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

“Stop,” Tatum moans in the distance.

“Tatum!” I look down the dark alley and see the other guy with her, tugging her dress up.

“Little American slags,” the guy who is pulling me mutters. “We’ll show you.”

“No!” I scream, shoving at his chest. Oh my God, why do my limbs feel like Jell-O, and why am I in heat? I rub my thighs together in an attempt to calm the throbbing need that has started, but nothing happens. If anything, the feeling intensifies. I launch toward the fat shit, scratching him across his face until I can feel his flesh peel away and clog under my fingernails.

“You bitch!” He slams me up against the brick wall, my head smashing against it with a crack.

“Tatum, wake up. Stay with me.” The guy who has her has pulled off her panties. The guy who has me up against the wall starts to make a beeline for my own. “Get the fuck off me, you fat slob!” I won’t cry. No way in fucking hell will I cry. I look at him square in the eye. “If you so much as come near me with that stubby thing you call a cock, I will rip it off.”

He laughs. “I doubt that, honey.” Then he tears off my panties, clutches me around my upper thighs roughly until his fingertips are digging into my flesh, and hikes me up the wall. “Open up like the good little snatch you are.”

I roll my tongue and spit in his face, just as a gun blasts off in the distance, blood and brain matter spraying all over my face. His eyes pop in shock for a split second before he drops to the ground in a shallow thud. A blood-curdling scream ripples out of me, and then Tatum screams as another pop sounds off and the guy who is clutching her falls to the ground, the flesh on his scalp turning to dust, spraying all over Tatum.

She screams, and I drop to the ground, blackness coming in and out. Just as hands scoop under me, I hear a “Fucking stupid bitch” before sleep takes hold.

SOMETHING JOLTING UNDERNEATH MY BODY wakes me. Looking to the side, confused about where I am, memories start to take hold. I gasp, sucking in a breath. There, sitting on the seat beside me, is Bishop.

Fuck.

“Surprised?” he asks, his eyebrow quirked.

I clear my throat. “Well, no, actually.”

He clenches his jaw, so obviously frustrated. “That’s it.” He shakes his head, whispering under his breath, “I’m locking you in the basement until this shit is sorted.”

“What?” I shriek, and that’s when the sting and the taste of metal touch the tip of my tongue. I touch my lip, memories flooding through my brain. “Oh, fuck!” I lean over, holding in my gag.

“Jesus, Kitty, out the fucking window!”

I hit the button blindly until the window cranks down. “You, you killed them.”

“I did.”

“You kill people?”

“I do.”

“Why?” I yell, just as my stomach heaves again and I lean out the window, spilling all of whatever I last ate out into the dry night air. Leaning back in, wiping my mouth, I look back to him through blurry eyes. “Why, Bishop?”

“For reasons you will never understand, Madison.” He looks toward Tatum, who is lying flat on the seat in front of us. I don’t know whose limo we’re in. Everything seems dreamlike.

“She’s asleep. I didn’t kill her.” He interrupts my thoughts with a bored tone.

“Well, I appreciate it.” I roll my eyes, failing at my attempt to not be snarky.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Madison. This is your fault. All of this!” His arms stretch wide. “You started a fucking war when you left that day.”

“Me?” I burst out. “How the fuck is that possible?” The tangy aftertaste of my being sick simmers at the back of my throat. “You did this. All of you! I still don’t understand anything!”

“How much of the book did you read?” he asks, leaning forward and bracing his arms over his knees.

“The book?” I question, tilting my head back on the headrest. My mind still swims in a daze.

“The book, Madison, the book!”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Um, only quarter of the way through. Why?”

“Do you have it on you?”

“It’s in my bag back at our place.”

Bishop leans forward and taps on the glass that separates us from the front seat. The window cranks down. He orders the driver to take us back to our place, the exact address.

“Wow!” I shake my head, my hands going up.

Bishop leans back into his seat. “What?” he snaps.

“How’d you know where I live?”

He laughs, pulling his hoodie over his head. “It’s cute you think I’d let you get out of this alive, Kitty, and I’ve always known where you lived. This little detour in the limo right now is just so you calm down enough to pack your shit.”