiddling with his phone as I cut into my steak, forking pieces of salad.
“So what are we doing tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Nate asks around a grin.
“Oh no, we’re playing something tonight…”
“Playing what? And I’m pretty sure I said I wanted normal.” I give a pointed glare at Bailey, who doesn’t know half the shit these boys do.
“She’s got a lot to learn for next year. She’ll be alright.” Nate winks at her and I watch as Bailey blushes, slicing into her steak.
“Bails?”
“Hmm?” she asks, looking up at me.
I toss a bun onto her plate. “You might need some carbs tonight. Reserve all the energy you can.”
We all fall into easy conversation, and I end up snapping a whole bunch of photos of everyone.
Bailey holds up her hands. “Wait! I have a Polaroid!”
“A fucking what what?” Eli asks, his eyes narrowing in on her. She blushes from his attention.
“Leave her alone, baby cakes.” I glare at Eli before going back to Bailey. “Go grab it!”
She escapes into the house and I turn back to Eli. He’s still glaring at me. His pretty features morphing into disgust.
“Did you just call me baby cakes?”
Everyone around the table bursts out laughing, bar Eli.
I giggle, bringing the glass to my mouth as Bailey reappears, a smile on her face and lifting a metallic grey square looking camera that looks like it’s straight out of the 70s.
We snap multiple photos with both the Polaroid and our phones. I lean into Bailey as we grab a few selfies. Then Nate yanks me into his arms and Bailey snaps multiple photos as he’s doing so, even as he bites onto my nose tip.
She shrugs, holding her phone. “Action shots.”
I look up at Nate. He licks his lips.
“We promised…” I whisper.
“I’ve promised a lot of fucking things in my lifetime, baby. And none of them involve staying away from you.”
I push off his chest, (his very naked and hot chest), needing space. And air. Because he does things to me.
“Yes, you did.”
“Then for once, you can call me a fucking liar.”
I’m exhausted. This isn’t love. It’s pure and undiluted possession. He doesn’t need to throw me around to possess me, his soul attached itself to mine a long time ago, and now I can’t breathe with the thought of being too far away from him.
