by Amo Jones
“Naw, Kitty.” Brantley grins again, pulling down a long dark road. “We’ve already won.” Then he slides into the driveway and floors it until we reach the cabin we all stayed at months ago. Memories come flooding back, and I realize how naïve I’ve been when it comes to Bishop and Nate. I was deluded with the idea of loyalty, when in fact that didn’t mean anything to them. Never did. They warned me that I was just a pawn in their game—I move when they want me to move, speak when they want me to speak. I just didn’t realize it until now.
“What do you want?” I ask, my tone flat. “You guys give me whiplash with these games.”
Brantley smirks and then gets out of the car, walking around to my side, and then yanks it open. “Get the fuck out.”
“No!” I snap back at him, and he reaches inside, pulling me out by the arm. “Let me go!” I scream at him, only it falls on deaf ears, because he grabs me by the back of my neck and starts tugging me toward the front door. The bright headlights from the car beam on the modern log cabin I had been to what feels like not that long ago. Bringing my hand up to my forehead to shade from the bright light, just as we hit the bottom step, the car revs behind us and I spin around, catching Brantley grinning. His other hand lets go of my arm as he puts a cigarette between his lips, sparking it to life. Looking back to the car in confusion, a light shines from inside of the car, displaying long black hair. Who the hell is that? She looks right at me and smirks, but even from here I can tell she’s beautiful. Exotic-looking, but beautiful. She turns to look over her shoulder and floors it backward before spinning and driving down the long driveway.
“What is this?” I ask out loud, my eyes and focus remaining on the fading headlights. When Brantley doesn’t answer back, I turn to ask him, “Brant—” Only he’s gone. I spin around a full 360, trying to find where he disappeared to. “Brantley!” I growl. “This is not funny!” The temperature suddenly drops, thick fog slipping out of my mouth between each word. Figuring he’s definitely not coming back, I run my hands up and down my arms, rubbing the goose bumps off my flesh. Taking the front steps carefully because I can’t see shit, I feel around for the railing. Opening and closing my eyes, they slowly begin to adapt to the surroundings, but not enough for me to really see what I’m doing.
“Shit!” I mutter under my breath, grabbing my phone from my back pocket. I quickly slide it open and go to press Call on Tatum when I see the service bars keep dropping in and out. “Motherfucker.” Using the light from my phone, I aim it toward the front door and grab onto the handle, wiggling it but it doesn’t unlock. Giving up, I start walking along the wraparound porch when my phone goes off. Swiping my phone open, I read the message.
Run.
An overwhelming sense of terror rushes over me. I spin around suddenly, finding no one there. Nothing but my damn imagination. I know these boys play games—this isn’t my first rodeo with them—but the thing I don’t know is how far they’ll push it. I’ve seen Bishop kill three people now. I’m not about to play Russian roulette with my life and in the hands of a psychopathic billionaire, or whatever the fuck he is.
“I’m not playing your games!” I yell into the dark night. Waiting for a reply, or even a laugh, I hear… nothing. The mere whisks of wind brushing through the dry almost-autumn leaves is all that replies. Swallowing past my fear, I walk along the porch more, remembering the back door. Maybe Brantley just left me here as a sick joke. It wouldn’t surprise me if that was his stupid plan. Rolling my eyes, I walk farther until I get to the side door that’s tucked behind the kitchen. Wiggling the door handle, but it’s locked too. I turn around, banging the back of my head against the door. “Fuck,” I murmur. Rustling leaves catch my attention, and I whip my head toward it. “Brantley!” I snap. “This isn’t funny. We can leave now! You’ve made your point.”
“A little cocky for a chick who hasn’t been on the scene for too long, don’t ya think?”
I know that voice all too well.
