Lords of Pain

by Angel Lawson

  One of the guys says, “See you finally chose one. Took you long enough.”

  Tristian, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, sends him a cutting smile. “What can I say? Unlike you, we actually have standards.”

  The whole group freezes, turning to the four of us slowly. “At least we don’t have ours dressed like Country Club Hooker Barbie,” one of them says, tugging the girl to his side. She’s prettier than me, without a doubt, with long blonde hair and stunning blue eyes. “Lords never did have taste.”

  Rath shrugs. “And Barons have never been able to see when something special is staring them in the face.”

  One of the Barons gives me a long head-to-toe look. “Two legs, two tits, and three losers attached to her? Doesn’t seem very special to me.”

  “Look harder.” Killian steps up, smiling meanly. “Because as I recall, I was fucking your Baroness over the arm of your couch last year. And I know each of my boys have had her. She’s worn out pussy.”

  One of them steps closer, voice low, eyes sparking. “You need to mind your fucking mouth, Payne.”

  “And you need to mind your business,” Tristian says. I cringe as he presses a kiss to my neck, lips spreading into a grin. “Don’t be salty that our Lady hasn’t been passed around like a cheap forty-ounce, like yours. Sucks to be you. We’re still breaking ours in.”

  I close my eyes, face blooming hot at his words. “Jesus Christ.”

  A Baron gives me a skeptical look, scoffing. “I bet plenty of guys around here have had her.”

  “None of you have.” Rath shrugs, grabbing my hand to lead me away. I obediently follow them, trying to bat down my embarrassment.

  “Did you have to say that?” I hiss to Tristian.

  He gives a simple, “Yes,” as if that were the dumbest question he’s ever heard. I shouldn’t be surprised. Breaking me in? There was no way they weren’t going to flaunt me being a virgin. It’s the whole reason I’d bartered with it to begin with. I’m probably lucky he didn’t just come out and say it.

  It doesn’t make me want to crawl into a hole any less.

  Forsyth University has a central meeting spot in the quad; a magnificent fountain topped with an eagle taking flight. The water is noisy, splashing down into a blue, glossy pool. Students sit on the flat edges, talking, studying, gossiping. Killian stops in front of the structure and turns.

  “I have practice all afternoon,” he says, presumably to me, even though he doesn’t make eye contact. “You’ll meet back here?”

  “My music class is over at four,” Rath says, pulling his ear buds out one at a time and tucking them into his pocket.

  “I’ll be at the business school until then as well,” Tristian turns to me, eyes falling to my mouth. “What about you, Sweet Cherry?”

  I cringe again, not liking him using that name in public. It’s bad enough that everyone’s probably going to know I’m a virgin. What if my classmates knew my past? Or worse? What if Ted is somewhere nearby? “Don’t call me that here, and I’m done at two.”

  “Then you’ll wait in the library until they’re finished, and they come pick you up. Oh,” my stepbrother says, finally looking in my direction, “don’t forget to check in. Every hour. Between every class. There’s a group text programmed on your phone.”

  “I can’t just go home?” I ask. The answer comes in the dark cut of his eyes in my direction. I shrivel up against it. “Fine.”

  He and Rath walk off. Tristian stands by me for a moment longer, arm still over my shoulder. “I know it seems extreme, but this is how it works, Story. You’re to be available to us at all times. Loyal. Devoted. You go to and from school with us. You can leave when we do. And if you can manage to exemplify all of that, you might find yourself enjoying certain privileges. Being our Lady isn’t all about punishment, you know.”

  I don’t ask what those privileges might be. Something tells me they’re probably more for their enjoyment than my own. “Sure,” I answer dubiously.

  “Good girl,” he replies, leaning over and kissing me under the ear. His touch is gentle, sweet—purely for show. I’ve seen nothing to make me believe there’s a kind bone in Tristian’s body, but he more than anyone is aware that people are always watching. “See you in the library this afternoon.”

