by Amo Jones
“Okay, girls.” Brantley grins, stepping between the two of us. “As much as this is getting my dick hard, we need to stay focused.”
“You’re disgusting,” I mutter to Brantley, eyeing him up and down. I don’t know what he’s playing at or why he’s here. I’m not even 100 percent sure if he’s on our side anymore.
“One question,” I state, looking directly at Brantley. “Your birthday party, when we were little….”
Brantley’s face drops. Hector remains quiet, watching me carefully.
“What of it?” Brantley asks, folding his arms in front of himself.
“What happened that day?” I whisper, leaning against the car. “I mean, I remember vague parts, but not all of it.”
“So, what?” Brantley snarls. “You suddenly having memories and shit now?”
“No!” I snap back. “I just want to know why no one told me about this earlier.”
Brantley looks to Hector, then to Lucan, who then looks to me.
Hector then looks to Lucan. “What birthday?”
My eyebrows pinch. “Wait!”
Brantley freezes.
Closing my eyes, I think back, digging for more from that day, but I was so young… so young.
“Where are we going?” I asked the man. He was the same man who hurt me at night. I didn’t know why he hurt me, but he’d tell me not to tell any adults. I had to respect my elders, so I didn’t tell a soul, afraid I’d get into trouble.
“You’ll see, Silver,” he murmured, his rough hand clutching onto mine as he pulled me down a long, dark hallway. We passed so many doors. All of them the color red. Not a nice red, a blood red. He stopped at a door, a door that had Vitiosus on a gold plate hanging on the door. I looked up at the man, tilting my head. Over the time he hurt me, it would only ever be in my bedroom. I didn’t know why he had brought me here. To this place.
He pushed open the door and gestured toward the room. “Go and get on the bed, Silver.”
“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 out 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 flash 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, craning 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.
He continues. “Max, Saint, and Cash Ditio. Phoenix and Chase Divitae. Raguel, Ace, and Eli Rebellis.” He laughs at these last two. My eyes shoot toward Nate, who is now being held back by Chase and Cash. He looks absolutely feral. The lack of light and smudged tears in my eyes make for hard looking, but even if I couldn’t see it, I could sure as fuck feel it.
Lucan carries on. “Nate Malum-Riverside.” Then he laughs, bringing his lips to my ear again.
I shut my eyes, fighting the bile that’s about to spew out of my mouth from not just his proximity, but his touch. “Johan, Hunter, Jase, and Madison Venari.”
I freeze. All life drains from my face.
“You hear that, Silver? You’re adopted… you and that skitzo brother of yours.”
What? More tears spill out of my eyes. This can’t be true. There’s no way. He’s fucking with me. My dad is my dad and my mom was my mom. Lucan is being what he is.
I look at Bishop, who is finally looking directly at me, and I see it. The look. It’s the look he gives me when it’s just us together. His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are zeroed into mine.
Not only is it true, but he knew.
Sobs wrack through my body, and my knees buckle, but Lucan yanks me back up. “Careful, careful… maybe you can talk with your man here about the meanings of those last names and what they mean in regards to each family’s duty in The Kings, but let me tell you this, Silver,” he whispers so harshly into my ear. “When you know all there is to know about this—they will kill you.”
I don’t care.
I’m adopted. My whole life was a lie. I was wrong. I can’t trust anyone. I can only trust Daemon. Daemon. His face lights up inside my head, but instead of it soothing me, it brings on another set of tears.
“So I’ll make this easier for you and tell you the big firework kicker!” he yells, laughing hysterically. Leaning down, I pause, my heavy breathing the only thing breaking the silence.
“You—”
A gun fires and Lucan screams, his hand loosening from around my mouth as he falls to the ground.
I freeze, static buzzing in my ears from the gunshot.
Pain.
Anger.
Rage.
Rage.
Rage.
Heat rises inside of me as I think over everything. His touch when I was a kid. What he made me do to Brantley. And what he made Brantley do to me as a kid.
“Stop!” I scream, my eyes unblinking and fixed on the car in front of me.
Silence.
I slowly turn around, noticing Bishop is beside me, kneeling down next to Lucan, who is bleeding out on the road.
I look at Lucan, tilting my head. Smiling, I whisper out, “Seeing you in pain soothes my anger.”
Lucan looks at me square in the eye. “I will live in your memories, Silver. Forever.”
Squaring my jaw, I bend down to Bishop’s level, bringing my hand to his boot. I feel up toward where I know he keeps a knife. I feel him freeze, realizing what I’m about to do, but before he can stop me—if he was going to stop me—I unclip the holster and pull out the large hunting knife then slowly raise it into the air. Lucan’s eyes follow it slowly.
