The Silver Swan

  THE CHAINSMOKERS’ “CLOSER” IS PULSING through the small enclosure of the car, and I spin around, dancing in my seat while watching Tatum, who has loosened up a lot more since leaving the house, dance in her seat. Thank you, tequila.

  “So where’re we going?” We’ve been driving for half an hour now, the distant lights of the town long gone.

  Carter grins, putting his headlights on high beam and then yanking up the emergency brake until the back wheels are latching onto the road. Suddenly, we’re sliding into a private long driveway, leaving a thick dust of smoke behind us.

  Tatum scolds him, “Not cool, Dominic Toretto.”

  I’m too busy smiling from ear to ear. “I want to do that again.”

  Tatum kicks the back of my seat. I look at Carter, ignoring my tantrum-throwing bestie in the back. “I’m serious.” He smiles and then puts his eyes back to the road ahead. Upscale fencing encases the endless driveway. “What?” I grumble under my breath. We finally come to the end of the driveway, and I look at the half circle of cars lined up with people crowding around. And when I say cars, I mean cars. I narrow my eyes. “Is this the rich boys’ playground?”

  Carter chuckles, pulling up to a stop. I’m not oblivious to how everyone has stopped what they’re doing, watching us in the car. “You could say that,” he says, winking at me and clutching his door handle. “Let’s go.”

  Tillie grumbles, sitting forward, “I guess we’re going to see firsthand what Bishop does when he races.”

  Wait, what?

  Shit.

  I push my door open, and Carter is already rounding my side. He places his hand out and I take it, standing to my feet. All eyes are on us. Great. I think I need more tequila. Snatching the bottle out of a very drunk Tatum’s hands, I bring the rim to my lips and pound it back.

  “Hey,” he pulls me into his body, “you can ride with me.”

  I swallow the potent liquid. “Really?”

  He looks down at me, his eyes searching mine. “Really, really.”

  Hooking my hands around his neck, I pull his lips down to mine. His warm breath falls over my lips and my heart pounds in my chest. I lean forward, about to kiss him—

  A strong arm wraps around my waist, tugging me out of his grip. “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

  I’m pushed behind Bishop’s body, with both him and Nate standing in front of me.

  “Uh yeah, I’m pretty sure she rolled up with me, so she’s riding with me.” Carter reaches out to my arm, and he barely touches me, when Bishop steps up to him, chest to chest, nose to nose.

  “Yeah,” Bishop murmurs, his eyes searching Carter’s and his square jaw clenching. “And I said it’s not gonna happen.” The entire crowd of people here are watching this epic pissing contest, Tatum and Tillie both awkwardly silent behind me.

  “Bishop,” I whisper, but he doesn’t move. I look to Nate for help, only finding him watching Bishop with a questioning glare, and then looking back to Carter, who seems like he’s not going to back down anytime soon. Fuck. I’m on my own.

  Bishop doesn’t move, so I raise my hand, grabbing hold of his thick arms. I could swear goose bumps break out over his arms at the connection of our skin. “Bishop?” I repeat, looking around nervously at everyone who is watching.

  “Nah, it’s cool,” Carter says, brushing me off while his eyes search Bishop’s with venom. “You can take her for a ride. But make no mistake, she will be with me after, and…” He pauses, pretending to think over his next words. “…after that too.”

  Oh, Jesus Christ.

  He pushes away from Bishop, all of them still watching as Carter gets back into his car. Tatum clears her throat. “Um, well that was awkward.”

  Bishop spins around to face me, both he and Nate obviously pissed at me. “What the fuck are you doing getting in the car with him? You were supposed to stay the fuck home!”

  “Last I checked,” I said, looking directly at Bishop, “you don’t tell me what the fuck to do!” I really hope I didn’t slur in that sentence.

  Bishop points toward his beautiful—fucking beautiful—Maserati. “Get in the fucking car, kitty, and don’t fucking move unless I tell you otherwise.” My mouth damn near drops open as I look to Nate, waiting for him to help me out here.

  But my stepbrother is trying to hold in his laugh, his face turning purple. “Nate!” I hiss.

