Pride (The Elite Seven Book 2)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  I’m not sure what to say. Or do. Thank her for giving me the best sex of my god damn life? Get up and leave? The problem is, I’m far from done. My appetite for her just got a sample, and now, I’m starved. I flip her, bringing her back to the mattress, trying not to snap her still contained wrists.

  She’s wearing a carefree smile.

  “What’s that look for?” I instantly waver on my feet with uncertainty. Was I not good enough? Does she want more?

  “Oh, nothing. Pleased you passed round one. I have a full bag of goodies over there. If you’re up for it, I say we move on to round two.”

  It’s settled.

  I’ve fallen in love.

  One week later…

  The rain refuses to let up as I make my way back to the biker bar for the second time this week. Lillian just gave me Rhett’s, or Lust’s, task. I showed up at my place after a long day of shit classes and Lillian was in the apartment waiting for me. She handed me the card, wearing her signature smile as she forced me to read it. I didn’t want to know what The Elite was asking of him, but Lillian demanded I did anyway. Disgust filled me as I saw her own stepdaughter’s name on the card. She wanted me to know what tasks people were willing to do for power. Her words are still ringing in my ears.

  “People strive to be invisible, Mason. They want to know they are better than the person next to them. And they may not admit, but everyone is willing to sell a piece of themselves to thrive above.”

  I told her she was wrong. I’d rather be poor and have nothing than deceive and betray to get ahead. But then she reminded me I was exactly that person. I would hand out each task regardless of whose life would be destroyed in the end. My pride would make sure of it. And in some sick way, she was right. These guys—some of them anyway—seemed like they would do anything to join The Elite. Little do they know the destruction it will cause.

  I’m about to jump out of my car when my phone dings. Whoever it is can wait as I reach for the door handle. Right now, I need to drink until I forget. The rain suddenly picks up, slashing against my window, and I pause taking the extra moment to catch a glimpse at the screen in case it’s Evelyn. She was beside herself with worry when I met up with her the day after our first Elite meeting. I told her I would come back that night and never did. I got too fucked up and literally fucked instead. The pain in my stomach returns. I just got my sister back, and I’m already letting her down. I swore to her it was never going to happen again. Instead of Evie’s name, it’s a text from Lillian.

  Cunt Griffin: Not so fast. You were given a chore my little pet. Be a good boy and do as you’re told.

  My fists slam into the steering wheel. How the fuck does she know…

  My phone dings again.

  Cunt Griffin: 14 Manchester Ave. Apartment 45. Get to work.

  Fuck.

  I’m walking across campus to my first class. The early morning sun is like a fire beam shooting into my eye sockets and I’m tired as fuck. The address Lillian gave me last night ended up being Gluttony’s, or God, the name he goes by. All the brothers were there, including Rhett. She sent me there for a reason, but I couldn’t go through with it yet. Instead, I got fucked up and drank until my mind spun with so much booze, the only thing I cared about was partying with my newly found brothers. The night was a blur, but I had to admit one thing. I was starting to like these guys. Really give a fuck what happens to them. Reconnecting with Micah has been unreal, but he’s clearly been through some shit since our time apart. Same went for Sloth, Wrath, and Envy, who all, no doubt were fighting their own demons.

  Then, there’s Rhett. He came off as a real genuine guy. Not someone who would do what he’s going to be tasked to do. The more I got to know him, the deeper I shoved the card into my back pocket. He seemed intense about joining The Elite, but would he risk hurting someone for it? Maybe it was the booze, but last night I pinged him as someone who wouldn’t. And when I find the courage to hand his task over, it won’t surprise me when he cashes in his coin. A get-out-of-jail coin for each member if they decide they can’t stomach their task, or a favor only The Elite can make go away. If they cash it in, they don’t get to back out of their second task. They don’t follow through, then they’re expelled as candidates.

  I’m just about to pass the student center when my phone goes off in my pocket. I dig for it and Lillian’s name lights up my screen. I’m about to let it go to voicemail, but her evil warning rings in my ear about the consequences if I don’t answer when she comes beckoning.

