The Elite Kings Boxset Vol. II

by Amo Jones

  “Fuck!” Tatum curses behind a chuckle.

  I can’t help it. Undiluted laughter erupts out of me, and I clutch my belly. “Holy shit.” I shake my head, my cheeks now aching from all the smiling.

  “Well that’s a laugh I haven’t heard in a while.” Tatum clutches her stomach, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “Yeah, I promise I’ll try to do it more.”

  “MORNING, HOT STUFF.” TATUM WALKS into my room, a joint between her fingers.

  “Morning,” I answer, pulling on some cutoff shorts and a tight tank. “Is this too much?”

  “Nonsense!” Tatum hushes my insecurities, stepping forward and handing me the joint. She pushes my tits up and ruffles my hair. “This is a tattoo parlor!”

  I bring the smoke to my lips and take a hit. “True!” I agree, before handing it back to her and walking out to the living room. Our apartment—or flat, as they call it here—is small. It has two bedrooms, a small living room, and a kitchenette that overlooks the main beach strip. We pay a small fortune to live here too, but it’s what Tatum wanted, and since she was the only one working at the time, I let her do it. Our savings are still healthy, thanks to Tatum working pretty much right away, but that’s the money we have to live on when we skip countries. The kitchenette is a mustard yellow, and the living room is neutral beige. It’s a beach house, and the family we rent it from also own the bar Tatum works at. It worked in our favor, and we were really lucky.

  After pouring my coffee, I bring it to my lips. “Work tonight?”

  Tatum nods. “Yep. What time do you finish?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. We didn’t really talk about that.”

  “Jesse?” Tatum asks. “He’s interesting-looking, right? What’s the NZ nationality?”

  “I don’t know, and I’m not asking.”

  “He looks Cuban or something.”

  “You finished?” I ask as she gazes off into the sky, resting her feet on the wooden coffee table. The flat came furnished with just the necessities. Sofas, fridge, beds. There’s no television, but we don’t really need it.

  “Okay, see you after work.” I wave to Tatum, who is still smoking her joint. Figuring it’s probably a ten-minute stroll down to the main town strip, I decide to walk instead of catching the bus. Saving money and all that too. I get there five minutes later, and sucking in a deep breath, I push open the doors and step inside. Some rock song is playing that I haven’t heard before, but I kinda dig it, and I step toward the front desk where a girl with pitch-black hair and a whole lot of ink is sitting.

  “Hi,” I say to her.

  She looks up at me from the computer. “Hey! What can I help you with?”

  “This one’s mine,” Jesse announces, stepping out from behind one of the closed booths. I know he didn’t mean it as in I’m his, but I squirm anyway. I hate that I squirm. I’m an idiot for squirming. Yet I want to swoon.

  “New girl?” the dark-haired girl asks Jesse.

  Jesse nods. “Yeah, this is Amira. She’s the artist I told you about last night.”

  “Oh, right!” she says, clicking her fingers in recognition. “Hi! I’m Kiriana!”

  “Ki-what-what?” I ask, shocked, my eyes fluttering. “Sorry, I’m… can you break it down for me?”

  Kiri something laughs and pats the seat beside her. “Kiri, like kitty only you roll the R, and -ana, which is… yeah, -ana!”

  “Kiriana?” I say, sounding ridiculous because my accent just won’t let me roll anything, so I end up pronouncing it like ki-ree-ana.

  She waves me off. “That’ll do. Come, sit. Show me what you got.”

  Jesse winks at me and then walks back to his booth. After drawing for two different clients, I get off at 5:00 p.m. Picking up my bag, I nudge my head at Jesse. “Thanks for today. I needed it.”

  “No problem.” He winks again. I smile and then walk out the door, heading straight to the bar Tatum works at.

  Pushing open the doors, it’s pretty empty because of the time. A few people are scattered around the place, but it’s nothing like when it’s in full swing.

  “Hey!” Tatum smiles, waving me over to the bar. I grin and start walking toward her. I need to get Bishop out of my head one way or another so I might take the way that has an endless supply of alcohol. Taking a seat, Tatum pours a shot and slides it over to me. “Bottoms up, bitch!” I clink her glass and then toss it back.

