by Amo Jones
Bishop wraps his arm around me, pulling me in and kissing me on the head. “Hey, baby.”
Swoon.
I smile shyly. “Hey.”
Tatum kicks me from under the table, so I look at her, widening my eyes to ask what the hell she wants. Her eyes shoot over her shoulder, so I follow, looking where she’s pointedly staring, and that’s when I see it. The whole school has pretty much stopped what they were doing to watch Bishop’s and my exchange. It’s unsettling and it’s weird, but I’ve gotten used to it over the years. Not just because Bishop is who he is, but from always being the new girl. But attaining Bishop has made people’s heads spin. He’s the standoffish asshole. No one was good enough for him—until me.
“So, just a quick little question while I have everyone here. Carter is throwing a party this weekend to mark….” Tatum thinks over something and then shakes her head. “Never mind. I forgot what it was for, but anyway! I’m going. Mads?” She looks at me, her eyes wide like innocent little saucers. The innocence is a lie.
I stick my straw into my mouth. “Think I’ll pass. I have a few things to do this weekend.”
“Bishop being one of them?” she quips back, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Bishop being all of them,” Bishop answers for me, picking me up from my seat and placing me onto his lap. I feel bad. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I know Tatum feels like she’s losing her best friend since Bishop and I have been spending so much time together, and I don’t want her to feel like that at all. Tatum’s eyes drop to her food, and she picks at her orange.
Rolling my eyes, I turn to face Bishop. “Shall we go? Just for a little while. We don’t have to stay late.”
Bishop tosses one of my carrot sticks into his mouth and winks. “Yeah, babe.” He looks over Tatum’s shoulder, directly at Carter. “We should go.” His eyes do that dark thing, and I spin back around, his hand gripping possessively on my thigh.
“We will come.”
Tatum claps excitedly. “Yay, okay, so outfits—”
“Oh no.” I cut her off. “Nope. You’re on your own with that. I’ll wear whatever I have.”
Nate sits beside her, chatting to Eli and Brantley about something, ignoring our entire conversation.
“Nate?” I question, waiting for him to answer.
“Yo?” He stops midconversation.
“Party at Carter’s this weekend. You in?”
He looks to Bishop then slowly smirks. “Yeah, sounds good.” Why do I feel like I’ve missed something? Why are they suddenly so interested to go to one of Carter’s parties? Spinning back around to face Bishop, I see he’s already staring at me when my eyes lock with his. I open my mouth, but he shakes his head, eating another carrot stick. “Later.”
Giving him a small smile as a reply, I settle for it and turn back around. “So, outfits?” I grin at Tatum.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Outfits.”
“Jeans and a t—”
“More like skirts and G.”
Bursting out laughing, I shake my head. “Oh, Tate.”
“I HATE YOU,” I MUTTER to Tatum. “I can’t believe you’re making me wear this.”
She laughs, walking out of the bathroom, spraying her Coco Chanel perfume all over herself. “Well, you know I know what’s best for you. Like that dress—that dress is what’s good for you.”
I pick at the skirt. It’s a tight, knee-length, black leather pencil skirt with a split that goes almost all the way up to my hip. She paired it with a thigh chain that dangles over my very exposed leg, and a little bralette crop top. Yes, the outfit is almost no outfit, and because the split is so high, I decided it was either a G-string or commando kind of night. Commando won. I slide on the nude lipstick and ruffle my hair into a nest of tousled mess. “Well,” I mutter, slipping on some red pointy heels. Totally don’t know how this is going to end, what with me in heels and everything, but again, that was Tatum being Tatum.
She snatches her bottle of vodka off the dresser. “Let’s go. Is Sammy driving us?”
I nod. “Yeah, she’s already waiting.”
“And Bishop and Nate?” she asks, going for casual, but I see what she’s doing.
“They’ll meet us there, had something to take care of beforehand.” I don’t know what it was they had to take care of; I didn’t care to ask. I respect there will be some things that Bishop can’t tell me, especially when it comes to the Kings, so I won’t pry for information unless it directly impacts me. Daemon still hasn’t come out of his room, but I try every day. I knock, but he doesn’t answer. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, but all I know is I want to be there for him. Whatever it is he’s going through.
