by Amo Jones
“Saint, not now,” Bishop growls out softly from the bed. His head is bowed between his shoulders, his fingers buried in his thick mane of healthy hair. His knees are spread, his chest rising and falling. The energy inside the room is tense, hot, and tenuous.
I close the door behind me, but don’t say a word. The space is vast, obviously the master bedroom of the cabin, with panorama windows overlooking the entire property and a king-size bed in the middle. There’s a bath sitting behind the bed with no privacy, and a basin and freestanding closet opposite.
I sink down onto the bed beside him, holding my breath. I don’t want to speak. I don’t want to fill the silence with words he already knows.
So I remain quiet. And still.
Finally, after five minutes of us not speaking, I kick off my shoes and rake my fingers through my hair until it’s all pushed out of my face while climbing up his bed and lying back on the mountain of pillows. Air puffs out around me, filled with soap and lavender.
“When I was twelve, I fell in love.” The words spill out, and I catch Bishop turning quickly to face me. I have his attention. Good. “His name was Heath Ledger.”
Bishop bursts out laughing, shaking his head when I glare at him. “I’m serious!”
“Listen, got nothing against Heath, but the man is opposite to Bran.”
I push up onto one elbow, resting my head in the palm of my hand while lying on my side. “Why does everything have to be compared to Brantley? We’re just—” I pause. What even are we? Friends? Family? “—Family? I guess. He’s the only family I’ve ever had. My guardian.”
Bishop’s eyelids get heavy. “You’re not stupid, Saint.”
“Mmm, but I am!” I raise my finger.
“How so? You can’t be worse than me. Fuck, please don’t be. There’s only room for one dumb motherfucker when it comes to relationships in this family.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “If my dad—” He pauses. “Our dad knew how I was dealing with everything, he’d probably give the gavel to you.”
I lick my bottom lip. “Want to switch stories?”
He tilts his head.
“No pressure. I’m probably going to tell you mine anyway because I need someone to talk to, and I love Tillie, but she wasn’t much help this morning.”
Bishop’s face is stoic, frozen. Slowly, I watch as his mouth curves into a full-blown smile.
I point. “You need to smile like that more often. I think we have the same teeth.”
He laughs. “We do. You’ve got Dad’s teeth.” Then he shifts over the bed, turning to me so I have his undivided attention. “Well then, tell big brother what’s bothering you, since the other sibling dropped the ball.”
I start picking at the fluff on the blanket, chewing on my bottom lip. “So, I kissed Brantley last night and then I tried to sleep with him, but failed. Well, sort of failed. He still, you know, finished me off.”
“Wow…” Bishop’s hands are up in front of his face protectively.
“What?” I snap. “You said I could talk to you!”
“Yeah, and you can, but I’m not the one to talk to you about all of that…”
“Will you just let me finish?” I glare at him, picking the fluff and doing the lip chew thing again. “So I kissed him. He kissed me back. Threw me onto his bed—”
Bishop groans, falling face-first onto the bed. “Listen, I know how Brantley fucks. This will not end well, so please just skip the details.”
“We didn’t!” I say, flustered enough to throw my arms up. “That’s the thing.”
“He didn’t?” Bishop tilts his head. “What?” Then he mumbles, “That’s a fucking first.”
“Not helping…” I sing, flopping onto my back. “Now I can’t stop thinking about it. Then this morning, I was still so upset with him even after running for two hours, that I dropped my towel in front of him.” I turn so I can see Bishop and his face is red from holding in his laugh. “Stop laughing at me!”
“I’m not!” He releases his laugh and it’s so damn loud the notes are bouncing off the walls.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Oh, to say the least, but that’s not a side you’ve seen. Yet. Carry on…” He rolls his hands.
“He just did nothing. I stood there naked and he didn’t care. Again.” My heart sinks.
“Saint.” Bishop chuckles, his laughter finally dying off. “Okay, I’m going to tell you what you need to do. I know Bran, and look at me—”
I do, bringing my eyes to his.
“You want him?”
I think over that three-word question. So simple, yet powerful enough to tip my world upside down.
“Yes. I’ve never been with another man before. I’d prefer it to be him, at least for my first.”
Bishop pauses, his mouth agape. “Ahhh, no. This is Brantley. And not just the Brantley that we know, but this is every part of that man’s fucked-up soul. You are either all in or all out, because there is no in-between with him.”
“What about Tillie?” Finally, that ugly green monster came out. “I love her, and have nothing against her, but the way he is with her. It makes me—”
“—jealous,” Bishop finishes. “Normal. You are my sister, after all. How good are you at keeping secrets?”
Too good.
He chuckles. “There’s always a third when a King finds his woman. Don’t take that in too deep.”
“Who was yours?” I ask, intrigued.
“Fucking Nate.” Bishop flexes his fingers. “And he is her stepbrother. It was fucking frustrating.”
I chuckle, sigh, and roll back to my side. “Okay. What do I need to do?”
After Bishop yaps off what I’m going to need to do to gain Brantley’s attention, he’s on his back beside me, my head on his chest with his eyes trained on the ceiling. We’ve been up here for at least two hours, with the sun long since setting in the sky.
