The Broken Puppet

  Truthfully, I know nothing about her really, but if she was going to leave, I feel like she would have told me the day I got the number from her. Or at the very least hinted. Something’s wrong. The doors ding open and I rush to my truck, beeping it unlocked. Opening the door, I’m just about to slide in when something goes over my head, cutting out my vision, and a hand slams over my mouth before picking me up. I scream muffled cries, kicking and turning as he tosses me into what I’m guessing is a van. I go to rip off the… whatever the fuck it is that’s over my head, when another pair of hands grab me from behind, wrapping cable ties around my wrists and binding them together.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I yell out. I smell her before she speaks though. That rich, unique lemon, rosey-ish scent of Chanel No. 5.

  “I just want to talk, Madison.”

  “Talk?” I laugh. “You fucking kidnap me to talk?” I end my sentence with a screech.

  “Take the mask off her please.” In an instant, I’m met with Katsia sitting opposite me and looking extremely out of place in her two-piece suit, with two armed men beside her, both wearing ski masks, as well as the guy sitting next to me.

  “What do you want to talk about?” I seethe, pissed off. “For the record, I’m usually a pretty easy girl. You can just be like ‘Oh, hey, girl! Can we chat?’ and I’d be like ‘Yeah, for sure, girl! Let’s do coffee!’” I act the scene out with bound hand signals and high-pitched tones. My face turns flat when I finish. “You don’t need to fucking kidnap me.”

  She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I don’t think it ever probably has. Unless she’s like, having dinner with the devil. Bet the bitch smiles then. “You’re funny.”

  “Thanks,” I say sarcastically. “My friends wouldn’t agree with you.”

  “Maybe you need new friends,” she retorts, one eyebrow cocked.

  “No.” I shake my head, seeing where she’s going with this conversation. “It’s hard enough to find one person who likes me, much less a gang.”

  She tilts her head, studying me closely. I cringe inwardly at how she regards me with her stare. “What makes you think they do?”

  “They do—what?” I ask, matching her stare, scanning over her attire the exact way as she does mine.

  She snorts, as if she knows exactly why I did that. “The apple doesn’t fall there,” she mutters under her breath. I only just catch it.

  “What?”

  “Another time,” she replies.

  “No, you were—”

  “Another time,” she cuts me off, but her smile remains.

  This bitch is chilly.

  “But tell me,” she continues, reaching forward to take a glass of wine from a little table that’s set up between the two seats that are facing each other. “What makes you think they actually like you?”

  “Well, I don’t know. They put up with me.”

  “That’s a terrible answer, Madison.” She giggles from behind the rim of her glass. “People put up with a lot of things. Wives, husbands, headaches. Under all that though, is that a way to live? To just put up with someone? No,” she shakes her head, taking a sip, “and for the record, you’re wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?”

  “Well, that’s the kicker.” She smirks, her eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. Oh, this bitch is crazy. “All of it.”

  “Are you going to fill me in or am I going to be left guessing?” I don’t trust her. At all. But am I open to hearing what she has to say? Yes.

  “Well, let’s start with your brother.”

  “Let’s,” I reply, overly excited and a little sarcastic.

  She looks at me for a second too long before her eye twitches. “How much do you know about him?”

  “Only parts. What he’s told me, and what Bishop and Nate have sort of told me.”

  She laughs. “Mmmm, those boys. I swear, every generation, it happens.”

  “What?” The confusion must show on my face, because she giggles again. “Oh, Madison. Tell me,” she leans forward, “why do you think your father brought you back to The Hamptons?”

  That’s the question I haven’t been able to figure out yet. Why would he bring me back here if he knew it was dangerous for me? “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I look directly into her eyes. “Do you?”

  She leans back, taking a sip of her wine, all while keeping her eyes locked on mine. “Yes.”

  “Then will you enlighten me?” I ask her, and she pauses again, looking over my features like she’s studying every inch of my face. As if she’s fascinated by me.

