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“I’m stupid.” “No.” Tatum shakes her head, handing me the whiskey. “No, you’re not. You’re Madison Montgomery, and you’re a fucking boss-ass bitch who feels, Mads. That’s a big deal. More people should feel.”
Saltare cum morte solutio ligatorum inventae sunt in verbis conectuntur et sculptilia contrivisset in sanguine et medullis. Pulling out my phone from my back pocket, I punch the wording into Google Translate. Riddles dance with death when the words are inked in blood and carved with marrow.
“Bishop!” “Yeah?” he mutters, turning and looking over his shoulder. “Why do you like breaking me?” He smirks slightly, just enough that I see his dimple on the side of his cheek. “Because it gets my dick hard to put you back together.” His response doesn’t surprise me, not in the slightest. “But,” I add, stepping forward, “you never put me back together properly. You steal parts of me, so when you do put me back, I’m all crooked, cracked, and still visibly broken.”
“Because being broken is how you’re going to survive this life, Madison.”
“Trust no one. Fear no one. Fuck everyone,” I whisper to myself, pushing my long hair away from my face.
“Fear is your patch, babe. We all have our patches. Those little spaces that could bring us to our knees if dabbled with.”
Et delicatis praetulissem, sicut truncum arboris fluitantem olor et quasi argentum bullet sicut mortiferum. - As alluring as a floating swan, but as deadly as a silver bullet.
When you fall for the devil, make sure you don’t land facedown with his horns stabbed through your heart.
“I’d never fucking share you. Period. Yes, we fuck around a bit, but the boys know there’s a line when it comes to you, and if any of them cross it, I have no problem being a King short.”
