The Silver Swan

  “Babysitting duties?” I ask, offended. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  He shrugs. “Brantley is here. You need someone near you when he’s around.”

  I cock my head, running my eyes over him. Standing at around six-foot-two, he towers over my five-foot-three.

  “Why?” I ask, my eyes diverting to the wall. “What did I do to him?”

  Hunter pauses, his finger running across his upper lip. “That’s not something you need to worry about yet.”

  “I’m sure I could just get the full lowdown if I ask Tatum,” I mumble from the rim of my Coke.

  “Tatum?” He barks out a laugh. “Tatum lives for drama and bullshit. Nothing she says holds any substance.” His eyes narrow on me briefly.

  “And your words do?” I cock my head. “I don’t need a sitter,” I mutter bitterly, as I head toward the stairs—only for a wall of muscle to slam into my face yet again. “Jesus!” I cuss, getting annoyed at how my house has been taken over by mysterious boys who can never give me any answers. My eyes travel up a broad chest and land on Brantley’s dark, beady eyes. He has a bit of scruff around his jaw—not much, just enough it’ll scratch you lightly—and his eyes are as dark as a bottomless pit leading to the gates of hell. And when he opens his mouth, I find his words are much like his eyes.

  “You’d do good to stay the fuck outta my way.”

  Having about enough of all this bullshit, I cross my arms in front of myself. ‘Cause I’m a badass. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

  I can feel Hunter’s presence behind me, silently watching.

  Brantley’s eyes snap to mine, burning into me like a hot knife through cold butter. “How about just existing? Everything was fine until you came back,” he mutters, before shoving me out of the way and walking toward the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle and peers at me over his shoulder briefly. His dark jeans hang off his narrow hips, and the white tee he is sporting clings to him effortlessly. He mumbles something before storming out the door.

  “Back?” I ask Hunter. “I’ve never been here in my life.”

  He watches me, pushing off the side of the wall. “He didn’t mean back. He just meant when you got here.” He walks toward the front door, dismissing me. “I’m out. My duties are no longer needed.”

  I stay there, staring at the door absently for a couple of breaths. “What in the world?” Immensely confused by everything that has shifted in my world in such a short amount of time, I walk up the stairs and into my room, pulling out my sketchbook and sitting down at my desk. Taking the remote off my table, I push Play on my sound dock. Picking up my pencil, I then press it into the corner of the blank white page and start scribbling.

  Banging on my door somehow breaks through my drawing and music haze.

  Thud thud thud. “Madi!”

  Sliding my chair back, I glance at my alarm clock that sits on top of my bedside table. “Fuck.” It’s 5:30 p.m. I have been sketching for three hours flat without so much as a break for fresh air. Before my mom passed, I would draw like this at least three times a week, if not more, but since she died, I find it more difficult to completely let go of my surroundings and engross myself into my pencil and pad. Music has always been an outlet for me, but sketching was something personal that my mom and I used to do together.

  Pulling on my bedroom door, I open it to Tatum. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I got a little carried away in my drawing.”

  Tatum strolls past me, a paperback clutched in one hand and a pink duffel bag in the other. “I see that.” She waves her hands around my head, referring to my wayward bun that’s messily scrunched up and sitting lopsided on the side of my skull.

  “Hey!” I scold her, giggling as I point to the bed. “This is nothing. You should see it in the morning.” This is true, because my hair game is atrocious in the morning. Not only is it thick and long, but it also has a natural bouncy wave to it too, coming from my mom’s Spanish background. “Relax.” I eye her suspiciously. “Where’re your pajamas?”

  She looks at me with a smile, pulling out a pack of Twizzlers. “In my bag.”

  I bend over, snatching candy from the pack, and walk toward my closet, taking out my cotton pajama shorts and a light tank. “I’ll take a shower. I came straight home and didn’t get a chance to clean up.”

  “Oh,” Tatum clutches her chest in mock awe, “you’re getting pretty for me?”

  I scoff, walking toward the en suite bathroom. “Definitely not.”

  After scrubbing up in the shower, I brush my teeth quickly, just in case I fall asleep during the movie, and flick Nate’s door unlocked before slipping into my room.

