Ruined Castles (The Elite King's Club 8)

“Pretty sure you just got pregnant,” he says breathlessly, his sweaty chest rising and falling beneath my cheek.

I laugh, running my finger through the sweat covering his tattoo. “Let’s hope not.”

I wake up the next morning with a smile permanently etched on my face. After last night, I feel lighter on my feet. Maybe Tillie was right, and I just needed attention from him. Maybe I should just be honest about what I need. Bishop is a hard man, but I know he softens with me.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I sweep up my phone and open Instagram as I make my way down to the kitchen. I go through Tate’s story, snickering at her gym selfie in the mirror after a workout and a weird selfie shot with some jacked-up pop-eyed looking gym nut.

I chuckle, texting off a reply while opening cupboards to find the granola. We’ve been here for a couple of weeks now, but I still struggle to find everything.

@madisonvmontgomery stop exposing your toys.

Tate has an uncanny ability to make the men she plays with feel inferior. I feel for Spyder, I do, but it wouldn’t be Tate if she didn’t at least make him hurt a little.

I place my phone on the counter and finish making my breakfast. I know I’m fortunate to live the life I do, but it doesn’t come with its battles. For one, I’m bored. Secondly, the dangers of this world. Losing Tillie and Nate’s baby Micaela recently hit a spot in me that I didn’t want to touch. When God takes a child, he doesn’t do it gracefully. She was the most beautiful baby in the entire world, an angel, and this world ruined her.

My phone starts vibrating and I swipe it unlocked, hitting speaker while spooning granola into my mouth.

“You know, you didn’t have to do me dirty like that,” Tate scolds through the phone.

“Oh please!” I say around my food. “You and I both know you don’t even know his name.”

Silence.

“What are you doing? I feel like we should be doing something, you know, for Tillie, but I don’t know what.”

“I know,” Tate sighs gently. “Look, it’s no secret we don’t like each other, but Madison…”

“I know,” I whisper, staring off into the distance. There are no words that can fill the gaping hole of losing a child, so what do you do for your best friend when this happens? “And I’m not sure what we could do. I think right now, she needs to heal, and unfortunately, I think the only way she’s going to do that is with Nate.”

“Her healing isn’t going to be easy. We know that.”

I snort. “Yeah, because of who is doing the healing. Those boys are going to torture her to push her through, I just know it. Their love language is torment.”

“I don’t understand why you guys tolerate it,” Tate says. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. We have a lunch date.”

I hang up with Tate and continue with my day. I eat, train, shower, sleep, and then shop. It’s almost a routine, all because Bishop is so desperate to push me out of the fold. It’s not until I’ve had my bath that night that I realize what the time is, and that Bishop still isn’t home.

I lotion my skin, blow out the luxury scented candles in the room, and slide between the sheets before unlocking my phone. Seeing Hunter has added to his stories, I click on his circle and my heart sinks. Music is playing at his condo as he moves through the house. I see the Kings sprawled out across the sofa, Nate looking as fucked as the last time I saw him and with no Tillie in sight. I feel my throat swell until it’s blocking my air intake. As much as I know if I keep watching I’m going to be more annoyed, I click next. I like the taste of pain because it reminds me why swallowing the good in life is important.

Bishop raises a glass up to his lips and I watch in slow motion as a red-haired girl falls comfortably onto his lap. I squeeze my eyes closed as rage burns through my veins.

Mother-fucking-fucker-cocksucking-fuck!

I shove the covers off me and make my way back into the kitchen. Sliding open the butler’s pantry, I climb up on the counter and take down the metal box my body instinctively yearns for.

Leaning against the wall, I bury my face in my hands. “You don’t need to do this, Madison. You don’t need it.” My phone vibrates again, and I swipe it open like a fucking crackhead, checking the latest notification. Do I want to do this? The more I watch, the angrier I’ll become, and then what? What do you do with a handful of pain and no outlet? I know what I do.