Piling into the limo, Sammy gets into the driver seat and looks at me in the rearview mirror. “You be safe now.”
“I’m always safe, Sammy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Dressing like that is only asking for trouble.”
“Just drive,” Tatum says sassily to Sammy.
“Tate!” I growl her. “Shut up and drink.”
She takes a sip and then passes it to me. “I don’t want to get white girl wasted, but I’ll have a little bit.”
“Myth” by Tsar B starts playing, and I take a sip of the vodka, ignoring the way it stabs my throat when I swallow. “Sammy! Turn it up!” She does as she’s told, winding up the window separator while she’s at it. I give the bottle back to Tatum, and she scoots over beside me. “Oh! Selfie! Right now.” I move next to her and she snaps a hundred different selfies. All ranging from serious to duck face, to smiles, laughing, to funny faces. I laugh, leaning back in my seat, and look to Tatum. “I enjoy our friendship. You know that, right?”
She waves me off. “Don’t go soppy.”
“I’m not!” I reply defensively. “Okay, maybe just a little, but I just don’t want you to feel left out now that Bishop and I are….”
“Are…?” she prompts, an eyebrow raised. She must realize she’s being a brat, because she rolls her eyes, her shoulders dropping. “Look, okay, I’m just worried he’s going to hurt you.” After drinking some vodka, she hands me the bottle.
“With good reason, but I don’t think he will.” I stare in front of me, watching the tinted back window and the headlights of the car following us.
“What? So you’re in love?” she asks.
I take a long pull of the vodka. Longer than I intended. I really wasn’t planning on getting drunk tonight, but with the way this conversation is going, I’m going to be legless before we even reach the party, and that will probably do all sorts to piss off Bishop. Only because he’s not there right now—I don’t think.
“I don’t know. Love is a weird word.”
“It’s not a word, Mads.” Tate looks at me, taking the vodka from me and bringing it to her lips. “It’s a feeling.”
“Well, I don’t know what I’m feeling.”
“Then it’s love.”
Turning my head, I look at her. “What do you mean?”
“It is what it is, Mads. You’re in love with him, and for that reason alone”—she shoves the vodka into me—“you’re going to need this a lot more than me.”
I take it from her, taking another swig. “So you and Nate?”
She freezes then taps on the divider window. “Yo! Sammy! When are we there, homie?”
I laugh, fits of giggles erupting from my belly. She looks at me, pauses, and then starts laughing too. We’re both swiping the tears from our eyes when the car stops outside of Carter’s house, music blaring out and people already standing outside on his front porch drinking.
“Gah, I don’t feel like going in now.”
She laughs. “Just because you have a man to go home to, bitch. Come help me find my next victim.”
“What?” I smirk as she opens her door. “You’re not going to be in the room next to mine?”
She pauses then pushes open the door. “Okay, no, I won’t be. I wanted something more, and he couldn’t give it to
me because apparently, he’s into someone else. I can have him for sex only.”
I step out of the car, thanking Sammy briefly and telling her I’d text her if we need a ride home. “You don’t want that?”
She swallows, a sad look passing through her eyes. “With him? Unfortunately, not. I caught fucking feelings.”
Hooking my arm with hers, I nudge my head toward the house. “Well, let’s go get you a bed bud then!”
She grins, tilting the vodka up to her lips and swallowing. “Sounds brilliant.”
Passing all the drunken people on the porch, I push open the front door just as my phone starts ringing in my little bag. I pull it out, blocking one ear to cut out the music, and search for a quiet corner to talk to Bishop.
“Bishop?” I yell into the phone, trying to drown out the music.
“Madison? Go home. Now!”
“What?” I can’t hear his words properly; every time he says something, someone does something loud.
“Bishop?”
“Fuck!” he roars down the phone. I heard that.
