Dark Ties: Broken Saints Society 1

by Thorne, Leia

  Emry’s father owns the building. It’s an old gothic structure that has been renovated a few times over. Now, it’s mainly home to young businessmen types and single parents.

  When the penthouse’s owner moved out suddenly, they needed a tenant in place. Enter Charles Windsor, a nom de plume for five high school students with their own bank accounts and the means to create a fictitious person to pay the rent.

  Brilliant, right? The landlord has a lot on their plate, figuratively speaking. So they’re not dropping by for a surprise inspection any time soon. As long as we don’t attract any unwanted attention, the penthouse is ours for the foreseeable future.

  Gage nods to the security officer, Jimmy, as we pass the main gate in the garage. He gives Jimmy a cash tip—a big one—once a month as incentive to keep our comings and goings out of his register.

  Once in the elevator, Gage sidles up beside me. “I hate odd numbers,” he says abruptly.

  I pause in the middle of a text to Palmer and look over at him. “What are you rambling about?”

  “Six is the perfect number.” He faces me as he leans against the elevator wall. “Don’t you feel like we’re missing something this year? Like there’s a gap? Five is just too…odd.”

  Jesus. I discard my gum in the wrapper and pocket my phone in my clutch to give him my full attention before the elevator reaches the top floor. “I like odd numbers. Small numbers, too. Easy to control.”

  He is, of course, referring to our group dynamic. Or his Broken Saints Society. Gage has an affinity for secret societies, and aims to be selected into one of the elite societies once in college. We’re a practice run, I suppose. But he truly believes—if done right—we can rule the world.

  There were six of us until Lesley…was gone. I try not to even think about the event of last year in my head—try to pretend it was an unfortunate accident.

  I don’t like being in that dark headspace.

  Instead, I focus on what’s relevant, what matters. The here and now.

  High school… Hell, life in general, is so ephemeral. Here one minute, gone the next. It’s a shame for anyone to deny themselves any sort of pleasure, to spend one wasted second punishing themselves.

  “What’s done is done,” is all I say to Gage. As the elevator comes to a stop and the metal doors slide open, I step forward, but pause to add: “You can’t recreate the past, Gage. Let it go.”

  A slow, intense beat welcomes me into the penthouse. Low house music pulses throughout the dimly lit living room, the soft glow of votive candles illuminating the scene.

  Five is an odd number. And half of that number is sprawled across the living room in various acts of debauchery. I hate to ever admit to Gage that he might be right (at least, not to his face), but fresh blood might not hurt to shake things up.

  Ever since the accident, I’ve had to force myself to participate, to act like I’m enjoying our society. Most days I am, I can’t lie. Life is not this horrendous inconvenience. Money helps mollify pain; another truth. But I want more. I want what we had last year—so close to perfection.

  Gage moves past me and takes a seat on the couch next to Rush, who is rolling a joint. What brain cells he has left, he uses to help score touchdowns for Brighton Saints’ all-star football team.

  Then there’s Palmer and Emry. They’ve been an item since sophomore year. The star couple. And they’re exhibitionists. At any kickback, Palmer has a tendency to shed her clothes and walk around naked. Emry loves this about her—loves showing off her perfect body. Look but don’t touch. They’re parked on the adjacent couch, going at it like rabbits. Palmer rides Emry, her hips undulating like a pro, her uniform skirt hiked up around her trim waist.

  Emry groans out a sound of pleasure as he bucks beneath her. “That’s it, baby. Ride that cock.”

  I roll my eyes and toss my clutch on the table, then sit on the wingback chair. The penthouse came furnished. I’d never have chosen such a dreary style.

  “What’s her problem?” Rush asks, cocking his chin in my direction.

  Gage loosens his tie and sheds his uniform blazer. “She’s bored.”

  Rush licks the rolling paper and shores up his joint tightly. “We’re all bored.”

  I glare at Rush. “I thought you were getting molly?”

  “Sorry, Saw,” he says. “My connection fell through. He said this weekend, though, for sure.”

