Ruined Castles (The Elite King's Club 8)

My lips curve in a grin. Let’s try that again…

Bishop.

I know what you’re thinking. “Madison is being extra as fuck and couldn’t pick up the phone and call me. Instead, she writes a fucking letter.” First of all, fuck you. If you truly knew me that well, then we wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. That castle we built together is fucking ruined, and guess what, baby… you’re gonna hear everything I have to say…

I don’t want you to come for me. Don’t set foot on that billion-dollar private jet unless you plan to make changes yourself, because let me tell you something, Bishop… I will not go back to the hell I was slipping into before I left. I won’t and can’t. I will be everything that you want—need—from me as a partner. A wife. And now?

A mother.

Because I’m pregnant.

With twins, and if you haven’t already guessed it yet, that was why Saint disappeared and came to me. I needed her DNA to test the babies.

You hurt me. Bad. I don’t think you’ll ever realize the extent of the damage, and I hope you don’t because I love you enough to not want to inflict that burden onto you, but Bishop? You broke me. I left because I didn’t trust you anymore. I felt like I was pushed out of your life, away, and that’s not on Tillie, that’s on you and me. We didn’t set our foundation, and by the time the walls were crumbling down, it was too late.

I’m in New Zealand. I’m open to working things out with you. I want to come home, despite the pain because I’d rather be beside you and in pain than not have you near me and feel nothing. Nothing. It’s like mourning someone who is still alive. I hate being away from you. I hate that you’re missing important milestones of this pregnancy, and I—

I’M NOT A GOOD MAN. I know that. Fuck, everyone knows that, so me not finishing the letter she most likely tried writing out at least more than once does not bother me.

Saint is safe.

The Kings have everything under control.

And my plane is about—I look down to my Rolex watch—thirty minutes away from landing in the land defended by God.

I roll the squishy ball around in my fist, breathing in and out while resting my head back against the headrest. I won’t kill her. She’s carrying my kids. I know it’s not her fault. But every time I find myself thinking that, I go back to the start. To where she could have told me, and I would have fought for her. From day one, Madison has been impossible. In every fucking sense of the word. But has she been worth it? Fuck yes.

Still want to kill her, though.

My phone pings on the seat beside me and I pick it up, opening a text from Nate.

Nate: We telling the girls about the wedding part?

I run my tongue over my teeth, smirking. Fuck no.

Nate: They’re going to castrate us. I mean, dawg, this is their day…

Me: Don’t fucking care.

I toss my phone back onto the seat, turning to face Abel, who is staring at me from across the aisle. Everyone knows he and Bailey have been going back and forward, but it’s bad. Way fucking worse than Madison and me, and because of that, I can’t say shit.

“Don’t even fucking start. I’m here, aren’t I?” my stupid half-brother murmurs sleepily. I’m sick of my dad knocking up random women. I wonder how many other half-fucking-siblings I have. Especially one with the habits of fucking Abel. I shouldn’t give him so much shit. He’s a product of his environment and still has a lot to learn, and because of that—it’s why he’s with me right now. Because above everything, I know I can trust him like I can a King.

“You wanna talk about you and Bailey?” I flick my switchblade between my fingers.

He chuckles, shifting his head so he’s looking directly at me. His eyes fall to the blade. “Not while you’re playing Edward Scissorhands.”

Rolling my eyes, I tap open Instagram and scroll through my home page. I pause on Madison’s name when I see her profile active again. She restarted her fucking account? That bold bitch. She knows I’m coming for her. Clicking on her name, I don’t realize how hard I’m squeezing my phone when I see her profile photo. It’s a photo I took near our fucking bed. She’s sitting on the chair in lingerie and I shot it from above. She didn’t want to look at the camera because her eyeliner was all smudged from gagging on my dick seconds earlier. She knew what she was doing putting that photo as her profile shot. Fucking brat.

The flight attendant starts pushing her trolley down the aisle. She’s dressed in all black—little skirt, shirt with the top buttons undone, and black fishnet tights and the little EKC skull emblem sitting above New York City is stitched over her left tit.