“Tate, you precious little human. So easy to snap that delicate little neck.”
Tate raises an eyebrow at the phone. “Wow. That’s all you’ve got? Gotta say, I’m severely under-impressed with your creativity, or lack thereof.”
He chuckles. “Have you told Bishop that you’ve visited little Madison?”
My eyes shoot to hers, and she winces. “Okay. Sort of impressed with that.”
“Where the fuck is Saint!” I roar, and when the tingles dissolve far enough into my bones for me to move my fingers and toes, I stumble to my feet slowly.
Headlights flash up behind me and Bishop runs over to us, his car door wide open.
“Do you see her?” The voice lowers, and my eyes shoot around the place.
“Where’s Saint!” Bishop yells, but when he sees me, he instantly starts looking, too.
Then I see her. The pastel pink of her clothes in the darkness of the forest. I don’t even answer the phone or give a fuck because I’m sprinting right for where I see the sliver of color between the trees. Shoving past branches, Tate, Bishop, and Spyder are behind me.
“Ahhh, you found her.”
Saint is standing in the middle of a small clearing, staring up at the moon. I grab her by the arm, turning her around to face me.
“Brantley!” She stares at me with wide eyes. “Ouch on the grip.”
Bishop exhales, and I tuck Saint farther under my arm, taking the phone from Tate. Now that I know she’s safe, all that fear has gone, and all that’s left Is rage.
“I’m going to kill you. That’s a goddamn promise.”
He laughs, and Bishop and I meet eye-to-eye. “Oh, I know. But take this as a learning curve, Kings. This was to show you what we could do. Keep your little witch safe. We all know your secrets now…”
The line cuts out and I shove my phone into my pocket.
“Where the fuck were you?” I yell down at Saint.
She searches my eyes, worry lines etched in her forehead. “I wanted to see the moon!”
“Then fucking tell someone to take you!” I snap. “Or you don’t go at all.”
She looks to Bishop, but her arm hooks around me. “What happened?”
“He was drugged, as were Eli, Hunter, and Cash.”
“Oh,” she whispers, and I could fucking strangle her. Still might. Undecided.
Tate can’t keep her eyes off Saint, and if it was anyone else, I would be uncomfortable with it, but it’s Tate. She’s about as threatening as a hungry chihuahua.
“Bishop,” she exhales, turning toward him as we all make our way out of the clearing and back to the party. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Her mouth opens and then closes.
I drag Saint back near the bonfire. Bishop takes the spot beside me with Spyder on the other side of Tate. Saint falls onto the ground in front of me, leaning between my legs while running her hands up and down her body.
I nudge my head at Abel. “Go grab her hoodie out of my bag upstairs.”
He instantly leaves his beer on his chair, disappearing.
Saint looks up at me backward. “Are they the new Kings?”
I shake my head. “Yes and no. They won’t be official Kings.”
“Why?” she asks, turning to face me. “He’s a Hayes, right?”
I crack my head to the side, keeping my eyes on hers. The thought of almost fucking losing her tonight will haunt me forever. “Yeah, but he’s not the oldest Hayes. Bishop is.”
Saint sighs, turning to the bonfire. “It’s confusing.”
I wrap my arm around her chest and pull her in closer. Her fingers come to my forearm as she ducks her nose behind it. Her fingers look minuscule against my arms.
“What?” Bishop murmurs lazily, staring at the fire. “You’ve been visiting Madison in New Zealand?”
Tate spins to face him, her face pale. “Bishop, I—”
He shakes his head. “It amazes me that even after the last time I had to fly my private jet all the way the fuck over there to drag her ass home, that you both still don’t think I know every single step she’s making.” His eyes land on hers. “Or that I know who she’s with.”
Tate winces. “And that’s all you know?”
Bishop’s eyes turn to slits. “What the fuck do you mean?”
She shakes her head. “Jessie is just a friend.” Good one with the deflecting. Fucking give her that. But she just made it obvious that she’s hiding something. Madison probably got a new tattoo, upped her coke habit, or I don’t know, fucked a girl. “She is my best friend, Bishop. We’ve seen each other at our worst, and even though I’m well aware you all have a family now and Tillie still hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Saint whispers, her lips moving over my arm. Pressing it down so that it’s now against her throat, she repeats, “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know how to fix what is broken.”