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I giggle, but it’s fake. What happened between the two of us toward the end was intense, strong enough to weave the strings we both agreed we wouldn’t have.
After getting rid of King, I’m wincing and running to the tent to meet Delila. My ass and pussy hurt, but it has nothing on the confusion I feel inside my head. My running stops when my eyes land on that little girl again. I can’t remember her name.
I look to the left and right, wondering where her father is, or whoever it was that scared her away from me the last time.
“Hi.” I wave.
It’s coming up to Thanksgiving weekend and then it’s Christmas, and although it’s not as cold here as it is farther up North, it’s cold if you’ve just come from Texas heat. The little girl is wearing a light jumper and little gumboots with her dress.
“Hi.” She swings her arms back and forth. “My daddy said that you’re a witch.”
I flinch, just as King’s hand comes to my arm. “Go home, Jessie.”
Jessie shrugs, and then turns and runs through the clearing of the forest. It’s the first time I have really taken a look as to where we are, and it doesn’t look like our usual spot.
I turn to King, whose arm is hooked around my back. “What was that about?”
King’s eyes are still following the young girl before he looks down at me. “She’s just a kid.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Sounds like a pretty convincing kid.”
He releases me. “She has convincing parents.”
I let it go, looking around at where we are. “Where are we?”
He gestures in front of me. “At Delila’s other mansion. We come here for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“You guys have traditions?” I ask, falling into step beside him. “I’m shocked.”
“I didn’t say a tradition, just something we do.”
I want to say that that makes it a tradition, but I get the feeling Kingston has two different moods. One when we’re in bed—by far my favorite—and the second when we’re out in civilization. It’s intense and rocky, and quite honestly, it gives me whiplash.
We step through the forest clearing, and the first thing I see is the large tent set up in the backyard. Behind the tent, I can see the sides of an old-style brick home. Delila and these people obviously have too much money.
“She leaves the tent up for practice.”
I turn around to face King. “Why did you keep me for a week in that cell?”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t so much as blink. “Because you weren’t ready.” His eyes drift over my shoulder.
“Is that what you guys do? Steal people off the street and then force them to work for you? Is that the way everyone got here?”
King looks down at me, somewhat annoyed. “Yes, Dove. Everyone who works here who isn’t in a founding family is recruited. No, we don’t have to force anyone to join. Usually it’s a pretty easy decision, but none of them are civilians.”
“And if they say no?” I ask, searching his eyes. I’m guessing by founding family he means the creators of Midnight Mayhem, so I don’t question that.
“Then they say no,” he adds, without saying anything else. I get the feeling they won’t let people walk away from this. They’re loose ends. Maybe Delila wasn’t joking when she said that she saved my life.
“And how do you choose them?” I further ask as we make our way toward the tent. I’m dressed to dance. I need to dance.
“You’re awfully nosey tonight, Little Bird,” he jokes, and then his hand comes to mine and he pulls me through the opening doors. “Did I not fuck the questions out of you?”
Killian, Keaton, and Kyrin are inside talking. The conversation looks heated, and when we enter, they quickly turn to face us, their angry faces morphing.
“What’s up?” Killian nods his head at us both.
King stares at him, his lips slowly curving up as his arm snakes around my waist. “Dove is going to practice. On me. Wanna watch?” Why is he tormenting them? “What about you, Keats? Bet you do.”
I suddenly feel like the rose in a garden of thorns. “King,” I whisper. “What is going on?”
“Nothing,” he answers loudly, his eyes still on The Brothers. “Just a disagreement. Go set up.”
I head to the center and drop my ballet slippers onto the ground. I need something hot and fast to warm up my body, so I fiddle with the sound deck while I stretch. I tie my shirt up at the front and flex the band of my Nike shorts, snapping them against my skin. I close my eyes and then open them, hitting play on “Dark Times” by The Weeknd featuring Ed Sheeran. The beat infiltrates my mind, and my body follows its lead. My hair trails down my back as my eyes close when the hook kicks up. I drift around delicately, my body hitting every beat in fluid, strict movements. The chorus sneaks in, and I flick my head over, my hands coming to my ankles. Hands grip my hips from behind, momentarily shocking me. I flip my hair back and turn over my shoulder, smirking when I see King shirtless behind me. Damn. He spins me around roughly as the chorus plays. I go flying across the floor before he yanks me back into his chest, and we move fluidly together. I run every beat, and he chases it.
