by Angel Lawson
I give an inelegant snort. “What, and now you do?”
“Well…yeah,” he says, like this should be obvious. “I’m taking care of you now. I don’t want to see you like that.”
“Like what?” I press, half-appalled, but half-curious.
His expression turns thoughtful. “Diminished, I suppose. Hurt. Upset.”
Blandly, I guess, “Because I’m your property.”
“That’s a part of it,” he admits, unabashed. “But there’s also this other part. I’m not really sure I understand it yet, but I know that it’s making me say this.” He touches my chin, tipping my face up, eyes holding mine. His voice is quiet but firm, completely void of artifice. “I’m sorry, Story.”
He pitches forward to press a gentle kiss to my head, walking out of the room before he can see the stunned tears in my eyes.
26
Rath
* * *
It’s been years since my morning shower didn’t feature a quick nut to get my day started right. I’ve always hated the idea of waking up beside a girl. Smelling her morning breath. Having her all over me, telling me to wake up. Being annoyed by her voice.
The reality is a lot fucking better.
I know I must be jonesing for pussy if a quick and embarrassingly juvenile dry hump was that good. I haven’t rubbed myself off against a girl like that in years. Any other time, I would have pushed for more, maybe just yanked her panties aside and slid right on into home base. But I know better than to think the rules of The Game are flying out the window just because Killian is being a dick.
Turning the knob of the shower, I step out, strutting into my room. I know she’s gone—I’d heard her sneak out—but that’s okay. She could probably sleep with me again tonight. Tristian is apparently not in the ‘guys Story can sleep beside’ loyalty club. It’s only got one member—me.
I shoot off a group text to the frat before heading downstairs, warning every member and pledge that a single look at, or word about our Lady will call for some serious punishment, if not outright removal.
Downstairs, the two of them have already started breakfast. It doesn’t matter that he throws me a nod and looks perfectly normal. Tristian’s clearly still sulking over me being the Lady’s favorite Lord. He doesn’t have me fooled.
It’s hard to look at Story and not pitch a tent at the memory of her, just forty minutes ago, laid out beneath me, grinding up against my dick and loving the shit out of it. I stop by her chair to press a kiss to her cheek, stealing a piece of cherry Danish in the process. “Who got Danishes?”
Tristian shoots me a glare. “I got one, and it’s for her, not you.”
My eyebrows hike up my forehead, but I take my seat and refrain from showing how surprised I am. Tristian buying sweets for someone is basically his version of second base. My boy is laying it on pretty thick. He must have really been stung last night.
Story looks a little better this morning than she had last night. Her eyes aren’t all red and empty anymore, even if she still looks wary and a bit hunted. There’s a yellow flower tucked behind her ear and she glances up at me, cheeks flushing. “I think Ms. Crane made you waffles.”
Fuck yeah, she did. I’m Ms. Crane’s favorite, too. I decide to cut Tristian some slack this morning. It can’t be easy living with someone who keeps scoring all the bitches.
I’m halfway through the aforementioned waffles when I decide to check my phone. “We might need to go in a little early,” I say to Tristian. “A couple of the guys haven’t checked the group text yet.”
Story goes stiff at the mention of the frat, looking between us. I shoot her a wink to let her know it’s all good.
Tristian nods, setting down his glass. “Let’s roll out, then.”
Finding Beckwith is easy. He’s always hanging around the parking lot, showing off his Trans-Am. Putting the fear of God into him is even easier.
But not usually this easy.
“I already told him,” he says as I approach, holding his palms out defensively. “I haven’t done anything with her!”
I stop, narrowing my eyes. I don’t know which ‘him’ he’s referring to, but I decide to play it cool. “Really.”
“Really!” he insists, backing up. “I wouldn’t lie to Payne, okay? That guy is a fucking psycho. I’ve never seen that card before, and I’ve only talked to the Lady once—at the last pregame party. Tristian was there. Ask him for yourself!”
Killian.
Comprehension dawns as I realize Killer’s been grilling the guys about that goddamn package. He’s like a dog with a bone—won’t stop until he can prove it.
I tilt my head, searching his face. “In defiance of the charter that you pledged to, you haven’t checked your texts, Beckwith.”
His eyes bug out. “Are you serious? One of you takes my phone and smashes it, and then another wants to penalize me for not answering texts? What do you expect me to do, share with someone else? It’s only been an hour.”
Rolling my eyes, I whip out my phone and repeat the warning I’d sent the others. I’m not cleaning up any more of Killian’s messes. If he wants to go around giving everyone the third degree and smashing their phones, then that’s on him.
I have to wait outside the admin building for twenty minutes before the second guy appears. I know instantly from the look on his face that Killer’s already been here.
“He smash your phone, too?” I ask, deadpan.
Morris is big and broad and epically pissed off. “Yes, and it was brand new.”
I wince on the inside. Killer is really burning a path through campus, apparently. I repeat the warning to Morris and move on to the next, but it’s exactly the same. Every guy who hasn’t checked the group text has had his phone destroyed by Killian Motherfucking Payne.
It takes me the length of my first class to work out why.
