Wicked Games
Page 7
“Uhhh yes. Twice.” My breath comes faster, but I’m not sure if I’m more excited to be talking to someone as hot as Max or someone as book-nerdy as he is.
Max cocks his head to the side. “You are an interesting specimen, Emily.”
Another tall guy comes up behind Max, grabbing his arm. The guy is dressed in black track pants and a black sweatshirt with “Supreme” splashed across the front. Like all the rest of the guys I’ve met today, he is extremely handsome, his face all angles. He’s wearing a brand new ball cap and he looks like a young Eminem.
He pulls on Max’s arm. A lightbulb goes on and I recognize his face from the other night outside my dorm. It makes me think that this pack of guys spend quite a bit of time together.
“Hey, come on. We’re needed to get things started in the back.”
He doesn’t even register that I’m here, talking to Max. Max looks a bit annoyed but sighs.
“All right, man. I’ll be right there.”
The guy gives him a nod and takes off, cutting through the crowd. Max rolls his eyes.
“That was Ellis,” Max says. “Listen, I have to go get the pledges started on their mission. But stick around, will you? I’d love to talk more. I find you interesting.”
Flushing, I bite my lip and nod. Max turns and works his way into the crowd. Soon he too is gone.
I take a huge gulp of the warming punch in my hand, heading back to the table for seconds. Strangely, I feel sort of good now even though I’m alone. Like I can talk to people, which isn’t really my thing.
Actually I feel… relaxed. I glance at the dark pink liquid in my cup again curiously.
What is in this, exactly?
I always question everything. I’m over-analytical.
What if I just have fun for once, instead of worrying about the sky falling down?
Slugging it back, I finish the whole cup and refill my drink. Then I decide that if Cassandra isn’t coming back, I’m going to wander the house by myself.
13
Emily
After exploring several rooms in the mansion that is Rose House, I find myself outside again. The back yard is quieter than the press of people inside, who are busy cheering on a game of beer pong or dancing together to loud hip hop. I leave through a set of French doors and step out onto a wooden deck that spans almost the entire length of the house. It’s littered with clusters of young people sitting on patio furniture, talking and kissing and whispering in each others ears.
I move beyond the deck to find that there are a set of stone steps on the other side, leading down to a clearing. A few trees form a natural boundary past the clearing. There is only one piece of furniture back here, a new-looking bench made of ash wood. Making my way over to the bench, I sink down onto it with a sigh.
There is a prominent plaque on the bench, glinting gold in the moonlight. I turn around and read it.
In Memory of Asher Radcliffe
Beloved Brother
1997 — 2018
Et Charonis Unum
I touch the golden plaque, my fingers tracing over the darkened letters. I wonder about Asher. He was my age, maybe a couple of years older. Twenty is awfully young to die. I wonder what happened to him.
“There you are!” I turn my head to see Cassandra making her way down the steps. She heaves herself down onto the bench beside me. “I met a boy but he turned out to be too uptight.” She scrunches her face up and waves her hand. “What have you been doing out here all alone?”
I make a face. “Learning about Asher Radcliffe, I guess.”
She stills. Her eyebrows rise. “How do you know about Asher?”
Now it’s my turn to look surprised. “We’re sitting on his bench. How do you know about him?”
Cassandra’s expression turns hard. “Ash went to Waltham.”
It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes. Who didn’t attend the marvelous, magical Waltham Academy?
“Of course. So I’m assuming that he was friends with Wolf and all the Skulls? I mean, he has a bench here, so I’m guessing that he was a member of their little society.”
It takes Cassandra a second to gather her thoughts. She is definitely a little tipsy, saying more than perhaps she would if she were sober.
“Yeah, he was. I told you about him earlier. He died and now there is this huge… well, not a coverup exactly, but every single person involved is just too quiet. Which suits me fine, because like I said, Asher was kind of a dick.”
I don’t know Cassandra well enough to read her expressions exactly. But she looks away, as though she’d rather not talk about Asher. Still, I push for a little more information.
“So he died last year?”
Cassandra shifts, her tone impatient. “Yeah, right before the summer break. He fell down the stairs in the main hall back there.” She gestures to Rose House. “It was really tragic.”
Absorbing that information, I’m quiet for a second.
“And you think there was a coverup? Like, he was killed some way other than the one that the authorities said?”
Her mouth pinches. “My dad is a member of the Skulls. I heard him talking about how the Skulls paid the coroner some money to stay quiet. I assume that hush money was paid for a reason.”
I raise my eyebrows. Cassandra rises and stretches, seeming bored.
“I need another glass of punch. You want one?”
Frowning, I look around for my cup but don’t find it anywhere. I must have set it down at some point, somewhere in the house.
“I’ll come with you,” I say, getting up. “It’s a little bit creepy out here, to be honest.”
Cassandra flashes me a dazzling smile over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs. “Race you.”
Laughing, I jog up the stairs. Cassandra is already vanishing into the house by the time I get to the top. Standing on the back patio I see Ellis, the handsome guy wearing the Supreme sweatshirt. He’s standing in the middle of a few girls, telling them a story. Distracted, I’m not watching where I am going. I step forward and my heel catches on the wooden floor. I pitch to the side, flinging out my arms to catch myself.
