“OKAY, THAT’S IT,” TATUM ANNOUNCES, trying to tear into her packet of crackers. “I want to know 100 percent of what is going on. It’s not fair!” she whines.
“Don’t do that.” I rub my temples, still tired after the shit for sleep I got on Saturday night. “I seriously have so much going on right now.”
“I know,” Tatum whispers, giving up on trying to tear open her pack of carbs. “Remember? I was there.”
“There’s more. God.” I sit back. “There’s so much more, but I don’t even know where to start and what to tell you because I already know you’re going to have more questions. Questions I don’t know the answers to.” I exhale and open my mouth, just about to continue, when I see the Kings walk into the cafeteria out the corner of my eye. Tatum picks up her unopened crackers again when she sees them all walk in. “Now I need carbs.”
Bishop takes a seat beside me, and Nate goes on the other side as the rest of the boys squeeze in next to Tatum and Bishop.
“I don’t remember calling you over,” I snark.
“No need.” Nate grins, biting into his apple.
Rolling my eyes, I look back at Tatum to see her staring at something over my shoulder. Her mouth is agape, cracker in the midair.
I inch my head over my shoulder to see what she’s looking at when my mouth slams closed. “Excuse me,” I murmur, getting off my seat and making my way toward Damon. He’s standing there in some of Nate’s clothes—loose jeans, black tee, and white high-top sneakers. It’s all Nate, since I still haven’t found time to get Damon his own.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, watching as everyone stares at him.
What on earth are they staring at? I know he’s funny-looking, but now people are just being rude. Or maybe I just think he’s funny-looking because he’s my brother. I wouldn’t know.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Talk.”
He takes my arm and pulls me back through the girls hallway. Waiting for a couple of people to walk past, his voice drops. “Katsia wants to meet with me.”
“What? How do you know?” I whisper back, smiling to a girl who is in my English class as she passes by, looking at us suspiciously.
“Obviously because I’ve left. Have you read any more of the book?” he asks urgently.
“No, I haven’t found time, and why does she want to meet with you?”
“Find time to read. Because she need me.” He pushes off the wall and walks back down the hallway then out the front doors.
“Well goodbye to you too!” I yell toward him as the doors slam shut.
Walking back into the cafeteria, I head to my chair, pulling it out and taking a seat.
“What’d he want?” Bishop inquires beside me.
I ignore him.
“Who is he?” Tatum asks, her eyes searching him out.
“My brother and he’s gone.”
Her attention snaps to me. “What? How?” She lowers her voice. “Madison…?”
“As I said earlier,” I reply, tossing my salad around with my fork, “I have a lot to tell you.”
“You’re not telling her shit,” Bishop snaps, looking at me.
I finally acknowledge him. He’s so close—too close to me—that I can almost feel his breath fall over my lips. “And I said you can’t tell me what the fuck to do, Bishop.”
He chuckles, tossing a carrot in his mouth—my carrot. “Oh, Madison. You have no idea the kind of things that tone does to me.”
I’m just about to open my mouth to say something else, when Nate interrupts, “Anyway!” He looks between both of us, his eyes wide like he’s scolding a couple of toddlers. “Tatum is fine, B. She knows almost everything else that has happened.”
“Not everything,” I mutter under my breath.
Tatum cuts her glare to me. “Oh? What else don’t I know? Hmm?”
Pushing my chair back, I get to my feet, picking up my tray. “I’m done. I’ll see you later.” Walking out the atrium doors, I make my way toward PE. I’m halfway down the corridor when I decide I don’t want to even be at school right now. Turning around, I start heading to the elevator that leads down to the student parking lot when a thought pops into my head. I haven’t seen Miss Winters since I’ve been back.
Turning back around again, I jog toward the library, pushing open the large wooden doors. The smell of dusty old books hits me, and I inhale, relishing in the familiar scent. It has to be my favorite aroma, aside from whatever Bishop wears. Usually. Not right now, because right now I hate him. Bypassing the two quiet students who are studying, I make my way to the front desk.
“Hey!” I smile down at the blonde.
The girl raises her face, and my smile falls. “You’re not Miss Winters.” I look around. “Where is she?”
“She left about two months ago.”
“Left?” I scoff. “Left where?” She can’t leave.
“Left, as in doesn’t work here anymore, as in I don’t know where she is.”
I step backward and dash for the doors. I don’t know why, but that doesn’t sit right with me. Why would Miss Winters leave? Two months ago? That was around when I left. No. She wouldn’t leave, and if she did, where has she gone? Pushing my hair out of my face, I jog back to the elevator, pressing the Down button more than what is necessary. The doors finally ding open, and I step inside, pounding on the SP button. The doors close and the elevator takes me down to my car as I think over all the possibilities of where she could be.
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.