  “Okay, okay, sorry, sis, but he’s right. I was going to lose my shit at you, but he did it for the both us. Get in the car.” He looks behind me, directly at Tatum. “You get in the fucking car too.” Then he looks to Tillie, who is now pushing Carter’s friend away. “And you, too.”

  “Fuck.” Bishop shakes his head. “I can’t be carrying too much weight. I’ll take Madison.”

  “Like fuck!” I blurt out. Bishop’s eyes narrow on me. I point. “Take Nate!”

  “No!” Bishop orders, stepping closer. “Someone needs to keep an eye on you.” He snatches the bottle of tequila out of my hands and tosses it to the ground. “And since pussy doesn’t ride shotgun in my car…” He looks to Tatum and Tillie with a curled lip. Rude! “You will have to fucking do. Get. In.”

  “You just said pussy doesn’t ride shotgun in your car!” I’m well aware people are still watching us, but because of tequila, I no longer care. I think I’ll give lots of fucks come Monday, though. “Last I checked, I have a pussy.”

  Bishop grins, walking up to me. He tilts his head. “Hmm, want me to check? ’Cause I’m not so sure.”

  I flip him off. “Fuck you.” Then I storm off toward his car, yanking the door open… and then failing, because they’re fucking scissor doors, before sliding inside. Bishop is still scowling at me from the same spot before he finally turns to talk with Nate, who has tucked both Tillie and Tatum under each arm with a sly smirk on his face. Both girls look up at him like he’s God’s gift to women. Oh, ew.

  Why the hell are they racing, anyway? It’s not like they need money or cars, so why? Bishop turns and walks back toward me, sliding up his door and getting in.

  “I don’t know why the fuck you’re doing this. Why couldn’t you and Nate just ride around your little circuit? I’d still be here when you got back.”

  “First of all, it’s not a little circuit. It’s a forty-minute race across town. Second of all, you’re drunk, and there’s no way Nate would leave you unattended.”

  Nate? It’s more like he has a lot to say about where or who I’m with tonight, but admitting I noticed would be about as useful as telling him I think he’s hot. It would embarrass me, because he would know I noticed, and then the ball would be in his court, which I’m not cool with.

  “A forty-minute circuit?” He pulls my belt on and I ignore the way his strong arm brushes against my own.

  Firing up his car, he hits his headlights and puts it into first gear. “Yes.” He pushes buttons on the GPS that sits on his dashboard until a map comes up with a trail of green.

  “Why?” I ask, looking back to his chiseled profile. He really is that fine. I need to stop looking or sober up, or both.

  “Why what?” he asks, revving the car until the rumble of the whatever-cylinder engine shakes under our weight.

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Ahh.” He grins at me from the side and taps his temple. “That’s the million-dollar question though, isn’t it?” Then he slams it into first gear, the tires kicking up the gravel before we’re skidding down the driveway.

  “Holy shit!” I spin in my chair to see the headlights behind us disappear as Bishop drops it into third gear and then back to second just as he reaches the end of the driveway, ripping up the emergency brake. The car’s ass end slides out sideways, and we drift around back, onto the quiet road that leads to the highway. A very girly scream leaps out of my mouth, and I quickly slam my hand over my lips, unable to contain my laughter.

  The passing streetlights flash across Bishop’s face, showcasing shadows over his finely cut features. “Take a right turn at t
he next intersection,” the GPS’s electronic voice instructs from the dash. Bishop swerves into the right lane and pounds it until we’re clocking in at around 100 mph. I thought I’d be scared. I mean, I have no experience when it comes to Bishop and his driving, but I not, and this may be the sole reason as to why so many young people are killed during illegal races—pure stupidity. I don’t feel anything but the sheer adrenaline pulsing through me.

  “You and Carter?” he asks, his eyes staying on the road ahead of us.

  “Are about as friendly as you and Ally.” My answer is clipped, but regardless of whether I’m enjoying this ride or not, I didn’t ask for it. Bishop is an asshole and stuck-up. Everything I dislike in a male, or in a person in general.

  He laughs, but it’s more like a snark. “Ally means less than shit to me.”