  “Yes, queen bitch?” She may have me by the balls, but I refuse to bow down to her.

  “Oh, kinky. I like it. Maybe you can call me that at our next meeting. You know I can please you and you’d love it. Or is your pride still getting in the way?” She laughs, and chills of hate and disgust run through my veins.

  “What do you want, Lillian? I’m busy doing your bidding.” I really should meet Rhett and get it over with.

  “Yes, yes. And you’re about to do more. Time for you to get your own task,” she says, no hiding the venom suddenly in her tone. “My office. Now.” Then, she hangs up.

  I hate her with all my being. I wasn’t sure I would have a task. Just assumed all the dirty work she has me doing was my penance. I shove my phone back into my pocket and change directions. My mood darkens along with the weather as the clouds roll in taking the bright sun with it leaving the sky fierce and ominous.

  I barge into Lillian’s office without knocking. She looks startled when the door whips open, her eyes wild. Rage is it? Shock? Definitely different from the normal sadistic smile she carries. Sometimes I wonder what sin she would be. If I had to guess, I’d say her demise is envy—the one thing I think she drowns in.

  “You’re late,” she snaps, throwing a folder onto her desk.

  “Have you seen it outside? It’s a monsoon.”

  “I don’t give a shit. Sit down,” she orders and walks to the other side of her desk. Sitting, she unlocks the bottom drawer, pulling out a manila folder—same folder she’s pulled out with every other task that’s been given.

  “You’re a little bit bitchier today than normal. Not getting any from the husband?” I say, sitting and crossing my arms over my chest.

  “It seems you have, though.” She tosses the folder at me. It opens as photographs litter her desk, some falling at my feet. I already recognize what they’re of before picking them up.

  “You fucking following me?” I growl, holding up a photo from last week at the bar. With her. She-Hulk. I woke up in the shithole motel the next day alone. After hours of the best sex of my life, I must have passed out. And in the morning, she was gone. No note or thank you for using me. And that she did, dirty little girl. Her toys…I’d never been so hard. We fucked and played, toys and games. It was nothing I’ve ever experienced. The best way to describe her was simple. Fucking amazing. She was also in the wind. Which was for the best. I didn’t need the added headache. Despite the tightening in my pants any time that night came to mind.

  “You think I don’t keep my pets on a tight leash? You were supposed to stay at the party. Instead, you leave and go fuck your brains out,” she spits out. “You don’t get to play around, pet.” She stands and rounds her desk, coming into my personal space. Using her hands, she spreads my legs and makes her way between my open thighs. “If kink is what you like, I’m more than willing to show you a thing or two. Or was that little whore a good enough teacher?”

  My hands clutch the armchair, fighting not to take a closed fist to her face. The random girl may be nobody to me, but having Lillian call her degrading names immediately gets under my skin. Staring down at the photos of her, I’m reminded of how damn beautiful she was. “What is this shit anyway? So, I got my dick sucked. What’s it to you?”

  “Oh, don’t play coy with me. I’m sure you got more than what you bargained for.” She doesn’t care about the malevolent look I give her or how my skin vibrates with disgust when she positions her body in my l
ap. “We can make this so easy.” She brings her hand between our laps and grabs at me. Unlike the reaction I had with the girl from the bar, my cock doesn’t even stir. “Well, that’s disappointing,” she pouts, dragging her hand away. “I guess you require a ball gag and whip.” She leans in and grabs my face, her nails digging into my cheeks. She presses her lips quickly to mine, then pushes off me and stands to make her way back to her seat. “Everyone has a lesson to learn. Even you, Mason. And it seems this one will be perfect for you. It takes a lot of pride to put yourself before others.” She picks up a gold card, just like the other tasks. “And I’m gonna have fun teaching you your lesson.”

  “Aren’t you already doing that?” I growl. “Just get to the fucking point, Lillian. I have class.”