And I barrel headlong into Ellis, sending the cup he’s holding flying. The girls around him step back. Luckily Ellis is much bigger than me; he blinks in surprise as I land against him in a heap. The cup’s contents splash all over Ellis and me.
When I look up, Ellis is glaring down at me. He pushes me away roughly, his sweatshirt dripping brown liquid.
“What the fuck?” he growls, shaking his head. “Do you even know how much this cost?”
Turning red as a beet, I realize that I’m not even sure what he’s referring to. I shake my head, trying to brush the spilled drink off my dress. It soaks in, darkening the fabric. Several heads turn. I’m suddenly under the scrutiny of every single person out here on the patio.
Looking around for Cassandra, I start to panic. I can feel myself start to sweat.
“Who are you?” he demands to know, indignant. “Who the fuck invited you to this party?”
A shiver runs down my spine. “I— I’m here with Cassandra?”
His answering laugh is low and creepy. “I mean what brother invited you to Rose House? Hmm? Or did you sneak in?”
Ellis sneers, grabbing me by the elbow. I’m flushed with fear and unable to speak in my own defense. Unable to even think of what I should say.
“Let her go.”
I turn my head to see Wolf regarding us from the doorway of the patio. He looks pissed, but I can’t say whether his anger is directed at me or at Ellis.
Ellis scoffs. “Wolf, I was just about to help this intruder find the exit.”
Wolf pushes off the doorway, coming toward us. “I invited her. Emily is my guest.”
He holds out his hand to me. My heart throbs loudly as I escape Ellis’s grip, fleeing the few feet to Wolf. Wolf settles his arm around my neck like he’s done so a thousand times. My eyes fill with tears as Wolf squares off with Ellis.
“Whatever,” he grumbles, turning away. He looks to the girls gathered nearby. “Who wants to help me get out of my clothes?”
Two girls rush to his side. He puts his arms around them and then all three head inside.
I bite my lip and glance up at Wolf. He glances down at me, impossibly tall and jaw-droppingly blue eyed. His dirty blond hair falls in his eyes, making me wish I knew him well enough to reach up and brush it out of the way.
He smirks down at my wide-eyed appraisal of him. “Can’t you go a single night without me, Emily?”
The way he says my name makes me blush and press my legs a little closer together. I am in his thrall and in his debt.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice coming out all breathy. He smells good I realize, like ozone mixed with pure clean man.
God, what am I doing? I am not allowed to be all gushy over this guy. He is a walking, talking, textbook definition of off limits. He looks like he just walked off of the set of a men’s fragrance ad or something. He’s so out of my league, I shouldn’t even be thinking about him that way.
He smirks again, showing off a dimple. “No problem. I figure I can’t have you walking around my house getting harassed. After all, how else am I supposed to get a good grade in biochem?”
He drops his arm, making me shiver again. My mouth twists.
“Right,” I answer lamely. “I mean, sure.”
I should know better. Of course he only cares about his biochemistry grade. Of course. He runs Campbell’s campus as far as I can tell.
Wolf glances around at the people nearby. “Do you want to go upstairs and try to clean some of the liquor off your dress?”
My heart flutters. My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip. “Sure.”
One corner of his mouth kicks up. “Come on.”
Then Wolf takes my hand and heads inside, leaving me no choice but to follow.
14
Wolf
I take her upstairs to my room.
It’s not because of the way the air seems to spark around Emily Danes, or the way the sight of her in her black dress shortens every one of my breaths until I’m not sure I’m breathing. I’ll never let her see that. I’ll also never let her see how Ellis’s bullshit made my blood sing like I was on some ancient battlefield. Rose House is not an ancient battlefield, but my heart doesn’t know that.
Technically, there is a rule against bringing women upstairs at Rose House, but if anyone were going to enforce that rule it would be me. I’m in charge here, and being in charge means I get to ignore frivolous bylaws if it means helping Emily Danes.
That doesn’t make it feel less forbidden to take her up. We both step lightly on the wooden staircase and I can hear her breathing one step behind me. Her heart must be racing. Mine is, and Ellis didn’t throw a hissy fit over his outfit and try to kick me out. Not that he would win. Not that he would ever win.
The top of the stairs opens into a wide landing. The hall up here goes left, right, and back. My room is one of the two toward the back, with a bathroom across the hall.
I pause on the landing and turn back toward her. Emily stands framed at the top of the stairs, her hair falling in gentle curls to the sharp neckline of her dress. It’s given her cleavage a spotlight that the t-shirts she wears most days never do, but—and I never thought I’d say this—it’s hard to focus on that when her eyes are so bright.
These are the stairs that everyone swore Asher fell down the night he died. The police might’ve found him at the bottom of the landing, but I know better than that.
Still. I reach out and put a hand on Emily’s shoulder, drawing her away from the top step. I mean to say something snarky about being on the upper floor of Rose House, but instead what comes out is, “You okay?”
Emily blinks, then raises a delicate finger to her eyes, pressing beneath each one. Her makeup hasn’t run. “I’ll be fine. I hope the sweatshirt will survive.”