  He walks off, taking his delicious, masculine scent with him. Finally free of them all, I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. I have a whole day of classes ahead of me—a day without their orders and looks and touches.

  I catch the eye of one of the girls sitting by the fountain, textbook open on her lap. She’s watching me, eyes pinging from me, to my wrist cuff, to where Tristian is disappearing over the bridge to the business school. I open my mouth to explain. To say something about what she’d just witnessed. To justify the humiliation of being led around by three aggro cavemen.

  Before I have the chance, she shuts her textbook, mutters a low, “Lucky bitch,” and walks off.

  These days, paranoia has become my constant companion. Much like the night before, when I woke up thinking that someone was in the room with me, that same feeling follows me as I go from class to class. I can’t shake the eerie feeling that someone is watching me as I crisscross around campus, going from building to building, class to class. I keep waiting for one of the guys to appear with opinions about my clothes or hair, but I never see them. What I do find are the eyes of the other students, carefully assessing the new Lady. I’m disappointed to find that word travels as fast in college as it did in high school.

  Thankfully, my day is busy enough that I scarcely have the chance to hyper focus on the disaster my life has become. Remember all those PSAs about your online behavior following you for the rest of your life? Yeah, make me the poster child.

  It’s one of the reasons I’ve chosen social work as my major, with a focus on adolescents. Maybe I can help some other kid not make the worst decisions of her life before she graduates high school.

  My final class, Child and Family Development, runs late, the teacher droning on and on, despite the fact we should have left ten minutes ago. A few other students shift anxiously in their seats, eyes darting to the door. I know their anxiety is nothing like my own. I doubt any of them have three impatient Lords monitoring their every move.

  It’d taken me until the afternoon to realize the fancy new phone I’d been given was less of a gift and more of a Lo-Jack. I’d discovered the tracking device is on, allowing them to know my location at all times. I’ve had no desire to find out what happens if I don’t check in on time, so I’ve been diligent—until now, which is why I’m not surprised when my phone vibrates on my desk.

  Lord Rath: You’re late checking in, Lady.

  Lady: Sorry. Class ran over.

  Lord Tristian: Next time excuse yourself and report in.

  “Miss Austin,” the Professor calls my name, staring at me over her thick glasses. “Am I boring you?”

  “No ma’am,” I reply, feeling every eye in the room shift my direction. My cheeks heat. “I’m late to an appointment. That was the reminder.”

  The professor looks at her watch and frowns. “Very well. I can see you all twitching to leave. We’ll stop here, but from now on, please keep your phones in your bags.”

  Lord Killian: Story…

  Everyone around me packs up their belongings. I furiously type out a reply.

  Lady: My class ran late and my prof is strict about devices.

  I shove everything into my bag and start across campus toward the library. My stomach grumbles, a reminder I never had breakfast or lunch. And aside from the paltry dinner the previous night, I’ve barely had a chance to eat in days.

  I reach into my bag for the protein bar Martin had so helpfully supplied me with. It’s smushed down in the bottom, buried under my laptop. I’ve got my head half shoved into my bag when I run into someone.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I say, pushing my hair out of my face. A ripple of panic rolls down my spine when I realize who I’ve b
umped into. “Daniel?”

  “The one and only,” he replies, smiling tightly.

  It takes me a long moment to untangle my discomfort. Surely, most of that is due to our strained relationship. But some of it is because his hair, eyes, and jawline were inherited by the very man hell bent on tormenting me. It’s hard to look at Daniel and not think of his son.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurt, instantly regretting the curt tone. “I mean…Killian didn’t mention you’d be here.”

  Daniel raises an eyebrow. “You’ve seen Killian, then?”

  I realize that Daniel doesn’t know I’m living with the Lords. And come to think of it, I’d really rather he never did. “I saw him earlier, in the parking lot.”

  “I see.” Daniel shifts, sliding a hand into a pocket. Much like his son, Daniel isn’t very expressive. “I’ve come to see you, actually.”

  I swallow. “M-me?”