  She leans back. “No. Too soon.”

  “Too soon?” I scoff. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how much shit I’ve been through?”

  “Oh,” she laughs. “I know.”

  “Oh, right.” I snort sarcastically. “Because you own the Lost Boys and have for generations. I get it.” I roll my eyes for added effect. “Why did you kidnap me anyway?”

  “Because I want Damon back.”

  “Well, by all means, ask him yourself.”

  She looks at me like I’m stupid. “He won’t.”

  “I wonder why that is.”

  “Listen to me very carefully, Madison. Damon is a tricky soul. He may be your brother, your twin brother, but he was born…” She looks around, searching for the correct word. “…different.”

  “Different—how?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “And why do you say it like you care?”

  She smirks. “I care because Damon is very good at what he does. I care because what Damon does is needed. And I care because Damon needs it too, and if Damon doesn’t get what he needs, there will be a massacre.”

  “Damon wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

  She chokes on her drink, gripping her throat. “You sweet, deluded child.” She leans forward, placing her wine back on the small table. “Damon wouldn’t willingly hurt you—no. But, honey, what do you think his name means?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a common boys name.”

  She shakes her head. “No, the correct spelling of his name is D-A-E-M-O-N, Latin for Son of Satan.” I clench my jaw, attempting to fight back any words that are egging to spill out of my gob.

  “But I saw how his name was spelled on his shirt. It was spelled D-A-M-O-N.”

  She rolls her eyes. “His name is bad for business. We had to… citizenize it.”

  His name was bad for business? Who even says shit like that? “I still don’t understand. Daemon is the sweetest guy I know. I was draw—”

  She waves her hands around. “Honey, he’s not only your brother, but he’s your twin. You both felt that—” She connects her hands together. “—pull. But he should never have left. He’s been trained by the best of the best. He was supposed to walk away.”

  “But he didn’t,” I whisper.

  “No,” she replies, an eye twitching again. “He didn’t. He defied the natural order. He will be punished, but the longer he stays, the worse his punishment will be.”

  “Well, fuck you then. I would never hand him to you willingly, but even more so now.”

  She does that smile thing again. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand.” The van stops and I look out my window to see we’re back at the school. My truck door is still open. “Just remember this one thing, Madison.” She searches my eyes and I meet hers. “He’s not a good man. He’s the worst of the worst. You wanna know why?” she asks, tilting her head.

  “Why?”

  “Because he feels nothing. No remorse, no love, no nothing. Daemon is void of natural human emotions. He does not feel physical pain, nor emotional pain. He was born this way. Then he was trained on top of that. He’s a very rare human, but he also suffers from the shadows.”

  “Like congenital insensitivity to pain?” I ask, still stuck on her first revelation.

  She nods, leaning back. “Yes. One in a million get it. It’s genetic, you know?” She smirks. “But I know it hasn’t run through you.”

  “His
emotional lack of feeling though, is there a condition for that?”

  “There are lots of conditions that could trigger it, and truthfully speaking, Daemon probably has all of them.” She pauses as if to think over how much she should actually disclose. “Ask him about the shadows, Madison, and then call me. I’m sure you will want to talk.” She hands me a card. I look down and read over the gold cardboard with the name Katsia embossed in white and a simple phone number underneath.

  The man who is sitting beside me, leans forward, cutting the cable ties off from around my wrist. He slides open the door, and I get out, turning to face her one last time. “Why do you think he can’t feel emotions?”

  “Because I’ve seen it, and you will too.”

  The door closes, and the van takes off in a whoosh, like it wasn’t there trying to tear into my life a second ago. Picking my bag up from the ground, I throw it into the truck and get into the driver seat, pushing Start. I spin around in my seat quickly when an eerie chill, a chill as if someone is watching me, creeps up my spine, but I’m met with empty seats.

  “I’m losing my mind.” I put the car in reverse and drive the fuck out of there.

  Mondays.