  “Charming,” I reply, deadpan.

  He looks at me, a dark smirk coming onto his mouth. “Never.” Then he slams it into third gear, and we shoot forward onto the highway. He rips up the brake as we drift onto a right turn effortlessly.

  For the most part, the trip is quiet and uneventful. Bishop, being Bishop—all broody and silent. It’s unsettling, and I don’t really know what to fill the awkward silence with, so I just keep quiet. Bishop eventually hooks into an underground industrial parking lot, the deep pulsing vibrations of the car echoing through the vast empty space.

  “Stay in the car.”

  We pull around a corner, where a long stretched limo waits. A man dressed in a finely pressed suit, gray hair slicked back, and a cigar hanging out his mouth is leaning against it. To the left of him stand his two bodyguards, both in matching black suits, and both their eyes covered by dark sunglasses. Bishop pulls to a stop and gets out of the car. I contemplate getting out just to spite him, but then I look back at the man with the cigar and think better of it. He grins at Bishop in a way that has my skin prickling. Handing him a cigar, Bishop takes it then pushes it into his pocket.

  What the hell?

  Looking over my shoulder, I see how there’s no one behind us. Surely, the guys wouldn’t be that far behind. Bishop turns on his feet and walks back to the car, his eyes catching mine. I squirm, sliding down lower in my seat. Just as his hand falls on the door handle, I look back up to the man who is dressed in a suit to find him looking right at me. I need to look away from his gaze, but I can’t. His eyes skillfully laser into mine with an unreadable expression. He tilts his head then looks up at Bishop, who has paused with his hand on the door handle. I look away from the suit man and look back to Bishop, before the door swings open, and he slides in beside me. Firing up the car, Bishop snarls at the man and then floors it backward, snaking out of the compact underground parking lot.

  “Fuck!” Bishop slams his hand on the steering wheel.

  “What?” I look around us, wondering what could be bothering him. I mean, he won, right? That’s what this was for. I look back to him, and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

  “Bishop?”

  He ignores me, pressing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, we have a problem. She did stay in the car! It doesn’t matter. I saw it. Yeah, I’ll go there now.”

  He hangs up the phone and then drops it into fourth, slowing his speed.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, leaning on the door. “Bishop, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “Oh?” I say, my eyebrows quirking up. “If that’s the case, then what was that about?”

  We turn down a street that isn’t far from my place. If my memory serves correctly, it’s one street over from my house, which relaxes me somewhat. I hope Nate was right and we can trust Hunter and Saint to watch over the party, though I’m sure he’s not lying. I’ve noticed how everyone moves around them. Careful, scared, but respectful. Those are all things that come to mind. I already know Bishop is the ringleader. If Tatum telling me wasn’t enough, anyone could pin it with his air of command.

  We pull into a high-gated driveway, and he rolls down his window, punching in a code. After a few seconds, the high wired fence separates and we drive down the cobblestone private road. Trees line our way, and tea lights hang amongst the leaves. We come to a large, round entryway, and—holy crap. When coming down the driveway, I assumed we’d be met with an old Victorian-style mansion, but that’s not the case. A massive glass house greets me, and I mean glass everywhere. The executive-style home is beautiful, but cold. I look around to the back and see a huge backyard, where a river flows on the edge of the property. Bishop pulls up the brake and gets out of the car. I take that as my cue to get out, so I slip out, my head spinning lightly. I think I’m past the drunk phase now, and head straight into the hung-over phase, except I should be sleeping through this, not awake. Damn.

  “Where are we?” I ask, looking back to the house. The square glass that sits on the top of a slightly smaller glass where the front metal doors are.

  Bishop walks around to my side of the car, taking my hand and tugging me forward. “Come on.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Do you ever shut up?”

  “Honestly? No.”

  He ignores me by pulling me forward. In return, I ignore the way his hand feels intertwined with mine, but sweat beads on my temple anyway. I quickly swipe it away with my other hand. He walks us toward the side of the house, through the garden, and then toward the backyard. I almost stop in my tracks. The pool is twice the size of ours and has a glass bar that sits in the middle of it. Jesus. Who are these people? There are neon lights that light up the floating stools that round the bar, and more that light up inside the pool. Toward the back of the pool, there’s a mini house that looks exactly like the main home, only smaller.

