Tacet a Mortuis (The Elite King's Club 3)

I brushed my hair out of my face and shoved him. “Fuck you!”

“Ignore her, she loves it.” He winked at the blonde and sat back, perching his foot on the table in the middle. I dragged my eyes around the boys and saw all the Kings, except Nate and Brantley.

“Where are Brantley and Nate?” I drilled Bishop, trying hard not to make eye contact with Hunter and Jase. In fact, everything was rather tense. Everyone was watching Bishop like he was Tony Montana and about to shoot up this club. Maybe I need to try a new tactic. He was obviously a lot more angry about this whole thing than I imagined. He hadn’t completely lost his cool with me, but he was off.

“Bishop,” I whispered, just as Tatum came to us. Her eyes found Khales and Justin, and her eyebrow went up.

“What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?”

My girl was feisty as fuck.

I laughed. “Sic ‘em, girl…” Then went back to more pressing issues, leaving Tatum and Khales to argue, but silently praying Khales threw a punch so I could smack her one. Just once. Maybe twice. I needed water.

Bishop ignored me, smiling at the blonde girl, but his jaw tensed and the vein on the side of his neck pulsed. He was mad as shit, so mad that he was masking it with all of this bullshit. I looked up at Jase who was already staring at me. He shook his head, gazing at Bishop worried.

I did this.

Closing my eyes, I opened them and then lowered my voice. “Bishop?” My hands went to his thigh and he stiffened. That was like swallowing a harsh pill. “Can we go for a walk?”

It was as though all the Kings were watching our exchange. This was my fault, so I had to somehow fix it. Bishop’s smile dropped. “Leave,” he said to the blonde, who was so quick out of her seat I barely saw it happen. He turned his head toward me. “Pretty sure we talked about this.”

“Pretty sure we fucking didn’t,” I snapped back, my eyes piercing his in a challenge. He stood up, grabbed my hand, and then started dragging me out of the club.

His grip was tight around my wrist as he dragged me out of the club, tight enough to leave a bruise. We hit the back exit, out onto an alleyway.

“Talk!” he said, too calmly. I looked around the dark alley, empty and cold. At least we were alone. For once.

“I’m sorry.”

He sneered. “You’re sorry?” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Shit.

“Yes!” I quipped, coming closer to him. “I—I lashed out. I didn’t, I don’t, God, Bishop! I make shitty decisions.”

He backed me up against the wall, the cool concrete freezing my back, then wrapped his hands around my thighs and hooked them around his waist. “I’m not done with your punishment.”

“Punishment?” I implored, tilting my head. His eyes started getting distracted by my clothes, his head moving all over the place.

“Yeah. And don’t get me started on Brantley and Nate, which you will watch, by the way.” His hand came to my nipple and I sucked in a breath as his thumb swiped over it. He pulled my breast out, the cold night air whisking around it boldly, and sucked it into his mouth. Biting on it harshly, he pulled back and lowered me back to my feet.

“We’re going to a bar.”

“What?” I tucked my tit back into my bra. Damn caveman. Then trailed after him.

“There’s a reason why I don’t drink, Kitty, and you’re about to witness why.”

“Witness? I think I’ve seen enough. Can we go home.”

His laughter echoed off the brick walls and set up shop in my bones. “No.”

I followed him down the main street as we passed clubs and late night restaurants. He tore his shirt off and tucked it into the back of his jeans pocket before stopping abruptly. I slammed into his bare back, trying to ignore the massive tattoo that stretched out wide against his flesh. The skull just below his wings on the back of his neck had a crown sitting on its head and the words “King” was tattooed over his nape. The man was sex on legs. I really needed to take him home. “Now what?” He was a man on a mission.

I watched as the bright red neon lights blazed over his smirking face.

I followed his line of sight. “Oh no…”

“Oh yes…” he mimicked, crossing the road—fuck the cars that are zipping past.

“Bishop!” I yelled, running into the road while dodging beeping cars and following him across. He pushed open the front doors that led into the tattoo studio and I quickly slipped in behind him. A tall man with a long beard and a motorcycle patch on walked out, stopping in his tracks when he caught both of us. His eyes ran over Bishop. “Is this a coincidence, B, or what?”