  I’M MAKING A SANDWICH IN the kitchen when “Tequila Sunrise” by Cypress Hill comes blaring through the sound dock. I roll my eyes and pull out my phone, scrolling through my Spotify playlist. Fucking Nate, adding his music to my song list. I shove my phone back into my pocket, giving up and going back to my sandwich. Slamming ham onto my bread, I squirt on some mayonnaise and then add tomatoes, relish, and cheese. The catchy beat catches me off guard, and I start bobbing my head to the beat. I judged a little too soon; this song is actually pretty good.

  Taking a massive bite out of my sandwich, my eyes come up to the entry to the kitchen when I see Nate, Bishop, Cash, Brantley, and Hunter standing there watching me. It used to be intimidating, having them in my personal space almost all the time—although this isn’t all of the Kings. But now it hardly itches on my skin.

  “What?” I ask, chewing my sandwich.

  Bishop shakes his head. “Nothing. Where’s your brother?”

  “Upstairs.” I swallow. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Daemon about the shadows. Truthfully, I’m a little scared. Because once I ask him, there’s no going back. What if his answer changes my view on him? I don’t want that. There’re many things I want answers to in my life, many things I would sacrifice to get those answers, but Daemon isn’t one of them. I feel a strong sense of overprotectiveness when it comes to him, which makes me think… “Am I the younger twin or is he?” Thinking out loud always helps.

  Brantley and Cash walk into the kitchen, taking a seat on the bar stools. “You’re the older one,” Cash answers when he sees no one else is.

  “Knew it.” I grin, taking another bite.

  “Why?” Bishop asks, leaning against the wall.

  “Just wondering.”

  “You’re wondering why you feel so protective of him.” Bishop takes the words out of my thoughts, pushing off the wall and coming into the kitchen. He pulls open the fridge and takes out a water, twisting the cap off. “He’s dangerous, Madison.”

  I roll my eyes. “If you truly believe that, then why would you let him around me?”

  “Well we tried to stop that,” Nate interjects. “But good fucking job we did.”

  “And I said he’s dangerous,” Bishop finishes. “I didn’t say he was dangerous to you.”

  “But the first night you were here, you didn’t like him. You almost wanted to kill him.”

  Bishop laughs, placing the water on the counter. “Almost? There’s no such thing as almost when it comes to me, Madison. I don’t make mistakes; I make moves. If I do something, you bet your ass I thought about every single thing that had to do with it. I’m not unhinged. I’m calculated. I know exactly what I’m doing when I’m doing it, and you wanna know why that makes me the worst kind of monster?” he asks, though he really doesn’t want me to answer, so I stay silent—for once. “Because I’ve thought about the act over and over again in my head, and every time I asked myself if it was the right thing to do?” He inches closer to me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s always a yes. So no, Madison.” He leans against the counter. “I don’t ‘almost’ kill anyone. If I want them dead, they will be dead. No matter what.”

  The word dead coming out so close to Daemon’s name makes my stomach churn. I place my sandwich down, suddenly losing my appetite.

  “Prince Charming obviously.” I brush Bishop off.

  Brantley laughs. “That’s cute. But no, more like a dark knight.”

  My stomach growls, and I pick up my sandwich again, biting into it. “If you could refrain from hurting my brother, that’d be great.”

  Bishop looks at me, his eyes sinking into mine. “If he doesn’t hurt you—which I don’t think he will—then deal.”

  Chewing softly, the front door opens and Elena and my dad walk down the hallway, both pausing when they see the gathering in the kitchen.

  “Madison, Nate,” my dad greets.

  My back straightens as I use the back of my hand to swipe at my mouth. “Dad! Hey!” I make my way toward him. When I pull him in for a hug, he tenses. “Everything okay?” My dad never tenses with me. Ever. He has always been my rock and always told me what was going on, except when it came to the Kings.

  He forces a smile. “Everything is fine.”

  I look to Elena and she gazes back at me, totally oblivious to what just passed between my dad and me. “Hi, Madi. How was your weekend?” She looks up to Nate. “Come and greet your mother, please.” Nate pushes off the wall.

