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

“Bishop,” I warn, and his mouth kicks up in a grin against my hot flesh. “Bishop,” I repeat in the same tone. My eyes close, my breath falling heavily.

“First of all,” he growls against my skin, “you don’t ask any other questions. You follow ours.” His hand skims over my bare thigh and squeezes—enough to leave a bruise. “Second of all, if you want to ask anyone questions,” his minty breath now falls over my lips, “you come to me.” He pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and bites down on it. He goes to step backward, but I grip the back of his neck and pull him into my lips. He stills, his lips not opening, so I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist.

Stepping forward, he slams me against the wall, his mouth opening to let me in. He groans, tangling his fingers in my hair before yanking it back roughly.

He looks down into my eyes, the faint creak from the door being slightly open lighting the dark room just enough to see him. “What was that about?” I ask.

“What was what about?” he counters, and I tilt my head, studying how his dark jade eyes now look almost black. How his eyebrows pull in, displaying his concentration.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, looking away. He lets me go, my feet dropping to the floor. Just as he’s about to hit the door, I bite my lip. “Bishop!”

“Yeah?” he mutters, turning and looking over his shoulder.

“Why do you like breaking me?”

He smirks slightly, just enough that I see his dimple on the side of his cheek. “Because it gets my dick hard to put you back together.”

His response doesn’t surprise me, not in the slightest.

“But,” I add, stepping forward, “you never put me back together properly. You steal parts of me, so when you do put me back, I’m all crooked, cracked, and still visibly broken.”

His smile pauses briefly, not enough for me to really catch any meaning behind it. He turns to face me, his eyes locking onto mine. “Because being broken is how you’re going to survive this life, Madison.” Then he turns and leaves, the door closing behind him. I remain in the darkness, his words playing on repeat in my brain. What the hell did he actually mean by that?

SHUTTING THE FRONT DOOR AFTER a long day at school, I drop my bag on the floor. “Sammy?”

Sammy walks in, wiping her wet hands on the dishtowel she has hanging off her belt. “Ah, Madison!” She whacks me with the back of her hand. “Where the hell have you been?” Shrugging, I go on with the lie my dad has me saying. “I disappeared.” Walking into the kitchen, I tug open the fridge and start unloading all the ingredients for grilled cheese. Sammy comes in behind me, leaning against the doorframe.

“Why?” she asks, crossing her arms in front of herself like a worried mother.

“I don’t know.” Pulling out four slices of bread, I place them on a plate and reach for the butter, swiping it on both sides before slamming some cheese in the middle.

“Who were you with?” she questions in the same tone, eyeing me skeptically.

“Uhh, Tatum. We just traveled a bit. I was mad at Dad for something and didn’t feel like coming home. Seriously, Sammy, I’m okay.” I put on a completely fake smile for added effect.

Sammy pushes off the doorframe, waving her hands in the air. “Estúpido jodido adolescente!”

Flipping my sandwiches, I raise my eyebrows at her retreating back. “Huh? You swearing at me, Sam I am?” I tease, grinning, knowing damn well she can’t see me. She’s still muttering off in Spanish when Nate walks in, with Bishop following closely behind him. Great, appetite will no doubt be ruined.

“’Sup?” Nate pulls me into him, kissing me softly on the head. “Oh yum.” He reaches down and steals a sandwich straight out of the pan. I slap the spatula on the back of his hand, a second too slow because he’s already retreating and stuffing his mouth with my delicious creation of carb goodness.

“Screw you, Riverside.” I look over my shoulder and sarcastically smile sweetly at Bishop. “Do you want the other one, since I will have to make more anyway.” I flip the grilled cheese out and place it on a plate. Walking back toward the middle island, I look up at Bishop when I notice he hasn’t answered me. “Hellooo? You want it or not?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares.

“You’re doing that stare thing again. I thought we were past that phase?” Placing the plate on the counter, I slide it toward him. Ignoring his weird Bishop behavior, I pull out another couple slices of bread and repeat the process.

“Question.” Bishop clears his throat.

I look up at him, sucking the cheese off my thumb. “Yes?”