The Silver Swan

  Her shoulders slack in defeat. “Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine, Madi.” She looks around the master bedroom. “I thought the room we were in was nice, but this is something else.”

  I look around absently. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  Tillie turns to look at me. “So, um, did he say how he got this house?”

  I shake my head, standing from the bed and picking up my duffle bag off the floor. “No, but I do have to say that a lot of shit makes sense now. And I need to have a talk with Tatum and her crazy imagination over these rumors.” I’m shaking my head and unzipping my bag when Tillie interrupts me.

  “How so?”

  “Let’s just say that they aren’t as bad as they seem.” I wink at her easily. Her face goes pale, her muscles tense, and her smile drops instantly. “Tillie?” I walk toward her. “Are you okay?” Goose bumps spring up all over my flesh from the look she is giving me, but in a flash, her smile is back.

  “Yeah, sorry,” she tries to reassure me, but I don’t buy it.

  “You sure?” I question, touching her arm. “Looked like you saw a ghost.”

  She laughs me off easily. “Don’t be silly.”

  I turn back to my bag and pull out my black leather jacket, slipping it on and doing up the buttons before tugging on my Ugg boots. “Shall we go downstairs?” I go to walk past her, and just as I’m about to reach the bedroom door, her hand comes to my arm, stopping me.

  “Your turn to promise me that you will be careful, Madi.”

  I search her eyes with a smile, but when I see how serious she is, her eyes glassing over with unshed tears and fear rippling over her features, I pat her hand and give her a sincere nod. “Of course I will, Tillie.”

  THE FLAMES FROM THE LOG fire Bishop and the guys set up outside in the large front yard of the cottage flickers into the starry night, licking over my skin with each flash. I wrap my jacket around my body tightly again just as Bishop takes a seat on the log beside me, handing me what I assume to be a glass of whiskey. I take it happily, the ice cubes clinking and breaking our silence. A few of the guys are still awake, spread out over the logs that are outside, as well as Nate and Tillie, who are snuggled up on the ground and sitting against one. Nate kicks a stone into the fire. His other knee’s pulled up with his elbow resting on it, and Tillie’s tucked between his legs.

  “Nate?” I call out to him softly. He pauses, his jaw tensing.

  “What?”

  “What’s wrong?” There’s never been any beating around the bush with Nate. I think, from day one, he’s just always been that person I feel like I can trust, despite his shitty decisions. So they play games. When you have as much money as we all do—except Tillie—you find pleasure in shallow tricks.

  He looks to Bishop, his lip curling slightly. “No, nothing. Everything is peachy, sis,” he almost hisses, before looking directly at me. His eyes soften a smidge when they lock with mine, and he stands from the ground, making Tillie shuffle up quickly. Walking toward me, he stops directly in front and gently brings the back of his fingers to my cheek, running it down softly. I close my eyes. “Look at me, Madi.”

  My eyes open to Nate looking down at me, ignoring Bishop. I could cut the tension.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. Then he leaves, tugging Tillie behind him, who watches me from over her shoulder as she gets led back inside. Why is it that even though Bishop just told me what everyone was hiding, I still feel like I’m the only one out of the loop?

  Sighing, I hand Bishop my drink and stand from the log. “I’m going to bed.”

  He takes my glass, his fingers grazing over mine. “I’m just going to talk with Saint for a bit. I’ll be up soon.”

  I smile down at him. “Okay.” Walking back inside the quiet cottage—despite the number of rowdy guys under this one roof—I trudge upstairs, with nothing but my thoughts. Pushing open our door, I pull out some panties and a loose tank before walking into the en suite. Flicking on the light, I place my clothes on the adjoining sinks and turn the faucet on. As the steam fills the large bathroom, I strip out of my clothes and pull a clean towel out of the cupboard, wrapping it around my body.

  Why do I feel like there’s a major part I’m missing? I trust Bishop, though. I believe he’s sincere, and that might make me stupid, but why else would he feel like he has to hide something from me? His father being a part of the CIA makes a lot of sense. It aligns every single thing that has happened. That damn missing piece, though. It’s staring at me, flashing itself at me.