  “Yeah.” I smirk. “Bottoms up,” I say and slam the shot glass down onto the bar. The Weeknd’s “Or Nah” starts pulsating through the room and I bang on the bar. “Another!”

  “That’s the spirit,” Tatum squeals, pouring me another shot. She twirls the bottle between her fingers like a pro, and I narrow my eyes, knocking my shot back. “How’d you learn to do that, Coyote Ugly?”

  “What? Not bad, huh?” She does it again and I roll my eyes.

  “Show off,” I tease, throwing back another shot.

  Hours and many shots later, I get up off the bar stool, my head spinning. “Wooo.” I reach for the edge of my stool, looking around the now fully decked-out club.

  I lean over the bar and into Tatum. “I need to pee. Be right back!”

  She nods, shooing me off. Dead Prez’s “Hip Hop” starts playing, and I push through the crowd, making a beeline for the toilet. Walking into one of the stalls, I shove my pants down and let it all go. Sighing, I reach for my burner phone and pull it out of my pocket as it rings. Who even knows this number?

  “Hello?” I slur, smiling at how drunk I am.

  “You think you can fucking run from me, kitty? Nah-uh.”

  I scream and drop the cell, quickly standing from the toilet and shoving my pants back on. Reaching for my phone, I toss it into the toilet bowl, flushing it furiously, and then run out of the stall, my heart beating in my chest. Holy fuck! How did Bishop get my number?

  That voice.

  Pushing back through the crowd, I look directly at Tatum until I come face-to-face with her.

  “We need to leave.”

  “What?” she asks over the deep bass.

  “We. Need. To leave. Now!” I borderline scream at her, though it’s slurred because of all the alcohol.

  She searches my eyes until understanding sets in. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Yes, fuck is right.”

  She nods, tugging off her apron and throwing it on the bar. Running around to me, she snatches a bottle, and we hurry out of the bar.

  Jesse.

  Shit. I don’t even have time to tell him I won’t be coming back. Maybe I could leave a note under the parlor door. No, I can’t risk it.

  We catch a taxi to the flat, and as soon as we get inside, we start pulling out our bags. I rush into the bathroom, scooping up all my toiletries, and then walk into the closet, pulling down the little safe I keep my money in, throwing it into my bag. After I’m sure all my shit is gathered, I go out to meet Tatum.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  She nods, wheeling her suitcase. “Yes, yup, shit.”

  I glance down at my suitcase and then back to Tatum. “It was Bishop. How did he find my number?”

  “Mads, I’ve already told you. “They own the school and their level of pull that they have on people is mysterious, to say the least.”

  “I guess they still want to kill me.”

  “Kill you?” she asks, shocked.

  Shaking my head, I wipe my frown with a smile, nudging my head toward the door. “I guess it’s time for Bristol.”

  THE GLASS SLIDING DOORS OPEN out onto a chillier atmosphere than what was in New Zealand. It’s almost December, so I guess we chose a cooler time to come to this side of the country, as opposed to New Zealand, where it’s summer in December. Not that we had a choice or anything. Tatum comes up beside me, her teeth jittering. “Jesus, let’s choose a warmer place next time.”

  I smile at her, waving down the taxi that’s pulling up beside the curb. It stops in front and I run to the passenger window. “Are
you free?”

  He nods. “Yep!” Then he pops the trunk for both of us to put our bags into.

  “Where are we staying, exactly?” Tatum whispers.

  I shrug, putting my bags into the trunk. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll ask him to take us to a cheap motel or whatever it is they call it here.”

  “Good idea.” Tatum nods, getting into the back seat.

  A few days later, after finding a good little place to stay in, “Hail to the King” by Avenged Sevenfold is pumping through the massive speakers, shaking the floor. I tip my drink back and Tatum winks at me.

  “I think I’m going to like it here.” She looks around until her eyes land on two guys who are so obviously checking us out.

  “Come.” She grins, gripping onto my hand.

  “Tate—”

  “Mads, please, when are you going to get over this shit with Bishop? He’s a liar and doesn’t deserve you!” Her hands come up to my cheeks. “Repeat after me.”

  I suck my bottom lip into my mouth to stifle my laugh.

