“But… but he won’t hurt me.” I ignore his sick innuendo.
“Oh?” Nate scoffs, walking to the little bar fridge he has in the corner of his room, pulling out a bottled water. He looks to me in disbelief. “What? Because you’re fucking blood? That doesn’t mean shit, Madison. He’s not a good person. He is probably here to obtain you—ever think of that?” Nate tosses the bottle onto his bed and walks back toward Bishop—who hasn’t released my throat—and me.
“What about Katsia?” I ask. “Who the fuck is she and what does she play in this game? She’s obviously the descendant of the Katsia in The Book—sorry,” I correct myself, “Tacet de Mortues.” In a flash, Bishop squeezes tight and slams me up against the wall again. “Who the fuck told you that?”
“What?” I wheeze out. “Let go, Bishop!”
He loosens his grip, but when I look into his eyes, I see it. That same caged beast. This is the other side to Bishop I’m talking with right now, and I’m not sure I like it anymore.
“Bro.” Nate notices Bishop’s shift. “Step back.”
“Fuck off, Nate.”
Nate looks to me and then to Bishop, knowing he can’t say anything. Bishop loosens his grip and I nod at Nate, signaling he’s released it.
I stretch my neck. “Do that again, and I’ll knee you in the nuts, grab my .45, and shoot your fucking hand clean off.”
Bishop smirks, his tongue running over his bottom lip. “You do that…” His eyes dance in mischief—black magic kind of mischief. “…and I’ll wash your hair with my blood while you choke on my dick.”
“More like I’ll bite it off,” I mutter, challenging the devil himself.
“Naw, baby. You and I both know you love it too much.”
“Fuck you. I’ll cut it off and make you watch as I fuck—”
“As excited as I am about this very disturbing and very sick dirty talk—” Nate looks between Bishop and me. “—seriously, y’all need help—we have a very serious matter that is currently sitting in the next room.”
I shove Bishop, and he steps up to me again in challenge, his chest brushing against mine, bringing my nipples to life. Fuck. Why do both our hormones have to feed on hate? I’m fucked.
I bring my palm to Bishop’s chest, narrowing my eyes at him. “Anyway.” I look toward Nate. “Okay, so what does Katsia play in this? In the book, she was good.”
“She, being the original, yes,” Nate murmurs, taking a seat on the end of his bed. “But this one… no.”
“Who is she? This one, I mean.”
“In short,” Bishop says, finally getting out of my bubble and grabbing the water bottle Nate tossed onto the bed. “She’s—realistically speaking—on our side. She’s not a part of The Kings, but Katsia’s family have played this role for generations. The one in the book, she started the original Lost Boys.”
“The original Lost Boys? But wouldn’t that mean she agreed to get rid of the Silver Swans?” I ask, confused. “That makes no sense, because she was always… not like that.”
“No,” Nate interferes. “That wasn’t the original purpose for the Lost Boys.”
“What was?” I ask them both.
“How far are you into the book?” Nate asks, looking up at me from under hooded eyes.
“11. Why can’t you guys just tell me? Fuck.”
“No,” Bishop shakes his head, “it’s important you read it. We all had to.”
“What?” I scoff, sliding down the wall and taking a seat on the hard floor. “You guys all read it?”
They both nod. “After initiation, that was what we had to do.”
“That’s fucked up,” I whisper, looking off into the distance. “When did my life get so messed up? It’s always been messed up, but the more I discover about it, the more questions I have.” I look back to both of them. “Will this ever be over?”
They look back at me. “No.”
“Well, thanks,” I mutter dryly. “Can we just… give Damon a chance? What if he really is on my side, huh? And you guys knock him off when he really could have been helpful!”
“Not taking the chance,” Bishop says instantly.
“I wasn’t asking you, so sh—”
“Watch your fucking mouth. Everything that has to do with the Kings, Madison, goes through me. Everything to do with you also happens to go through me. So whether you like it or not, you go through me. So you may as well do it on your hands and knees with your ass in the air like a good little kitty,” he hisses through a smug grin.
“The kitty has claws, so I’d watch it,” Nate warns.
Having about enough of Bishop’s smartass mouth, I tilt my head. “I don’t remember her scratching last night.” I smirk at Nate, and he looks back to me, his eyes wide, slowly shaking his head. He brings his hand up to his throat, making a cutting motion for me to stop. Too late, I’ve committed. Swinging my eyes back to Bishop, his jaw now clenched. “Oh no,”—it’s my turn to smirk now—“if I remember correctly…” I pretend to look up to the ceiling, thinking about what I’m going to say next. “…there was a shower… a towel…. Wait!” I throw my hand up and chuckle. “No,” I laugh forcefully, looking back to Bishop, my grin wide and my mouth slightly open. “That’s right. There was no towel. Just a whole lot of… grinding… kissing… and—”