  I look down at the mountain of sweets around her legs. “Holy mother of f—”

  “What?” she asks innocently. “Did you underestimate my sweet tooth?” I look down at the cheesecake, potato chips, M&M’s, packaged donuts, gummy bears, and soda. “I think I’m about to get diabetes.”

  She tosses a handful of M&M’s into her mouth. “Possibly.”

  “I’ll go down and get some spoons for that.” I flick my fingers toward the cheesecake. Leaving her unattended with the goods, I fly down the stairs and run into the kitchen, my head bobbing as I hum the tune to “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd—it’s still stuck in my head from my sketching. With two spoons clutched in my hand safety, I fly out of the kitchen, but pause at the foot of the stairwell, backing up until I’m in clear vision of the sitting room, where all the boys are sitting around on the large L-shaped sofa.

  Nate is leaning back, his hand hiding his mouth, but the smile lines around his eyes show how much he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

  “What?” I snap at him, ignoring the rest of the boys. God, he annoys me.

  Uncovering his mouth, he shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  My eyes narrow. “Yeah, sure.” I look to his left to see Bishop sitting there, his arms sprawled out over the couch. His dark T-shirt hugs him in all the right places, and his dark jeans sit on him casually. He has white Air Force Ones on his feet, and by the time my gaze travels back up his body, landing on his eyes again, his features have changed. Wiped clean of anything else but the resting bitch face he gives like a pro.

  “Don’t you guys have a place where you can all meet? Why here?” I tilt my head, looking at all of them.

  “Calm down, kitten. I’m on babysitting duty, so we have to come here.” Nate pauses, his grin kicking up. “Unless, of course, you would like to come with us?” I look back to Bishop to see his eyes, which still haven’t moved themselves off me, darken. Ace whips his attention to Nate, scolding him.

  “First of all,” I say calmly, “don’t ever call me kitten—ever again. Or I’ll shoot you.” I pause, laughing inwardly at his change of facial expressions. That probably wasn’t very nice, considering everyone already thinks I’m crazy because of my mom. “Second of all,” I add, “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.” The end is more of a mutter, as I turn on my feet and walk up the stairs. I have just landed at the top, when I glance over my shoulder, feeling eyes on me. Bishop is at the bottom, staring up at me.

  I turn to face him. “What?” He hasn’t spoken much to me, except for that day with Brantley. Tatum warned me about his reputation, and if that wasn’t a dead giveaway of how completely standoffish and uptight he is, not to mention unapproachable—have I said that yet? It deserves to be stated a second time—his personality in general would make you want to run. He reminds me of a king cobra. Silent, deadly, and leaving you guessing about what lies beneath his bite.

  His blank face remains stoic, his strong jaw tensing, until eventually, I spin around and walk into my room. My heart pounds against my chest until my throat feels bruised and my saliva has run dry. Smashing my head against the back of my door, I watch Tatum scoot off the bed, now in her pajamas.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, handing her a spoon and walking toward the bed. “Let’s just eat all the sugar.?
??

  I spoon a huge chunk of chocolate cheesecake into my mouth, groaning in approval at the soft, sweet crumble touching my taste buds.

  “So tell me,” Tatum states, wrapping her long hair into a bow bun on the top of her head and removing her slim-rimmed glasses. “How did you manage to catch the eye of the one and only Bishop Vincent Haynes?”

  “Oh, God, not this again,” I utter under my breath, going for another spoonful to fill my mouth. The movie has long since started, and the gunshots in the background are pitched low.

  “He stared. That doesn’t exactly mean he’s interested—or me, for that matter. Because I’m not.”

  “Mmmm.” She sucks the cheesecake off her spoon. “Now, say it again. This time with more conviction!”

  I snatch my pillow and throw it at her head, but she catches it, falling onto her back and laughing.

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, but for the record, that little eye”—she gestures between our eyes—“fuckery that you two had going on was more than I had seen out of him—ever. No one at RSPA is good enough for his royal highness.” She rolls her eyes, opening a bag of gummy bears.

  “How do you know? Maybe he’s just discreet about it.”