“You see this?” I run my pointer finger down the blunt side of the knife. “It’s a Fallkniven A1Pro Survival Knife.” I smirk, admiring how the boys—except for Bishop, he’s still crouching beside me—watch me with awe, or fear, or a combination of both, and are all standing behind me. They have my back—but I won’t need it. I launch the knife into Lucan’s pelvis area until I feel his bones crunching against the blade. He screams out, a loud, curdling scream, his back arching and tears pouring down his face.
I bend down to his ear, running my lips over the lobe like he did to me not long ago. Feeling his blood spilling over my hand, I grin and whisper, “You know, since you love to be theatrical… this knife is a survival knife.” I circle the blade, my hand sticky from his blood. It blankets my anger, soothing it like an ice pack on a burn. Putting out the pain.
Pulling the knife out from him, I inch backward, both hands wrapped around the blade, ready to stab it into his head. Needing it to finally put out the burn I have inside me. The burn has only been temporarily eased, when Brantley appears, snatches the knife out of my hand, and stabs it right between Lucan’s eyes. Blood sprays out all over me, the tang of blood overpowering every taste bud in my mouth.
Brantley screams, veins popping out from his neck, his eyeballs almost bulging from their sockets. He has anger; I was right. He has anger just like I did, if not more, because Lucan was his father.
My breathing slows, and when Lucan’s head drops to the side, his death stinking up the air, I collapse into Bishop, my head resting on his shoulder.
He wraps his arm around me, kissing me on the head, as Brantley pulls the knife out of his dad and launches it back into him again. And again. And again. I flinch, digging my face into Bishop. His smell, his just—Bishop. The only sound I can hear is Brantley slicing into Lucan. Again and again.
“Come on, baby,” Bishop says into my hair when he sees Brantley isn’t stopping anytime soon.
“Well,” Hector says, and I turn in Bishop’s grip to face him but away from Brantley making dues with his abusive dad. “This is all lovely, but do any of you fuckers want to tell me what the fuck is going on and why my right-hand man is dead? Brantley, hear that? He’s dead so you can stop that now.” Hector pauses, looking at the mess Brantley has created, and then shrugs like he sees that type of shit daily. He probably does. Actually, all of them seem unbothered by it.
Bishop squeezes me into him. “Lucan would rape Madison when she was a little girl.”
Hector sucks from his cigar, but just there, below the surface, I can see it enrages him somewhat, and that surprises me because he’s Hector Hayes. I wouldn’t think something like that would bother him. He must catch my notice in him, because he laughs.
“Don’t take it to heart, sugar. I personally don’t like you, for a lot of reasons.” He looks at his son and then back to me. “But I don’t condone rape.”
“And…” Bishop pauses but then continues. “…and Brantley.”
The stabbing sound has stopped; now it’s sobbing. Not the quiet sobbing, it’s the ugly kind, and I turn in Bishop’s embrace, finally bracing myself to look toward Brantley.
He has his arms wrapped around his knees and is rocking beside what is left of Lucan. Blood drips from his hair, face, and hands, but he just rocks, sobbing loudly. “I didn’t want to. Why? Why did you have to make me do it? All those times….” He shakes his head. My heart snaps. I slowly start to walk toward him, when Bishop grabs onto my arm.
I turn to face him, and he shakes his head. “Don’t.”
“What do you mean, don’t? No wonder he hates me, Bishop,” I whisper, searching Bishop’s eyes. “He needed someone to blame, so he blamed me for what his father made us do that day. He blamed me, because if I didn’t exist, that wouldn’t have happened.”
Bishop shakes his head. “No, babe.” But then his eyes go over my shoulder.
“Thirty-seven,” Brantley whispers from behind me, and I quickly spin around to face him. “Thirty-seven young girls.”
What? I want to ask, but I don’t in fear that he might snap at me. Instead, I remain silent, hoping he will say more, which he does.
He looks at me, the headlights from the car shining on his face now that he’s level with it. Blood paints his face and clothing, the knife gripped in his hand. He tosses the knife over and it lands near Bishop’s feet. “You’re right though,” he starts, sidestepping around the mangled corpse on the ground. “I hated you. I never understood why you came back. When we were kids, at my birthday party, I hated all kids, not just you, but my father had already started talking about what he was going to get us to do together.” He pauses. “When you started Riverside, I didn’t know at first whether you remembered me or not. At first, I thought you did remember and you were—I don’t know—fucking with us after some revenge for what Lucan did.” Shit, that makes a whole lot of sense. “But also…” He pulls out a pack of smokes and puts one into his mouth, lighting it. “…you were my first. So there was hate for you from that as well. I didn’t make the Silver connection to The Silver Swan, which I should have. I’m an idiot for not making that connection. I just figured it was because of your eyes. They’re murky green now, but when you were a kid, they were silver.”
I nod, because they were. It was always strange.
He steps up to me, leaving the smoke in his mouth. “Do you feel that?” he asks, tilting his head.
I look deep into his eyes, a sense of peace washing over me. The fire I had burning for so many years from undying hate toward Lucan had gone out. Smiling, I nod. “Yeah.”