  “Whose place is this? And why am I here?”

  Bishop ignores me yet again, because he’s good at that, and then pulls me toward the smaller guest house. Walking up the few steps, he slides the floor-to-ceiling door open and pushes the black net curtain out of the way.

  Holy fuck. I’m in Bishop Vincent Hayes’ bedroom.

  HE SLIDES THE DOOR CLOSED and I pause, looking around the dark room. The walls are glossed with black paint, all except the wall his bed’s headboard is against. That one is red marble with black swirls messily woven into it. There’s no trashy posters, no naked woman—unlike Nate’s. It’s clean, yet disturbingly dark. His bed covers are red and black silk, his dresser black marble, and there’s a large L-shaped black leather living room suite opposite his bed on the other side of the huge room. I thought this was a guesthouse, but it looks like it’s just one huge room with maybe… a bathroom? No kitchen. There’s a red and black rug sprawled out on the dark carpet, and the biggest TV I have ever seen hangs on the wall.

  Yet, there’re no personal touches to it. It’s as though he doesn’t spend that much time here. There’re no pictures, no nothing. It’s… empty. I step forward, toward the back wall, which is all glass and looks over the river that flows down his backyard. It’s stunning. This room is stunning. Reaching out to touch the glass, I turn around to find him watching me closely. This is the first time we’ve been together alone in a room. I thought the car ride would have been awkward, but we somehow fell into an easy silence. Being in his room, though, this is strange.

  His eyes run over my body. “We’re just waiting for Nate and the boys. They’re shutting down the party.” He walks toward the black mini fridge he has in the corner of the room and pulls out a bottle of water then walks up to me, popping the cap off. “Drink.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Drink the water, Madison. You look like you’re about to drop into a coma.”

  I take it from him. “Thanks.” I sip the cool water, letting it soothe my dry mouth and throat. Jesus, I need to go to bed. My eyes stay on Bishop’s as I take another drink. His mouth opens to say something but is interrupted when the door slides open, showing Nate, Hunter, Brantley, and Saint.

  Nate stops at the threshold, e
yeing both Bishop and me before a sly grin comes onto his mouth. “Interrupting?”

  I roll my eyes, but Bishop ignores him. They all step inside, closing the door behind themselves. Nate walks toward me, pulling me into his arms. I look down at his white tee and scowl. “Jeez, Nate,” I murmur into his shirt. It smells of his cologne and Tatum’s perfume. “Leave my friends alone.”

  “Hey!” He feigns innocence, dragging me toward the large sofa and pulling me down beside him. Tucking me under his arm, he grins. “She was all over my dick, and she’s hot.”

  I pinch his arm. “Leave my friends alone. The last thing I need is them not wanting to hang with me because my slut stepbrother can’t keep his dick in one hole for longer than twenty-four hours.”

  He pauses, his mouth hanging open, but collects himself quickly with one of his sly smirks. “Well, now, that’s not fair. I’ve been known to hit it more than once.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Hunter scoffs at him.

  “Ah-ha!” I point to Nate, his mouth open again and his eyes narrow on Hunter.

  “Why are we even here?” He changes the subject by looking back to Bishop.

  “We need to talk about the pick-up.” Bishop leans forward.

  “You got there. So what’s the issue?” Nate asks. I thought Bishop called him in the car, but I’m guessing it wasn’t him. My eyes start to get heavy, so I press into Nate more, tucking myself under his arm. Their chatting drifts off into the back of my brain as sleep slowly takes over.

  I wake to someone carrying me, and the chilly outside air skimming over my cheek. “Nate?”

  “Bishop.” He pauses, and my arm hooks harder around his neck. “Nate had to leave. I’ll take you home.”

  What? Nate had to leave? He left me here? Piece of shit.

  “You don’t need to.” I clear my eyes as we get closer to Bishop’s car.

  “What? Would you rather sleep here?” I don’t miss the laugh in his tone.