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He tosses the now empty bottle into the trash, smashing the ones that are already inside of it. It wasn’t an angry throw, but it was clearly forceful. “Won’t happen.”
“Well, yeah, I figured. But I’m just saying.” I wave my hand in the air.
His eyes connect with mine and I’m paralyzed from the neck down. His dark orbs slide over my neck as my pulse thickens. His tongue flicks out and runs across his teeth. “And if you did, would you let another guy fuck you?”
I shrug, because I truthfully don’t know the answer to that. “I read in a book once that your sexual appetite isn’t awoken until you’ve had sex. So I don’t know.”
His mouth slams closed. “Anyway. We have six commandments. Hayes is always the alpha of the pack, or as Bishop likes to say, god of the pack. Nate, his elected right-hand man, and I’m third in line. There are only ever three at the top. The rest that fall after, drop in ranking, but the loyalty is the same.”
“Okay.” I nod my head. “So, Hayes, Malum, and Vitiosis are the main lines in The Elite Kings Club? And what do you all do, what is your duty?”
Brantley’s full lips curl in the corner. “And that’s something that never leaves our circle, but in short—” He pauses, his eyes locked on the burning embers in the pit. “We own this fucking city.”
“Brantley?” He doesn’t answer me, so I reach forward until my fingers are on his ring. It’s black and silver and heavy. “How come I don’t remember all of my memories when I was younger?”
He stands from his chair. “That’s normal, and in your case, it’s probably better you don’t. Come on, that’s all the explaining I’m doing tonight.” And although he says the words, I know what he has told me is not even scratching the surface of what this world entails.
We both walk up the staircase, then split into our rooms. I shut my bedroom door behind me with a gentle click, closing my eyes and resting my head against the wood. I felt too many things tonight, and all of them began and ended with Brantley.
The breeze from the open doors of the patio brushes against my skin, as I finally push off and make my way farther into my room, turning my bedside lamp on.
Turning around with makeup wipes in my hand, I jolt in shock when I see Bishop snoring on top of the covers of my bed. Well, that’s not fair, he’s not snoring, but his mouth is parted, an arm covering his eyes and he has one leg hanging off the bed. His chest rises and falls slowly. I think about my options while glaring at my two guard dogs on their beds in the corner. I can’t be mad at them. They clearly know Bishop, and dogs are a good judge of character. I still flip them both off because what the hell?
Moving quietly through my room, I open the top drawer and take out a pair of boxers and a loose T-shirt, before bringing everything with me to the bathroom. It takes me fifteen minutes to change, wipe my makeup off, brush my hair and teeth, and apply my seven-step skin routine. I make sure to turn off my bathroom light before opening the door to not wake him, dropping my clothes into my dirty hamper and blowing out my freshly brushed waves. Before climbing onto my bed, I turn on Medusa’s lamp, plug my phone in to charge on my bedside table, and pick up my eye covers from my bedside drawer. Peeling back my covers while slipping the mask on my forehead, I slide into the cool cotton sheets, wriggling deep into the clean covers.
I can’t help it. I know I should go to sleep, but I’m too intrigued by Bishop. I think I always have been from the minute I first saw him. The way he carries himself isn’t charming like Nate, or cold and distant like Brantley, it’s heavy. My heart swells in my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such pain like I do when I think of Bishop.
“You can stop analyzing me,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep. Slowly, he lifts his arm above his head, sliding the hoodie off while doing it. His full face is in view now. His sharp profile and pouty lips. The two beauty spots he has on his cheek and his floppy brown hair. “I must have crashed. Sorry.” He goes to push himself up from my bed, but he winces, falling back down. “Fucking hate beer.”
“I can’t relate.”
“You’re weird,” he murmurs, but rests back on top of the bed.
“That’s not insulting to me.” I slip my hands beneath my cheek on the pillow. “You can stay.”
