THE TEST: Secret Society Dark Romance (4Horsemen Series Book 1)

by Elena Monroe

  “What?”

  “You,” she quipped with her eyes making crescent moons in my direction.

  “What about me?” I retorted, growing fond of the verbal tennis we couldn’t seem to get over. It didn’t matter if I was nice, mean, a gentleman, or even the kind of vulgar I wanted to be with her, she liked the sparring, and so did I.

  “You’re supposed to be all bad. I don’t see it.”

  She was taunting me with the distance between us put there on purpose. Her arms were crossed in the hopes that I wouldn’t invade her territory, dangling herself as the bait. She wanted me to tell her I was the epitome of various degrees of bad, just so she could feel safe.

  Too bad it was the one thing I wasn’t going to give to her.

  She could see all my bad parts, but I wasn’t going to serve it up on a silver platter just to solidify her need to push me away.

  “It’s there, right under the mask.”

  The elevator doors opened into my penthouse, and I breezed out, leaving her there to contemplate me. My mask had slipped enough without her seeing it fall off even more.

  Just when I thought I had left her behind, she caught up, dropped her bag at the door and headed for my kitchen, opening the cabinets without permission. “Where’s the shot glasses and alcohol?”

  Unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it out of my pants, I looked up with a smirk. She may not feel safe, but she sure did look comfortable in my space. “Right side. I’ll get the Proper 12.”

  Setting up all my shot glasses I owned on the countertop, I watched her fiddle with them with nervous energy as I slid the bottle towards her. “First time at a guy’s place?”

  Nervous energy was right. She snorted down a laugh and poured the alcohol into the glasses like a bartender, barely any alcohol lost.

  “You’re one to talk. What was that back there? Why do you care so much about my parents?” Throwing back the shot glass, I watched her eyes trail down my exposed abs. She couldn’t help it, just like I couldn’t help but notice the white cami she was wearing without any kind of support underneath.

  The attraction between us was inevitable.

  “Seemed like I cared enough for both of us. What’s that about?” Taking a step closer to her, I reached behind her, grabbing a shot glass and tossing it back in one shot. The burning on the way down was a rare feeling, normally one I only had with company, but this was a new take.

  Shot for shot.

  I watched her down another shot, while making a puckered face at the sour lingering on her tongue. The jar of Warheads was in reach, and I popped the top off and took one for myself and tilted my head in encouragement.

  Now she would really taste like war with her legs wrapped around my head.

  “I did enough crying when they died. I don’t need to cry about it now too.”

  She didn’t flinch or fiddle the way she did earlier. No, Justice finds strength in the hardships life handed her, and it smoothed over her appearance so nicely you couldn’t see how she really felt.

  “Okay, you're tough. I get it. I’m not arguing.” I walked off to the left, sauntering into my bedroom, on the hunt for some sweats, already undoing my belt. I would trade just about anything to get out of this suit that matched my mask.

  She followed me, as I was getting out of my shirt, laying it on the bed precisely, and dropping my ironed pants to the floor. Turning around in my boxer briefs, she didn’t notice me the way I thought she would. Instead, her eyes were wide, taking in my black room, matte and glossy fighting for dominance, and the two matching paintings above my bed of a couple both set on fire in different places.

  “They’re beautiful.” Her voice was small and filed down at the edges.

  “Polish artist and his wife did them for me. We all burn eventually; we just pick where the fire catches.”

  Leaving Justice unsupervised in my room was the least of my worries as I stood in my closet, pulling a pair of sweats down from the hanger and a long shirt for her.

  Two halves of a full outfit.

  Seemed fitting when I chuckled to myself at the fabric in my hands. We were both half of something whole; we just didn’t know what yet. Each other? The end of the world? Peace? War?

  “You live here alone?”

  Tossing her the shirt she didn't see coming, the soft fabric hit her in the face, forcing her to catch it before it fell. “No, I live with my girlfriend. Serious shit. Been a decade. You didn’t see her?” I joked, but her face fell into a questioning look that borderlined fear.

