Ruined Castles (The Elite King's Club 8)

Warmth covers my hand and it’s not until she touches me that I realize how cold I really am. “Of course, Madison. This will always be your home.”

I smile up at her, but not enough to reach my eyes while willing my tears not to unleash. I’ve always liked Elena. She was good for my dad and still is.

“Well, I better go. You know how your father gets if he’s waiting on one of us.”

I chuckle, but the vibration feels agonizing. Like it’s rattling all of my damaged bones while doing it. “Yeah, I do.”

“Go inside. It’s too cold out here.”

“I won’t be long behind you,” I say up at her as she stands. “Have a safe trip.” I watch as Elena disappears back through the same way she came, through the doors between the floor-to-ceiling windows of the family room. This is definitely home, but it doesn’t feel like it right now.

Nowhere does.

My phone chimes in my pocket and I take a few seconds before deciding to see who it is. Do I want to? What am I supposed to do? Pretend like this didn’t happen?

I swipe it unlocked and see Bishop’s name.

Bishop: You not coming home?

The tears that I fought to keep locked up suddenly break through all of my barriers and fall down my cheeks. We weren’t perfect before this happened, and I wanted to change, to get better, do better, but now he’s going to assume that I’m still just being a stupid brat who doesn’t want to give up snow.

“You will go along with this. You will tell him you cheated on him. You will not tell him the truth. Make it sound sexy, and if not—I’ll make sure he gets this.” The boy waved his phone in front of my eyes.

I have to protect them.

Me: I’m not.

I swipe the tears off my cheeks, wincing when it feels more like sandpaper.

Bishop: I’m coming over.

Shit. I drop my phone onto the daybed and sink my face into the palm of my hands. I’m not ready to see him. I’m not. But I know these people are my family, and if I suddenly pull away, it’s going to only cause them all to yank tighter on my chains.

Alcohol.

I need alcohol.

Standing and making my way back to the kitchen, I open the liquor cupboard and take down a bottle of vodka. Flipping off the lid, I pour some into a glass, shooting it back, before doing it two more times. I need to shower again. No. I showered three times already. But even as the thought enters my mind, the memories begin sticking to my flesh. I need another shower. I’m going to break my soulmate’s heart tonight, and the stench of that is far worse than being raped.

Picking up the bottle of Vodka, I jog upstairs to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. It’s been a while since I’ve been in here, but it’s like no time has changed. The closet where Bishop fucked me for the first time. The bed. The windowsill. The bed. When everything was simple and easy, and my only problem was trying to contain my ridiculous crush on the school’s bad boy.

Finding the light in my closet, I reach for the little Louis Vuitton box on the top of the hangers, finding the bag of coke inside. Angel dust for sinners, it takes away my pain—whether I like to admit it or not.

I pour out the entire contents onto my desk opposite my bed, and rack up ten lines by using Bishop’s black Amex card. I carve the lines until they’re even, chewing on my bottom lip as tears continue to roll down my face. By the time my bedroom door swings open, I’m uncontrollable. Sobs rock my body so fiercely that I drop the funnel onto the floor, falling backward onto my ass as Bishop looks down at me, his eyes wild and his fists tight at his sides.

“Madison, what the fuck are—” I can see his anger at the coke, at me being a mess. I had to take that away, so I—

“—I cheated on you.”

He pauses. No longer making his way to me. He stops moving completely and the atmosphere shifts to a dangerously low level.

My mouth opens, desperate to fill the silence with something. Tell him I didn’t mean it and that he raped me—but I can’t. I can’t because I can’t risk what would happen if I did.

“You what?” His voice breaks at the end before he falls into the chair beside my desk.

I still can’t bring myself to look at him. I can’t. I love him with everything that is me, and to see the hurt that will be shown across his face at my hand, I can’t do that.

“Who?” he asks, and I bring my legs up to my chest. “Fucking why, Madison? Did I not give enough? You still needed attention and drugs?”