  She shakes her head. “Oh no, he has been with other girls, but they don’t attend RSPA. They’re like—” She pauses, mulling over the word she wanted to use. “—famous and stuff.”

  Disappointed at her lack of a better word, I ask for clarification, “Famous—and stuff?”

  She nods, oblivious to my stab at her wording. “Yeah. But those are all rumors though. No one has seen him with any of the girls who have apparently been with him. I’m talking like tycoon daughters, heiresses, that sort of boring crap. The only girl I know with 100 percent certainty was Khales, and that’s because, yeah, they were always together when they weren’t at school. It was like a modern-day Cinderella, where the poor princess found her prince.”

  “Oh! That’s just being mean.”

  Shaking her head, she pops another gummy bear in her mouth, and I reach for one before she eats them all. “Truth. Shame really. He was still unapproachable back then, but at least he had a smile on his face when she was around, and he didn’t tell people to ‘fuck off’ if they got too close to him.”

  I let out a breath. “Well… lucky girl then, I guess. Maybe. Because he sounds like an asshole.”

  Tatum laughs, throwing a bear at me. “See… I knew we would be great friends.”

  She was right.

  MY CELL PHONE’S ANNOYING RINGTONE sounds off on my bedside table, waking me from my deep sleep. Grunting, I sit up off the bed and blindly reach for it, accidently hitting Tatum’s sleeping form.

  “I don’t want to go to Candy Land,” she mutters sleepily, flipping onto her side. I stifle a laugh, sliding my phone unlocked and pressing it to my ear.

  “Hello?” I whisper, careful not to wake Tatum.

  “Sis….”

  I look down at the screen of my phone, squinting my eyes from the bright light assaulting my vision. Pressing it back to my ear, I whisper loudly, “Nate! What do you want?”

  “Why are you whispering?” he murmurs, almost whispering himself. “Ouch!” I hear him growl, and in the background, someone else says, “That’s not why you’re calling, fucker.”

  Walking into the bathroom, I flick the light on and close the door, careful to do it quietly. “What, why? What? Why the hell are you calling me at…” I look down at my phone again. “Fucking 3:00 a.m.?” My voice gets a little loud toward the end.

  “I need your help.”

  “Why would I help you? I’m not even sure I like you!”

  “What? Why? I’ve been nice to you. I thought we had a—ouch! Fuck! Okay.” He takes a breath. “For real, Madi. I need your help.” His change in tone jolts me, my eyebrows rising instead of pinching together.

  Closing my eyes, I lean over the sink, massaging my temple with my free hand. “What is it?”

  “I cannot believe I’m fucking doing this,” I mutter to myself, no longer caring if I wake Tatum. Walking into my closet, I leave my pajama shorts and tank on but pull a zip-up hoodie off a hook, sliding it on before throwing my hair into a tight, high ponytail and slipping on my Chucks. Walking out of my closet, I flick the light off, noticing how Tatum hasn’t moved, then walk out my bedroom and trek down our double stairs. The pitter-patter of my rubber soles squeaking over the tiles in the foyer is the only proof I’m making my way to our underground garage. After passing the theater, I push open the door onto the clean white space of the ten-car garage, which looks more like a showroom, with all the cars strategically parked on display.

  Seeing the midnight black Escalade, I unhook the keys that are hanging on the hook and beep it unlocked. Adding up the numbers in my head, I growl in frustration. Stupid Nate obviously wasn’t thinking. How the hell am I supposed to fit them all into the SUV that only has seven passenger seats? Popping the trunk, I lay the seats in the back down flat and then slam it shut, walking back to the driver seat. Starting the car, I place my phone into the holder and speaker dial Nate.

  “You good?” he answers.

  “No, Nate, I’m not fucking good. It’s 3:00 a.m. and you call me to pick you guys up from God knows where in a fucking seven-seated car. By the way, I usually need caffeine in the mornings before I can even function, and I’m not a fucking morning person. Let alone a 3:00 a.m. person!”

  “You done?” he questions casually.

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  “Sis, you’re on speaker.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He laughs.

  “Tell me where I’m going,” I snap.