  He goes to spark his lighter, and I clear my throat. He curses under his breath before he heads toward the balcony.

  I can’t stand the stench of weed. Designer drugs on occasion are one thing, but smoking your high is for losers. Rush gets a slight pass on this because his father owns the banks. All of them. He has a lot of pressure on him to attend Harvard Business School, so he chooses to blow off steam now.

  I’m not sure why Rush is so stressed out about getting into college. One recommendation from Gage’s father and he’ll be accepted to any school of his choosing. That’s the deal, of course. The reason why we’ve all pledged to Gage and his society.

  The benefits.

  My gaze travels to Palmer and Emry. “No wonder you didn’t text me back, whore.”

  She waves me off. “Sorry, babe… Ahh…” She moans, and grinds against Emry’s dick harder. “I have ballet this evening. Had to get my… In…”

  I watch her orgasm with a curious niggle in my chest. They never tire of each other. Maybe that’s because they have a ridiculously open relationship, but it’s more than that. I can’t pin the source of my qualm, and I’m lost in thought when I feel Gage slide in beside me. He maneuvers me onto his lap, and I huff in annoyance.

  “I’m not in the mood to play, Gage.”

  “You’re not in the mood for much of anything lately,” he says, as he brings my back against his chest. “Just watch them for a minute.” He rests his palms on my thighs. The feel of his warm hands against my skin sends a shiver through me.

  “What makes their attraction for each other so fierce?” he asks.

  “Didn’t you get enough head games in therapy?” At his stern silence, I sigh. Fine. I’ll play his sordid little psyche game. “I don’t know, Gage. Because they’re both freaks?” I mock.

  He ignores my blatant disregard. His palms graze up my thighs slowly. “There’s more to it than just lecherous desire. Look at them,” he goads again, “they’re insatiable. Three years and they still lust after each other with a carnal want that, honestly, makes me jealous.”

  I let the soft probe of his fingers lull me into an intoxicated state as I watch Palmer and Emry lewdly devour each other. I am jealous of them. Not in a “I want to be them” way, but jealous of their absolution—their understanding of exactly what they want, and wanting it so fiercely they can block out the rest of the world.

  “Is it love?” Gage asks. His fingertips prod my knees apart. He spreads my thighs wide, baring my thin panties to the room. My core clenches, a deep throb pulses at the erotic act.

  Palmer peeks up, her eyes half-mast and her features slack in ecstasy. “That’s it, Gage. Show me my girl’s pussy.”

  His hand begins to roam toward the crotch of my panties and I stop him. “It’s not love,” I say. “There’s no such thing. It’s chemicals in the brain. Some people just fall victim to those chemicals more easily than others.”

  I push Gage’s hand toward my knee, then I spread my legs even wider, inching my panties to the side. “Does that excite you, Palm?” I ask her.

  She touches her tits as she rides Emry more forcefully. “You’re so beautiful,” she pants out. “Let Gage touch you.”

  “No. This is just for you,” I say.

  I feel Gage stiffen beneath me, the hard edge of his erection presses against my ass as his body tightens with fury. I know what this is doing to him, and it gets me hotter than watching Palmer fuck Emry to the sight of my pussy.

  Gage’s fingers dig into my thighs. “Love is real,” he insists. “There are different kinds, different levels of emotio
n. Just because you’re jaded, don’t judge others.”

  Then he thrusts me off of him, setting me aside, as he pushes out of the chair.

  I hate to be a cliché, but I am jaded. Gage understands this about me. We’ve known each other too long, have been through too much together. I hate and adore him for that all at the same time. What I witnessed during my parents’ divorce has made me cynical and thoroughly repulsed by the world’s idea of love.

  Gage storms toward the couch and wraps his hand around a hank of Palmer’s dark hair. “Get off,” he commands. He’s rippling with tense fury, and that excites me even more.

  “Dammit, man. I was about to come,” Emry complains. But he allows Gage to reposition Palmer doggy-style over the couch. Emry knows who’s in charge, and he never disobeys.

