by Amo Jones
He kneeled down beside me. “Now, I’m going to tell you a little something, not because you asked, or rather, demanded, but because I want to. Understand me?”
I nodded, because I had no other choice if I wanted to see the sunrise tomorrow or my son again.
He inched toward me, his breath heating my earlobe. I shivered in disgust, but hid it, knowing rightly that him becoming aware of the fact he disgusts me would warrant me another beating. “Because women can’t be trusted. Because women are easily distracted by fame and money. Because the amount of power the Silver Swan could gain would be immense, because that thing between your legs is a weakness. A patch. It’s alluring, and it’s distracting.”
“So you do this because she would have too much power?”
“Ahhh,” Humphrey grinned, “she gets it. Yes, she would also be too appealing to the other Kings. Far, far too appealing. There’s no way, and that is why we can never have a Silver Swan. As alluring as a peaceful swan floating on water, but as lethal as a silver bullet.”
“What if, in generations of times from now, one slips through the cracks?” I asked, genuinely concerned for the future Swan, as there was a high chance there will be plenty. But whether any survive will be a different story. I do hope someone in this cult shows compassion at one point and saves her.
“Then she will grow to wish she was never born.”
“Well, you got that right, fucker,” I murmur, closing the book and sliding it back under my bed. I sure do fucking wish I was never born sometimes, but what did he mean by that? Why was he so sure that if any of them made it out alive, they would wish they were never born? I could say it was just Humphrey and his cocky character, but something about his certainty throws me off. My head pounds, reminding me of my long night, and I slide off the bed, dragging my overly tired ass to the bathroom.
Turning on the faucet, I wait for the water to warm up to a scalding heat and slide in. Squeezing some shampoo into the palm of my hand, I throw it into my hair and scrub, letting the soapsuds rain over my skin. I’m lost in thoughts of the latest finding in The Book when the bathroom door swings open, and the curtain gets ripped away, revealing Nate standing there, no shirt on with gray sweat pants.
“Nate!” I scream, covering my private bits. “Get the fuck out!”
He doesn’t say anything, his pupils are dilated, and his chest is heaving as he takes in deep breaths.
“Have you been running?” I ask, totally off subject but finally noticing the glistening of sweat covering his skin. Reaching for my towel, I still keep my eyes locked on his to make sure he doesn’t cop a look, but he doesn’t. He just stares at me, his eyes looking between each of mine intently, like he’s searching for something important. Answers, maybe, answers I can’t give him.
“Nate!” I repeat when the awkward silence gets too much. Grasping the towel, I quickly wrap it around myself. Feeling more secure now that I’m not butt-naked, I reach up and touch the side of his cheek. “What’s wrong?” I care about Nate, I do. More than I like to admit it, but I do. I’ve always had an inkling of feelings for him deep down, and though I squash them and bring it down to him being my brother, I can’t help it. My heart aches when his does and beats when he’s happy. Whether that’s what usually happens when you have a brother, I don’t know—I wouldn’t know. The feelings are new to me, so I’m still trying to work them out.
His eyes close once my palm touches his cheek, a small breath hissing between his teeth. His abs tense, every muscle in his body looking overworked. “Nate?” I whisper again, getting out of the shower so my body is flush up against his. He’s almost a good foot taller than me, so I look up to him. “Talk to me.”
He wraps his arm around my back and pulls me into his chest. Reaching down, he brushes off a few strands of hair that were stuck to my face. “I… can’t—fuck!” He lashes out at the end. “Who?”
“Who what?” I answer, even though I know I’m playing with fire. I’ve not seen Nate quite this dark before, and though it’s terrifying, I know with more certainty than I do about Bishop that he would never hurt me.
“Don’t.” His voice is sharp, full of dominance. That simple word twisting my heart into two.
“I told Bishop I don’t know his name. All I know is that he called me Silver.”