“What did you say before?” Finally finding a bathroom, I close the door, the deep bass shaking through the walls.
“I can hear you now.”
“Good. You need to leave right now. I’m on my way.”
“What? Why?”
“Just fucking do it, Madison. For fuck’s sake, I will kill you myself—”
Banging on the door interrupts. “Hang on. Wait there. Someone is knocking like they’re the fucking five-oh.”
“Madison!” he screams, just as I pull open the door.
“What the fu—” I pause, tilting my head. “Brantley?”
“Is that Bishop?”
I look down to my phone. “What? Yeah?”
“You can hang up. Come on, I’ll get you out of here.”
Swallowing past my distrust, I put the phone back into my bag, not hanging up. I’ve got scattered memories as a kid of Brantley and me, but I don’t trust him. Every memory I have of him, which there is only one or two, it’s clear he hates me. Even now, I see that he still hates me. Why though? I don’t understand why he hates me.
“Madison?” Brantley pulls me into his side, his mouth coming to my ear. “There are some people here who are going to take you. I know you don’t trust me, but you trust Bishop, who trusts me.”
Wait!
“Wow! What?” I pause, just as we’re about to get to the door. I look over my shoulder briefly, watching Tatum bump and grind up against some hottie to a techno song. How different our lives are going, like two different lanes. “I don’t want….” I shake my head.
Brantley pulls open the front door and grips me around my arm, squeezing roughly. I look down at his grip and then look back to his face. “That’s too hard.”
“Shut the fuck up.” We reach the end of the path just as a black limo pulls up, one much like ours. The back door swings open and Brantley grabs my hair, shoving me into the dark interior.
“Agh!” I scream, crawling to the corner of my chair.
Brantley gets in after, sitting beside me and unbuttoning his suit. “What the fuck?” I scream at him, but his eyes haven’t moved. They’re stationary, stuck on someone in front of him. When I follow his sight, I suck in a shocked breath. Not someone, someones.
Bishop’s dad, Hector, sits directly in front of me, and though I cannot see the man who is next to him due to the shadows cast over his spot, I see he’s wearing a suit to match Hector’s. “Um?” I clear my throat.
Hector just stares at me, fascinated. He’s more than intimidating; he’s downright lethal. He sucks the oxygen out of everyone sitting in the space. Now I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree for Bishop.
He clears his throat. “You’re quite the nuisance, Madison.”
I look to Brantley, hate brewing in my gut. I trusted him; Bishop trusted him. That must be why Bishop told me to leave. I look back at Hector. “Wish I could say I was sorry.”
Hector pauses, tilts his head, and then chuckles, pulling a cigar out from his suit jacket. “Well, I guess you have been reaping all the benefits.”
“Why am I here?” I ask, sounding way more confident than I really am.
He rests his ankle on his knee, taking a puff of his cigar. “I thought it was about time you were filled in on something. A few things, actually.”
“Oh?” I whisper out hoarsely. Secrets revealed just gives him more of a reason to kill me if he wants, but I’ll take it.
“Does the name Venari mean anything to you, Madison?” His eye squints as the smoke puffs past.
Swallowing, I close my eyes, shutting out my early distant memories.
Don’t remember.
Let it go.
Build the wall and stay over it.
“No.” I open my eyes and plaster a fake smile. “It doesn’t.” Wall back up.
He narrows his eyes at me, as if to try to read my mind. He won’t find anything by trying, just darkness and pain I’ve suppressed from childhood memories. Memories I used to fight every day to forget. But I’m curious how he knows that name. “Why?”
The limo stops and he looks to Brantley, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s take a walk down memory lane.”
He gets out of the car and I follow, shutting the door behind me. Walking around to the front of the car, the bright headlights beam up toward the log cabin.
Brantley steps up beside me as we both watch the front door. “Bishop may be the king of the Kings, but he forgets there’s a higher power than him. His dad.”
I know this already, as I’m sure Bishop knows this too. Hector smiles at Brantley and pats him on the shoulder. “Good boy.” Then I watch as he walks into the cabin.