  He’s a good follower, just like Palmer, who cocks her ass in the air as Gage unzips his slacks. His gaze slits toward me as he strokes his hard length, his features etched in disdain. He’s spurned over my answer to him, but my reply has never changed.

  It never will.

  “Infatuation,” I say. “Obsession. A state of limerence.” That’s all I am to him.

  Gage once told me he was in love with me, and that was my reply to him: he’s obsessed with me, not in love. The second I give him what he wants…he’ll move on.

  So I don’t.

  With a dark growl, he thrusts his cock inside Palmer’s cunt, making her gasp. He fucks her with a merciless need to break and control. The whole while his pale-blue gaze spears me.

  I spread my legs again, teasing him with the one thing he can never have.

  We’re kindred. When you find a person who gets you, there are less barriers. A form of honest acceptance blooms between you—and that is what Gage and I have. It’s what Palmer and Emry have.

  People as broken and damaged as us can’t love in the traditional sense.

  We’re carnal and intense, because that’s the only way we can feel.

  Gage pounds against Palmer’s ass, his breaths heavy. Then he looks at Emry. “Lick her pussy.”

  Emry bounds off the couch, his dick still erect. “Why don’t you two just fucking fuck already,” he grumbles under his breath.

  But again, he does as told, and kneels in front of the wingback chair. I keep my gaze trained on Gage as I pull my knees high, my heels banked on the edge of the chair, then slide the crotch of my panties aside.

  Gage sucks in a harsh breath at the sight of me bared to him.

  “You’re so fucking cruel,” Gage says, and hammers against Palmer harder.

  I am. I don’t deny that I exact more pleasure from torturing Gage than the feel of Emry’s tongue stroking my clit. I bury my hands in Emry’s loose curls, guiding him to hit the right spot, as I watch Gage fuck my best friend.

  The glass slider opens, and Rush walks in. “Fucking hell. Why don’t you ever let me eat you out, Sawyer?”

  I release an exasperated breath. “Because you always smell like stank weed now.” I undulate my hips as a ripple of pleasure heats my blood. “I don’t want my pussy tasting like pot.”

  Rush groans. “Fuck this. There’s too many dicks in this place anymore.” He grabs his backpack and loads his rolling papers and drug box up, then heads for the door. “I have Tatum begging me for it. Later.”

  As I crest, getting closer to release, Gage tries to meet me there. He drills Palmer until she’s screaming, then buries her face against the back of the couch to muffle the noise. I arch my back and grip the wings of the chair, my body shaking as tension builds and coils in my core—until the shattering crash of the orgasm takes me.

  Gage groans long and hard as he pulls out of Palmer and releases all over her back. His chest heaves. “Finish her off.”

  Emry is eager to oblige, and mounts his girlfriend.

  I ease my panties back in place and lower my skirt as Gage slowly approaches. The waist of his pants hangs loose around his hips, his white Oxford button-up rumpled. He leans over me, planting his hands against the chair arms, caging me in.

  “One day,” he says, “you will be mine.”

  I lick my lips. “Go take a shower,” I say, sitting forward. “You smell like sex.”

  He pushes away from the chair, his gaze hard on me as he exits the room.

  Palmer and Emry huddle in a heap of exhausted pleasure. I listen to the sounds of their spent lovemaking, and think about the boy in the shower, and how if I would have fucked him four years ago—the night I told him no for the first time—he’d probably have moved on from me long ago.

  Because I didn’t, because I stood up to him, the Broken Saints were born.

  We built this society together. And one day soon, there will be an empire to rule.

  A queen can never be weak. She can never succumb to her king.

  That’s how queens stay alive.

  Chapter 3

  Gage

  Towel draped around my neck, chest bare, I stand on the balcony of Leighton Tower, hands braced to the stone railing as I stare out over the town. The sky is bruised and burnt, a twisted snarl of purples and oranges, as the sun sets on Crescent Valley. The gothic architecture haunts every building in the affluent district, shadows of our privileged ancestors forever present.

