The Silver Swan

  “I know you have every reason to not trust me,” Bishop states, looking out toward nature’s playground, with his hands pressed into his pockets. “But trust me when I say that anything I do—we do, Nate and me—is for your own good.” He looks at me now, his eyebrows tugging together, making his features turn serious and hard. “Promise me you’ll remember this. No matter what.”

  I search his eyes, trying to find something. Anything. “But you’ve told me everything—right?”

  He stops, smiles, and then nods. “Right. That I have.”

  “You’ve told me everything?” I repeat.

  He nods again, looking away, and then walking up to me. “Yes. What are you looking at?” He takes a seat beside me on the swing.

  “Out there.” I point. “I’d love to go hunt some deer.”

  “No.” Bishop shakes his head with a small smile. “Maybe save that for another trip.”

  I shrug. “It’s not like I have my guns here anyway, but I just wish I could.”

  Bishop stops and then smiles. “Yours aren’t, but mine are.” Pulling me up from my seat, he gets me to my feet and leads me back into the house. Fishing the keys out of his pocket, he unlocks a door and then flicks on a light that shows stairs leading down to a basement.

  “Come on.” He holds his hand out to me, looking up at me from a couple steps down. “I don’t bite.”

  “Yes, Bishop. Yes, you do bite.”

  He laughs this time, pulling me into him as we venture deeper and deeper into the dimly lit basement. “True that, but I can’t help it. You’re just so damn tasty.”

  Bishop unlocks a cabinet that hangs on the wall on the far side of the basement. The collected dust particles that are sprinkled over the fine woodwork illustrates just how long ago it had been opened.

  “If you tell me there’s a musket in here, I will shoot you.”

  Bishop laughs, pulling open the cabinet. “Nah, babe, no musket.” It opens out onto a couple AKs, Glocks, semis, and shotguns. I run my hand over the cool black metal of the M4, and Bishop watches me in amazement. “It’s sort of getting my dick hard watching how much this turns you on.”

  I roll my eyes and unhook the gun from its spot. “Trust you to find something pervy out of something so dangerous.”

  “Hmm….” Bishop grins, unhooking the M16 and some shells. “I can think of a few things we could do with these.” He gestures to his gun, tilting it sideways with a cocky smile on his face.

  “Most definitely not!” I turn around and walk back the way we came, passing all the old boxes piled up, and desks, decorations, and tables with white sheets draped over them. I grip onto the stairway’s railing. “That is never happening. Do you even know how dangerous that could be?” I ask, walking back up the stairs. But then I consider how he doesn’t seem to be bothered when I’m hurt during sex, so maybe the same goes if he accidently fucking kills me.

  We walk out the front door, passing Nate and Tillie on the way.

  “Wow, wow, wow, is this a good idea?” Nate looks to Bishop, eyes wide. Tillie chuckles beside me, toast in midair.

  “It’s fine, Nate,” I say, patting his arm. “You can come.”

  He looks to Bishop and then shakes his head. “Next time.”

  I nod, then hook my arm with Bishop’s. “So, how long will this go on?” I ask, as we step off the last stair and walk toward the clearing of the forest.

  “Hopefully not long. The school and your dad have been taken care of. They think we’re visiting colleges. Made up some bullshit about wanting to get in extra early to see our options and that it would be better if we all go at the same time.”

  “Right.” Colleges. I never thought of that. We all leave at the end of this year. Where is everyone going? I haven’t even decided yet, and it’s much too far away to figure it out.

  “Once we work out how to approach my dad, everything can go back to normal. Hopefully.” We step through the clearing and Bishop takes my hand, pulling me closer to him.

  “Have you been hunting before?” I ask with a smile.

  He pauses and seems to mull over what my question is, and then smiles mischievously. “Probably not the same kind of hunting.”

  Rolling my eyes at—what I assume is—his playfulness, I draw up my gun and look through the scope. I could get used to this real quick.

  A couple of hours later, we walk back up to the house, and Bishop takes me hand, grinning from ear to ear and pulling my body in to him. “You got my dick hard. Now—”

  He’s cut off by Nate. “B, your dad is calling my phone.”

