The Broken Puppet (The Elite King's Club 2)

After pouring my coffee, I bring it to my lips. “Work tonight?”

Tatum nods. “Yep. What time do you finish?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. We didn’t really talk about that.”

“Jesse?” Tatum asks. “He’s interesting-looking, right? What’s the NZ nationality?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not asking.”

“He looks Cuban or something.”

“You finished?” I ask as she gazes off into the sky, resting her feet on the wooden coffee table. The flat came furnished with just the necessities. Sofas, fridge, beds. There’s no television, but we don’t really need it.

“Okay, see you after work.” I wave to Tatum, who is still smoking her joint. Figuring it’s probably a ten-minute stroll down to the main town strip, I decide to walk instead of catching the bus. Saving money and all that too. I get there five minutes later, and sucking in a deep breath, I push open the doors and step inside. Some rock song is playing that I haven’t heard before, but I kinda dig it, and I step toward the front desk where a girl with pitch-black hair and a whole lot of ink is sitting.

“Hi,” I say to her.

She looks up at me from the computer. “Hey! What can I help you with?”

“This one’s mine,” Jesse announces, stepping out from behind one of the closed booths. I know he didn’t mean it as in I’m his, but I squirm anyway. I hate that I squirm. I’m an idiot for squirming. Yet I want to swoon.

“New girl?” the dark-haired girl asks Jesse.

Jesse nods. “Yeah, this is Amira. She’s the artist I told you about last night.”

“Oh, right!” she says, clicking her fingers in recognition. “Hi! I’m Kiriana!”

“Ki-what-what?” I ask, shocked, my eyes fluttering. “Sorry, I’m… can you break it down for me?”

Kiri something laughs and pats the seat beside her. “Kiri, like kitty only you roll the R, and -ana, which is… yeah, -ana!”

“Kiriana?” I say, sounding ridiculous because my accent just won’t let me roll anything, so I end up pronouncing it like ki-ree-ana.

She waves me off. “That’ll do. Come, sit. Show me what you got.”

Jesse winks at me and then walks back to his booth. After drawing for two different clients, I get off at 5:00 p.m. Picking up my bag, I nudge my head at Jesse. “Thanks for today. I needed it.”

“No problem.” He winks again. I smile and then walk out the door, heading straight to the bar Tatum works at.

Pushing open the doors, it’s pretty empty because of the time. A few people are scattered around the place, but it’s nothing like when it’s in full swing.

“Hey!” Tatum smiles, waving me over to the bar. I grin and start walking toward her. I need to get Bishop out of my head one way or another so I might take the way that has an endless supply of alcohol. Taking a seat, Tatum pours a shot and slides it over to me. “Bottoms up, bitch!” I clink her glass and then toss it back.

“Yeah.” I smirk. “Bottoms up,” I say and slam the shot glass down onto the bar. The Weeknd’s “Or Nah” starts pulsating through the room and I bang on the bar. “Another!”

“That’s the spirit,” Tatum squeals, pouring me another shot. She twirls the bottle between her fingers like a pro, and I narrow my eyes, knocking my shot back. “How’d you learn to do that, Coyote Ugly?”

“What? Not bad, huh?” She does it again and I roll my eyes.

“Show off,” I tease, throwing back another shot.

Hours and many shots later, I get up off the bar stool, my head spinning. “Wooo.” I reach for the edge of my stool, looking around the now fully decked-out club.

I lean over the bar and into Tatum. “I need to pee. Be right back!”

She nods, shooing me off. Dead Prez’s “Hip Hop” starts playing, and I push through the crowd, making a beeline for the toilet. Walking into one of the stalls, I shove my pants down and let it all go. Sighing, I reach for my burner phone and pull it out of my pocket as it rings. Who even knows this number?

“Hello?” I slur, smiling at how drunk I am.

“You think you can fucking run from me, kitty? Nah-uh.”

I scream and drop the cell, quickly standing from the toilet and shoving my pants back on. Reaching for my phone, I toss it into the toilet bowl, flushing it furiously, and then run out of the stall, my heart beating in my chest. Holy fuck! How did Bishop get my number?

That voice.

Pushing back through the crowd, I look directly at Tatum until I come face-to-face with her.

“We need to leave.”

“What?” she asks over the deep bass.

“We. Need. To leave. Now!” I borderline scream at her, though it’s slurred because of all the alcohol.

She searches my eyes until understanding sets in. “Oh, fuck.”