“It’s so beautiful up here,” I say, looking up at him from below. He looks down at me, his eyes glassy and red. “Bishop,” I whisper, my hand on his cheek. “What is it?”
He clears his throat, and when he opens his mouth, the next words he mutters steal a part of my soul. “She was raped because of me. I thought she cheated on me, but it was set up that way by our enemies. I thought she cheated. She didn’t. She was raped.”
I hold my breath, the pain vibrating in my chest long since he said the last word.
“But I was fucking tired. She still ran from me. Ran fucking far. She always runs. She doesn’t trust me. Trust that I’d keep her safe, and I don’t blame her.”
My nose snuffs.
He continues. “Because I failed her. I let them get to her, so now I’m letting her go. And that’s it. That’s the most I’ve ever told anyone, by the way.”
“Bishop,” I breathe. “Look at me.”
He does, his eyes meeting mine like best friends that have been separated for a lifetime. “That is not your fault, and it is not hers either. You can’t let the forces that are fighting against you both win.”
He smiles, but it’s not the one I’m used to. It’s fake. “I have to, because I won’t let this world touch her again. I know where she is. I know she’s safe.”
I pause. “You know where she is?”
He nods. “Yeah. She fucking knows I’d know where she is. This is the game we’re both playing. She knows I know where she is and could grab her whenever I wanted, and I know she knows where I am whenever she wants to bring her ass home.”
“You’d take her back?” I need to be reassured.
He stares down at me and smiles a genuine one this time. “Every fucking time.”
After Bishop showed me the room I would be staying in, I quickly ran a brush through my hair and slid into the slippers I brought with me. I think Brantley said the party would start tomorrow night, and he said fifty people would be coming. Fifty. Where would they all sleep?
I’m jogging down the stairs while wrapping my hair into a
high bun when Tillie calls me into the kitchen.
“There you are. Bailey just got here. You’ll love her.” She pulls out a few bottles of wine and tumblers. “Come. We’re all outside.”
I don’t know who Bailey is or who is all outside, but I follow behind her out onto the back patio. Fairy lights light up the paneling of the architecture, flames from the candles flickering in the center of the large round table. There’s a girl sitting on the other side, beside Brantley, with another girl next to her.
Out of instinct, I seek out Bishop. My hands start to sweat, sending tingles down to my feet. My knees wobble from nerves and that same heavy boulder is back in my belly. I silently start taking deep breaths, and just as I’m about to spin around and go back inside, fingers connect with mine, tugging me down onto the chair in front of me.
“Saint, this is Bailey, Brantley’s little cousin, and the girl next to her is—” Bishop tilts his head. “Don’t fucking know and don’t fucking care.” He looks back at Bailey. “This is Saint.”
Bailey’s eyes come to mine with interest, but not enough to hold her attention. She’s already back on Bishop.
Bishop continues, “My sister, Tillie’s sister, and let’s just say her last name is Vitiosis, but she’s not blood, you feel me?”
Bailey spins herself around to face Brantley. “What’d you do?”
He flips her off. “Fuck off, Bailey.”
She ignores him. “What did he do?”
“Oh, you know,” Tillie interrupts, popping a grape into her mouth while taking a seat on Nate’s lap. “Stole a baby, raised her in his big, scary castle, locked her away from humanity, never let her out and—am I missing something? Oh yeah, kept it a big fat secret from everyone.”
That was an alarmingly accurate description of everything. Though from the outside looking in, I’ve come to realize it may look… weird to them. To me, it was everything but that. They talk about it as if it’s a bad thing, when it’s not. I never wanted for anything, never went hungry, always knew I had a home.
Bailey gasps, her hand covering her small, pouty mouth. Her wrists are filled with leather bands, her dark hair sleek and shiny, falling around her collarbone. “Cuz, why are you the way you are?”
He ignores her.
I turn to face Bishop, disinterested in being the topic of conversation. Can I meet everyone so that they can all get it out of the way, stare at me weirdly, and gasp in shock together? I’m tired. “I think I need wine.”
Bishop reaches over the table, pouring bubbles into a small tumbler. He slides it across the table. “You’ll be fine.” Bishop shuffles his chair up farther, protectively, leaving me slightly behind him. My eyes find Brantley as I tilt the glass up to my mouth, swallowing the sweet tang of champagne.
“You’re getting the taste of that mommy juice, Sainty…” Eli murmurs from beside me, kicking his leg out while running his index finger over his upper lip. Eli reminds me of the character Stiles on Teen Wolf. So pretty and cute. “Mmmm, I’d be careful how those eyes look at me.”
I snap out of what I was thinking, straightening my back. In a matter of days, I’ve been thrown from one extreme to another. I’ve gone from not seeing anyone, to conversing with more than a couple people, to being around some of the most interesting characters I’ve ever seen.
“I just think it tastes nice,” I say, while carefully placing the glass back onto the tabletop. My muscles begin to ache, my eyes heavy. Fatigue from the trip or all of the thinking that has been going on in regards to Brantley and me, and Bishop and me, and Tillie and me, taking its toll.
My eyes land on Brantley, but I lean into Bishop. “I’m going to bed.”