  He yaps off the directions as I drive. As more time passes and more directions get spoken, it sends me deeper and deeper into the outskirts of town. “So you’ll get to a dark gravel private road to the left. Do you see it?”

  Chills creep down my spine. “What? Yes.” I look from left to right, and I’m pretty sure I’m seeing shadows whip past my windows and weaving into the trees on the side of the road.

  “Good girl.” He pauses. “Take that turn.”

  Something doesn’t sit right with what he’s saying and his tone, but it better be worth it, and they better be in trouble, or I will so be telling on him.

  If I’m still alive, that is. If not, I’ll just come back in ghost form and tear up their lives.

  Pulling down the dark, eerie, bumpy gravel road, with nothing but the bright headlights of the SUV guiding my way, I swallow down my nerves. What the fuck is he doing, and why the hell did he tell me to come down here?

  “Nate?” I whisper. “Maybe I took the wrong turn.”

  Silence.

  “Nate!” I yell at the phone. “This isn’t funny.”

  “I’m not laughing, sis. Keep going. We can see your headlights.” What am I doing? I’m basically relying on the fact that Nate and I had bonded a little and our parents are together. I’m not sure those facts are worth my life. No, he wouldn’t. I’m just being paranoid. The only time, except for school, when I didn’t bring my fucking pistol either. I sag in defeat. My dad will not be impressed with my not carrying, and my mom will no doubt be screaming at me from the other side about how these are the reasons why she and my dad educated me so much on firearms. I’ve failed as a fucking daughter. I scoot up in my seat.

  “Nate, I don’t fucking see anything up here, but ja— oh my God!” I slam on the breaks, all four tires locking up in a skid. I squeeze the steering wheel tightly, banging down the locks on the doors. “Nate!” I yell into the phone.

  Silence.

  Slowly, I look up out the front windshield, the thick dust from my tires interrupting the dust still floating in the air, and that’s when I see it again.

  Ten men.

  Ten dark hoodies covering their faces.

  Ten—

  “Nate?” Understanding sets in. Ten.

  Slamming the gear into reverse, I’m just about to fl
oor it backward—to hell with anything or anyone behind me—when my driver window smashes into a million pieces, the tiny shards of glass falling onto my lap. I scream, my hands coming up to shield my face just as an arm slips inside and pops up the lock.

  A deep chuckle breathes over the back of my neck as a leather gloved hand wraps around my mouth. “Hello, Madison. You may not know us, but we know you. We want to play a game. Here’s what happens if you lose….”

  I BITE DOWN ON HIS palm, knowing it won’t do anything with the glove protecting it, but I refuse to go down without a fight. He laughs, pulling me out until the air is dragged out of my lungs, and then he drops me. My back slams against the gravel road. Hair flies across my face as dark hands come down toward me again. Fear drives my body into autopilot mode, so I launch my foot out, kicking, lunging, and tossing myself around. I won’t go down without a fight, that’s for damn sure.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I scream at them.

  Scooping my legs under his arms, he swings me over his shoulder effortlessly.

  “Nate!” I scream for him. “I’ll kill you. I swear to fucking God, you’re dead!”

  “Not if we kill you first. Shut the fuck up.” Big shoulders continue to carry me down the dead road until he stops.

  I raise my head, finding four dark shadows following behind us, all wearing hoodies to cover their faces. Scanning my eyes over each one, they land on who I’m pretty sure is Nate. “Why?”

  He pauses, walking toward me just as whoever is holding me drops me to the ground. “Why, Nate?” I scream, my butt aching from being slammed onto the gravel.

  Nate—I think— walks toward me, dropping to the ground until he’s kneeling in front of me. He leans forward, and if the ski mask wasn’t covering his face, I’d be able to see what I’m guessing is the smirk on his face. “You act like you don’t know.”

  “What?” I turn and watch as he gets to his feet and opens up the back door of a long stretch limo.

  “Blindfold her,” another voice says.

  “What?” I whip my head from side to side, watching each of them. “No!” I shake my head, stepping back until my butt hits the car. A strong arm wraps around my waist from inside the limo and pulls me inside. I scream—a full girly scream—just as a blindfold is being tugged around my eyes, shutting off my vision.