“I just want to talk, Madison.”
“Talk?” I laugh. “You fucking kidnap me to talk?” I end my sentence with a screech.
“Take the mask off her please.” In an instant, I’m met with Katsia sitting opposite me and looking extremely out of place in her two-piece suit, with two armed men beside her, both wearing ski masks, as well as the guy sitting next to me.
“What do you want to talk about?” I seethe, pissed off. “For the record, I’m usually a pretty easy girl. You can just be like ‘Oh, hey, girl! Can we chat?’ and I’d be like ‘Yeah, for sure, girl! Let’s do coffee!’” I act the scene out with bound hand signals and high-pitched tones. My face turns flat when I finish. “You don’t need to fucking kidnap me.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I don’t think it ever probably has. Unless she’s like, having dinner with the devil. Bet the bitch smiles then. “You’re funny.”
“Thanks,” I say sarcastically. “My friends wouldn’t agree with you.”
“Maybe you need new friends,” she retorts, one eyebrow cocked.
“No.” I shake my head, seeing where she’s going with this conversation. “It’s hard enough to find one person who likes me, much less a gang.”
She tilts her head, studying me closely. I cringe inwardly at how she regards me with her stare. “What makes you think they do?”
“They do—what?” I ask, matching her stare, scanning over her attire the exact way as she does mine.
She snorts, as if she knows exactly why I did that. “The apple doesn’t fall there,” she mutters under her breath. I only just catch it.
“What?”
“Another time,” she replies.
“No, you were—”
“Another time,” she cuts me off, but her smile remains.
This bitch is chilly.
“But tell me,” she continues, reaching forward to take a glass of wine from a little table that’s set up between the two seats that are facing each other. “What makes you think they actually like you?”
“Well, I don’t know. They put up with me.”
“That’s a terrible answer, Madison.” She giggles from behind the rim of her glass. “People put up with a lot of things. Wives, husbands, headaches. Under all that though, is that a way to live? To just put up with someone? No,” she shakes her head, taking a sip, “and for the record, you’re wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“Well, that’s the kicker.” She smirks, her eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. Oh, this bitch is crazy. “All of it.”
“Are you going to fill me in or am I going to be left guessing?” I don’t trust her. At all. But am I open to hearing what she has to say? Yes.
“Well, let’s start with your brother.”
“Let’s,” I reply, overly excited and a little sarcastic.
She looks at me for a second too long before her eye twitches. “How much do you know about him?”
“Only parts. What he’s told me, and what Bishop and Nate have sort of told me.”
She laughs. “Mmmm, those boys. I swear, every generation, it happens.”
“What?” The confusion must show on my face, because she giggles again. “Oh, Madison. Tell me,” she leans forward, “why do you think your father brought you back to The Hamptons?”
That’s the question I haven’t been able to figure out yet. Why would he bring me back here if he knew it was dangerous for me? “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I look directly into her eyes. “Do you?”
She leans back, taking a sip of her wine, all while keeping her eyes locked on mine. “Yes.”
“Then will you enlighten me?” I ask her, and she pauses again, looking over my features like she’s studying every inch of my face. As if she’s fascinated by me.
She leans back. “No. Too soon.”
“Too soon?” I scoff. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how much shit I’ve been through?”
“Oh,” she laughs. “I know.”
“Oh, right.” I snort sarcastically. “Because you own the Lost Boys and have for generations. I get it.” I roll my eyes for added effect. “Why did you kidnap me anyway?”
“Because I want Damon back.”
“Well, by all means, ask him yourself.”
She looks at me like I’m stupid. “He won’t.”
“I wonder why that is.”
“Listen to me very carefully, Madison. Damon is a tricky soul. He may be your brother, your twin brother, but he was born…” She looks around, searching for the correct word. “…different.”
“Different—how?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “And why do you say it like you care?”
She smirks. “I care because Damon is very good at what he does. I care because what Damon does is needed. And I care because Damon needs it too, and if Damon doesn’t get what he needs, there will be a massacre.”
“Damon wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
She chokes on her drink, gripping her throat. “You sweet, deluded child.” She leans forward, placing her wine back on the small table. “Damon wouldn’t willingly hurt you—no. But, honey, what do you think his name means?”
“I don’t know. It’s a common boys name.”
She shakes her head. “No, the correct spelling of his name is D-A-E-M-O-N, Latin for Son of Satan.” I clench my jaw, attempting to fight back any words that are egging to spill out of my gob.
“But I saw how his name was spelled on his shirt. It was spelled D-A-M-O-N.”
She rolls her eyes. “His name is bad for business. We had to… citizenize it.”
His name was bad for business? Who even says shit like that? “I still don’t understand. Daemon is the sweetest guy I know. I was draw—”
She waves her hands around. “Honey, he’s not only your brother, but he’s your twin. You both felt that—” She connects her hands together. “—pull. But he should never have left. He’s been trained by the best of the best. He was supposed to walk away.”
“But he didn’t,” I whisper.
“No,” she replies, an eye twitching again. “He didn’t. He defied the natural order. He will be punished, but the longer he stays, the worse
