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

“Come on.” She waves me over, and I follow as she heads toward the front reception desk where two more young men are working. All are wearing the same uniform as the valet, only when these boys look at me—I feel nothing. Nothing like I felt with the boy outside. One is of darker complexion, a stoic look on his face, and the other looks Hispanic. They both straighten their shoulders when they see us walking toward them.

“Miss K.” They both do a small bow, and I look toward Katsia again before looking back to the boys who haven’t glanced at her but rather kept their eyes straight ahead.

“Thank you. Please, give me Montgomery’s key.”

I watch as their eyes widen in shock but don’t move from their position, locked on the wall ahead.

“Now,” Katsia urges, and they jump, spinning around and disappearing behind a small door.

“Excuse me.” I clear my throat, figuring this might be a good time to ask. “But can I ask how you know who I am?”

Katsia turns to face me, her eyes staring into mine with an unreadable expression. It’s a mix between awe and something else I can’t quite peg. “Well, I guess we can chat about that once you’re all settled in. I’d like to show you the grounds, if you don’t mind. I know you haven’t been here since you were a little girl.” Deciding I don’t want to appear as if I’m onto her or know anything about The Book, I nod before going back to waiting for the boys to return with the key. Because, really, I shouldn’t be that surprised. My dad could have told me about this place. I can’t show an inkling of my knowledge of the Kings, because I don’t know this woman or what she’s capable of.

The boys return, the darker one handing Katsia the key. “Here you go, ma’am.”

She takes it and gestures toward the stairwell. “I’ll show you to your room, Madison.” We walk up the stairs and down the long, dimly lit hallway, passing red doors with gold numbers attached to them. The hallway is a lot longer than I remembered it to be.

Forget.

Reaching the end, Katsia pushes a button and elevator doors ping open. Stepping inside the small enclosure, the doors close, classical music dancing between the silence. I’m not a fan of this particular genre, but anything beats complete silence when in an enclosed space with someone you’re not sure is a good or a shitty person.

The doors slide open and we walk out then down another long hallway, only now the walls are glistening in gold paint, and the doors are all licked in white. It’s interesting how vivid the two colors are, but maybe that’s part of their deco and what they were aiming for. One would hope. If Tatum sees it, she’ll flip out, what with her deco-loving brain. Thinking of Tatum, I need to text her just in case I don’t make it through the weekend.

We reach a door, but where there were numbers marking the red doors, on these there seems to be some sort of foreign writing on them. I can’t make out the name because the cursive font is hard to read, let alone it being in a completely different language, so I brush it off for now.

Katsia pushes the key into the hole and opens the door. “I can meet you back downstairs when you’re all settled and ready.”

I nod, taking the key from her and stepping inside. Shutting the door behind me, I walk in, dropping my bag on the floor. The room, if it’s the same one I was in as a child, looks unrecognizable. Skimming my hands over the old oak wood that lines the deep gold walls, I check out the rest of the room. A large California king bed is tucked away to the left, on a platform that overlooks the woods from the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s an en suite, walk-in closet, a fully functioning and stocked bar, but no TV.

Walking to the other side of the room, I open up a cabinet, thinking a TV might be hidden in there, only it opens up to a fully loaded cabinet full of guns. Semi-automatics, shotguns, the works. This is not surprising. There was a reason why dad liked bringing me here; it’s obviously a free-for-all ranch that supported the second amendment. Closing the cabinet, I pick my bag up and take it to the bed, pulling out all of my clothes. Deciding there’s no way I’m going to make an effort with my attire, I shove everything back inside and take out some skinny jeans and a long-sleeve shirt.

Slipping into the shower, I scrub up in double-time—even though I want to sit there forever. I seriously need to talk to Dad about getting a showerhead that fills the entire shower stall, because that shit’s amazing. Shuffling into my clothes, I let my hair down and fluff it up to fall in my natural curls, skip the makeup, and shove on my Chucks. I came here to shoot, not to play Clue with Mrs. Robinson, but color me intrigued. Although not much surprises me anymore since meeting the Kings and discovering the history, this has me enthralled enough to sit down and chat.