Lords of Pain

by Angel Lawson

  Killian looks like a gangster.

  When his eyes first find mine, it feels like my heart wants to beat itself from my own chest. His body might be different, but that face and those eyes…

  I’d know them anywhere. I’ve seen them in my nightmares for years now. Always watching, looming, observing me.

  Despite that, I can’t help but notice the similarity between his face and his father’s. This sharper, harder, more mature version of Killian is still devoid of any sort of emotion. Even as he takes me in—even as his eyes flash in realization—that doesn’t change.

  “Your final appointment is here,” the guy says. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

  “Shut the door,” is all Killian says, eyes still pinning me in place, and their lackey steps back, encouraging me to enter. I step into the room and feel their gazes on me all at once. Now it’s my stomach’s turn to feel like it wants to exit my body. Every hair on my body stands on end, and for a moment, I feel like I might run.

  I’d practiced what I wanted to say a million times over the last week, but now that I’m here facing them down, it’s caught in my throat like a boulder. The way they all stare at me, silent and still, makes me wonder if they’re feeling the same thing. Maybe they’re not used to being confronted with their past crimes. Maybe they expect their trash to stay gone once they’ve thrown it away.

  It’s Tristian who shakes out of it first. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Sweet Cherry,” he drawls, my nickname like honey on his tongue. He leans back, throwing his arms over the back of the seats. His gaze fixes itself to my mouth. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

  Rath pulls the buds from his ears slowly, one by one, dark eyes assessing me. Apart from the tight line of his lips, his face is expressionless, that cold gaze making me shiver under its inspection.

  With the two of them looking at me, it’s like I’m back in that laundry room all over again. They’re the predators. I’m the prey. I have to curl my hands into fists to stop them from trembling under the intensity of the memory. The sharp taste of semen. Fingers sliding through my folds. The sound of their harsh, excited breaths as they used me like a cheap toy. No. I won’t tremble and cower before these men.

  I’m not that girl anymore.

  Tristian jerks his chin at me. “You never said your little sister was in town, Killer.”

  Killian’s still staring at me, but now his face is set into a hard scowl, lip peeled back. He’s looking at me like he just scraped me off the bottom of his shoe. “She’s not my sister.”

  “Not so little anymore, either,” Tristian says, eyes sweeping over me before once again settling on my mouth. I get this humiliating flash of memory—the way his penis felt as it slid between my lips, the warmth of his fingertip as he swept my tears away. I feel the heat bubbling on my cheeks and it makes his lips tip up into a smirk. “Look at you, all grown up.”

  He’s right. I’ve matured. Physically, emotionally. A year of boarding school, a few months on the street, and a year and a half working and living and surviving has a way of doing that to a person. It’s already obvious that these three are exactly the same as they were that night. There’s no remorse here.

  “What are you doing here, Story?” Killian asks, voice deep and rough. “Last I heard, you’d skipped out on boarding school and fucked off to parts unknown. Now you show up on my doorstep? If you’re looking to even the score, you’re a little late. If we were untouchable before, then we’re practically Teflon now. Should have stuck around if you wanted to take a shot.”

  I push my shoulders back, chin up. “I’m here to interview for the position. I’m applying to be your Lady.”

  There’s a long stretch of silence, their eyes unblinking as they absorb my words.

  “You’re applying to be our Lady,” Killian says, voice hard and flat. He leans forward, shoulders shifting, and rests his inked elbows on his knees. “Are you even fucking aware of what the job entails?”

  Unflinchingly, I answer, “To serve the needs of the Lords that live in the household.” It’s a bit of a copout. They’re the only Lords living here.

  “You know, maybe I’m misremembering,” Rath says, head cocked to the side, “but the last time we talked, you weren’t very compliant about serving others.”

  “Not willingly, anyway,” Tristian adds, flashing me a sharp, lopsided grin. “Although that didn’t bother me very much.”