  Her evil laugh chills my blood. “Oh, come on. Are you actually pretending to be a college student?” Her laughter gets louder. “Did you forget you didn’t graduate high school? A GED from a prison facility doesn’t constitute entrance into a low-grade community college, let alone one of the best colleges in New Orleans. You’re only here because I put you here. Don’t waste your energy trying to play smart. As I told you, I’ll adjust your grades. You just do what you’re here to do.”

  I’m barely hanging on by a thread, fighting from throwing myself out of my chair and cutting off her airways until she’s blue and dead. “You’re a fucking wretched bitch.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.” She gets up, adjusting her skirt. “Well, this has been fun, but I have other students to see. I assume you can see yourself out.” She tosses me the golden card, and I barely catch it before a knock on the door sounds and another student pops her head in. I get up without another glance her way. When I reach the quad, I stand behind the communications building, rip open the seal, and read my task:

  PRIDE

  Your task is sin of perverse

  Megan Benedict

  St. Augustine’s fresh new Theology professor

  Lack of vanity is far from humility

  For the sinner who is beneath no one. Expose and ruin at no cost. Teach her secrets are no fun… Secrets will ruin someone.

  I finish reading the card, fighting the bile rising in my throat. I need to expose this woman’s secret? What her secret is, I don’t know. Is it that bad I have to destroy her for it? I pull a lighter from my pocket and enflame the corner but stop myself. The rule is cards must be destroyed once the task is read. But there’s a nudging feeling I may need this for collateral. I snub out the flame and stuff it in my backpack when my phone dings. Reaching in my back pocket, I see a text from Lillian.

  Cunt Griffin: Schedule Change. You’re now enrolled in Theology 101. English building. Room 201. Class begins in seven minutes. Better hurry.

  By the time I make it to the English building, I’m soaked to the bone. My backpack hangs heavy on my shoulders, and my shirt is matted to my chest. Unfamiliar with the building, I head down the south hallway and up the stairs. Luckily, I pop out right at the room number, but when I locate the clock on the wall, I’m almost fifteen minutes late. Great. I waste no more time and thrust the door open.

  Megan Benedict.

  First year college Theology professor.

  And now I’ve been placed in her class to get close to her. I push the guilt of knowing my intentions to the back of my mind. I’m doing this for Evelyn. I’ll expose whatever secret she’s hiding and be done. I won’t have any thought about the consequences or how this will affect her. Because this isn’t about her—a nobody to me. It’s only about Evelyn and myself. Her sick but true words burn down my walls of morality, and nothing, especially not my pride, will stop me.

  The door to the classroom flies open and slams against the wall as I walk in. The entire lecture hall of eyes whip to the entrance to acknowledge my presence. Professor Benedict, still busy scribbling on the chalkboard, doesn’t even bother to turn and address me when she speaks.

  “Plato once said, the direction in which education starts a man, will determine his future in life. Translation, lateness is not a good start to success,” she says, finishing up some chart on the board.

  “Yeah, sorry. Last minute schedule change,” I mumble, searching for a seat. Fuck, there’s nothing open but one in the front row. I hurry to it, needing the class to stop fucking ogling me. It makes me uncomfortable. All these rich assholes. Some want to be here. Some, like God, are here because Daddy’s money put them here. Some, like me, have no business in a place like this.

  I drop my bag and sit, tugging at my soaked shirt sticking to my skin. My eyes settle on the back of my professor who’s still rapidly scribbling some shit on the board. It’s hard not to notice her cute little ass in her tight grey skirt. Makes sense why her class is full. I’d show up every day just for the view. Her legs are on full display, with nude heels to boost her height.

  Finishing, she drops the chalk and dusts off her hands. A soft sigh fills the room as she observes her handy work, and my excitement hitches to see the face that comes with such a bangin’ body. She turns to address the class—

  “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” I growl loudly in disbelief.

  My outburst grabs her attention. Her eyes, the most tantalizing color of hazel, go wide as saucers as the recognition almost throws her off her balance. “Oh hell.” Her high-pitched squeal echoes throughout the huge lecture room as she runs into the corner of her desk. The class erupts into laughter, but I’m far from smiling. Missing are the red lips and black fuck-me outfit, and in their place is a tight grey pencil skirt and white blouse.