“Well, how not surprising it is to see you come out of the shadows, Bishop. Take me home. It’s cold.” I push off the door and go to walk past him, only his hand flies up to my arm and he pushes me backward. The back of my head smashes against the door. “Fuck! You—”
His hand slams over my mouth while his free one clenches over my throat. He squeezes tight, enough to have my head pulsing with the lack of oxygen. I tap on his arm, looking deep into his eyes. I’m barely able to make out his sharp eyes and jaw in the dark. His lip curls in a devious grin that makes me both weak in the knees and in the head, because that grin should really put the fear of God into me—and it does. But it also has my stupid lady bits tingling.
“Cut the fucking shit, Madison. What the fuck is with you tonight, and only answer me honestly.” He tilts his head, dragging his eyes up and down my clothing. “Remember that game we played in the forest?” He unlatches his grip from my throat and releases my mouth, stepping back slightly. Pulling out an army knife from his back pocket, he flicks it open and then in a flash the blade is pressing into my neck, and his hand is back, covering my mouth. He runs his nose over mine, searching my eyes. “Mmmm.” He smirks, his deep growl vibrating over my chest. “You’re distracting.”
“Nothing is wrong,” I snap when he releases my mouth slightly. I keep my head up, staring at his eyes as he glares back at mine in challenge. “Let me go.”
He slams me up against the wall again, the knife still pressed against my neck and his knee coming between my legs. He presses his leg against my clit, and my eyes close, but the knife running down my collarbone sets off electrical currents that have my senses working on overtime. I’m so fucked with Bishop. How can we be so attracted to each other—unwillingly—but hate each other all the same? My eyes pop open when he slices the middle of my strapless crop top, my nipples aching as the cool night air licks over them, igniting them to life. Focus, Madison. Focus.
“Stop fucking lying to me, Madison!” Bishop yells, getting more up in my face. Bringing both arms to either side of my head, he cages me in. “Why. The fuck. Did me questioning your past today trigger something with you? Hmm?” he asks, grinding his thickness against my tummy.
Fight it.
“It didn’t.”
“Tell me the truth, Madison.”
Lie.
“It triggered nothing.”
Bishop brings the knife back down and runs the blunt side of it over my nipple. I suck in a breath and hold. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. My body’s will to breathe wins and I exhale just as the blade comes down to my jeans. He cuts the waistband to my fishnets, and it springs loose, hanging over the top of my jeans.
“One more time, Madison, or I’m going to fuck you with this knife and lick your blood clean off as you watch.”
I close my eyes. “Not—”
He launches his fist into the wall beside my face. I’ve never seen Bishop so out of control, and I don’t know why it’s my reaction to my past that has set him off—but it has. Set. Him. Off. “Stop fucking lying!”
Clenching my eyes closed, I take in a few deep breaths. Don’t walk down that aisle. Don’t do it… don—
Walking down the blood-red hall, Madison squeezed the man’s hand. “Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see, Silver. You’ll see.”
“Will there be any other kids there to play with?”
The man looked down to Madison and grinned. “You’ll see.”
“No!” I rock back and forth on the concrete in front of the door, cradling my knees up to my chest. Tears pour down my cheeks and sweat beads my skin regardless of the fact I’m sitting in the brisk cool night with absolutely no shirt on. “No, no, no…” Shaking my head, I can still hear his voice in the back of my consciousness. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a bad dream. He won’t come back,” I repeat, rocking back and forth and fisting my hair.
“Madison, Madison! Fuck!”
Whose voice is that?
“No!” I shake my head
again, lost in my dark abyss of bleeding memories. “He always comes back.”
“Madison!” another voice roars in the background. A different voice.
“Come back, baby.”
I know that voice.
My eyes spring open, a blood-curdling scream ripping out of my chest. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Consciousness starts to seep in, and I look up to see Bishop, Nate, Hunter, Brantley, Cash, Eli, and Chase circling me. I cover my front right away, and Bishop rips off his hoodie, pushing it over my head before tucking his arms under my legs and lifting me off the ground. I snuggle into his chest, inhaling his spicy, sweet scent.
“What, what did I say?” I murmur through sobs.
“You said enough for us to know enough.” Bishop’s jaw tenses as he looks directly at Nate, who still hasn’t looked at me.