  Chalking it up to me being overtired, hungry, and just exhausted, I drop my towel and slip into the shower, scrubbing up quickly but relishing in the hot droplets of water that cascade off my drained muscles. It feels so damn good. Remembering I want to get a quick read in tonight before Bishop comes to bed, I flick the faucets off and step out of the shower, wrapping the towel around me to dry quickly before stepping into my clothes—or lack thereof.

  Hanging up my towel, I pull the door open, welcomed by uncongested air, and peek out the blinds next to the bed, checking to see if Bishop is still out there. He’s there, chatting with Saint and Hunter. I quickly shut the blinds, pulling The Book out from my duffel bag and slipping under the blanket. Lying down, I open to where I was and lose myself back in the story.

  5.

  Lost innocence

  After that night I heard my husband plan the deaths of our leaders, I decided to bury this book until I could decide whether it would be safe or not to continue with writing it. My son turned fourteen today, and tonight, it’s his ritual. At fourteen, my son will lose his virginity to a woman who has far too many years on him than any mother would care to acknowledge. The years I had no say in. I used to fight Humphrey at every turn. Every decision he made that I didn’t like, I would fight him. It started with him yelling at me and then beating me, but he soon realized I took everything he gave me. Once he realized that, he would punish me by beating my son. That worked effectively, because the one day he threatened that, was the day I started obeying his every word. That was the day my shoulders dropped in defeat, and I swore to myself, as God as my witness, that I hope he dies one day soon. Dies a quick death, but dies nonetheless.

  “Ma, I’ll be okay. No need to fuss.”

  I pressed the crinkles out of his linen shirt, a smile on my lips. A fake smile, a smile he knew so well. My precious son, the one person I wanted nothing but happiness for, but I knew he wouldn’t get it.

  “I know, my son. I know.”

  He smiled. “This is for the best, Mother. Father knows what he’s doing. The people trust him. I trust him. You should trust him too.” My heart broke a little, but I was grateful he didn’t know what the kind of monster his father was. It was better this way. Nothing good can come for him if he knew. I didn’t want to ruin how much he looked up to his father—even though his intentions were not noble.

  I rubbed Damien’s chest. “You’re all ready.”

  He smiled. Damien’s white teeth gleamed across his face, the scar he got on top of his lip from when he fell off one of our horses still there. He was four at the time, and now he was fourteen. About to make love to someone who didn’t deserve it, all because his father said so. Because it was his coming of age. Because the younger he found someone, the longer they had to reproduce. The thought had my stomach churning with disgust, but I kept my smile on my face for my son.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, Damien. Now—go ahead.”

  He smiled at me again and then left our hut. It was much larger than our old one—and my husband always made a note to remind me of that. Of how I owed him for getting me out of poverty, as he would say.

  Damien escaped through the curtain. “I love you so very much.” I could feel him slipping through my fingertips already, and no matter how hard I tried to grasp onto anything I could at keeping him near me, I couldn’t. It was out of my hands.

  Humphrey was succeeding in manipulating the most powerful men
of our time. He had other men—leaders, but not in charge like him—who stood behind him. All had money, all earned power and respect, and together? They were untouchable. Nothing went through their intelligence. No one dared disrespect or cross them. They were feared amongst our people—amongst other people. We had money now. We didn’t know suffering, but I’d rather have no money and a family at peace, than him with all his riches.

  I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to discover today—amongst Damien’s initiation. My worst fear. The worst possible thing that could ever happen, happened.

  I fell pregnant.

  My phone beeping with a text pulls me out of my story. “Fuck.” Frustrated at how it interrupted me just as I’m getting to something juicy, I close the book. I slip it back into my bag, deciding it’s probably a good idea to turn it in for the night, considering. Flicking off the bedside lamp, I snuggle into the blanket and unlock my phone to a text from Tatum.

  Tatum – Are you okay?

  Me – I’m fine. How are you?

  Tatum – Bored. Why couldn’t I come?

  Me – ‘Cause you weren’t banging Nate while it happened.

