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“Easy, tiger.” Nate points to my glass with a Twinkie in his mouth. He takes it out and tears the wrapper off with his teeth. “Don’t put yourself in a position where I can take your ass for granted.”
I roll my eyes, another sip, and then go back to Bishop as Nate sinks back into the lounge, throwing bags of potato chips at the back of Eli’s head.
“Don’t,” I say, and Bishop’s eyes come to mine. “She’ll come back when she wants. No point bringing her back. A lot has happened. She has changed the most out of all of us. If this is what she needs to do for herself right now, then let her do it. I’ll make sure I’m here if and when she comes back.”
Bishop swallows his drink and tilts his head, removing his T-shirt. Bishop shirtless is not a good thing. Because it’s a very good thing.
“For fuck’s sake,” I growl, diverting my eyes.
He chuckles, tossing his shirt behind him. “My blood’s running hot. Guessing yours is the same.” I don’t miss the dip in his tone.
It is. It’s rushing around me at speeds and a temperature I can’t grasp.
“Yes—”
“—Don’t even go there,” Brantley interrupts, yanking out the chair on the other side of Bishop while snatching my bottle of bourbon. He pours into his glass, his eyes on Bishop. Something passes between the two of them. Bishop’s eyes narrow on Brantley and then come back to me.
Bishop laughs, his straight teeth flashing as his head tilts back. “You don’t fucking say.”
Then he turns his head over his shoulder, his eyes going to the back of Nate’s head, Nate who has also ditched his shirt and has put a backward cap on.
“I’ve been told Tillie’s color is red.” Bishop teases.
Nate turns to face us, standing to all his six-foot-two-inches. His tattoos sprawling out over his tanned and shredded skin. His Calvin’s peek out from under his jeans. Jeans that are unbuttoned and hanging off his hips. He cranks his neck.
“Yeah, fucking aye it is.”
My eyes dart between the two of them, like I’ve missed something.
“Just because my car is red doesn’t mean it’s my favorite color,” I say defiantly.
They all burst out laughing. Nate’s eyes come to mine. “We know, baby. Chill.”
Then he drops down onto the sofa, his eyes back on the game.
Brantley and Bishop chuckle, and Bishop stands up, ruffling my hair with his hand. “You’ve been a good friend to Madison, Tillz. And to us… can’t imagine this life without your pink hair in it.”
I clutch my chest, batting my lashes. “Aw.”
His eyes roll. “Don’t get used to the sweet nothings. You won’t hear them again!” He disappears through the room and up the stairs, bottle of scotch between his fingers. Scotch, not bourbon.
I lick my lips, the alcohol slowly coating my fear. “You okay, little terror?” Brantley asks behind his glass.
I nod. “Hey,” I lean forward. “The Tesla?”
He freezes, his eyes cutting to mine. “You saw her?”
“Yes,” I hiss, whispering. Why am I whispering?
Brantley’s eyes come to mine, darkening. “Why do I trust you?”
I tilt my head. “The feeling is mutual, Brantley.”
“No.” He shakes his head, tipping his head back to sink the rest of his drink. “Why do I trust you with the knowledge of the one person I don’t even trust myself with?”
Because I’ll protect her. I want to say.
Because I want to shield her. And you. And destroy anyone that comes near whatever it is that you both share. I also want to say.
“I don’t know,” I whisper instead. “Why do you?”
He pauses and then licks his lip. “I don’t know. When I know, I’ll tell you.”
He leans over, kissing my head and I play with my glass as I watch Nate get riled up in the lounge, shoving at Eli who is making jokes about the LA Lakers beating the Golden State Warriors. Who knows. I’m bored. But within my boredom, I see these Kings as an outsider. They’re the most feared individuals by anyone with half a brain in this world or the knowledge of who they are, but really, through my eyes, they’re still a pack of boys, just with extracurricular activities, and who wouldn’t flinch at tearing a head clean off the shoulders of anyone who dared hurt anyone they cared about.
Does that make them bad people? I think it only makes them bad to people who have ill intent. I scoop up my drink and run my fingers through my hair, swiping my hair out of my face. Padding around the space, I take in things that I maybe didn’t notice the first time I was here. Like the fact that there’s a sharp tower sticking up in the middle of the forest in the mess of treetops. Or that there’s an array of photographs scattered all over the place, not just of Bishop’s family, but of Nate, too. And Eli, and Hunter and Jase and Cash. There are old black and white photos of other families, people who I’m guessing were also a part of The Kings. I stop in front of another image. It was of Hector, alone, cradling a baby.