“Nate?” I whisper, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. His eyes stay locked on Bishop’s. A wave of humiliation washes over me. Is he ashamed of me? That this happened to me? Does he look at me differently now? All my worst fears come crashing into my chest like a freight train. I’m dirty. No one can love something or someone who has been through what I have. His knowing what I’ve been through has now tainted what he thought of me; I just know it. My heart snaps in my chest and my throat swells as tears start to pour down my cheeks again.
“Take her home,” Nate replies emotionlessly.
“Nate?” I try again through a broken throat. “Talk to me.”
He doesn’t move, keeping his eyes on Bishop. “Take her home.”
Bishop’s grip tightens around me. “We’ll talk about this later,” he warns Nate.
I don’t see Nate’s reaction, because I’ve buried my head into the crook of Bishop’s neck, his pulse pounding against my nose. Putting me in the passenger seat, Bishop shuts the door and then comes to his side, sliding in and firing up his Maserati.
“Madi, we don’t have to talk about anything right now, but eventually, I want to know 100 percent of what happened and everything in between—okay?”
I don’t say anything, watching how the dark night dances between the tree branches and leaves.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” I reply. “I’ll tell you everything I remember.”
He floors it forward as we leave the cabin in the distance.
“Why?” I croak out once we hit the highway.
“Why, what?” He looks to me every couple of seconds while still keeping his eyes ahead on the road.
“Why did you have to do it this way. Why scare me?”
He pauses briefly until the silence stretches out. “Fear is your patch, babe. We all have our patches. Those little spaces that could bring us to our knees if dabbled with.”
The answer surprises me. “Oh, and what’s yours?”
He pauses again, long enough for me to guess he’s not going to answer, so I lean my forehead on the cool window and close my eyes, suddenly feeling tired and drained.
“You.”
My eyes snap open. Not wanting to be overly obvious about how surprised I am, I keep my eyes locked on the dark road ahead. “What?”
“I didn’t have one,” Bishop confesses. “It’s how my father raised me, why I am who I am. Our blood, I mean, who we are, we can’t afford to have a patch. My dad doesn’t have one either. He married my mom for a cover, not for love—not that I’m talking about love.” He looks toward me to enhance his point then focuses back on the road. “But I’m just saying, I can’t have one. The fucking feelings I get when I think someone is fucking with you, though?” He breathes out a gush of air. “I’d kill them in an instant and not think twice about doing it. That may not be because I caught feelings for you or anything like that. It could just be because we’re sort of… friends. In a fucked way.”
“Friends?” I mimic, trying that word on my tongue. So he’s overprotective of me and has some sort of feelings for me. If not, then why would he kill someone over me? He sounds confused, about as confused as I am about him. I get where he’s coming from, Bishop has always been different for me too, regardless of whatever fucked shit he put me through. Is that really dangerous for him though? To feel that strongly about a “friend?”
“Why is that a bad thing?” I quickly ask before I can stop myself. “I mean, why is having a patch a bad thing?”
“It’s a weakness. I had nothing to lose until I met you. I can’t afford to have a weakness, not in this lifetime.”
“Well maybe we’ll meet each other in another lifetime, and I can be more than a patch to you.” I glance at him, and his eyes lock onto mine. The dark depths sink into mine, clinging like a flame does to embers.
“And what would that be?” he asks, his brows pulling in as he looks from my mouth to my eyes.
“Yours.”
Pulling up to my house, Bishop gets out of the driver side and opens my door.
“I can walk, Bishop.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, scooping his arms under my legs and lifting me from my seat. “But you don’t have to.” After our brief talk on the way home, I’ve realized I need to let him go. I can’t keep holding on to whatever it is I think we could have together, because it’s not going to happen. He’s Bishop Vincent Hayes, and I’m me. A fucking mess.
I turn my face to him just as we reach the front door. The front door that is showing no display of the house party that was raging earlier. I guess someone—or some King—shut it down. “Can I ask you something?”
He opens the door wide. “Yeah.”
“If I ask you something… will you tell me the truth?”