  “Of course, Ma.” He pulls her in for a bear hug, wrapping one arm around her waist and lifting her off the floor effortlessly. He kisses her on the cheek. “Missed you.”

  She pulls back, pinching his cheeks. “You’re doing just fine, boy. Taking good care of your sister I see.” She looks back to me.

  “Speaking of,” I say to Dad. “Can we talk?”

  “What have you done?” he asks Nate, and I quickly interfere. “No, it’s nothing like that. Just… something. Can we talk?”

  He nods, placing his suitcase down just as Sammy comes through the front door dressed in casual jeans and a knitted sweater.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you home until tomorrow.” She picks up the bag and winks at me. Huh, Sammy is ultra-happy today, but those questions will have to wait.

  Dad gestures toward the hallway. “My office.”

  Following him down, I step into his space, suddenly engulfed with rich pine, red leather, and ancient books.

  He takes a seat on his chair, unbuttoning his suit and removing his tie. It’s the first time I’ve really gotten to look at Dad in a long time. The skin around his eyes sags more than ever, his stubble is a couple days old, and his eyelids look heavy and tired. Just when I’m about to tell him to forget it, not wanting to add to his obviously already stressful life, he opens his mouth.“I realize you have a lot to ask after what happened at Hector’s house.”

  I swallow. “Well, actually, yes and no.”

  “How much do you know already, Madison?” he whispers hoarsely.

  My anger picks up a little. “Why the hell do people keep asking me that? Like they’re trying to find a barrier to which they won’t cross. Fearing they might say too much, but it’s okay for them to say too little. It’s deceiving and dishonest.”

  “Madison,” he exhales. “No one is honest in this world. I’m sorry that you’re a part of it. I never… we—your mother and I—never wanted you to be a part of this world. It’s why we were on the run for so long.” He leans back in his chair.

  “So why bring me back here then, Dad, if you knew I was in trouble?”

  He pauses, running his index finger over his upper lip while he watches me. Probably thinking about whether or not he should be honest with me. Fucking people and their honesty.

  “Because….” He leans
forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “God, Madison. There is a natural order to how things operate in the Kings. A way that no one has tampered with for generations and generations. Roles that each of us have that we always have had.” He pauses, looking up at me from beneath his lids. He exhales again, but I think I’ve already worked it out.

  “You’re wanting to change the order.”

  He looks at me and narrows his eyes. “Yes. But Hector can’t know.”

  I look at him, taking a seat on the chair in front of me. “What do you mean? So why does he think you brought me back?”

  He pauses, leans back, and rests his elbow on the armrest. Realization comes in. “Wait. Does he think you brought me back to… kill me?”

  “What?” my dad exasperates. “Of course fucking not.”

  Information is swimming around in my head. Information that may as well be in Japanese, because I have no idea what all this means. “Well, can you enlighten me? Because I can’t see why else Hector would let me walk free, considering the Kings hid me away to try to make sure he didn’t find out I was back here.”

  Dad’s eyes turn to stone, along with his jaw. “That wasn’t the whole reason why those boys took you away, Madison. You must never forget who they are, who their loyalty belongs to, because it’s not you. It never is to anyone else but to the Hayes men. Must remember that.”

  I swallow, trying to find the words I want to say. Even though I’ve been brewing on all my questions for months, now that I can ask my dad anything and he’ll probably tell me, I’m coming up dry.

  “What does Hector think?” I whisper, glancing out the old wooden window that overlooks our yard.

  “He thinks I’ve come back to send you away with someone.”

  “Someone?” I ask, whipping my attention back to him. “To who? And why?”

  “The Lost Boys, and to be lost.”

  That brings my attention back into the circle. Into why I’m here. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, looking at me sideways.

  “Daemon is upstairs and has been here for a few nights now. And before you flip out—he’s not dangerous toward me, but I do have questions.”