Nate tilts his head, his eyebrows pulling in as the wheels start to turn in his head. “Silver?” His other arm comes behind me so he has me locked in both now. “As in the Silver Swan? As in he’s a motherfucking King?”
“I don’t know what he is or who he is, Nate. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
That sobers him a little, his features relaxing for the first time since he stormed in here. “You know,” I murmur, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, “one of these days you’re going to need to stop storming into the bathroom while I’m showering.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a small smirk, showing one of his dimples. “Yeah, I guess one of these days I will. But not today, or tomorrow, or even next month.” The cushion of his thumb traces along the bottom of my lip. His eyes zone in on the motion, and in the back of my brain, I know what’s about to happen.
My breathing shallows, my chest constricting. I want to make him feel better. I hate that he’s so worked up over something that has to do with me. Something he shouldn’t feel worked up over because I buried it long ago. Closing my eyes, I inch up on my tippy toes and press my lips to his. He stills at first. A couple of seconds pass, and he still hasn’t relaxed, so I go to pull away, only his hand comes to the back of my neck, stopping me. He pushes my lips into his more and opens slightly, his tongue licking across my bottom lip. My stomach flips, my flesh sparking to life from the connection, and I pull him in more. Our kissing turns hot and needy, and in a second, he’s whipped the towel from my body, his hands gripping around the back of my thighs and lifting me off my feet.
“Fuck!” He pauses, catching his breath. I count to five in my head, attempting to slow my erratic breathing—and hormones. Closing my eyes, he leans his forehead against the wall beside my head, my sex pressing against his stomach and my legs still wrapped around his waist.
“We can’t do this—and I can’t fucking believe I just said that, because God fucking knows I want this with you, Mads.” He places soft kisses on my collarbone.
“How long?” I whisper out.
“How long what?” he replies, his lips brushing over my shoulder and his lip ring leaving a cool sensation in its wake.
“How long have you been in love with me?”
He pauses and squeezes me tightly. “Longer than you know.”
I pull in a breath. “Nate,” I warn. “I know I feel something for you too. I mean, I always have. And I’ve always fought it—but love? I mean I love you. I love you so very much, but in love? That’s not something I know.”
He steps back, placing me back down to my feet slowly and picking up my towel again, wrapping it around my body. He tightens the front and smiles a sweet smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Placing a small kiss on my forehead, he whispers, “I know.” Then he walks out the bathroom and into his bedroom, and just like that, everything is back to normal.
Did I just imagine that? He came into my bathroom like a tornado, leaving a massacre of feelings behind. Fucking Nate Riverside. Fucker. But I love that fucker, very much, but if I were to compare the two feelings—Nate and Bishop—they’re oh so different. Both intense, but incredibly different. Now I’ve just got to figure out what means what. Like a love puzzle of mass destruction, only we don’t know who will pull the trigger. I slide under my sheets, and then twist and turn for hours until I finally get some sleep.
I got shit for sleep last night, and I haven’t been able to stomach any food all morning. The hangover of doom awaited me with the sun this morning, and now I don’t want to live, let alone adult. Throwing on some sweatpants and a loose white tee, I walk downstairs, twisting my hair up into a messy bun.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Elena greets. She’s chopping up all sorts of fruit and putting them into the blender to make one of her godawful smoothies.
“Morning.” I, on the other hand, head straight for the pot of coffee, praising the gods when I see it’s full.
“Sleep well?” she asks, putting the lid on the blender and unleashing hell upon my ears.
“Actually,” I yell over her intrusion that comes compacted in green slime. “I slept like shit!” I yell, only she cut off the blender just in time that I didn’t just yell; I sort of screamed.
“Wow.” Nate grins, walking into the kitchen with dark sweatpants and no shirt on. I quickly avert my eyes, guilt washing over me as I think back to what happened between us last night. “I would have thought you slept like a baby, sis.” Instantly, I cut my eyes to his and growl under my breath. He did not just “sis” me after we were seconds away from doing the deed not long ago.
