Malum part 2

They all burst out laughing and I ignore them, making my way into the kitchen while removing my shoes. Total waste of shoes.

“Are you okay?” I ask Bishop as he pulls down a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses. The rest of the guys bring their shit inside, making their way up to the rooms. I haven’t even thought about where I’m sleeping, but I know that it won’t be with Nate again. We had a promise. We have to keep that promise.

Bishop pours the liquid into my glass and slides it over to me. “Not really. But I’m giving myself the two days we’re all spending out here to pull my shit together.”

I swirl the scotch around in my glass. “To pull your shit together, one has to completely fall apart. Put yourself together different this time, B. Better.”

He shoots the drink back and slams his glass onto the table. “Can I ask you a question and will you be honest with me?”

The TV goes on in the background, an NBA game playing.

“Yes,” I answer, taking a sip of the strong liquid. I swear I hate whiskey. It is not my drink. I toss it back anyway and gag when it all slides down my throat.

Bishop laughs, shaking his head and stands from his seat, making his way to a small bar that’s on the other side of the kitchen, behind the dining table. He comes back with a bottle filled with dark brown liquid.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Old Fitzgerald Bourbon. I think you might like this one more. It’s still whiskey, but it’s bourbon, so it’s not distilled in Scotland, but in Kentucky. One’s made with barley and the other, corn. It’s all boring, but usually if you can drink scotch, you can drink bourbon, but if you don’t like scotch, you usually like bourbon. Also, it costs four g’s a bottle.”

I screw off the cap and pour it into my empty glass. I take a sip and my cheeks heat. The sweet bitterness stings my mouth but soothes my taste buds. “Much better.”

He smiles. “Did Madison ever tell you about the time she spent in New Zealand?”

I take a gulp of the bourbon, slowly swallowing it and bringing my knees to my chest. “A little.”

I remove my jacket when I feel my blood heating. Raking my hand through my long hair. “Why?”

“Did she mention a guy named Jesse?”

I curl my lips under my teeth, placing my glass onto the granite table. “Briefly. She said they were friends. Is that who she’s with?”

Bishop nods. “Yeah, and I’m struggling to stop myself from flying over there and dragging her back by her fucking hair.”

I sink the rest of my drink, Nate comes into the kitchen behind Bishop. Grabbing chips and chocolate from the cupboard.

I pour more bourbon into my glass.

“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 ru

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 ta

“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.