by Amo Jones
That wasn’t fair of me to say. She has been nothing but nice to me. I smile, shoveling another piece of brownie into my mouth, where it melts on my tongue, mixing with a spoonful of ice cream. It turns out Tatum has as much of a sweet tooth as I do, and we make plans to have a girls’ movie night tomorrow night with buckets of candy. Tatum said she wants to watch a chick flick, but I cut her off by declaring my dislike for corny romcoms. So we agreed that I’ll pick the movies and she’ll bring the candy. Win-win.
“So what’s it like being Nate Riverside’s little sister?” Tatum asks, driving us back to my place.
“I’m not really his little sister,” I deadpan. “I don’t know why, but he’s taken it upon himself to torment me at his every turn.”
She giggles, dropping gears, and my head slams against the headrest from the force. “Honey, if Nate took it upon himself to torment me, I’d welcome it. He’s the biggest manwhore of Riverside Prep though. He’s even slept with Sasha Van Halen.”
“I’m not even surprised,” I mutter under my breath as we pull into our private driveway.
Sasha Van Halen is the daughter of the biggest tycoon in the United States. She’s splashed all over the tabloids—hot mess and all that.
“One last thing,” she says, pulling up the emergency brake. “I want to talk to you about them.” She gestures toward Nate’s window and my eyes follow. “You gained Bishop’s attention today at lunch.”
“Hardly,” I scoff, shaking my head.
“I need to educate you on Bishop Vincent Hayes,” she begins, and I tilt my head toward her. “He’s only ever been seen with one other girl more than once, that I know of. One, and she meant a lot to him. They were together for years. Everyone would say it was fate, Bishop and Khales; they were this match made in heaven. She moved, he moved. They knew each other since they were little, because Khales’s mom was a junkie and would leave Khales in the house on her own for hours on end. Khales went to Hampton Beach High School, which is on the rough side of town. Anyway, Bishop tried to save her. He tried so hard, but eventually, Khales followed her mother’s footsteps and picked up the needle.” She took a breath.
“She died?” I ask, my heart sinking. I know what it’s like losing someone you love.
“No, we don’t know where she is. About two years ago, she sort of just disappeared. No one whispers her name. The week she went missing, all the boys weren’t at school, and then suddenly they’re all walking back into the cafeteria like they own the place, as if she didn’t exist. Someone tried to ask Bishop about her, but he almost snapped the guy’s neck, so everyone took that as a sensitive subject and never asked questions again.”
She pauses again, her bright blue eyes twinkling on mine. “I’m only telling you because so many girls have tried to fill the spot that Khales left. As far as I know, Bishop hasn’t had another girlfriend since. That’s two years. Anyway, that brings me to the next subject.” My mind is still swimming with the mass of information she just unloaded on me. Two years ago? People don’t just disappear into thin air. There’s always a reason why people go missing. She clears her throat. “The Elite Kings Club—”
“I asked Nate about it, and he said it’s all based on legend and false assumptions.”
She shakes her head, her blonde waves falling over her slender shoulders. “They won’t tell you. It may sound like gossip, but it’s very true. I’ve seen the mark.”
“Mark?” My brain is about to explode from the information that is being shoved inside it.
“Yeah, they’re branded when they’re babies. It’s a ritual all the parents perform.”
“That’s crazy.” My shoulders go slack. “I’ve heard enough. Anything else?”
“Yes! Be careful. I only know so much about them because I’ve studied them for as long as I’ve known them. I’ve never shared my thoughts with anyone else, because no one else has become close to them, but I can see that’s going to be changing with you. You need to be careful, Madi.”
I clutch the door handle and push it open, taking my bags out of the backseat. “Okay, I’ll be careful, but I think you’re being paranoid.”
She offers a small smile before I close the passenger door, and then she skids out of my driveway.
This kind of stuff just doesn’t happen, not in this world.
SLAMMING THE FRONT DOOR CLOSED, I walk into the kitchen with all the information Tatum just fed me brewing in my brain. Pulling a Coke from the fridge, I close the door when my heart leaps at the sight of Hunter leaning against the entryway.
