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“Don’t do it, baby. Stick to plan.” Nate’s voice caresses my rage, soothing it like cool balm to a hot burn. “His time will come. I promise you.”
He starts pulling me backward slowly, and then I’m sitting on his lap. I can’t look at Hector now, and I want nothing more than to leave. I curl into Nate’s chest, burying my face into his neck. I feel his pulse pump against my lips, his cologne wafting into my senses like a subtle reminder that he has me. Even if he hates me, he has me. His thumb circles my upper thigh, but his arms are dead bolted around me. I feel safe and warm. My eyes close as I attempt to bring myself down.
Stick to plan.
He did it.
Stick. To. Plan.
Daemon. Usually, when I think of Daemon, it’s a comfort like nothing I have felt before, but being wrapped in Nate’s arms, it does nothing. When I think of my go-to safety line, Daemon. It. Does. Nothing. Nothing because Nate was all I need. It’s a dangerous thing to need someone who does not need you. After Hector has gone on, he cuts the meet short as he explains he needs to find his son. Something is going on between Bishop and Madison, or maybe she has told him the truth finally and he’s spiraling out of control. After all, I took that kill from him.
The older Kings disappear. I inch back from Nate’s chest, searching his eyes.
“Thanks. For doing that.”
His fingers wrap around my chin as he forces my mouth to his. “You’re the strongest fucking girl in this world, Tillie. You’re smarter than most of the fuckers sitting here. Use it.”
I think over his words. Then nod. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and slaps my ass to get up, which I do.
“Where the fuck is Bishop?” Brantley growls, and the younger generation and Jase’s come toward us.
Jase’s jaw clenches, but his eyes come to mine as he shakes his head. “He’s probably with Madison.”
“Madison, who I have not seen for almost two days?”
Jase looks around The Kings again and I step into his space. “I’m talking to you, not them. What is going on?”
He shrugs. Fucking shrugs. “Don’t know.” Then he leaves, and I watch as his retreating back disappears into the bushes.
We’re on our way home in Brantley’s car when Nate hits the music down. “Go to Bishop’s.”
“Why?” Brantley turns into the shoulder and hits his blinker on.
Nate runs his finger over his mouth. “Tate just texted me.”
I freeze.
“Chill out, Tillie, it’s not like that,” Nate sneers, and I want to kick myself for giving off obvious vibes of jealousy. “She said he’s throwing a party in his condo. This motherfucker has a death wish because Madison has always said no parties.”
Brantley hooks a U-turn, his tires skidding up in smoke.
Nate throws his hoodie to the back. “Put that on and don’t say a fucking word. Last thing I need to be doing is fighting motherfuckers who stare at you too long.”
“Um, okay but what happened to us fucking each other in the bathroom?” I gesture toward Brantley and me from the back seat.
Eli snorts beside me, Hunter chuckling too on the other side.
Nate doesn’t answer, like he doesn’t need to give an explanation on why he does or says things. Because he’s Nate.
Cue eye roll.
I put the hoodie on, watching as it falls past my skirt and sits just above my thigh-high boots. It smells like him, and the cotton hugs me like his arms. It’s reassuring and safe. He’s never getting it back.
Eli pulls out his phone and shows us his new pastel green Maserati. Said he’s wanted one since driving Bishop’s. I try not to zone out in boredom as we continue to Bishop’s. I take my phone out and snap a selfie of me pulling a sad face. It looks ridiculous because of the face paint, but I post it to my Instagram story with the caption CUFFED.
Ten minutes later, Brantley is driving us down into a bright concrete underground parking lot. One of the kinds that have concrete pillars that are holding up—literally—the entire hotel and the contents inside of it.
“How do they make sure this is safe? The structure?”
Nate chuckles. “You’re in a car with us and you’re worried about the structure of a building when it comes to your safety?”
We all climb out of the car and Nate takes my hand with his, leading us toward the elevator. Daemon’s book is still safely tucked under my arm, the confusion of tonight still buzzing in my head.
Why did I have to bring the book to the meet?
The elevator dings and soft classical music fills the space between us all. My eyes flick around to all of them and I almost laugh at how funny it feels with the music and their big, broody bodies and personalities occupying the space.