  “It’s like you said,” I insist, voice like stone. “I’ve changed.”

  “Does my father know you’re here?” Killian asks, knitting his fingers tightly together.

  “Since June. He’s the one who helped me get into Forsyth.” The hatred in Killian’s eyes turns a shade darker. “But I’d rather do this on my own. I figured that a job that took care of my room and board would be the right step.”

  “This isn’t just cleaning bathrooms and making us meals, you understand that, right?” Tristian drops the mocking smile for something more condescending. “We already have a housekeeper, sweetheart.”

  I nod once. “Yes, I know.”

  “Tell us, Sweet Cherry, what does being our Lady entail?” he prompts, the wicked curve of smile tugging at his lips.

  “It means you’re in charge.”

  “Of?”

  “Everything.”I swallow, well aware of what I’m about to do. What they don’t know is why I’m so willing to do it.

  Tristian watches me. He’s still got that charming ease. That same disarming, sexy demeanor. Facing him is worse than the others, because even for me—even after what he did to me, after how he treated me—it’s so easy to fall into it. To let it lull you. To believe that he’s not as bad as the rest.

  Right up until he strikes.

  “There’s a contract,” he says, eyes darkening. “We’re perfectly solid here, Story. But for our own benefit, I think I want to hear you say what you’re willing to do. Be specific.”

  My stomach sinks, palms growing clammy as I fight to remain composed. My voice nearly sounds mechanical. “I’ll…pleasure you. I’ll let you do things to me.”

  Tristian raises an eyebrow, clearly not having expected this level of bluntness. “And? The contract gives us unilateral rights to control every move you make for the next year.”

  “What you wear,” Rath adds, staring at my chest. I can still feel the ghost of his hands on them. His cock rubbing against my backside. His harsh whispers into my ear.

  Tristian nods. “When and what you eat.”

  “When you sleep.”

  “Who you fuck,” Killian says, suddenly joining in.

  “How you fuck.”

  I steel myself. “I can handle that.”

  The guys glance at one another. Rath stands and walks toward me. I’m still standing near the door. I never got very far into the room. “You didn’t handle it last time, Story. We waited for you and you never came. Killer sat outside your room, but it was locked. Then you ran and erased every trace that you existed.”

  “That was different. I wasn’t ready then. I am now.”

  Rath’s tongue darts out and he raises his eyebrow. “Take off your dress, then. I want to see how much you’ve changed.”

  It’s a test. A test to see if I’ll comply. But I also know that they don’t like easy. Whoever slapped Tristian probably has the best shot at this job. It’s a fine line, knowing what they want, and I have to tread carefully here. I also have to get control of my fears before I blow it.

  “Take off your dress, Sweet Cherry, or this is over before it starts.” Tristian leans back against the couch, leather creaking. He makes this movement with his hips and I see the bulge in his pants. I can still taste the phantom sourness of him, even after all this time.

  My fingers shake as I reach up to finger the strap of my dress. I refuse to look at Killian. I know damn well he’s not going to put a stop to this. My stomach whirls, bile climbing the back of my throat.

  It’s not worth it, it’s not worth it.<
br />
  “Cherry, we don’t have all day. We interviewed ten other girls, and every single one of them was willing to do anything I asked,” Rath says, annoyed by my hesitation. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but being a Lady is serious business. Maybe you should take this as an opportunity to run. You’re so good at it, after all.”

  I swallow my nerves and hook my fingers beneath the straps of my dress, tugging them from my shoulders, dragging them down my arms. The dress flutters to the floor at my feet, and suddenly, I’m bare, standing in nothing but panties and a pale blue, lace bra. Their eyes suspiciously watch my every move, and I know as much as they might hate me, they want me just as badly.

  Tristian shifts forward in his seat, like maybe he’s about to reach out for me. He never does, though. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “She’s bigger,” he tells the others. “Do you remember how big her nipples were?”