“That depends,” he answers, walking inside and closing the door behind us. “If it’s about me, then yes, but if it’s about the club, then no.”
“Loyalty?” He puts me down and I make my way upstairs with him following behind.
“Something like that,” he mutters under his breath. It’s so quiet I almost miss it. Walking into my room, I stretch out on my bed, blowing my hair out of my face. The mattress dips where Bishop takes a seat. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me,” he begins.
I swallow down any nerves those words raised, and nod. I know what he’s going to ask, and I’ve been mentally preparing myself for it the whole way home, but it’s still unsettling me. I’ve never said the words out loud. I’ve never told anyone my darkest secret, let alone a guy I have feelings for.
“Did someone do something to you when you were little?”
Turning toward him, I prop my head up onto the palm of my hand. The shadows from the dim lamp cast sharp lines over his jaw and perfect nose. He has the profile of a GQ model, but the twisted mind of Michael Myers. Ahh, charming. Exhaling, I close my eyes. “Yes.”
He grits his teeth, and I open my eyes and watch as his hands ball into fists on top of his knees. His nostrils flare. “Who?”
I know his name. I don’t know where he is or what happened to him, but I know his name.
“I don’t know who he is. I don’t remember much of it. All I know is it started when I was young.” I lie on my back and bring my hands under my head.
“Give me any details you can,” Bishop urges, turning to face me. “I mean it, Madison.”
Oh, I know he means it, and I know if I give him the name, he will have no problem finding this guy. It doesn’t matter if Lucan is in China or if he’s six feet under already. I know Bishop will find him, and he will kill him if he’s still alive, but that’s my kill. I promised myself long ago that one day I will get my retribution, and I’m not about to cheat my younger self out of that promise, so I lie. “I don’t know his name.”
Bishop studies my face closely, and I start to panic. I know he can read people; he reads people so accurately, but he has always said how he struggles to read me. Even though I know this, paranoia kicks into overtime, and I clear my throat, knowing I have to give him something so he can back off a little. Bishop opens his mouth, probably about to call me out on my obvious lie, but I inter
ject. “He would call me Silver.”
“Silver?” Bishop asks, thinking over those words. “What, like as in he knew you were the Silver Swan?”
I shrug. “I honestly don’t know.”
Bishop gets up and walks toward the door. Pausing, he inches his head over his shoulder. “Get some sleep.” Then he walks out and leaves me there brewing. Shit. Did I give too much? Has he worked out who that is? Surely not. No one knew that was what Lucan called me except me and Lucan… and….
Forget.
But Bishop is smart—too smart. He picks up things that slip past normal ears and eyes.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I reach underneath until my hand skims over the worn leather I’ve become so accustomed to touching. Pulling it out, I shuffle up my bed until I’m leaning against the headboard. Flipping open the first few pages, I jump to where I was up to.
10.
Revelation
Et delicatis praetulissem, sicut truncum arboris fluitantem olor et quasi argentum bullet sicut mortiferum.
- As alluring as a floating swan, but as deadly as a silver bullet.
“I want to know why,” I probed, trying to get Humphrey to confess. Why is it so important that a woman is not to be born into this cult?
“I told you, woman. You only know what I want you to know. None of this has to make sense to you, because you’re a woman.” Biting down every reaction I had, I took a seat on one of the chairs. Gazing into the scalding hot flame that flicked up to the stone fireplace, I whipped my head toward him.
“Tell me.” Deciding I was going to fight him on this, I got up off my chair and walked toward him. “I want to know. I have a right to know—my…” I stopped, the swelling of my throat halting any and every movement.
One.
Two.
Three.
I began counting internally, ordering the tears to sink back into their sockets.
Humphrey rose up off his chair and headed toward me. His expression changed, all the lines and wrinkles that carved through his face deepened, and that’s when I knew I had struck a nerve. I always did. He reared his hand back and slapped me across the cheek, the sting causing a rush of heat to flame up my face. I fell to the ground in a heap, holding the throbbing ache and looking up at him.
