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

Brantley smirks and then gets out of the car, walking around to my side, and then yanks it open. “Get the fuck out.”

“No!” I snap back at him, and he reaches inside, pulling me out by the arm. “Let me go!” I scream at him, only it falls on deaf ears, because he grabs me by the back of my neck and starts tugging me toward the front door. The bright headlights from the car beam on the modern log cabin I had been to what feels like not that long ago. Bringing my hand up to my forehead to shade from the bright light, just as we hit the bottom step, the car revs behind us and I spin around, catching Brantley grinning. His other hand lets go of my arm as he puts a cigarette between his lips, sparking it to life. Looking back to the car in confusion, a light shines from inside of the car, displaying long black hair. Who the hell is that? She looks right at me and smirks, but even from here I can tell she’s beautiful. Exotic-looking, but beautiful. She turns to look over her shoulder and floors it backward before spinning and driving down the long driveway.

“What is this?” I ask out loud, my eyes and focus remaining on the fading headlights. When Brantley doesn’t answer back, I turn to ask him, “Brant—” Only he’s gone. I spin around a full 360, trying to find where he disappeared to. “Brantley!” I growl. “This is not funny!” The temperature suddenly drops, thick fog slipping out of my mouth between each word. Figuring he’s definitely not coming back, I run my hands up and down my arms, rubbing the goose bumps off my flesh. Taking the front steps carefully because I can’t see shit, I feel around for the railing. Opening and closing my eyes, they slowly begin to adapt to the surroundings, but not enough for me to really see what I’m doing.

“Shit!” I mutter under my breath, grabbing my phone from my back pocket. I quickly slide it open and go to press Call on Tatum when I see the service bars keep dropping in and out. “Motherfucker.” Using the light from my phone, I aim it toward the front door and grab onto the handle, wiggling it but it doesn’t unlock. Giving up, I start walking along the wraparound porch when my phone goes off. Swiping my phone open, I read the message.

Run.

An overwhelming sense of terror rushes over me. I spin around suddenly, finding no one there. Nothing but my damn imagination. I know these boys play games—this isn’t my first rodeo with them—but the thing I don’t know is how far they’ll push it. I’ve seen Bishop kill three people now. I’m not about to play Russian roulette with my life and in the hands of a psychopathic billionaire, or whatever the fuck he is.

“I’m not playing your games!” I yell into the dark night. Waiting for a reply, or even a laugh, I hear… nothing. The mere whisks of wind brushing through the dry almost-autumn leaves is all that replies. Swallowing past my fear, I walk along the porch more, remembering the back door. Maybe Brantley just left me here as a sick joke. It wouldn’t surprise me if that was his stupid plan. Rolling my eyes, I walk farther until I get to the side door that’s tucked behind the kitchen. Wiggling the door handle, but it’s locked too. I turn around, banging the back of my head against the door. “Fuck,” I murmur. Rustling leaves catch my attention, and I whip my head toward it. “Brantley!” I snap. “This isn’t funny. We can leave now! You’ve made your point.”

“A little cocky for a chick who hasn’t been on the scene for too long, don’t ya think?”

I know that voice all too well.

“Well, how not surprising it is to see you come out of the shadows, Bishop. Take me home. It’s cold.” I push off the door and go to walk past him, only his hand flies up to my arm and he pushes me backward. The back of my head smashes against the door. “Fuck! You—”

His hand slams over my mouth while his free one clenches over my throat. He squeezes tight, enough to have my head pulsing with the lack of oxygen. I tap on his arm, looking deep into his eyes. I’m barely able to make out his sharp eyes and jaw in the dark. His lip curls in a devious grin that makes me both weak in the knees and in the head, because that grin should really put the fear of God into me—and it does. But it also has my stupid lady bits tingling.

“Cut the fucking shit, Madison. What the fuck is with you tonight, and only answer me honestly.” He tilts his head, dragging his eyes up and down my clothing. “Remember that game we played in the forest?” He unlatches his grip from my throat and releases my mouth, stepping back slightly. Pulling out an army knife from his back pocket, he flicks it open and then in a flash the blade is pressing into my neck, and his hand is back, covering my mouth. He runs his nose over mine, searching my eyes. “Mmmm.” He smirks, his deep growl vibrating over my chest. “You’re distracting.”