“Well, I didn’t,” I snap at him, sipping on my coffee and making my way to one of the barstools.
“Oh, well that’s unfortunate.” Elena bounces around the kitchen in her running gear, slurping on her green juice. “I have some flaxseed oil that might help you with sleeping, Madison. It has a good history, and—”
“Thanks,” I interrupt. Usually I’m not so rude, but I have a pounding headache from Hades, and horns are starting to grow out of my head. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I offer her a little smile, leaning on my elbows and massaging my temples. Elena walks out, leaving Nate and me together in the kitchen alone.
“You all right?” He grins at me, leaning against the counter and sipping on a mug of coffee. Something so natural but looks way too smoking coming from Nate. I need to get out of here.
“Fine!” I clear my throat, standing to my feet.
“Where you going?” he yells from behind me as I take the first step upstairs.
“Going to shoot shit.”
AFTER I’VE PACKED UP MY guns, I load them into the back of the Range Rover and slip into the driver seat before making my way to the area my dad and I used to shoot when I was a kid. I remember it vaguely, and it’s a bit of a drive away, but I need some time away from my house and everyone in my life. I’m starting to get cabin fever, or people fever, so I think hiding out where I have good memories as a kid is the best way to ground myself again.
I get into NYC later that evening and my phone has been ringing nonstop. None from my dad, just from Nate and Tatum, and even a few from Bishop. They won’t understand my need to get away—no one ever does. I love my friends—and whatever the hell the Kings are—but I’m not about to pour my life story to them and drop all the walls I spent years upon years building. I like to think I’m smarter than that.
Pulling into the old ranch, I make my way down the gravel drive, the trees and gardens all immaculately groomed and trimmed. I don’t remember it being this impeccable, but then again, I was all of ten the last time I was here.
I pull up to the front entrance and the valet comes to my door.
“Name?” he asks, the brim of his hat hiding his young features.
“Oh, um, I haven’t made a reservation. Do I need to?” I look around, taking in the rich scale and vast size of the place. It screams elite; of course I need a reservation.
“Yes, I apologize, ma’am.” He speaks English, but he doesn’t sound American.
“Oh!” I act surprised. “That’s okay.”
I’m just about to close the door when a woman’s voice stops me. “Excuse me!” she interrupts from the main entrance. “Madison? Montgomery?” I look her up and down, not sure whether I should respond or drive off. How could she know my name?
The young boy stills, his jaw tensing.
“Uhh.” I internally battle with how to answer. Looking at her again, I notice how she’s dressed immaculately. Tight black pencil skirt, blood-red silk blouse, dark hair pinned up in a tight high ponytail, sharp stilettos. Oh yeah, this woman oozes power and money.
“Yeah?” My brain-to-mouth filter malfunctions, because I sure as fuck did not authorize that answer.
“She doesn’t need a reservation.” The woman floats down the marble steps and makes her way toward us.
“I don’t?” I reply, confusion no doubt evident on my face.
“No, honey.” She smiles, taking my hand. “Come on in. I’ll get the keys to your room.” She must know my father; that’s the only explanation I have. Because how else would she know my name and who I am?
Looking over my shoulder at the young valet, his face is tilted toward the ground, his expressions not visible from where I’m walking. When he looks back to me, his eyes catch mine like a magnet, and I instantly feel a strange sense of familiarity with him. His eyes are milk chocolate, his skin pale, his cheekbones are high and defined, and his jaw is angular. From what I can tell, he can’t be older than sixteen, maybe seventeen—he’s young. His body isn’t very large either; it’s more of a lean stature.