“Brantley,” I whisper. “What the fuck is going on here?”
He doesn’t answer. He simply gestures toward the door, but it’s not in an insolent way. His jaw is clenched, and there’s fire in his eyes. He’s not happy; actually, fuck that—he’s pissed.
“I believe you already know who this is.” Brantley puts a cigarette into his mouth and lights it, just as Hector steps down the cabin steps with—
I gasp, my legs turn to jelly, and my stomach recoils, breakfast threatening to come up.
Brantley’s lip curls. “Daddy dearest, AKA—Lucan Vitiosus.” Voices come in and out, my head pounding as memories start flooding back. All the hard work over the years I put into blocking them out doesn’t mean shit now, because the wall hasn’t just dropped. I look up, my eyes connecting with my childhood abuser, and that wall shatters to a million pieces. There’s no rebuilding that.
Sucking in a shaky breath, I turn around and go to run, only someone steps in front of me, blocking me from going further, and I fall flat on my ass. That person isn’t Brantley, because I see Black Converse shoes and tight yoga pants. I bring my eyes up to the small torso and frame until I’m met with one of the most exotic-looking girls I have ever seen in my entire life. Her black hair floats effortlessly and naturally down over her chest, her eyes curve in almonds, and her skin holds a natural golden tint. She’s stunning in an obvious way. The kind of way that she’d gain attention anywhere she goes no matter what she’s wearing. All that beauty gets washed out when she opens her mouth.
“You’re so much prettier in photos.” She tilts her head, and I stand to my feet, brushing off the dirt from my butt.
“Who the fuck are you?” I whisper out, I meant it to be harsher than it came out, but with tears pouring down my cheeks, I’m not in a very badass state right now.
Hector appears beside me and tsks. “Madison, play nice with Khales. She’s a good little puppet.”
I freeze. All thought processes mute, and my skin prickles to life. Khales?
I say the first thing that comes up in my head. “I thought you were dead.”
She laughs, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Naw, honey, there’s so much”—she steps toward me and presses her finger to the tip of my nose—“you ju
st don’t know.”
I step backward, squaring my shoulders. Is she intimating? Yes. But I’ve grown accustomed to being around a pack of wolves, so instead of running from them, I learned how to play with them. If she thinks I’m going to roll over and submit to her ways, she’s deluded. Even if I’m feeling emotional about coming face-to-face with Lucan, I won’t bow to her. “I don’t doubt that at all, but why am I here?” I look to Hector. “Where is your son?”
Hector puts a cigar in his mouth. “He’s not here.” He lights the tip of the cigar and rolls it around in his mouth. The silence between all of us borders on awkward, so I turn around to focus all of my attention on Hector.
“And what exactly do you want with me? And why is she alive? Does Bishop know? Does anyone know? Why bring him out?” I point toward Lucan, the mere sight of him making my head spin and my hand itch. I think I’ve passed the shocked phase. I can feel myself slowly brewing, my anger like a swimming pool of lava at the bottom of a volcano, ready to erupt.
I look back to Khales. “And who are you, by the way?”
Hector shakes his head. “That’s not important right now. What’s important is this—”
“No.” The word is instant and automatic.
“Oh?” Hector’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I see you’ve grown a little backbone now that you’re not hiding behind my son.”
I tilt my head and watch as the gray cloud of smoke floats into the dark night. “I never hid behind your son. He shielded me. There’s a difference.”
Hector leans back onto the car, and I step back a little so I can see both him, Khales, Brantley, and Lucan in my peripheral vision. “And anyway,” I add, shooting a glare at Brantley, who is standing on the other side of the car. “Loyalty and all that—right, Brantley?”
“You don’t know shit about loyalty,” Khales murmurs, stepping up to me, chest-to-chest. I can feel her breathing labor as she looks down her nose at me.
I stand up straighter and match her stare. I don’t know who I’m kidding; I’ve never been in a fight before, but I won’t let someone hit me and get away with it. “You don’t know shit about the shit I know, Khales, so step the fuck back.”
