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

“Sorry about her.” I laugh, looking toward Tatum, who has opened out the ranch slider doors. “She’s a little—”

“Intrusive?” Ridge interrupts, smirking at me.

I laugh, my eyes locking with his. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But she means well.”

“Yeah.” Ridge winks, his arm wrapping around my waist as he pulls me into him. “So tell me—”

“No,” I cut him off, looking up at him. “I don’t want to answer any questions tonight.” I bring my hands up to his chest and press lightly. “I just want to forget everything.” He steps back and searches my eyes.

“Everything okay?”

Smiling, I nod. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” He turns back to the DJ deck and flicks on some sort of remixed, hard, house song, and I turn around, finding Tatum straight away. She wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively, and I roll my eyes. I swear, only Tatum would take me talking to a guy the completely wrong way. Walking up to her, I squint my eyes. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” She grins, dancing around in a circle just as the doorbell rings. “Oh look, the party is here!”

I smile, shaking my head and taking a long pull of the whiskey again, relishing how it numbs everything inside of me, physically and mentally. The more I drink, the more I forget. With that thought, I take another sip just as the song changes to “Where the Girls At” by David Guetta. Tatum lifts her drink in the air, and with a whole bunch of people walking in behind her, she screams, “Let’s get fucked up!” at the top of her lungs.

I raise my bottle in the air in salute, grinning at her. Spinning around, I start dancing in the middle of the floor, grinding and pressing against the sea of bodies. The song changes to “No Promises” by Cheat Codes and I spin around, lost in the numb feeling the whiskey has given me.

Until my eyes lock onto Bishop, who is standing in the entryway of the sitting room with Nate and the rest of the Kings in formation behind him.

Bishop’s scowl deepens when he sees someone rubbing up behind me. Rolling my eyes, I walk toward them, an innocent smile on my face. “Hi, boys!”

“Madison!” Nate snaps at me. “What the fuck?”

“What?” I slur, my head swimming in a deep pool of whiskey. “Like I can’t throw a party, what?” I laugh sarcastically. “I’m not Nate Riverside.” Nate grabs my arm, but I yank it away from him. “Screw you, all of you. Leave me the fuck alone.” Then I push through them and make my way toward the kitchen. Leaning down into the cabinet, I pull out a glass and fill it up with water. Turning around, I find Bishop leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of him.

“Why throw the party, Madison?”

“Why not, Bishop?” I retort, matching his tone. I tip my water out and go to walk out the door, only his hand catches my arm.

“Why you acting out?”

I pull my arm out of his grip. “Why don’t you mind your fucking business?” Then I walk back onto the dance floor, snatching a bottle of whatever the fuck it is out of someone’s hands. Cisco Kid from Redman starts pumping through the speakers, and I let go. Dancing and riding the beat, I grind up on the closest person near me. Turning around and wrapping my arms around his neck, I bring my eyes to—

“Brantley?” I go to pull away, but he grips onto my arms, locking me there.

“Nah-uh, you ain’t going anywhere. You don’t grind up on a man’s dick like that and expect to walk away.”

I narrow my eyes, the room spinning. “I can do what the fuck I want.”

He laughs, a menacing chuckle that vibrates against my chest—a tone I know I should run from, because this is freaking Brantley. Though Bishop is just as terrifying as Brantley—if not worse—I know Bishop on a level I don’t know Brantley. I know how far I can push Bishop for him to not hurt me. Do I think he could still hurt me and probably would if I push him far enough? Abso-fucking-lutely.

I search Brantley’s eyes, lost in the music and intoxicated by whiskey. I lean my body into his a bit more and bring my hands down his sharp jawline, running my index finger over the bottom of his plump lip. He catches my index finger between his teeth, and I give him a menacing grin. Wrapping his lips around my finger, he unlatches his teeth and sucks on my finger; it comes out of his mouth with a pop. Closing my eyes, I ignore the way my nipples are pushing against the cups of my bra, or the way my flesh has come alive.

Before I know what I’m doing, I come up on my tippy toes and kiss him. He opens his mouth, letting my tongue in as his arm hooks around my bare waist and his finger dips into the band of my fishnet tights, flicking at it. I lick his tongue, pulling on it slightly before he bites down on my lower lip. Pulling back, I bring my nose to his and search his eyes. His eyes that are lit with lust—dark, domineering, and powerful lust. Do I dance on this line? This dangerous line of something I know I could never come back from?