Bringing my attention back to where I’m going, the woman walks through the main glass doors and pauses at the threshold, gesturing for me to enter. Taking this moment to case out the place, I grip onto my shoulder strap and look around uneasily. The place looks the same from my memory, maybe a few things being upgraded, but the concept of the ranch remains the same. Rich, old, and classy. It’s situated on the outskirts of New York, deep in the woods. My father would tell me this was a safe place where we could go shooting in the woods and not be disturbed. I’m beginning to think his idea of disturbed was a little warped. There are red and white drapes that hang over the floor-to-ceiling glass walls in the waiting area to the left, which overlooks the woods. The reception is directly in front of the main entrance, and to the right is where the round stairwell leads you to the bedrooms upstairs.
“Come on, Madison,” the woman says, and it’s then I realize I didn’t catch her name. She must see the look that goes across my face, because she smiles, waving her hand in the air. “How rude of me.”
I step inside, taking her outstretched hand. “I’m Katsia. Nice to meet you.”
And that’s when everything stops.
SHE’S STILL SMILING WHEN I tilt my head, looking over to her. She doesn’t catch my surprise, or I hide it well because her smile doesn’t drop.
What.
The.
Fuck?
Shaking my head, I figured I must have misheard. “Sorry,” I answer shyly. “Hi, I’m Madison. Sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name?”
“Katsia!” she repeats, none the wiser. I shake her hand and mentally slap myself. I knew I shouldn’t have driven off, but if I leave now, will she know that I know? Whatever it is that I think I know. It would be too obvious if I did, though. And then she might kill me with her sharp-as-fuck stilettos, and I’ve had enough near-death experiences to last me a lifetime, so I play dumb.
“Nice to meet you, Katsia.”
“Come on.” She waves me over, and I follow as she heads toward the front reception desk where two more young men are working. All are wearing the same uniform as the valet, only when these boys look at me—I feel nothing. Nothing like I felt with the boy outside. One is of darker complexion, a stoic look on his face, and the other looks Hispanic. They both straighten their shoulders when they see us walking toward them.
“Miss K.” They both do a small bow, and I look toward Katsia again before looking back to the boys who haven’t glanced at her but rather kept their eyes straight ahead.
“Thank you. Please, give me Montgomery’s key.”
I watch as their eyes widen in shock but don’t move from their position, locked on the wall ahead.
“Now,” Katsia urges, and they jump, spinning around and disappearing behind a small door.
“Excuse me.” I clear my throat, figuring this might be a good time to ask. “But can I ask how you know who I am?”
Katsia turns to face me, her eyes staring into mine with an unreadable expression. It’s a mix between awe and so
mething else I can’t quite peg. “Well, I guess we can chat about that once you’re all settled in. I’d like to show you the grounds, if you don’t mind. I know you haven’t been here since you were a little girl.” Deciding I don’t want to appear as if I’m onto her or know anything about The Book, I nod before going back to waiting for the boys to return with the key. Because, really, I shouldn’t be that surprised. My dad could have told me about this place. I can’t show an inkling of my knowledge of the Kings, because I don’t know this woman or what she’s capable of.
The boys return, the darker one handing Katsia the key. “Here you go, ma’am.”
She takes it and gestures toward the stairwell. “I’ll show you to your room, Madison.” We walk up the stairs and down the long, dimly lit hallway, passing red doors with gold numbers attached to them. The hallway is a lot longer than I remembered it to be.
Forget.
Reaching the end, Katsia pushes a button and elevator doors ping open. Stepping inside the small enclosure, the doors close, classical music dancing between the silence. I’m not a fan of this particular genre, but anything beats complete silence when in an enclosed space with someone you’re not sure is a good or a shitty person.
The doors slide open and we walk out then down another long hallway, only now the walls are glistening in gold paint, and the doors are all licked in white. It’s interesting how vivid the two colors are, but maybe that’s part of their deco and what they were aiming for. One would hope. If Tatum sees it, she’ll flip out, what with her deco-loving brain. Thinking of Tatum, I need to text her just in case I don’t make it through the weekend.
We reach a door, but where there were numbers marking the red doors, on these there seems to be some sort of foreign writing on them. I can’t make out the name because the cursive font is hard to read, let alone it being in a completely different language, so I brush it off for now.