Last night had been crazy. I’d like to say that I never doubted Story’s loyalty, but there for a moment, Killer had me second-guessing. It wasn’t until she walked into that basement, Tristian stone-faced at her side, that I realized just how wrong Killian was.
After that, the whole thing was just hard to watch. I tried focusing on the guys instead, but that made it worse. I kept getting all these flashbacks to third grade—the jeers and taunts and laughter. I kept hearing them say fucked up things about our Lady. My Lady. I had to shut one of them up, whopping him hard upside the head. Fucker’s lucky he didn’t get worse.
But now I’m thinking I wasn’t keeping as close a watch as I should have, because every guy I’ve had to hunt down had one thing in common last night: Their phones were out.
Which means Killian is not only grilling the frat, but he’s also destroying any video evidence of what he made our Lady do to him.
She doesn’t know it yet, but that’s as close to an apology as he’ll ever give.
27
Story
I’m halfway across campus when my phone buzzes.
Tristian: Held up in class. Won’t make lunch.
Dimitri: (Auto Reply: In Session - Do Not Disturb)
I sit on the edge of the big fountain in front of the administration building and watch the screen for a moment, waiting, wondering if the third Lord will break his silence and reply. Luckily, it never comes, allowing some of the tension to drain from my shoulders.
Some—not all.
After this morning, it’s clear what needs to be done. I can’t keep them in the dark about Ted—not anymore. Tristian and Dimitri aren’t forgiven what they’ve done to me, but I don’t want to see them get hurt anymore. It no longer feels fair to involve them in my fight with Ted when they’re left in the dark about it.
I’m not quite sure how to do it or where to start, but I know that tonight, I'm going to come clean to my Lords.
To two of them, at least.
A burst of laughter catches my attention and I look up. Students are milling around between classes, some alone, others in groups. The outburst drawing m
y focus belongs to a few girls, sitting on a bench, leaning into one another. I recognize Sutton, the Countess, the Princes’ Princess, and the Baroness clustered together. They look like a palette of precious metals—Sutton’s warm bronze, the Baroness’s cool silver, and the Princess’s radiant gold. They look exactly like the royalty they are.
I guess the other frats aren’t as picky about their women making friends.
My phone buzzes again.
Tristian: Story, you may go to the Student Center for lunch. We’ll meet you at the car at 3.
Lady: Yes, my Lord. Thank you.
It’s unusual for both guys to be held up at lunch and it makes me feel at loose ends. Watching Sutton makes it even more so. I guess that’s how dependent I’ve become on them. They tell me where to go, what to eat, who to sit by, when to spread my legs, when to sleep, and when to wake. At first, their control felt more like a leash than anything. But after Ted’s surprise and Killian’s punishment, the Lords’ possessive nature is providing an odd comfort.
I reach for my bag, and when I look up again, Sutton is standing in front of me.
“Hi,” she says.
I glance around, paranoid this is some kind of test set up by the guys. Things have been too good today, with the gifts and the apology and no-strings orgasm. I don’t see them anywhere, however.
So I smile back, answering, “Hey.”
“You meeting your Lords?”
“Actually, no,” I say, giving my phone a disappointed glance. “Just heading to the Student Center for lunch, I guess.”
She jerks her head toward the other girls. “We’re heading off campus to grab salads at that ‘make your own’ place. Want to join us?”
I look over at the girls, clutching their bags and looking happy. I shake my head, sighing. “I shouldn’t.”
“You sure?” she asks, frowning. “You know, we’d love to have you. There aren’t many other girls on campus with our special circumstances. We should stick together.”
“I don’t think the guys would like it.” I know they wouldn’t. Tristian would be over the moon about the salad part of it, but that’s about it.
“Pssh.” She waves me off. “I know they have all those rules but come on. We do too. They know we get together like this. It’s like a little open secret.” She grins, her curly hair catching the sunlight. “It’s not like they don’t benefit from it.”
Tilting my head, I wonder, “How so?”
“Talking about how to better serve our men is one of our main topics of conversation,” she explains, taking a seat at my side, voice lowering. “You know, little tricks that make life as a Royal woman easier and better for them. Autumn is going to tell us the secret to rim jobs. One of her Princes is very into it at the moment.”
“I don’t know…” Things are finally better with me and the guys—at least the two of them. Tristian had actually apologized and I’m still not sure what to do with it. Does it make it better? Easier? I’m not quite sure yet, but I find myself curious, wanting to find out where we go from here.
Sutton gives me a soft look. “You look lonely all by yourself, Story. You deserve some time for yourself. Time with friends. The way we live—the things we do—sometimes it’s hard to remember that.” She gives me a nudge with her shoulder. “It’s just lunch.”
The reminder of being alone hits me. I’m a sitting target for Ted, not to mention Killian, who’s around here somewhere. Being with these girls is better than putting myself at risk. And plus, Sutton is right.
Everyone needs friends.
I give a reluctant smile, agreeing, “Okay. I have two hours before my next class.” Then, I pause. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“The Lords.” God, this is embarrassing. “They actually…track my phone.”
Shockingly, she doesn’t look surprised or horrified. She just shrugs. “We can drop it in my car and take Autumn’s. That way, it’ll be here the whole time.”
