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

That’s the question I haven’t been able to figure out yet. Why would he bring me back here if he knew it was dangerous for me? “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I look directly into her eyes. “Do you?”

She leans back, taking a sip of her wine, all while keeping her eyes locked on mine. “Yes.”

“Then will you enlighten me?” I ask her, and she pauses again, looking over my features like she’s studying every inch of my face. As if she’s fascinated by me.

She leans back. “No. Too soon.”

“Too soon?” I scoff. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how much shit I’ve been through?”

“Oh,” she laughs. “I know.”

“Oh, right.” I snort sarcastically. “Because you own the Lost Boys and have for generations. I get it.” I roll my eyes for added effect. “Why did you kidnap me anyway?”

“Because I want Damon back.”

“Well, by all means, ask him yourself.”

She looks at me like I’m stupid. “He won’t.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Listen to me very carefully, Madison. Damon is a tricky soul. He may be your brother, your twin brother, but he was born…” She looks around, searching for the correct word. “…different.”

“Different—how?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “And why do you say it like you care?”

She smirks. “I care because Damon is very good at what he does. I care because what Damon does is needed. And I care because Damon needs it too, and if Damon doesn’t get what he needs, there will be a massacre.”

“Damon wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

She chokes on her drink, gripping her throat. “You sweet, deluded child.” She leans forward, placing her wine back on the small table. “Damon wouldn’t willingly hurt you—no. But, honey, what do you think his name means?”

“I don’t know. It’s a common boys name.”

She shakes her head. “No, the correct spelling of his name is D-A-E-M-O-N, Latin for Son of Satan.” I clench my jaw, attempting to fight back any words that are egging to spill out of my gob.

“But I saw how his name was spelled on his shirt. It was spelled D-A-M-O-N.”

She rolls her eyes. “His name is bad for business. We had to… citizenize it.”

His name was bad for business? Who even says shit like that? “I still don’t understand. Daemon is the sweetest guy I know. I was draw—”

She waves her hands around. “Honey, he’s not only your brother, but he’s your twin. You both felt that—” She connects her hands together. “—pull. But he should never have left. He’s been trained by the best of the best. He was supposed to walk away.”

“But he didn’t,” I whisper.

“No,” she replies, an eye twitching again. “He didn’t. He defied the natural order. He will be punished, but the longer he stays, the worse his punishment will be.”

“Well, fuck you then. I would never hand him to you willingly, but even more so now.”

She does that smile thing again. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand.” The van stops and I look out my window to see we’re back at the school. My truck door is still open. “Just remember this one thing, Madison.” She searches my eyes and I meet hers. “He’s not a good man. He’s the worst of the worst. You wanna know why?” she asks, tilting her head.

“Why?”

“Because he feels nothing. No remorse, no love, no nothing. Daemon is void of natural human emotions. He does not feel physical pain, nor emotional pain. He was born this way. Then he was trained on top of that. He’s a very rare human, but he also suffers from the shadows.”

“Like congenital insensitivity to pain?” I ask, still stuck on her first revelation.

She nods, leaning back. “Yes. One in a million get it. It’s genetic, you know?” She smirks. “But I know it hasn’t run through you.”

“His emotional lack of feeling though, is there a condition for that?”

“There are lots of conditions that could trigger it, and truthfully speaking, Daemon probably has all of them.” She pauses as if to think over how much she should actually disclose. “Ask him about the shadows, Madison, and then call me. I’m sure you will want to talk.” She hands me a card. I look down and read over the gold cardboard with the name Katsia embossed in white and a simple phone number underneath.

The man who is sitting beside me, leans forward, cutting the cable ties off from around my wrist. He slides open the door, and I get out, turning to face her one last time. “Why do you think he can’t feel emotions?”

“Because I’ve seen it, and you will too.”

The door closes, and the van takes off in a whoosh, like it wasn’t there trying to tear into my life a second ago. Picking my bag up from the ground, I throw it into the truck and get into the driver seat, pushing Start. I spin around in my seat quickly when an eerie chill, a chill as if someone is watching me, creeps up my spine, but I’m met with empty seats.