“Ellis will get over it.” Even if I have to make him. I see him straining under the weight of Asher’s body, but in this moment I can hold the horror at arm’s length.
“You don’t have to do this,” Emily offers, putting on a little smile. “My dress will probably be fine.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” I tell her, and her cheeks go a deeper shade of pink. “But speaking of your dress...” I let the thought trail off and gesture down toward the bathroom. She follows me, watching. I go in and flip on the light. There’s a stack of clean towels and washcloths in a recessed shelf by the sink, and I tug one out and let it run under cold water. When I turn back Emily is tugging at the hem of her dress. The spill stands out in a shinier pattern from the rest of the fabric, and she stares down at it as I approach with the washcloth.
“You really went all the way,” I tell her, and her eyes meet mine as she bites her lip. “I guess you’re not the kind of girl who halfasses spilling a drink.”
“No, I never would. I bring a minimum of three people down with me every time.”
“Ellis never stood a chance.”
I kneel down in front of her for the easiest reach and take the hem of her dress between my fingers. She’s not wearing any tights, and even against the backs of my knuckles, the smoothness of her thigh sends my pulse skyrocketing. I’m inches away from being able to stroke the insides of those thighs, and fuck if I’ve ever wanted anything more.
I grit my teeth to keep myself in check as I dab at the front of her dress with the washcloth. I soaked it in ice-cold water less than a minute ago and it’s already warming from the heat of my hands.
Emily takes a tiny step, opening her thighs another inch. I work my way up the drink stain like my life depends on absolute focus in this moment.
Maybe it does.
When I absolutely can’t take it anymore, not for another moment, I stand up and survey my work. Emily’s gaze follows mine down the front of her dress.
“I think all you did was make it wetter.”
The moment the last word is out of her mouth she looks up at me, her dark eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
“I mean—not that I meant—”
“You should take it off.”
That’s not where I was going to go with this, but everything in me wants to watch her wriggle out of that black dress. Everything in me wants to take her across the hall to my bedroom and find out what else I can slip over her hips and discard on the floor. It doesn’t seem out of place to barricade the door with both hands so that nobody else can come in. Nobody else should come near her.
“What?”
I clear my throat. “You should take it off. There’s a heater in my bedroom that we can dry it over. It’ll only stay damp while you’re wearing it. Stay here.”
Emily straightens up. “Where else would I go?” She laughs, a breathy little sound that sends blood rushing straight down between my legs.
I cross the hall with a glance to the staircase—nobody’s coming up—and go into my room. It takes a few steadying breaths with my arms braced against my closet door to get a fucking grip, and then I wrench it open and pull out one of the shirts hanging there. Back in the bathroom, Emily is standing exactly where I left her. So despite her occasional snark in the classroom, she’s a girl who listens to what people say.
What I say.
Good.
If she’s going to be here in Rose House, she’ll need to. The walls around us are old, the plaster reinforced many times over, but after what happened I can’t think of them as protective any longer.
If anyone’s going to do the protecting, it’s me.
“You can put this on.”
Emily’s eyes travel over the fabric of the shirt dangling from my hand. “Okay. It’s just—” She turns so that her back is to me. “This thing is impossible one-handed. Could you—?”
I clench my teeth s
o hard my jaw aches. Yes, I will unzip her dress for her. No, I will not fuck her in this bathroom right now. I will not. Because if I do...
Emily reaches one hand over her shoulder for the zipper and I step forward and catch it in mind. “Let me.”
She drops her hands to her sides. The metal pull feels icy against my hot fingertips, and everything in my soul curls around the bite of the cold as I pull it down. It’s like a curtain opening, exposing the delicate wings of her shoulder blades and the bra underneath. Black, to match her dress, but it’s not lacy. My knuckles brush against it. Cotton, not a hint of sheen. A girl like Emily Danes wouldn’t own fancy lingerie, would she? And it wouldn’t matter, because the point of lingerie is to end up on the floor.
The zipper ends at the top line of a pair of matching black panties and my cock pulses painfully against the fabric of my pants. “It’s done,” I tell her, and she takes in a breath so soft you’d only hear it if you were standing six inches away.
“Thank you.” She reaches up to tug it off her shoulder, her hair moving with every turn of her head, and I don’t think I’ve ever been quite this obsessed with the curve of a woman’s shoulder where it meets her neck. Even in the shitty yellow light in here, she’s stunning. One shoulder of the dress comes off, then the other. I’m desperate for it to come off, and desperate for it to stay on.
Emily turns her head forward, facing away from me completely as it comes down to her hips. I throw the shirt over her shoulders and hold it on with as light a touch as possible until she’s finished wriggling the dress over her hips and steps out. It’s a black pool on the floor at her feet while she puts her arms through the sleeves of my white shirt, turning back to me in time for me to catch a glimpse of her breasts in the bra.
Then she tugs it closed, cheeks red as her fingers work over the buttons. Emily lets out a huff of a laugh. “I didn’t expect to be doing this when Cassandra invited me to the party.” It strikes me as unbelievably innocent. The things that go on at Rose House—for the people who venture far enough—go far beyond taking a dress off.