  “Fuck.” Bishop walks toward him with me tucked protectively behind him. He snatches Nate’s phone and looks to him, something passing between the two of them.

  “Answer, man, I don’t want it to spread out.”

  “It already would have. They’d all already know.”

  “Know what?” I ask, tugging on Bishop’s hand.

  Tillie walks out the front door, watching me with a worried look. “Come on. We can put those away before someone gets shot.” She smiles weakly, gesturing me to come inside. I let go of Bishop’s hand and walk around Nate, toward her. We both walk into the house in silence, passing the guys who are all in the sitting room.

  Walking down to the basement, she breaks the silence. “Are you okay? You and Bishop looked cozy.”

  I laugh, opening the cabinet with the keys I got from him. “Yeah, I don’t know what we are.”

  “Do you trust him?” she asks, as I hang the guns back, placing the shells on their shelf.

  “Yes, I do.” She pauses, so I look at her over my shoulder. “Why?”

  Shutting the cabinet, I lock it again and put the keys into my pocket. She turns around, leaning against one of the old shelves. “I don’t know. It’s just… I knew his ex.”

  “Khales? Yeah, he has sort of mentioned her.”

  “What did he say?” Tillie asks, her eyes watching mine.

  “Just that it wasn’t as people thought it was—whatever that means.”

  Tillie shakes her head, hiding a scoff. “Games, always games with these boys.”

  “Tillie? I trust him.”

  She looks like she wants to say something else, but changes her mind. “Okay.”

  Nate lights up the fire pit and then walks toward me, handing me my drink. “You know…” He grins, flicking the Zippo between his fingers. “…Bishop inherited this house.”

  “Really?” I perk up, wanting to know more. The sun is setting, letting off a beautiful orange hue in the sky, and the drinks are going down smoothly, and despite the circumstances of me being here, I feel great. “Do tell me more.”

  Nate takes a seat on the log beside me, casting a small glance toward Tillie, who’s chatting with Saint opposite us. His eyes stay there for a beat longer, watching her and Saint.

  I nudge him with my arm. “Hey.”

  He looks back toward me with a smile, just as Cash takes a seat beside me on the other side. I look at him and smile; he smiles back. I haven’t spoken to Cash much, if at all, and I don’t really know his story, but I know he’s Saint’s younger brother. “Hey.” His blond hair drops to his collar. He has sort of a surfer look to him, with bright blue eyes and golden skin. So different from Saint, who has dark hair, a dark five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw, and dark eyes that could pin you with one stare. They must be half-brothers.

  I look back to Nate. “Keep going.”

  “Is it story time already, Nate dawg?” Cash teases with a smirk but then takes a long pull off his beer.

  Nate shrugs easily. “Why not?” Then he takes a sip of his own beer. I don’t miss the silent communication that passes between the two of them. Nate brings his beer to his lap and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “As I was saying, Bishop inherited this cottage.”

  “His grandparents or something?” I ask, looking back to the beautiful, large structure. You can see it has some age to it, but not old enough to go back any further
.

  Nate chuckles sarcastically. “Something like that.”

  “Carry on,” I probe him.

  “Well…” He leans forward, the rim of his bottle dangling between his fingers. “This house is sort of like a family heirloom.”

  “Some heirloom,” I mutter, taking another drink of my whiskey sour.

  “Okay!” Bishop grins, dropping a whole bunch of black bags at his feet.

  I smirk at him. “Why do you have no top on?” His beautiful body is on full display, and he’s put a baseball cap on backward, covering his hair. I fight the urge to lick my lips, because the way the ripped denim jeans hang off his narrow waist, showing the edge of his Calvin’s, makes me want to melt into a puddle on the ground.

  “This is how we play, baby.”

  “Play what?” I ask, inching forward as Nate stands, drinking the rest of his beer in one go and then tossing his bottle to the ground. He grips the back of his collar and tears his shirt off, all his muscles tensing at the action, and his tattoos—a little more than Bishop has—coming into view.

  Nate smirks down at me. “Paintball shooting.”

  “Really?” I stand instantly. “I’m in!”