  He nods, smile pulling at the aged corners of his cool eyes. “Just wanted to make sure everything was going okay for you. I went to the room you’ve been renting, but you weren’t there.”

  “Oh.” I blink, scrambling to find an excuse. “I’m actually just rooming with some friends for now. It’s free, so I won’t have to put you out any more than I already have.”

  He waves dismissively. “Please, it’s no trouble at all. You’re family, Story.”

  We keep a polite distance, both shifting our eyes awkwardly. Something tells me this isn’t how family is supposed to act around one another.

  “Well, everything is going fine. Great, in fact.”

  “So you’re all settled in?” he asks, watching me.

  “Yep.”

  He hums, shifting his gaze somewhere in the distance. “It’s just that you haven’t come by the house yet. Your mother’s been upset about it.” At my frown, he hastily adds, “Not that she’d say anything. You know how she can be.”

  I nod in agreement. “Yeah, she does tend to do that.”

  “I hope...” he starts, forehead pinching as he starts over. “I hope we can move past all that...unsavory business from before you left.”

  Unsavory business.

  It’s odd to hear it spoken of so casually, as if it weren’t the very catalyst that drove me to earn quick money to escape the entire fucking situation. It’s even odder to look back on it, and to realize that out of all the terrible, greedy, entitled, toxic men currently ruining my life, that what happened with Daniel was practically nothing in comparison. Briefly, I get the sense that my reaction to it all had been silly.

  Daniel is every bit his son’s father. He might not be as upfront about it. He might even understand the word ‘no’. But at the end of the day, they’re cut from the same cloth. I’ve never forgotten that.

  And I won’t start now.

  I smile prettily. “Water under the bridge, Daniel.”

  Some of the tightness in his eyes eases at this. “Glad to hear it. And you should come by sometime. If you’d like, I can arrange a day, just for the two of you. We really are very happy to have you home and safe.”

  I nearly laugh at the word. Safe. Oh, Daniel. You idiot. “I’m glad to be back,” I lie. “I’ll give Mom a call later.”

  Nodding, he pulls his keys from his pocket, giving them an idle jiggle. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me. College is tough and I know you’ve had a rough couple of years. Your mother and I are always here for you.” Before departing, he adds, “If you see my son around, be sure to tell him his old man came sniffing about, would you?” He taps his temple. “Gotta keep that one on his toes.”

  I stare at his retreating figure, wondering if that’s how Killian will end up. Handsome and gray-haired, rich, powerful, and almost capable of sincerity. Somehow, I can’t imagine it.

  Unwrapping the protein bar, I take a bite, but find my appetite for it is gone. I chuck it, uneaten, into the nearest garbage bin before climbing the stone steps to the library entrance. This building was one of my favorite sights during my orientation tour. The entry has a marble floor and statues of the founding members of the university tucked into alcoves. Crossing into the main area, the scent of old paper clings to the air and I inhale deeply, feeling a sense of stability here. No matter what kind of upheaval is going on in my life, libraries stay the same.

  After confirming the location of the study rooms, I take the curving marble stairs, running my hand over the black, wrought iron bannister. I pass the second floor for the third, and pause at the landing to catch my breath. There’s a small balcony overlooking the space below, just off the main walkway. I settle here, enjoying the view, catching my breath.

  “You’re late.”

  Before I can turn, two hands clamp down on the railing on either side of my body, trapping me between strong arms. Tristian’s warm scent envelops me. I take a deep breath and reply, “You’re early.”

  “That’s not how this works, Story.” I feel his nose nudge my hair, almost like he’s pulling in my scent, too. “I’d say you’re confused about our expectations, but I think you’re smarter than that. Are you intentionally being defiant?”

  “It’s no big deal,” I say, freezing at the feeling of being caged in by him. “I-I got held up after class, and then I saw Daniel while walking here. I stopped to talk to him. I’m not being defiant.”

  Tristian goes eerily still. “Did anyone give you permission to talk to him?” Although his breath is warm on my ear, his tone is ice cold.

