“Yours.”
Pulling up to my house, Bishop gets out of the driver side and opens my door.
“I can walk, Bishop.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, scooping his arms under my legs and lifting me from my seat. “But you don’t have to.” After our brief talk on the way home, I’ve realized I need to let him go. I can’t keep holding on to whatever it is I think we could have together, because it’s not going to happen. He’s Bishop Vincent Hayes, and I’m me. A fucking mess.
I turn my face to him just as we reach the front door. The front door that is showing no display of the house party that was raging earlier. I guess someone—or some King—shut it down. “Can I ask you something?”
He opens the door wide. “Yeah.”
“If I ask you something… will you tell me the truth?”
“That depends,” he answers, walking inside and closing the door behind us. “If it’s about me, then yes, but if it’s about the club, then no.”
“Loyalty?” He puts me down and I make my way upstairs with him following behind.
“Something like that,” he mutters under his breath. It’s so quiet I almost miss it. Walking into my room, I stretch out on my bed, blowing my hair out of my face. The mattress dips where Bishop takes a seat. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me,” he begins.
I swallow down any nerves those words raised, and nod. I know what he’s going to ask, and I’ve been mentally preparing myself for it the whole way home, but it’s still unsettling me. I’ve never said the words out loud. I’ve never told anyone my darkest secret, let alone a guy I have feelings for.
“Did someone do something to you when you were little?”
Turning toward him, I prop my head up onto the palm of my hand. The shadows from the dim lamp cast sharp lines over his jaw and perfect nose. He has the profile of a GQ model, but the twisted mind of Michael Myers. Ahh, charming. Exhaling, I close my eyes. “Yes.”
He grits his teeth, and I open my eyes and watch as his hands ball into fists on top of his knees. His nostrils flare. “Who?”
I know his name. I don’t know where he is or what happened to him, but I know his name.
“I don’t know who he is. I don’t remember much of it. All I know is it started when I was young.” I lie on my back and bring my hands under my head.
“Give me any details you can,” Bishop urges, turning to face me. “I mean it, Madison.”
Oh, I know he means it, and I know if I give him the name, he will have no problem finding this guy. It doesn’t matter if Lucan is in China or if he’s six feet under already. I know Bishop will find him, and he will kill him if he’s still alive, but that’s my kill. I promised myself long ago that one day I will get my retribution, and I’m not about to cheat my younger self out of that promise, so I lie. “I don’t know his name.”
Bishop studies my face closely, and I start to panic. I know he can read people; he reads people so accurately, but he has always said how he struggles to read me. Even though I know this, paranoia kicks into overtime, and I clear my throat, knowing I have to give him something so he can back off a little. Bishop opens his mouth, probably about to call me out on my obvious lie, but I interject. “He would call me Silver.”
“Silver?” Bishop asks, thinking over those words. “What, like as in he knew you were the Silver Swan?”
I shrug. “I honestly don’t know.”
Bishop gets up and walks toward the door. Pausing, he inches his head over his shoulder. “Get some sleep.” Then he walks out and leaves me there brewing. Shit. Did I give too much? Has he worked out who that is? Surely not. No one knew that was what Lucan called me except me and Lucan… and….
Forget.
But Bishop is smart—too smart. He picks up things that slip past normal ears and eyes.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I reach underneath until my hand skims over the worn leather I’ve become so accustomed to touching. Pulling it out, I shuffle up my bed until I’m leaning against the headboard. Flipping open the first few pages, I jump to where I was up to.
10.
Revelation
Et delicatis praetulissem, sicut truncum arboris fluitantem olor et quasi argentum bullet sicut mortiferum.
- As alluring as a floating swan, but as deadly as a silver bullet.
“I want to know why,” I probed, trying to get Humphrey to confess. Why is it so important that a woman is not to be born into this cult?
“I told you, woman. You only know what I want you to know. None of this has to make sense to you, because you’re a woman.” Biting down every reaction I had, I took a seat on one of the chairs. Gazing into the scalding hot flame that flicked up to the stone fireplace, I whipped my head toward him.
“Tell me.” Deciding I was going to fight him on this, I got up off my chair and walked toward him. “I want to know. I have a right to know—my…” I stopped, the swelling of my throat halting any and every movement.
One.
Two.
Three.
I began counting internally, ordering the tears to sink back into their sockets.
Humphrey rose up off his chair and headed toward me. His expression changed, all the lines and wrinkles that carved through his face deepened, and that’s when I knew I had struck a nerve. I always did. He reared his hand back and slapped me across the cheek, the sting causing a rush of heat to flame up my face. I fell to the ground in a heap, holding the throbbing ache