I bite my lip, worry churning in my gut. “You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling anxious, but also embarrassingly excited. “Let’s do this.”
She waves over the other girls, who grin when they see me. I know what I’m doing is risky, and the guys are strict. But after this morning, I don’t think they’d truly terrorize me for anything. I just hope that Killian doesn’t find out.
Sutton and the other girls talk the whole way to the parking lot. Clothes, parties, sex, hair. I drink it all in, laughing along, realizing how much I’ve missed this. I went to an all-girls school, after all. This was part of my daily life.
“Story,” the Princess asks, threading her arm through mine. “Who’s the best kisser out of your Lords?” She’s a beautiful girl, with all the looks of a pageant girl. Heavy eye makeup. Big blue eyes. Hair in perfect curls.
“Oh, um...” I think it over, cheeks heating at the thought of sharing this so easily. “They’re all good—just different. Dimitri kisses with his whole body. It’s always intense with him, but also...very easy to fall into. Comfortable.” I duck my head, biting back a smile as I remember this morning. “Tristian kisses like he’s got something to say with it. He’s all about the flash. But it has this way of making you feel like you’re the only girl in the room.”
“Mmmmm,” she hums at my description. “What about Payne? God, talk about extreme.”
My smile falls as I think about the one time we kissed. It feels uncomfortable to describe, but in the spirit of a newfound sisterhood, I try. “Killian kisses like he’s trying to claw his way inside your skin. It’s hard and it hurts, but you don’t really realize it at the time. Sometimes, with him, the bad stuff seems good. It’s confusing.”
The Baroness turns to us, perching her sunglasses on her nose as she beams. “And that’s why a girl shouldn’t settle down with one guy too soon.”
We get to the edge of the parking lot, where each spot is filled with a car.
“My car is over here,” Sutton says, pointing to the left.
“Okay, we’ll drive over to get you,” the Princess says. She follows the Baroness as she ducks between two cars. I follow Sutton, squeezing between an oversized SUV and a badly parked van.
“Asshole,” Sutton mutters, glaring at the two tires that are clearly crossing the line. “It’s too tight to pass through.” She lifts her chin. “Go back that way and we’ll go down another row.”
I turn around and jump in surprise.
There’s a man, dressed in all black, mask covering his face, right in front of me.
My heart slams into my throat, paralyzing me for a suspended moment as my eyes climb his chest to the masked face. My backpack drops heavily to the ground, and it’s dumb—it’s so fucking stupid—but my feet are glued to the ground.
Move, my brain hisses.
The door of the badly-parked van slides open, revealing two more masked men.
Spinning on my heel, I take in a deep breath to cry out for Sutton, but I barely catch a glimpse of her hair before he’s on me, roughly shoving a hood over my head and grabbing me around the middle. I inhale instinctively, dragging in a musty breath to scream with, but something bitter hits my nostrils and throat, bringing on a coughing fit instead.
“Help!” I try to scream, kicking out wildly. My foot catches something hard and metal—the side of the van—and I push, forcing my assailant into the side of the SUV. He grunts a sharp, “Come on, bitch,” and shoves.
I know I’m in the van by the sense of the jostle and the encroaching quiet. Panicking, I flail, kicking out some more, struggling against the arms holding mine. The chemical scent embedded into the mask is choking me, burning the back of my throat, clenching my lungs in its grasp.
When my foot bashes into something soft, a voice cries out, “Shit!” It’s a deep voice—male. “Goddamn it, my fucking nose!”
I struggle harder, hoping to get another hit, but the door to the van slams shut and the engine cranks. In less than t
hree seconds, the wheels are rolling. Now, it feels like my limbs are moving within something viscous and impossible. I strike out, I scream and cough, but everything feels heavy. The smell in the hood is overwhelming, dizzying, and suddenly the most urgent struggle is the one against my drooping eyelids.
Just before the wave of sleep takes me over, I hear a harsh, masculine voice say, “This is gonna be one sweet cherry.”
Ted, I think as it drags me under.
All this running. All the fighting. Now he’s got me. Now it’s done.
It’s almost a relief.
28
Tristian
I’m going to prison for murder.
That’s all there is to it. Izzy and Lizzy will be disappointed, but once they get to college and find themselves stuck in a group project with two people they hate, they’ll get it.
Jason is a low-level Count and looks the part—dark shirt, ratty jeans, and an arrogant slouch. “I just think that we should use a PowerPoint and not a video.”
“Dude, no one wants to use a PowerPoint,” Mark says, eyes rolling. “Get over it.”
“I told you,” Jason says, leaning back in his seat like we’ve got all the damn time in the world, “teachers love PowerPoints. Graphs are like porn to them.”
“Yeah, but the video—” Mark starts.
“The video is bullshit,” Jason jumps in.
I glance down at my phone for the third time. I’ve been in this stupid group project meeting for two hours. The first hour was spent arguing over what topic to discuss. The second was on the merits of a PowerPoint or a video. If I didn’t already hate Jason because of his affiliation with the Counts, this would put him on my shit list for life. Mark, a mid-level Prince, isn’t much better. But at least he’s right about the goddamn video.