  All the boys remove their shirts, and my eyes find Tillie’s instantly. We share a look that’s something like “Well gawd dayum,” then both laugh. I feel the tension ease off my shoulders in our laughing, and then I look back to Bishop, who is giving me the sexiest evil grin I have ever seen in my entire life.

  “Nawww,” I tease him, walking past Nate and coming to the front of Bishop. Circling my index finger over his left pec, I grin back at him. “Jealous?”

  He snatches my hand and then sucks my finger into his mouth before biting down on it roughly. “You’re mine, and I don’t share.”

  “Since when did the no sharing rule come in?” I taunt him.

  He hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. “Since a couple days ago.”

  “Rule change?” I tilt my head up at him.

  He points to his chest. “Rule maker.”

  I smile and then look down to the bags at his feet just as Nate comes up to us and takes one of them, handing me a vest. “Put this on.”

  “You guys aren’t wearing vests.”

  “We never have,” Nate replies, and then shoves the vest into my chest harder. “Put it on.”

  I take it from him and slip my jacket off before pulling the vest over my tank top. “How long have you guys been playing?”

  They all pause, and an awkward silence hangs between us all. I look to Tillie, who looks to Nate and then Saint awkwardly.

  Bishop grins, his eyes gleaming like dark orbs. “It’s a sort of tradition, baby. Put the vest on. Only I’m allowed to mark you.”

  “You need help.” Cash shakes his head at Bishop.

  “Naw, don’t think that’s only you, kitty,” Brantley snarls from across the fire pit. “Khales used to come over with all sorts of marks and bruises on her. If you ask me, yours are pretty tame.” He looks to Bishop, who is frothing at the mouth. “What? This one just not hitting the spot like Khales did?”

  I zip up my vest. “I don—” I look up to Bishop, only he’s not there.

  “You say so much as another fucking thing toward her, and I’ll break your fucking jaw.” I walk toward Bishop, about to calm him down, when Cash takes my hand and pulls me backward. I look down to where his hand is then look up to his face. He shakes his head at me. Bishop continues, chest to chest with Brantley. “Are you forgetting who runs this show, pup? Or do I need to remind you who the fuck I am?”

  Brantley searches Bishop’s eyes before he cuts them over his shoulder to me. “Nah, I’m good.” He bends down, picking up his gun and slinging it over his shoulder. What the fuck is his deal with me? It’s been no secret how much he has hated me, but I thought he’d got over it. We had a good patch, but since we’ve been here, he’s gone back to being a grade-A jerk. I already know he blames me for why he’s here, but Bishop said it’s no big deal, that they’re only here to keep his dad guessing. To keep him chasing us. I don’t—

  “Madi!” Bishop growls, his eyes still on Brantley.

  “Yes?”

  “Got your vest on?”

  “Yes.”

  Bishop grins. “Good.” He points his gun at me, and before I can ask what the fuck he’s doing, he pulls the trigger and a heavy thud smashes against my chest.

  “Ouch! Bishop!” I scold him.

  “You’re out. Sit the fuck down.”

  “But I—”

  “I said sit the fuck down.” He points toward the log.

  I huff and take a seat. Nate walks toward Tillie and points at me, and then she starts walking over, her bottom lip slightly puckered.

  Plopping down beside me, she sighs. “I wonder what the big deal is?”

  I shrug. “Who the hell knows with these boys? I mean seriously, right?”

  Bishop Walks off, loading up his gun, with Nate and a few others following behind him. I look to Tillie and grin. “Who says we can’t join in?”

  Smirking, she gets up from the log and reaches her hand out to mine. “Exactly.” Once all the boys have disappeared deep into the dark, gloomy forest, Tillie pulls out a gun from the bag she would have had. I walk toward her, bending down and picking up mine from the bag Bishop left behind too.

  “Shit, shall we do this?” she asks, shuffling into her vest and looking from left to right, taking in her surroundings.

  “What?” I mutter, loading up my paintballs into the gun. “Of course!”

  Tillie laughs, shaking her head but following through with me. “Madi, you’re such a rebel. Won’t Bishop get mad?”

  “That’s why I’m doing it.” I grin at her.