“Shit!” My hand flies up to my chest.
“Sorry.” He smirks. “Nate has training, so he has me on babysitting duties.”
“Babysitting duties?” I ask, offended. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
He shrugs. “Brantley is here. You need someone near you when he’s around.”
I cock my head, running my eyes over him. Standing at around six-foot-two, he towers over my five-foot-three.
“Why?” I ask, my eyes diverting to the wall. “What did I do to him?”
Hunter pauses, his finger running across his upper lip. “That’s not something you need to worry about yet.”
“I’m sure I could just get the full lowdown if I ask Tatum,” I mumble from the rim of my Coke.
“Tatum?” He barks out a laugh. “Tatum lives for drama and bullshit. Nothing she says holds any substance.” His eyes narrow on me briefly.
“And your words do?” I cock my head. “I don’t need a sitter,” I mutter bitterly, as I head toward the stairs—only for a wall of muscle to slam into my face yet again. “Jesus!” I cuss, getting annoyed at how my house has been taken over by mysterious boys who can never give me any answers. My eyes travel up a broad chest and land on Brantley’s dark, beady eyes. He has a bit of scruff around his jaw—not much, just enough it’ll scratch you lightly—and his eyes are as dark as a bottomless pit leading to the gates of hell. And when he opens his mouth, I find his words are much like his eyes.
“You’d do good to stay the fuck outta my way.”
Having about enough of all this bullshit, I cross my arms in front of myself. ‘Cause I’m a badass. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?”
I can feel Hunter’s presence behind me, silently watching.
Brantley’s eyes snap to mine, burning into me like a hot knife through cold butter. “How about just existing? Everything was fine until you came back,” he mutters, before shoving me out of the way and walking toward the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle and peers at me over his shoulder briefly. His dark jeans hang off his narrow hips, and the white tee he is sporting clings to him effortlessly. He mumbles something before storming out the door.
“Back?” I ask Hunter. “I’ve never been here in my life.”
He watches me, pushing off the side of the wall. “He didn’t mean back. He just meant when you got here.” He walks toward the front door, dismissing me. “I’m out. My duties are no longer needed.”
I stay there, staring at the door absently for a couple of breaths. “What in the world?” Immensely confused by everything that has shifted in my world in such a short amount of time, I walk up the stairs and into my room, pulling out my sketchbook and sitting down at my desk. Taking the remote off my table, I push Play on my sound dock. Picking up my pencil, I then press it into the corner of the blank white page and start scribbling.
Banging on my door somehow breaks through my drawing and music haze.
Thud thud thud. “Madi!”
Sliding my chair back, I glance at my alarm clock that sits on top of my bedside table. “Fuck.” It’s 5:30 p.m. I have been sketching for three hours flat without so much as a break for fresh air. Before my mom passed, I would draw like this at least three times a week, if not more, but since she died, I find it more difficult to completely let go of my surroundings and engross myself into my pencil and pad. Music has always been an outlet for me, but sketching was something personal that my mom and I used to do together
.
Pulling on my bedroom door, I open it to Tatum. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I got a little carried away in my drawing.”
Tatum strolls past me, a paperback clutched in one hand and a pink duffel bag in the other. “I see that.” She waves her hands around my head, referring to my wayward bun that’s messily scrunched up and sitting lopsided on the side of my skull.
“Hey!” I scold her, giggling as I point to the bed. “This is nothing. You should see it in the morning.” This is true, because my hair game is atrocious in the morning. Not only is it thick and long, but it also has a natural bouncy wave to it too, coming from my mom’s Spanish background. “Relax.” I eye her suspiciously. “Where’re your pajamas?”
She looks at me with a smile, pulling out a pack of Twizzlers. “In my bag.”
I bend over, snatching candy from the pack, and walk toward my closet, taking out my cotton pajama shorts and a light tank. “I’ll take a shower. I came straight home and didn’t get a chance to clean up.”
“Oh,” Tatum clutches her chest in mock awe, “you’re getting pretty for me?”
I scoff, walking toward the en suite bathroom. “Definitely not.”