Bishop nods, kissing me on the cheek while chuckling through a whisper. “Don’t forget about tomorrow…”
I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s a weak effort.
I close the door behind me and take in the bedroom that Brantley and I are sharing. It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before; it has happened numerous times, but never have we ever kissed or had oral sex before we’ve had to share a bed. So now, I have to fight this niggling anxiety that’s creeping up my spine.
Is he mad that I kissed him? Does he regret going down on me? Brantley has always been so hard to read, but I’ve always found comfort in the fact I trusted him. Now I’m not so sure.
The bedroom is nice, not as nice as Bishop’s, but I don’t think any room in this cabin is supposed to be at the caliber of Bishop’s room, which tells me this cabin is probably part of his family tree. There’s a large king-size bed in the center of the room, with two large bay windows on either side, looking over both sides of the house. Behind the bed is a bathroom with a claw-foot tub and timber counters. I flick the light on in the closet and see that my bags are in there, with a costume hanging on a hanger. I reach for the note that’s pinned to it, opening it onto the words. Wear this tomorrow night. Love, Tills. Unzipping the bag, my fingers touch the fabric. I go back to the letter. Hades and Kore.
“What’d she pick?” His voice interrupts my thoughts and I have to count to ten to calm the nerves in my belly.
I tilt my head over my shoulder, smiling from behind it. “Kore.”
Brantley chuckles, stepping farther into the closet, making it smaller. “Gotta admit the uncanny similarities between the four of us.”
I turn, and it’s not until I’m fully facing him I realize just how close he is to me. Intentional? I’m not sure. “How so?” I’m familiar with the history and Greek mythology of Persephone and Hades, but I want to know how he interprets it.
“Let me see…” He comes closer, and I find myself stepping backward until my back collides with something hard. “You both have a fond love for flowers and plants.” His hand comes up to rest against whatever it is my back is leaning on. He’s closer. So much closer. “I basically did carry you off to the pits of Hell where you could reign, and lastly…” Fingers glide over mine and sparks fly between us. “Hector could basically pass as Zeus.”
“Hmmm,” I murmur absently, unsure how I take his very quick and brief description of the situation. I chose the name Kore because Brantley chose Hades. I initially wanted Persephone, but Brantley said it was too long, so we went for her other name. “So this was your plan all along?”
His dark eyes search mine. Eyes so blue they could pass as white against eyes so dark they could mirror Hell. “Which part?” His mouth moves over the words and my breath halts. My stomach squeezes and twists into knots as I memorize every dip of the fine lines that curve his lips. So sharp and precise, like the words that come out of them. My eyes cross and my brain fogs from looking at the same spot for too long. His finger presses against the bottom of my chin, tilting my head up. My eyes collide with his, and it’s as though everything around us ceases to exist. The clothes hanging in the closet dissipate, and all that’s left standing in this room is him and me.
“Stop looking at me like that.” His lashes fan over his high cheekbones as his pupils focus and unfocus on my lips.
“Like what?” I whisper, watching his. His jaw distracts me momentarily, carved from stone and created for a statue that’s to never perish.
“Like you’re dumb enough to spread your legs and let me do every wicked thing I’ve ever wanted to do to you.”
My eyes snap back up to his, and I rest my head back against the wall. “Maybe I am.”
His thumb presses against my bottom lip. “No. You’re not. You know how I know?” The tip of it slips between my lips and I flick my tongue over the cushion.
His lips rise as he bares his teeth, a feral hiss escaping. It shouldn’t be attractive, something so animalistic and violent, but I find myself drawn to him. Every single bit of me is drawn to him, needing his touch like a child needs its father.
“How, Brantley? How do you know?”
His fingers curl around the back of my neck as he forces my face up to his. I’m on my tippy toes now. No matter how rough he is with me, I f
eel safe. He’s cruel and ruthless, but it’s his restful touches that gain my trust. His head dips down, his lips grazing mine. “Because it’s why I tolerate you.” Then he releases me, turning and walking back into the bedroom. Suddenly air is back in my lungs and the clothes are on the hangers and there’s music playing loudly from somewhere outside. I notice everything in full force as if whatever just happened between us was as ferocious as Brantley. He doesn’t just command energy, he takes it, whether it’s for him to take or not.
My shoulders sag in defeat as I slide out a clean set of pajamas—a white camisole and tie-dyed shorts, before padding my way into the room we’re sharing. Brantley’s kicking off his boots and lying back on the bed by the time I make it from point A to point B, aka the bathroom. With no doors or curtains for privacy and nothing but the freestanding wall that’s dividing the space in the bedroom and the bathroom, I undress, letting my clothes pool around my feet. He must have hit the lights down in the room because the ambiance of it is dim, with the glass wall overlooking the forest outside. I slide into the scalding hot shower and rub the soap suds over my skin, cranking my neck while looking up at the stars through the skylight glass. Tears prick the corner of my eyes and I don’t know why. My heart is heavy as I finish up in the shower, wrapping a towel around my body. I step out when I see a dark shadow zip past the entry. I step forward, leaning around the corner to see who it was when I see Brantley’s leg on the bed.
Weird.