  Tatum – No way!

  Me – Yes way.

  Tatum – Tell me more, and where are you?

  Me – No! Ew. And I can’t tell you, sorry.

  Tatum – Well you’re no fun.

  Me – I won’t argue with that.

  Tatum – Can I ask you a question?

  Me – Always.

  Tatum – Do you think you’re falling in love with Bishop?

  What? I read over her message again, my eyebrows drawing together. Why would she want to know that? Bishop and I are not even in a solid enough relationship to start talking about love—that, I am sure of. Before I can reply to her spastic message, my bedroom door swings open and Bishop walks in.

  “Oh,” he mutters. “You’re awake.”

  “Disappointed?” I ask, locking my phone, thus shutting out any light. The bed dips on his side, and I hear his shoes drop to the ground and a shirt fall before a belt buckle clangs, and then the bed sinks again.

  “Why would I be disappointed?” he grumbles, his voice right near my ear and sending vibrations through my bloodstream. I close my eyes and count to ten. I must contain myself with this man or he will ruin me. His hand wraps around my left cheek. “Madison.”

  “I’m confused,” I blurt urgently. He pauses, his hand moving. Must be the dark that has my confidence shining rather brightly. No doubt I’ll get my ass burned. “I’m confused, because one minute you hate me, and then the next you’re touching me. I’m confused about this whole”—I flick my fingers through the air, even though I’m well aware he can’t see me—“thing.”

  “I don’t hate you.” He breaks through. My heart swells in my chest at his words.

  “What?”

  He brings one leg between mine and sinks on top of me, his elbows resting on either side of my head. Running the tip of his nose down the bridge of mine, his lips gently stroke over mine. “I. Don’t. Hate. You,” he whisper-yells each word, laying little kisses on my lips, and then suddenly his tongue slips out and drags over my bottom lip. “I just really need you to spread those legs for me and let me get lost in you for a few hours.” The cushion of his thumb caresses little circles over the side of my jugular.

  “Okay,” I whisper through my parched throat.

  He chuckles, his hips grinding into me so his erection presses against my leg. “That wasn’t a question, baby. Now, open up.” Then his head disappears under the blanket, and I’m getting a taste of ecstasy-spiked heaven.

  WHEN I OPEN MY EYES, the first thing I notice is how numb my thighs and legs are, and then the next thing I notice is the bright sun glaring into our room through the… open fucking blinds!

  “No!” I moan, covering my eyes with my arm. “Shut them.”

  “Get up, baby. Come have breakfast.”

  “I don’t wanna.”

  Bishop grabs my arm gently and tugs it down, away from my face. “Come on.”

  I peek my eyes open when I notice he’s blocking the sun with his massive body. And he’s clutching a loose white towel around his waist with droplets of water cascading down the ripple of his V before dipping under his—

  “Madi!” he snaps.

  “Hmm?” I look up at him innocently.

  “Looking at me like that will get you fucked. Hard. And judging by the bruises on your neck, wrists, and…” He peeks under the blanket. “…thighs, I’m going to go with you don’t really want that right now.”

  I shake my head. As much as I love sex with Bishop—love—I’m nowhere near ready for another round. The man is rough, no, lethal in the sack. The first time he left bruises on me, I thought it would bother him when it was over. You know, seeing how much he hurt me when he was so lost in his lust, but nope. He merely laughed it off like it was the most normal thing in the world, so now I just go with it and hope that one day, I won’t be on the news with the headline: Madison Montgomery, death by penetration.

  It’d be just my luck.

  “So get up.” Then he walks to his gym bag and pulls out some loose jeans and a plain white tee. Dropping his towel, he grins at me when my eyes go straight to his thick cock. Thick, hard cock. Grasping it, he slowly pumps himself, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth. Oh, God. “Like what you see, baby?” A little bead of precum wets around his head.

  I nod slowly, rubbing my thighs together in an attempt to stop the sudden ache that has started. He sees the movement under the blanket and his eyebrows tug in. “Pull the blanket off.”