  Rath nods at my chest. “Size of a half dollar. Are they bigger now, too?”

  I dart down to grab my dress, shimmying it back up my torso. Once I’m covered, I send them a hot glare. “If you give me the job, then maybe you’ll find out.”

  A wide grin splits Tristian’s face. “Still feisty. Maybe even more than before.”

  “Tell me something,” Killian says, eyes dilated. “What exactly do you have that the other girls don’t?”

  I play the card I’d been holding onto for years. The same card I’d thought nothing of until that night with them. That’s when I realized how much importance it has. How much power.

  “Easy,” I say, righting my dress. “I’m still a virgin.”

  3

  Killian

  No one speaks for a long moment after Story has been dismissed. There’s a tension in the air that’s so palpable, it’s making my leg jitter, knee jumping up and down.

  It’s only when I look up and see them both staring at me that I bite out, “She’s obviously bullshitting us.”

  Rath lifts an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

  “Any slut can say they’re a virgin,” I point out. “She probably sold her cherry to some geriatric fuck ages ago.”

  Tristian starts, “But what if—”

  “Am I the only one here not thinking with my dick?”

  “No, you’re the only one here thinking with your grudge,” Tristian answers, tucking his hands behind his head. “I know you think she jilted you or whatever, but let’s face it. Story is the one.”

  Thankfully, Rath has some sense. “Sure, let’s just invite her into our lives, give her access to everything she needs to completely fucking destroy us.”

  I gesture to Rath. “Exactly. There’s no way she isn’t chomping at the bit to take us down after what we did to her.”

  Tristian just shrugs. “What did we do to her? She had choices.”

  Rath smirks. “No good choices.”

  “When are choices ever good, anyway?” Tristian rolls his eyes, gaze landing on me. “If she wants to take a shot, I say we let her.” His eyes spark with the same malicious glee I’m used to seeing on him. Tristian’s always preferred the struggle over easy pickings.

  “It’s a risk,” I point out, hands forming tight fists. “She’ll never be loyal. Take it from someone who knows: you let that girl live under your roof, you’re going to regret thinking she’s yours.”

  Seeing her walk through our door was like being confronted with the ghost of disappointments past. My poker face is damn near flawless, but I was still shocked to see her standing there, looking every bit the pretty, innocent little piece of ass she always did.

  It reminds me of the first time I saw her; the night at the restaurant when my dad introduced us all. I knew that he’d intended her for me. He had to have. She was just too perfect, too pure, too sweet and cute. The first time I smiled at her, she squirmed in her seat, red blooming over her pale cheeks, ducking her head to hide a grin. I knew then that she’d be mine.

  I was wrong.

  Only now do I allow myself to really feel the tornado of emotions seeing her brought out in me. There’s anger, like always. Too many layers of fury to really inventory. Anger that my dad made her and that gold-digging slut part of our family. Anger that she was supposed to be mine, but never was. Anger that she chose someone else. Anger that the night in the laundry room should have sealed the deal, but all three of us were too drunk and pissed off to do it properly. Anger that she just up and left.

  The worst part of it, though—the part that makes me want to fling this coffee table through the fucking window—is that even through all that rage and resentment, I still want her.

  “Think about it. A virgin, Killer,” Tristian says. “None of the other houses have anything close.”

  “And neither will we,” I grind out. “She’s lying.”

  He seems unbothered by this, lounging back. “So we make it a part of the contract. If we find out she’s lying, we bump her for an alternate.”

  Rath asks, “And what about the sign?”

  “What sign?”

  He gives Tristian a long look. “The one that’s all red and flashing ‘hey, this is clearly a trap’?”

  Tristian scoffs. “Like we said. We’re Teflon. Let her try.”

  Rath rolls his eyes, but I see the gears turning. “She still does have that air about her.”

  “All innocent and nervous. Fuck.” Tristian reaches down to squeeze his boner. “The Counts are going to lose their shit when they see what we’ve got.”