  Standing in front of her, unashamed, I stepped into the sweats and watched her undress. Her orange flannel fell off her shoulders with no real effort, and it wasn’t hard to tell why. It looked like a leftover from a one night stand, it was so big on her.

  Next was the little white cami that didn’t do shit to conceal her hard nipples. I was salivating to take her buds in my mouth, even with the fabric in the way, easing the pain of biting down.

  Last were the jeans she had to shimmy out of they were so tight, and that’s when I realized she wasn’t wearing any panties. I envied the smooth inside of her dark denim rubbing everywhere I wanted to rub her.

  She was breathtaking and making my dick jump against my boxers, begging to be free.

  Tonight needed to be about her feeling safe when every weapon she used against people wasn’t at her disposal. I couldn’t have my way tonight. Taking another step towards her, my hand found her hip, even though I screamed at my body to calm down. “Secret for a secret?”

  Looking up at me through her lashes, she nodded.

  “With shots.”

  She spoke again, “You first, Mr. I’m-So-Bad.”

  I knew that couldn’t be all it took to earn her trust, regardless of how expensive the liquor was.

  Pushing past her, I knew I needed more alcohol, and a whole lot of it too, before showing her my ugly under the mask.

  Standing in my kitchen, shirtless, with sweats so low on my hips you could see the band of my Calvin’s peeking over the edge, I poured us more shots. I stared at her climbing onto the bar stool on her knees, waiting too eagerly. She wanted more of me just like I wanted more of her.

  “I know Bowen is involved in trafficking and Grimm is the hitman, but I don’t know what you or Khaos do exactly.”

  I snorted, insulted to even be put in the same category. She worked my desk, and somehow I managed to be just illusive enough to keep her in the dark from my real truth. “Khaos does whatever he wants. Mostly shit like tonight, harmless, just annoying. He doesn’t get his hands dirty too much anymore.”

  She stared at me eagerly again with her eyes wide and forearms pressed against the cold countertop, making her nipples pucker again.

  “Finances, payroll, orders. I’m the guy you need permission from. I’m the guy who gives you the green light, and if you make a move without my okay, you get an unpleasant visit from me.” Letting her soak it in, I wanted to test the waters with how much bad she would be willing to accept. “I’m the one who voted for Abigail to die if she was going to be a problem.”

  “Fuck me. You weren’t kidding… I’m gonna need some food… and more alcohol.”

  Now that she had mentioned it, I hadn’t eaten anything all day. Without someone outside my office reminding me to take a lunch break and fetching the food, it wasn’t a priority.

  Turning to my fridge, I pulled out some leftovers in glass containers of the stuffed mushrooms and lobster I had cooked last night, throwing them in the oven. There wasn't much I enjoyed about myself, but that was easily one thing making the short list.

  I wasn’t completely helpless, at least I could cook for myself, unlike the rest of the guys. They relied on the world to coddle them anyway it could: takeout, girls on demand, letting their money doing all the talking.

  “What am I making you? I’m gonna assume you don’t eat fish.” I was pretty sure she wore a vegan button at one point.

  “You cook?” I watched her lips turn up at th
e sides. “Baked potato with brown sugar?”

  Standing in front of my fridge again inspecting the contents, I had sweet potatoes at the bottom. I always had a farmer’s market in my fridge. “Coming right up. Your turn to spill a secret.”

  Suddenly noticing her ass on my countertop, legs folded under her, she poured us another round. “I lost my virginity inside of a church. Happy? Your turn.”

  “I raise you: lost my virginity to my mom’s best friend the summer before we got sent to Patmos Boarding School.”

  I let our eye contact burn into me for longer than actually necessary, examining her reaction. She was stunned but intrigued, exactly what I wanted—a genuine reaction.

  If I had given the girls willing to dress up like her the same grain of truth, they wouldn’t have had a reaction. I pay them too much to think for themselves.