  “What?” I mumble through a croaky throat.

  “Don’t answer back, kitty. Just follow instructions. Kick the blanket off.”

  I do as I’m told, swinging the blanket off my legs but keeping them closed, aware I didn’t put my clothes back on last night. Neither of us did, because Bishop fell asleep while still pumping inside me. This was after my fourth orgasm. I actually second-guessed if it was possible to die from having too many orgasms.

  The cool morning air whisks through the open window and glides over my sensitive clit. My eyes close as I try to contain the moan that threatens to pass my lips.

  “Open your eyes,” Bishop demands, so I do. I open them to him as he continues to pleasure himself. His rough hand glides up and down his thick shaft, squeezing as he gets to the rim of his head before sliding back down.

  “Touch yourself, baby.” Slowly, I run my hand up my thigh before spreading my legs wide, well aware of how direct his view is of me, but one thing I know is that no one knows my body like Bishop does. He knows how to work it and what to do with it. He knows ways to make me come that I didn’t even know were possible. “Spread yourself open for me, let me see all of you.”

  I do as he says, my breath coming in harder as my index finger and my pointer finger slowly spread my lips open, giving him a perfect view. I grind against my finger as it rests beside my clit, watching Bishop’s hand work himself up.

  “Slide a finger inside. Just one. Do what you do when you’re all alone.”

  Again, I follow his command, slipping in my index finger and thinking about what I do when I’m alone. What I’ve done while alone and thinking about Bishop. Running my eyes up to his, I pinch one of my nipples between my fingers and let my hips roll, grinding against my hands. Then I bring the hand that was pinching my nipple down to my clit and rub vigorously, all while pumping myself in and out, my eyes locked on Bishop’s and his on me. His movements become faster until he lets go. “Fuck this.” Then he walks toward me, wrapping his hands around my ankles and pulling me down the bed. Taking a seat on the edge, he picks me up until I’m straddling his hips and then smacks my ass before lying on his back. “Turn around and sit on my face.”

  Doing as I’m told, I spin around, sit on his face, and suck his dick into my mouth.

  After breakfast, Saint walks into the living room where Bishop, Nate, Tillie, Ace, Hunter, Abel
, and Cash are. The rest of the guys have gone to get supplies for tonight. Apparently drinking and laser tag is a thing they do. Who knew we could make fun out of the weird situation we’re in?

  Saint takes a seat on the sofa opposite me, and I shuffle uncomfortably. I know he’s Cash’s older brother, but I’ve only met him maybe one or two times before this, and both times were awkward—to say the least.

  “Do you have any questions about what’s going on, Madison?”

  I look at Saint. “Yes, when can I go home? Where is my dad? And I’m sure there has to be a misunderstanding. My father may be a lot of things, but he’s not a thief.”

  Saint chuckles, his hand rubbing over his five o’clock shadow, his brown hair styled messily on his head. Bishop picks up the pack of cigarettes on the table and lights one before tossing the packet to Saint, who follows. I don’t see him smoke often—but he makes it look hot, as does Saint.

  Saint takes a long pull off his cigarette before blowing out the thick cloud and leaning back in his seat. “When we say so. He’s in Vegas. And I’m sure that’s what every little girl says.” He leans forward, flicking his ash into the ashtray on the coffee table. Bishop props his leg up against it, caging my body in. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that was an almost protective gesture. Saint’s eyes lock with mine, his dark ones daring me to question him. “But let me be very clear, kitty. Your father is no innocent in this.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know?”

  Saint laughs, looks to Bishop, and then takes another pull of his smoke. “She’s cute.”

  “Up until last night,” I hiss toward Saint, “my father was my hero. So forgive me if I don’t trust any of your words over someone who has never given me reason to not trust him—ever.” I look to Bishop. “Unlike some.” Then I stand from the sofa and walk toward the doors that lead out to where we had the bonfire last night. Flopping down in the swing on the porch, I look out to the thick forest. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Actually, I don’t even know where we are. I’m surprised we get cell phone coverage. Who knows, maybe Bishop owns the cell phone towers, too.