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

I shrug, looking back into his eyes. “I guess we can cross that bridge when we get there.” I open my mouth, wondering whether or not I should ask the question that is itching at the back of my brain. “Khales?” I must have decided I was going to go there, because before I can stop myself, I say it.

His jaw tenses. “It’s not as you or everyone thinks.” He taps me, and I swing my leg off him, scooting up the bed and leaning on the headboard.

“So tell me then. What was she?”

“A close friend. We were always together, because she was a friend. You know your Tatum? The girl you met before you knew about the Kings?”

I nod, slightly nervous at where this conversation could go. It’s the first time Bishop has ever opened up about Khales, and I don’t want to say something dumb and have him clam up again. “Yeah, but haven’t you boys always known about the Kings?”

He laughs, running his hands through his hair and leaning on his elbows, his back turned toward me. “No. It’s not until you’re of age when you’re given the book. I had known Khales since we were in preschool.”

“Who was she?” I ask, tilting my head. “I know she went to Tillie’s school and all that.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “She had a shitty life, and then eventually started playing with drugs. I always tried to help her where I could, but sometimes you can’t help those who don’t want to be helped. Anyway, she kicked the drugs, and after I was initiated, she and I got close again. That is until my father decided otherwise.”

“Initiated? You mean after you…?”

He looks at me over his shoulder then turns to face me fully, leaning back on one of the posts at the end of my bed. “I’m sure you know about the initiation process.”

I blush. “Yes… how old?”

“Thirteen.” He looks at me carefully. “I’m sure you know what happens after….”

“Your first kill?” I ask lightly. I already know the answer, so I pull my eyes away from his and look at the wall.

“Truth?” he replies gently.

My eyes snap back to him. “Always.”

“Then, no, it wasn’t my first kill.”

I breathe in deeply. “Well, okay.”

“Okay?” He chuckles, shaking his head and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “I tell you that I killed someone when I was younger than thirteen, and you say ‘okay?’ Like it’s the most natural thing in the world?” He looks back at me, a mixture of awe and anger in his stare.

“Well,” I reply, “in our world, it is natural.”

“True,” he agrees.

“So your dad? He made you kill her?” I want to tread carefully around her, and I probably should have found a better word than kill, but I need straightforward answers, and to get straight answers, you need to ask straightforward questions. Leave them no gap to dance around their answer.

His jaw clenches. “Something like that.” I can see it’s a touchy subject, and aside from the fact that Bishop isn’t someone who opens up, I don’t want to push it. I don’t want to use the fact he just promised me he wouldn’t lie to bleed answers out of him.

Smiling, I shake my head. “Hungry?”

He snaps up at me in shock, “What? You’re not going to push for more answers?”

I shrug, getting off the bed. “No, I figure if I go in too hard, you might clam up, and I really am hungry.” My phone dings in my pocket and I pull it out, opening the text from Tatum.

Tate - You home?

Me - Yep.

Tate - I’ll come up soon.

Tossing my phone back on the bed, Bishop looks at it then back to me. “It was Tate,” I answer his unspoken question. “She’ll come up soon.”

He laughs, getting off the bed and stretching his arms high. “I figured.”

The following few days have gone better than I expected. Aside from Daemon’s lawyer building his case, Bishop and I have fallen into a smooth… relationship? I’m actually not sure what we are, and I don’t want to interrupt the flow of things by asking for a label. Daemon hasn’t left his room though, and that worries me. Everyone I have expressed my angst to about him not leaving his room has told me to leave it alone and that he’s dealing with things the way he knows how. So out of respect for Daemon, I do just that. I’ve left it.

“I need to ask you something,” Tate says, peeling off the lid of her yogurt. “Please don’t get mad at me for bringing it up, but it’s been itching at me for some time.”

Biting into my apple, I roll my hand for her to continue—at least until the boys get here, and then I’m sure she will tense up like she always does. I’m not sure what is going on with her and Nate, but I’ve decided to leave that too, not wanting to go near their drama.