After scrubbing up in the shower, I brush my teeth quickly, just in case I fall asleep during the movie, and flick Nate’s door unlocked before slipping into my room.
I look down at the mountain of sweets around her legs. “Holy mother of f—”
“What?” she asks innocently. “Did you underestimate my sweet tooth?” I look down at the cheesecake, potato chips, M&M’s, packaged donuts, gummy bears, and soda. “I think I’m about to get diabetes.”
She tosses a handful of M&M’s into her mouth. “Possibly.”
“I’ll go down and get some spoons for that.” I flick my fingers toward the cheesecake. Leaving her unattended with the goods, I fly down the stairs and run into the kitchen, my head bobbing as I hum the tune to “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd—it’s still stuck in my head from my sketching. With two spoons clutched in my hand safety, I fly out of the kitchen, but pause at the foot of the stairwell, backing up until I’m in clear vision of the sitting room, where all the boys are sitting around on the large L-shaped sofa.
Nate is leaning back, his hand hiding his mouth, but the smile lines around his eyes show how much he’s trying to hold back a laugh.
“What?” I snap at him, ignoring the rest of the boys. God, he annoys me.
Uncovering his mouth, he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
My eyes narrow. “Yeah, sure.” I look to his left to see Bishop sitting there, his arms sprawled out over the couch. His dark T-shirt hugs him in all the right places, and his dark jeans sit on him casually. He has white Air Force Ones on his feet, and by the time my gaze travels back up his body, landing on his eyes again, his features have changed. Wiped clean of anything else but the resting bitch face he gives like a pro.
“Don’t you guys have a place where you can all meet? Why here?” I tilt my head, looking at all of them.
“Calm down, kitten. I’m on babysitting duty, so we have to come here.” Nate pauses, his grin kicking up. “Unless, of course, you would like to come with us?” I look back to Bishop to see his eyes, which still haven’t moved themselves off me, darken. Ace whips his attention to Nate, scolding him.
“First of all,” I say calmly, “don’t ever call me kitten—ever again. Or I’ll shoot you.” I pause, laughing inwardly at his change of facial expressions. That probably wasn’t very nice, considering everyone already thinks I’m crazy because of my mom. “Second of all,” I add, “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.” The end is more of a mutter, as I turn on my feet and walk up the stairs. I have just landed at the top, when I glance over my shoulder, feeling eyes on me. Bishop is at the bottom, staring up at me.
I turn to face him. “What?” He hasn’t spoken much to me, except for that day with Brantley. Tatum warned me about his reputation, and if that wasn’t a dead giveaway of how completely standoffish and uptight he is, not to mention unapproachable—have I said that yet? It deserves to be stated a second time—his personality in general would make you want to run. He reminds me of a king cobra. Silent, deadly, and leaving you guessing about what lies beneath his bite.
His blank face remains stoic, his strong jaw tensing, until eventually, I spin around and walk into my room. My heart pounds against my chest until my throat feels bruised and my saliva has run dry. Smashing my head against the back of my door, I watch Tatum scoot off the bed, now in her pajamas.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer, handing her a spoon and walking toward the bed. “Let’s just eat all the sugar.”
I spoon a huge chunk of chocolate cheesecake into my mouth, groaning in approval at the soft, sweet crumble touching my taste buds.
“So tell me,” Tatum states, wrapping her long hair into a bow bun on the top of her head and removing her slim-rimmed glasses. “How did you manage to catch the eye of the one and only Bishop Vincent Hayes?”
“Oh, God, not this again,” I utter under my breath, going for another spoonful to fill my mouth. The movie has long since started, and the gunshots in the background are pitched low.
“He stared. That doesn’t exactly mean he’s interested—or me, for that matter. Because I’m not.”
“Mmmm.” She sucks the cheesecake off her spoon. “Now, say it again. This time with more conviction!”
I snatch my pillow and throw it at her head, but she catches it, falling onto her back and laughing.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, but for the record, that little eye”—she gestures between our eyes—“fuckery that you two had going on was more than I had seen out of him—ever. No one at RSPA is good enough for his royal highness.” She rolls her eyes, opening a bag of gummy bears.