  Bewildered, I ask, “He’s my stepfather. I need permission to talk to my family?”

  “You need permission for almost everything, Story.” He shifts behind me, pressing the lean, solid length of his body against mine. “You know, I took the day off from classes to keep an eye on you. Followed you from class to class.”

  My heart stutters in my chest, remembering the feeling of eyes watching me. “That was you?”

  “Of course, it was me. There are a few things you need to understand. We’re not like the other frats here. For the Lords, bringing some random girl into our home is a risk. You’re always being watched. We’ll always know where you are and what you’re doing. And if you fail—if you step out of line—there will be consequences. It’s not because we enjoy it.” He adds with a smirk in his voice, “Well, not just because we enjoy it. We also have to protect our interests.”

  He removes a hand from the railing, the soft pads of his fingertips trailing down my cheek. I squirm against him, feeling bile rush up the back of my throat at the touch. He either doesn’t notice my discomfort or doesn’t care, instead running his fingers over my shoulder, brushing my arm, and then caressing the side of my breast.

  “It’s important that you’re fully aware of how this relationship works. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

  “I understand.” Although it’s a little difficult to focus on rules and regulations at the moment. My brain is fixated on Tristian’s fingers and how very close he is to discovering the point of my nipple. “You own me. At school and at the house. All the time.”

  “Good girl.” His fingers go off course, moving down to the hem of my skirt.

  And then they dip underneath.

  Stiffening, I peer nervously around the balcony. We’re in a fairly isolated area, but it’s still public. I try to jerk away, but even with only one hand, he effortlessly holds me in place between his body and the balcony’s edge.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp.

  “Whatever I want.” His fingers push underneath the lace of my panties and immediately brush against my clit. I rear back, but he just crushes me against him, thrusting his cock against my backside.

  My throat clicks with a swallow. “We can’t do this here,” I say, feeling my heart thunder.

  “Sure we can,” he argues in a low voice. “Why do you think I picked out this skirt? And those panties. Easy access.”

  Any coherent reply is caught in my throat. I’m almost sure any protest will just encourage him mor
e, or even worse, alert someone to where we are and what he’s doing.

  “What I want to do right now,” he whispers, running his nose along my neck, “is to find out if you really get as wet as Rath says you do.”

  Heat pools, both in my cheeks and between my legs. “Rath?”

  He chuckles as he swirls his thumb around in a lazy circle. “You think he didn’t tell us about how turned on you were that night? How much you enjoyed having my cock in your mouth?”

  That’s exactly what I’d thought, though I have no idea why I would. So I have some leverage on Rath. So what? He’s not trustworthy. He’s loyal to the Lords over everything.

  I grind my teeth against the way Tristian’s fingers are making me feel. “He’s lying. I didn’t like it. I hated it. I get wet like that because that’s just how my body is. N-not because I’m into it.”

  “Oh, Sweet Cherry, you’re always trying to break my heart.” His finger pushes between my folds, pressing into my core. “That’s okay. If you want it to be a secret, we can pretend.” He inserts one finger and groans into my ear. “God, your pussy is tight. You really are a virgin, aren’t you?”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to block out the sensations. Every man in my life has put a price on my virginity. Killian, Tristian, Rath. Ted. The other Sugar Daddies. I’d briefly thought it to be a source of power as well as vulnerability. But more and more, it seems like a single-edged sword.

  More and more, I just want to fall on it.

  I should toss it all away. Just get it over with so that they’ll all leave me alone. Maybe I should find some guy to fuck and take it off the table. I won’t be so special then.

  Voices echo off the marble staircase and I go rigid as a group of students climb to our floor. I push aside any and all thoughts but self-preservation. “Tristian,” I whisper, “please let me go.”

  “Come for me, sweetheart. And then you can go.” He slides in a second finger, stretching me from the inside, making me both wince and shudder. “Just do this one little thing and I’m happy to walk you home.”