  We were comparing darkness, and it was kind of turning me on instead of off, the way secrets should—the way secrets did, until I started looking at her as a mystery that needed solving.

  Pouring us another round, I let my voice ring in my ears. I was completely maskless and my darkness on display, yet I didn’t hate myself like I did every other minute of the day. I felt content with myself for once in a long time.

  JUSTICE

  The first confession should have been a clear warning sign, when someone confesses a kind of darkness you don’t see coming.

  That was the thing about Vic, he wore the darkness so elegantly that you barely saw it. All his darkness was living under the surface, and that made him even more terrifying.

  Was he scared of it too?

  Did that make him worse than the other guys?

  It was my turn to confess something raw, something that was going to pale in comparison, but still equally unspoken. “I’ve never been someone’s girlfriend. I sleep with random guys, because I’m afraid of commitment.”

  Even the words stung my taste buds.

  Digging into the sweet potato he placed in front of me, I basically came in my mouth with this being the first edible thing I was eating all day after a shit ton of coffee.

  Leaning against the sink, he studied me. “Why is that?”

  “Probably the same reasons as you… Who’s going to actually love us? How do we protect ourselves? People aren’t statues that stay in one place forever.”

  His lips tugged up at the edges, agreeing with me without saying anything. We were more alike than we wanted to admit—just both on opposite sides of a battle.

  “How did you avoid having a first kiss so easily?” I wondered to myself, while chewing the skin of the potato. I didn’t know much about his childhood, and it made me judge his parents for raising someone so calculating.

  “Private school with just the guys makes it pretty easy. It was in a small town upstate where we were always the flashy new toys. That gave us enough power to make the rules, and mine was putting your lips where it really mattered instead.”

  My mouth fell open at his confession, too stunned that he was proud of such achievements.

  Leaning onto the counter again, he made eye contact with me. “How did you avoid juvie?”

  “Who said I did?” I watched him sweat a little, his eyes squinting into me. With a laugh I couldn’t hold back any longer I choked out, “I’m kidding. Well, I did a small stint because my Grams wanted to scare me out of protesting, but clearly that didn't work. Rodriguez normally lets me go with a warning.”

  He was trying to make some sense out of everything I just said, but it wasn’t adding up in his mind. I should definitely have been in juvie or even jail for the amount of trouble I got into, but I wasn’t.

  Thankfully.

  “How long have you known Rodriguez?” Vic was testing a theory. I knew that curious upturn in his voice.

  “His dad was the one who delivered the bad news about my parents. I didn’t realize he was a cop too, until a protest, when I first moved to LA. Everyone was getting arrested, but he let me go with a warning. Why?”

  “I’m pretty sure my good ole dad might have something to do with keeping you out of juvie and jail.”

  The top shelf liquor was weighing on me. It was singing to me to put the shot glass down and save myself before I really showed him my ugly that could rival his.

  I guess he read the room well, since he picked up the glasses and bottle, telling me to follow him with his head tilt. Following him again into his very clean, very sleek bedroom, I threw myself on his bed, sinking into the plush blankets, waiting for more direction.

  I was actively trying not to think of my parents and his parents in any capacity. If I let myself dissect all of this new information, I would want to stuff the holes I was making with sex and pain.

  Vic would be at the center of my destructive behavior, and for some reason, my heart was begging me to spare him.

  Handing me another full shot glass, I shot it back as he spoke: “Tell me something that makes me feel better about my secrets. I know there is more to you, Justice.”

  The warmth of the buzz was wrapped around me tightly as he laid down on top of his bed in his boxers and sweats with his arm bent behind his head. Sitting up against the leather headboard, I contemplated some of my worst secrets tethered down by my conscience.

  “Um… I ruined a guy’s marriage once.” I let it hang casually in the air, knowing without the details it fell a little flat.

  He stared at me, eyebrows dipped, waiting for more, when he axed the shot glasses and started drinking from the half empty bottle.