  “Bishop Vincent Hayes is a cocksucker,” she says calmly, waiting for me to repeat.

  A giggle erupts out of me from all the alcohol. “Bishop Vincent Hayes is a cocksucker.”

  “Atta girl, now…” She tips her head back, swallowing her shot in one go. “Speaking of sucking cock.” Then she pulls me through the crowd of people until we’re in front of the two guys who were eye fucking us.

  “Hi, boys.” Tatum grins. “Which one of you is buying us a drink?”

  They both launch off their chairs. “Subtle,” I snicker under my breath.

  Not my type at all.

  The ground starts swimming, or it’s swimming in my mind when one of the guys pulls me into him.

  “Wanna dance, pretty girl?”

  Pretty girl? I shrug, because what can a dance do? He pulls me onto the floor just as “Bad Things” by Machine Gun Kelly starts playing. It’s more of an understated beat and a little personal, but whatever. It’s not like we’re at a nightclub or anything; this place is just a bar. It’s actually under the room we’re staying in, and we thought we’d check it out. Homeboy pulls me into his chest again—a chest that is the complete opposite of Bishop’s. A little squishier than I’d like, and when I look down, I see his beer belly.

  Oh gross. Nope, I can’t do this.

  “Sorry,” I push at his chest, “I can’t do this.”

  “Nonsense.” He grins, saliva covering his mouth.

  “Yeah,” I answer again, pushing at his chest. “Just not really feeling it.” He grips my wrist and pulls me into him again. “Hey!” I yell, though it’s still a slur. Where’s Tatum? I spin around, trying to find her, but I can’t see her anywhere. He starts to drag me toward a back door that has an exit light flashing over the top.

  “No.” I try to pull my hand out of his grip, only it doesn’t move. He tugs me roughly, and I look around to see if anyone knows what he’s doing, but the music is too loud, and there are too many people to know what’s happening. Reaching the door, he pushes it open and my eyes shut, consciousness coming in and out. Oh no.

  “Stop,” Tatum moans in the distance.

  “Tatum!” I look down the dark alley and see the other guy with her, tugging her dress up.

  “Little American slags,” the guy who is pulling me mutters. “We’ll show you.”

  “No!” I scream, shoving at his chest. Oh my God, why do my limbs feel like Jell-O, and why am I in heat? I rub my thighs together in an attempt to calm the throbbing need that has started, but nothing happens. If anything, the feeling intensifies. I launch toward the fat shit, scratching him across his face until I can feel his flesh peel away and clog under my fingernails.

  “You bitch!” He slams me up against the brick wall, my head smashing against it with a crack.

  “Tatum, wake up. Stay with me.” The guy who has her has pulled off her panties. The guy who has me up against the wall starts to make a beeline for my own. “Get the fuck off me, you fat slob!” I won’t cry. No way in fucking hell will I cry. I look at him square in the eye. “If you so much as come near me with that stubby thing you call a cock, I will rip it off.”

  He laughs. “I doubt that, honey.” Then he tears off my panties, clutches me around my upper thighs roughly until his fingertips are digging into my flesh, and hikes me up the wall. “Open up like the good little snatch you are.”

  I roll my tongue and spit in his face, just as a gun blasts off in the distance, blood and brain matter spraying all over my face. His eyes pop in shock for a split second before he drops to the ground in a shallow thud. A blood-curdling scream ripples out of me, and then Tatum screams as another pop sounds off and the guy who is clutching her falls to the ground, the flesh on his scalp turning to dust, spraying all over Tatum.

  She screams, and I drop to the ground, blackness coming in and out. Just as hands scoop under me, I hear a “Fucking stupid bitch” before sleep takes hold.

  SOMETHING JOLTING UNDERNEATH MY BODY wakes me. Looking to the side, confused about where I am, memories start to take hold. I gasp, sucking in a breath. There, sitting on the seat beside me, is Bishop.

  Fuck.

  “Surprised?” he asks, his eyebrow quirked.

  I clear my throat. “Well, no, actually.”

  He clenches his jaw, so obviously frustrated. “That’s it.” He shakes his head, whispering under his breath, “I’m locking you in the basement until this shit is sorted.”