  Megan.

  Her name is Megan. The fierce little spitfire I spent an entire night with, getting to know every nuance of her body, every touch, curve, and dip. Megan Benedict, my professor, who I have to destroy and teach a lesson. This has to be some kind of joke.

  What the fuck is Lillian up to?

  “Um…um…sorry…” She shakes her head, trying to pull herself together. “So, class…” she begins, struggling to find her bearings. I slowly relax, enjoying just how cute she is fumbling over her words. “Um, sorry…I…uh…” She turns back to the chalkboard, giving the class her back, her shoulders rising and falling as she inhales deep breaths. “Where were we?”

  Yeah, she’s fucking cute.

  The next forty-five minutes are a blur. I can’t stop comparing how different she is. Like night and day. Nowhere is the sex kitten with ambiguous eyes and dark tastes, but a sweet college professor with her hair in a perfect ponytail, not a rip in her nylons, and her face clean and almost bare, except for the minimal Chapstick she applies several times probably due to her unease. Damn if just the simple act of her touching her lips doesn’t make me harder than hell. She barely gets through her lecture, apologizing a handful more times as she stutters over her words. Not once does she make eye contact with me again, and I’ll admit, I’m disappointed. Knowing how those almond shaped eyes lured me in makes me crave her attention.

  It doesn’t help that my mind keeps taking me back to the night in the motel. How bendable her small, taut body was. How hungry her cunt was when I fucked her from behind, twice. The scratch marks she left on my back begin to sting all over again at the memory of us both coming so hard, I swore we passed out.

  How the hell did she get on The Elite’s radar? Is her taste for kink her dirty secret? I sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

  When the hour hits, ending class, I’m hard as fuck and doubt I can get up without anyone noticing the huge tent in my jeans. Students gather their books and are up, fighting to get out of the classroom. I, on the other hand, don’t move a muscle. I wait and watch. Sensing the worry and discomfort in the air. She has yet to look at me, and I know she’s all but praying to whatever holy god she worships I get up, leave, and never return.

  But I can’t do that.

  When the last person exits, I make my move. I prowl over to the chalkboard where she’s trying to busy herself by wiping the same spot over and over. “Don’t they have cleaning
staff to do that?” I chuckle as she jumps at the sound of my voice.

  She whips around to face me. Since I left her with no room, her warm body brushes against mine. Her cheeks blaze a crimson at our connection, and I have to fight my dick from ripping through my jeans to get to her.

  “Um…Mister…Blackwell, is it? Um…how can I—?”

  “It’s Mason.”

  “Um, sure. Mason. Please try to be on time for next class…” she trails off, coming to the quick conclusion that playing coy is not worth the effort. A long sigh leaves her lips as her arms fly up in defeat. “Oh god. Fuck it. I’m fucked. I didn’t…you…I’m going to lose my job! I didn’t know…you’re a student?” she cries. “I was so far off university grounds, no one from this campus would have even been caught dead in a place like that. And oh my god, you’re a freshman? Please tell me it’s because you waited four or ten years to go to school and you’re not—”

  “Eighteen?” I say.

  She covers her face with her hands and groans. “Oh my god.”

  I want to tell her the truth about my age to ease her stress, but I can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it to myself that you’re a cradle robber.”

  Her hands slide down her face, her eyes wide. “I am not a cradle robber! How was I supposed to know you were so young? You were in a bar! And you look…look…”

  “Old enough and strong enough to be the Hulk?” Her face explodes with mortified embarrassment. I wonder if she’s mentally picturing herself cuffed to the bed while I sucked and devoured her pussy. I can’t help it. I bust out laughing.

  “Oh my god! What you must think of me! That’s not… I’m not… Please. Please don’t report me. I need this job. I’ve worked really hard to get it. I…I…I was far from campus and didn’t think college students even ventured that far. Please…”