  The view overlooking the tops of the trees with the lone church steeple reminds me of the bell tower at Brighton Saints Academy, and the one time I had Sawyer so close to being mine…

  It was just a kiss—nearly a kiss; our lips almost brushing—before she shoved me away and left me there. That was our freshman year. I chased after her then, and I’ve been chasing her ever since.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Her lilting voice floats to me over the balcony. I grip the stone edge. “That this year, things will be different,” I say.

  She pads outside, setting her water on the marble table, and moves closer to me. “College soon. All this will be just…the past.”

  “I was serious in the elevator.” I turn to face her. “We need a new member.”

  She crosses her slender arms. She changed out of her uniform while I was in the shower. She’s now dressed in jeans and a simple white T-shirt, but her modelesque build makes the humblest attire look chic and trendy.

  “Why her?” she asks pointedly.

  I’ve been hinting for the past week about the new girl, but this is the first time I’m making it known that she will be the sixth member initiated into the Broken Saints.

  “We’re bored,” I say. “Senior year was supposed to be…” I shake my head, shrug “…epic. Instead, we’re withering in monotony. Just waiting to go to college and fulfill our destinies that our parents planned.” I run a hand through my damp hair. “I refuse to let that happen. To just bow out of Brighton without becoming a full-blown legend.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re so vain. This world is so much bigger than one exclusive school, Gage. It’s sad that you think that’s all there is to life.”

  “It’s sad that you’ve all but given up,” I fire back. I stalk toward her. “You used to be so vivacious until Lesley—”

  “Don’t,” she says, the warning in her tone clear. “We swore we’d never talk about her after that night. Especially here.”

  My shoulders sag, and I sink my hands in my pockets. Lesley’s mother owns this penthouse. All those ghosts haunting this valley…most of them flock here.

  “You said we can’t recreate the past.” I move another step closer to her. “I don’t want to, Saw. What I want is to push the past so far away, that it never has the chance to threaten us again.”

  Her gaze finds mine. “And your answer to that is a new toy.” The question is implied.

  I rub her arms, rest my forearms on her shoulders. “This society needs someone fresh blood. Someone we can tune, shape. Think about it, Sawyer.”

  “Why her?” she asks again. She’s not letting it go.

  “Because no one else at Brighton is worthy.”

  A smile slan
ts her mouth. “You mean, everyone else already knows your games.”

  “And yours…” I counter.

  She lifts a shoulder in a partial shrug. “Touché.”

  I tug on a length of her blond hair. “When was the last time you challenged yourself? Palmer? She broke so easily, was it even fun?”

  Her sigh is breathy. Palmer is special to her; I know this. Sawyer doesn’t want me using her friend against her, so she steers us back on topic. “The girl is new money.” I can hear the disdain in her voice.

  “So is Rush. That’s not why you’re holding back, why you’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared of anything, Gage. I’m bored with the games.”

  “So don’t make this a game. Make it your ultimate challenge. Take a fresh, innocent, new money debutante and turn her into a force. Make her succeed where Lesley failed.”

  She turns away from me, but then says, “Show me what you have on her.”

  I take out my phone and pull up the student file for Remi St. James. Nelson Winters is head of the student council, and all new admissions are sent to me. A skillset my father taught me; learn and know your colleagues in every aspect of life. Never go into a situation unprepared.

  Marshall Astor has been grooming me to take over Astor Financial & Trust since the day I was born. His only male heir to the throne. Just like Sawyer Van Doren is being groomed to become the top image consultant in her mother’s firm.

  Our families are old money. Two of the oldest. And expectations are high that we will succeed them into bringing even more fortune to our families.

  We’ve been sharpening our skills since middle school. And we’ve done some…questionable things to the unsuspecting and weak flock at Brighton Saints, but it wasn’t until Lesley de Pont did a nosedive off of this very balcony that Sawyer became withdrawn.

  I can’t lose her.

  I will not lose her.

  I’ve started to wonder if her pledge to us four years ago was a ruse, or a promise made by a naive freshman—but Sawyer has never been naive. Even in her youth, she’s the most deeply profound person I know.