  She shakes her head again as I swing my gun over my shoulder. “You’re so bad.”

  We start tiptoeing into the forest, the thick branches instantly giving us coverage from the sun. “I’ll follow you,” Tillie whispers out.

  I roll my eyes. “Yes. Follow me, but these bullets can’t kill anything that might try to kill us, so if like, a mountain lion or anything comes after us, I can’t help us.”

  Tillie pauses just as we make our way through the clearing. “But you don’t actually hunt mountain lions and stuff, do you?”

  I stop and turn to face her. “Of course not! But I would shoot to kill any human who does.”

  Her mouth slams shut and then she laughs me off. “Oh, you’re not being serious.”

  I laugh with her, though I’m very serious. My dad had to physically restrain me after some stupid bimbo slut and her bimbo-ass family uploaded a picture of them on Facebook with a dead lion that they had killed, holding its lifeless body proudly. One day, I’m going to reenact that very photo, only holding their first-born child.

  Okay, so that was too far.

  Yeah, that was a little far, but alas, whatever people think about hunters, I love animals. More than I love people. I—me and my family—have only ever hunted deer, unless it was duck shooting.

  “Madi!” Tillie whispers into the back of my neck, her breath misting across my neck.

  “What!” I hiss back, drawing my gun up. Tillie is following closely behind me, her chest rubbing against my back every two seconds. If we were in a horror movie right now, she would be the death of us.

  “It’s getting dark.”

  “Well, that’s what happens when it’s almost 8:00 p.m. Chill out.” I go to step over a fallen log, when I slip and fall to the ground, just as a bright green splatter of paint shoots over the trunk that’s near us. Tillie snaps out of her questionnaire, looks to the green paint, and then screams out in shock just as another splatter of paint hits her square in the jaw. I slam my hand over my mouth in shock. That could have easily knocked out some teeth. Rolling onto my stomach, I prop my gun up against my shoulder and peek through the scope, the diameter giving me zoom view. A bush rustles opposite us, but I know that’s too easy and was obviously set up. Noticing th
e bush moved from the right first, I whip the end of my gun toward the right where, sure enough, Brantley and Ace’s faces come into view, where they’re laughing at Tillie’s—and possibly my—stupidity.

  I grin. “Boo-yah motherfuckers.” And then I squeeze the trigger, my gun pointing toward Brantley’s smug-ass face first. When I see the bright pastel pink splatter all over his shocked mug, I quickly point it toward Ace and squeeze again, this time getting him exactly where they got Tillie, on the corner of her jaw.

  They both scream aloud. “Fuck!”

  I laugh and turn back to Tillie, who’s weeping up against the trunk of the tree, tears pouring down her cheeks, smudging the green color on her face.

  “Hey.” I shuffle closer to her. “It hurts, huh? Don’t worry. I got them.”

  She shakes her head, the tears not threatening to leave. “It’s not that, Madi.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, shuffling closer to her, but my finger still trigger ready.

  “My dad. Well, um….”

  “Your bruises?” I whisper, more to myself than to her, putting two and two together, her being upset, and then the first thing she says is her dad.

  She nods. “He’s a drunk. My mom left when I was two, and he has always reminded me about how I owe him because he stuck around when she didn’t.” She swipes the tears off her cheeks again. “He gets rough most nights.”

  “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, Tillie. It’s okay.”

  She smiles, pushing her long mousy brown hair away from her face. “Anyway, I just wanted to explain why I overreacted about that.”

  Footsteps get closer, the crunching of their closeness vibrating out, and I quickly stand, shielding Tillie and raising my gun to whoever is coming.

  “Whoa!” Bishop grins, his hands raised. “Just me, baby.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Oh yeah? Last I checked, you said I wasn’t allowed to come and play. So, um…” I look down to Tillie, and she smiles at me with a knowing twinkle in her eye. I wink at her and then look back to Bishop. “That makes it us against you.” His smirk drops, and then just as he’s about to pull the trigger, I squeeze mine, and bright pink paint splatters all over the front of his hard chest before I turn the tip to Nate, giving him two solid shots to his chest. Grinning, I drop my gun. “See—”