  They aren’t getting anything, they’re just too dick-brained to see it. “It’s not happening.”

  The two of them look at me, expressions hard.

  “This isn’t just your decision, fuckwad. We decide this democratically.” Tristian raises a palm. “All in favor?”

  Before Rath can raise a hand, I add, “He’s right, you know. Showing up on our doorstep three years later? That doesn’t sound like Story. Something’s going down here.”

  “Maybe she got a taste of my cock and finally came back for more,” Tristian says, shrugging. “She wouldn’t be the first one.”

  “You’re deluded.”

  “And you’re too wrapped up in your bad blood to see this for what it is.” Tristian leans forward, leveling me with his gaze. “You can finally have her, Killer. We do this, and she’s ours—for real, this time. This isn’t some drunken high school fuck-around in your laundry room. Isn’t that why you’ve always hated her so much?” He shakes his head, looking both sympathetic and annoyed. “You always hate what you can’t have.”

  “Who says I want her? I could have any girl in this whole fucking town. She’s nothing special.” I know instantly that they see through my bullshit.

  Rath is the only one with balls to say it, though. “Give me a break. Find you a brunette to fuck from behind, and you come in like five minutes flat. I bet you still think of her when you jerk off, too.”

  Tristian laughs. “He’s got a point.”

  I flip him off. “Maybe I just don’t like blondes.”

  Rath leans forward to flick that space on my bicep—the tattoo of the dark-haired girl. “Or maybe you’re just an obsessive psycho.” His words don’t have any bite to them. As if he’s in any position to throw stones here. “But look at it like this, right? If she’s our Lady, she’ll be right down the hall. Every night. Sleeping.”

  Tristian immediately catches on, pitching forward to add, “We can take the lock away. Or, even better, we can give you the only key.”

  I glower at them, but internally, I’m already imagining it. Sneaking into her room, looking at her there, all tucked into her bed. I remember the way her lips always looked, puckered in concentration as she dreamed. The way they felt around the hard tip of my dick, so soft and wet. The way I’d leave some of my come on them, spreading it around, marking her as my own. Story was always a hard sleeper. Barely anything could wake her. I was careful back then—too careful, moved too slow. But now?

  Now, I could do anything to
her.

  Just like that, my dick is rock hard.

  Fuckers. Complete, insufferable fuckers, the both of them.

  Rath lifts a hand, saying, “I’m in,” and looks at me expectantly.

  I thought she was mine the first time we met. I thought she was mine again that night in our old house, when I finally let myself have a piece of her, however small it might have seemed.

  But that’s the thing about Story that these guys don’t realize. She’s like sand slipping through your fingers. Water through a sieve.

  You can’t keep what you can never grasp.

  4

  Story

  As much as I knew it was a long shot to become Lady, I’m still disappointed when I don’t hear anything by the next morning. Ideally, I wouldn’t have had to return to the room I’ve been renting under my mom’s name, other than to get my belongings.

  If I can’t move into the Lords’ house, I’m going to have to make a decision quickly about what to do and where to go next. I can’t live by myself, and I can’t put just anyone in the position of living with me, either.

  Not with Ted out there.

  I walk over to the small desk in the corner of the room I’m renting and pull the envelope out of my suitcase. It’s plain and white, with my name typed across the front. I’d walked into my room at my boarding school and found it on my pillow.

  Dear Sweet Cherry,

  When you shut down your account, I was very disappointed. The connection we developed, your sexy words and photos…it’s all I think about. It’s all I dream about. But I know what your stepbrother and his friends did to you. I understand why you had to run. What I don’t understand is why you had to leave me, too. Did he find out? That must be it. We were perfect for one another. There has to be a reason you left.

  Tell me? Are you still a virgin? I hope that by being at the all-girls school, you’re able to stay pure. I want to be the one that claims you. Now that I know where you are, I’ll be waiting and watching for my opportunity. I can be patient, for a bit...