  “What?” I shriek, and that’s when the sting and the taste of metal touch the tip of my tongue. I touch my lip, memories flooding through my brain. “Oh, fuck!” I lean over, holding in my gag.

  “Jesus, Kitty, out the fucking window!”

  I hit the button blindly until the window cranks down. “You, you killed them.”

  “I did.”

  “You kill people?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?” I yell, just as my stomach heaves again and I lean out the window, spilling all of whatever I last ate out into the dry night air. Leaning back in, wiping my mouth, I look back to him through blurry eyes. “Why, Bishop?”

  “For reasons you will never understand, Madison.” He looks toward Tatum, who is lying flat on the seat in front of us. I don’t know whose limo we’re in. Everything seems dreamlike.

  “She’s asleep. I didn’t kill her.” He interrupts my thoughts with a bored tone.

  “Well, I appreciate it.” I roll my eyes, failing at my attempt to not be snarky.

  “Watch your fucking mouth, Madison. This is your fault. All of this!” His arms stretch wide. “You started a fucking war when you left that day.”

  “Me?” I burst out. “How the fuck is that possible?” The tangy aftertaste of my being sick simmers at the back of my throat. “You did this. All of you! I still don’t understand anything!”

  “How much of the book did you read?” he asks, leaning forward and bracing his arms over his knees.

  “The book?” I question, tilting my head back on the headrest. My mind still swims in a daze.

  “The book, Madison, the book!”

  “Oh.” I clear my throat. “Um, only quarter of the way through. Why?”

  “Do you have it on you?”

  “It’s in my bag back at our place.”

  Bishop leans forward and taps on the glass that separates us from the front seat. The window cranks down. He orders the driver to take us back to our place, the exact address.

  “Wow!” I shake my head, my hands going up.

  Bishop leans back into his seat. “What?” he snaps.

  “How’d you know where I live?”

  He laughs, pulling his hoodie over his head. “It’s cute you think I’d let you get out of this alive, Kitty, and I’ve always known where you lived. This little detour in the limo right now is just so you calm down enough to pack your shit.”

  Pulling up to our low-class flat and the bar, I get out of the car, slamming the door behind me,
which wakes Tatum from her deep slumber.

  “Wait!” Bishop gets out, shutting the door. Ignoring his intrusive behavior, I start walking toward the side stairs in the back alley. “Madison!” he yells, his heavy footsteps getting louder and louder. “Would you fucking wait?” He grips onto my arm, tugging me backward.

  I let out a frustrated scream, yanking my arm out of his grip. “Can you fucking not? God! You—”

  His hand flies up to my throat, leaving me gasping for air. Pushing me backward until my back slams against the bricks, he steps between my thighs and grazes me higher up the wall. “First of all,” he squeezes until I’m sure my face is going to burst, “don’t fucking forget who the fuck you’re talking to.” He tilts his head, glancing over my face. “Second of all, you don’t get to throw your fucking weight around, Madison. I’ll lock you in a cage as soon as we get you back to the Hamptons if you don’t watch your fucking mouth.” He releases me, my feet hitting the ground.

  “Fuck you.” Spinning around, I run up the metal stairs, push open the door, and head straight to my bedroom, fighting back the tears that are threatening to surface. Where the hell is my dad? Why is it that Bishop is the one who was sent to “collect” me? Did I really think I could run from them? Well yes, yes I did. Pulling open my closet, I start tearing my clothes off the hangers and throwing them onto my bed just as Bishop walks in.

  “You have five minutes to get everything that means anything to you and get back downstairs. You try to run,” Bishop says, his voice dipping, “and I’ll kill you myself. I’m done playing games.” Then he walks out and leaves me in my room, clutching the dark sequined dress I wore last weekend—back when things weren’t so complicated. I mean, as complicated as us being on the run from my psychopathic whatever he is. Ex? No. That doesn’t sound right.

  “Jesus,” Tatum murmurs, walking in, her hair all over her face. She rubs the palm of her hand over her forehead. “What the hell happened?”

  “You passed out,” I mutter, still annoyed at Bishop and shoving clothes into my suitcase. “And you have five minutes to pack before Bishop carries us both out.”