“How do you know? Maybe he’s just discreet about it.”
She shakes her head. “Oh no, he has been with other girls, but they don’t attend RSPA. They’re like—” She pauses, mulling over the word she wanted to use. “—famous and stuff.”
Disappointed at her lack of a better word, I ask for clarification, “Famous—and stuff?”
She nods, oblivious to my stab at her wording. “Yeah. But those are all rumors though. No one has seen him with any of the girls who have apparently been with him. I’m talking like tycoon daughters, heiresses, that sort of boring crap. The only girl I know with 100 percent certainty was Khales, and that’s because, yeah, they were always together when they weren’t at school. It was like a modern-day Cinderella, where the poor princess found her prince.”
“Oh! That’s just being mean.”
Shaking her head, she pops another gummy bear in her mouth, and I reach for one before she eats them all. “Truth. Shame really. He was still unapproachable back then, but at least he had a smile on his face when she was around, and he didn’t tell people to ‘fuck off’ if they got too close to him.”
I let out a breath. “Well... lucky girl then, I guess. Maybe. Because he sounds like an asshole.”
Tatum laughs, throwing a bear at me. “See... I knew we would be great friends.”
She was right.
MY CELL PHONE’S ANNOYING RINGTONE sounds off on my bedside table, waking me from my deep sleep. Grunting, I sit up off the bed and blindly reach for it, accidently hitting Tatum’s sleeping form.
“I don’t want to go to Candy Land,” she mutters sleepily, flipping onto her side. I stifle a laugh, sliding my phone unlocked and pressing it to my ear.
“Hello?” I whisper, careful not to wake Tatum.
“Sis....”
I look down at the screen of my phone, squinting my eyes from the bright light assaulting my vision. Pressing it back to my ear, I whisper loudly, “Nate! What do you want?”
“Why are you whispering?” he murmurs, almost whispering himself. “Ouch!” I hear him growl, and in the background, someone else says, “That’s not why you’re calling, fucker.”
Walking
into the bathroom, I flick the light on and close the door, careful to do it quietly. “What, why? What? Why the hell are you calling me at...” I look down at my phone again. “Fucking 3:00 a.m.?” My voice gets a little loud toward the end.
“I need your help.”
“Why would I help you? I’m not even sure I like you!”
“What? Why? I’ve been nice to you. I thought we had a—ouch! Fuck! Okay.” He takes a breath. “For real, Madi. I need your help.” His change in tone jolts me, my eyebrows rising instead of pinching together.
Closing my eyes, I lean over the sink, massaging my temple with my free hand. “What is it?”
“I cannot believe I’m fucking doing this,” I mutter to myself, no longer caring if I wake Tatum. Walking into my closet, I leave my pajama shorts and tank on but pull a zip-up hoodie off a hook, sliding it on before throwing my hair into a tight, high ponytail and slipping on my Chucks. Walking out of my closet, I flick the light off, noticing how Tatum hasn’t moved, then walk out my bedroom and trek down our double stairs. The pitter-patter of my rubber soles squeaking over the tiles in the foyer is the only proof I’m making my way to our underground garage. After passing the theater, I push open the door onto the clean white space of the ten-car garage, which looks more like a showroom, with all the cars strategically parked on display.
Seeing the midnight black Escalade, I unhook the keys that are hanging on the hook and beep it unlocked. Adding up the numbers in my head, I growl in frustration. Stupid Nate obviously wasn’t thinking. How the hell am I supposed to fit them all into the SUV that only has seven passenger seats? Popping the trunk, I lay the seats in the back down flat and then slam it shut, walking back to the driver seat. Starting the car, I place my phone into the holder and speaker dial Nate.
“You good?” he answers.
“No, Nate, I’m not fucking good. It’s 3:00 a.m. and you call me to pick you guys up from God knows where in a fucking seven-seated car. By the way, I usually need caffeine in the mornings before I can even function, and I’m not a fucking morning person. Let alone a 3:00 a.m. person!”