  Continuing, I picked at my cuticles, “In high school, I seduced our teacher who had assaulted my best friend, because our guidance counselor and principal didn’t care. They both basically told her that she was full of shit and that it needed to be reported three times. So, I set up cameras, seduced him, and sent a copy to his wife, who was pregnant with their third child.”

  I wasn’t proud of it, but it was one of the darkest things hidden in my mind, tucked away for safekeeping.

  “Well, then… how far did you let him get?”

  His question had every part of me tighten and sink further into his bed, feeling heavier. “All the way. I wasn’t taking any chances. He needed to be punished for assaulting her, and they demanded proof.”

  I could feel his eyes digging into me, and his grip on the bottle only got tighter. I was waiting for him to say anything, but all I heard was the silence in the room pinning me down.

  “Are you kidding?” he finally said something, so why didn’t it feel comforting?

  I shook my head, confirming that I wasn’t kidding. “He was assaulting his students. Young girls. He needed to be fired.”

  “So you fucked him?”

  “For someone who's swapped kisses for blow jobs your whole life, you certainly have a lot of feelings about who I’ve fucked.”

  He sat up further, his back against the headboard. “Being an activist doesn’t mean throwing your life away in the name of every injustice. Do you not have any self-respect? When do you fight for yourself?”

  His words slapped me in the face with so much force, awakening parts of me that I had cast away with commitment.

  I don’t think I could have given him even a straight answer, because I couldn’t tell you when I did something specifically just for me, besides booty calls, and that was a fleeting kind of win.

  “You’re the epitome of perfection and happiness then?” I shot back immaturely, not sure how else to answer without admitting defeat.

  “Fuck no. I pay girls to show up here as different people, as characters in costumes, just to act their way through me not hating myself for a night. I have to pay people to make me feel safe without my mask. I would rather be anyone else, Justice. You’re a good person, wasting your life fighting living every step of the way.”

  He wasn’t wrong. My timeline was pretty easy to map out.

  Parents died. I rebelled. I honored them by being a justice warrior. I gave up commitment just to not be hurt agai
n. I threw a fit over the smallest shit that I considered wrong, trying to create a world that would fit my idea of safety.

  Living? Loving? Don’t know her.

  “You have to stop having stronger feelings than I do about shit that doesn’t affect you.” I laid it out there, taking the bottle and almost missing my mouth.

  Buzzed, vulnerable, and angry was a mixture that made my head spin, and my limbs felt like spaghetti. Laying back again, I took in the stars stuck to his ceiling, trying to glow against the small, dim, lamp on.

  He leaned forward, taking the bottle back and putting it on the nightstand next to his bed before leaning into me. His hands were on either side of my body, his muscles flexing, and his body refusing to collide with mine.

  “I’ll feel for you, until you learn how to.”

  I could feel his knees tempting my legs apart as he settled between them, still not touching me. He was making my body ache, and my chest was unable to take a deep breath.

  “What if I never learn?” My mouth and throat were suddenly dry.

  “We’ve got time…” His lips grazed mine as his body lowered and his muscles became stone.

  He was a statue and should be on display.

  Tasting him was painful. My whole body yearned for more of him every time I got a taste. Opening my mouth, I tempted him the same way, letting a small moan escape. With his mouth opening against mine, I waited for his tongue.

  Denying me, he lifted back up, straightening his arms and maintaining space between us as I waited for his next move. I wasn’t even wearing panties that could give me some friction.

  “That’s all I wanted.” The smile on his lips was too genuine to think he was after more. He truly just wanted a kiss.

  “Seriously? You aren’t going to fuck me?” I complained, just before he turned the lamp off and got under his blankets.

  He was responding to a text, making the room glow slightly from his hands. “That’s all I wanted. Intimacy. If I wanted to fuck you, you’d be fucked, Justice.”

  “But…”

  “But what? I think we can both handle that tonight. There’s always tomorrow morning or all of the hours between then and now.”