by Angel Lawson
Killian doesn’t say a word to me as he flings his door open and jumps out. He slams it so hard that the truck rocks, but I don’t even flinch. I watch him stride up to the doors and angrily yank them open, disappearing inside.
Twenty minutes later, it’s clear that this isn’t a quick visit.
I get out of the truck and follow him inside. It’s darker in here, and even though it’s barely seven in the evening, it’s already packed. Despite that, I spot him instantly, sitting ramrod straight on a stool at the bar. He’s throwing back a tall glass of amber liquid with one hand and doing something on his phone with the other. His whole aura screams ‘stay away’, and it looks like everyone is heeding it.
He doesn’t spare me a glance when I stride up to him. He swallows, banging his glass on the bar to sneer, “Did I say you could come in here?”
“I have to use the bathroom,” I sneer back. “Or do you want me to piss in your precious penis euphemism?”
“Go,” he barks. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
“Gladly!” I turn, finding the restroom and stalking toward it.
It’s quieter inside and I choose a sink to turn to full blast. The water is refreshingly cool against my hot face, shocking me back to reality. Bracing my hands on the sink, I stew, thinking of him out there, drinking like he’s been jilted in some way. What the hell was all that stuff about my virginity being his to take? Since when?
And how can I make sure that never, ever happens?
Just then, someone exits a stall and I stiffen, trying to look more put together than I feel. I look into the mirror and freeze when I realize who it is.
“Oh,” I say, blinking the water from my lashes. “Hi.”
The Countess watches me back, giving me a small grin. “Hi. It’s Story, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, and you’re…can I call you Sutton? Or is that something else I’ll get yelled at for?”
She laughs, approaching the sink beside me. “Sutton is fine when it’s just us.” She’s a lot prettier than me, with her full lips and elegant posture and smooth, dark skin. But her eyes are also warm and kind. “Are yours out there? The Counts have the billiards room. We might have to keep them distracted so they don’t get into another slap fight.”
I smile tightly. “Only one of them. He’s at the bar. And the only one he wants to fight with tonight is me.”
“Ahh, one of those nights. Which one?” she asks, dropping her purse on the counter. “No, wait. Let me guess. Killian Payne.”
I laugh darkly. “How did you know?”
“Oh girl,” she unzips her bag, “his tantrums are legendary around FU. That boy can’t handle things not going his way.” She pulls out a shiny silver stick of lip gloss. “Not that I can talk. One of the Counts got so pissed the other day he tore the flatscreen off the wall.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s like they’re children.”
I nod. “Overgrown babies.”
She bends toward the mirror, assessing a tiny, almost non-existent blemish. “So, what happened? You look at another guy? Bend over too seductively? Talk to the bartender?” It’s none of those things, but Sutton seems to understand my situation better than I would expect. She shrugs. “I’m friends with Charlene. I know the drill.”
I watch her apply the gloss along her bottom lip. “Charlene told you that? Ladies aren’t supposed to share their contract with anyone. Fuck, I’m not supposed to even talk to you.”
“Girl, they want it that way to keep us in line, but women talk. We’ve always talked. We always will.” She pops the cap back on the gloss. “Otherwise, how else would we survive?”
She’s right about that. I turn and lean against the counter. “There are times when I feel like I’m drowning. Like nothing I do is right, and everything is my fault. Especially with Killian. He’s just so angry all the time. I have no idea how to make it better.”
Sutton glances at me and smirks. “No idea?”
“Well,” I smooth down the front of my dress. “I wore this outfit for him. I think he liked it. And I didn’t argue with him once tonight. I thought things were going okay until that—”
Her eyebrow rises. “Until what?”
“Nothing.” I exhale. “Nothing I do makes him happy. It never has.” Perhaps the worst part is that there’s some tiny, deep part of me that’s always wanted to. Even after all these years, that stupid, awkward, sad teenager still lives inside me, wishing the handsome boy in the room next door would just like me.
“Story, honey,” she says, zipping up her bag and resting her hand on my arm, “there’s one thing all men want, especially men like Killian: for you to fuck him senseless. For you to let him shove his cock into and up every orifice you have. All these assholes want is to claim their woman. Just go get him, drag him back in here, and let him fuck it out of you, right on this counter. Fog up his brain with an orgasm so good that he can’t remember why he’s so pissed. And the bonus?” She winks. “Is that you get off too. It’s win-win.”
She says it so easily. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Spread your legs and let him fuck you senseless. And she’s right. It should be easy, but there are layers upon layers attached to my relationship to these guys, to our past, to Ted, Daniel, and every other man I’ve encountered. It’s the only power I’ve ever had. The only leverage. Am I ready to give that up?
“I’m a virgin,” I blurt, the weight of the secret weighing on me. The deficiency. The ‘why’ Killian is so pent-up and angry. “It’s why they picked me as their Lady. I’m a virgin and they like me that way.”
Sutton’s lips form a small circle and her eyes grow twice the size as normal. “Holy shit. Are you serious?”
“Yes.” I turn away and reach for a paper towel. Just for something to do with my hands. “Pathetic, I know.”
“No,” she says, a little too quickly. “It’s not pathetic. Honestly, it makes a lot of sense. You have the one thing the rest of us don’t.” She laughs and I peek at her face. She looks positively amused. “No wonder he’s wound so tight.”
“Yeah. See? I told you, it’s all my fault, one way or the other.”
“No, babe, this isn’t your fault. This is...well,” her lips curve into a small smirk, “it’s a good thing. Really, really good.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “They’re obsessed with it, like it’s some kind of prize. Sometimes I just want to just do it and get it over with. Take the pressure off and find a guy that cares more about me than the hymen between my legs.”
“No. Don’t think of it like that,” Sutton says quickly. “It makes you powerful. They’ll protect you no matter what. Me? I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
A fist bangs loudly on the door, making us both jump. “Countess! You still in there?” a guy’s voice yells.
“Coming, my Count!” she calls back, then rolls her eyes dramatically. “Guess I took too long.”
“Go,” I say. “And thanks. Talking to you really helped.”
She hitches her purse over her shoulder. “Us royalty need to stick together, you know?”
I smile. “Yes, we really do.”
She steps out into the hall, and I wait a few minutes before following, just in case Killian is watching. I shouldn’t have told Sutton those things, but the confidentiality rule? It’s just more manipulation and bullshit. Another way to control me. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen from a little bathroom girl talk?
22
Tristian
* * *
“We need something on this guy,” I say, reading the name aloud, “Rufus Hammond.”
Rath’s finger trails down the ledger, trying to find a connection. “Nick isn’t giving us shit to go off of here.”
I snort. “Ugly Nick, or Pretty Nick?”
Rath sarcastically mutters, “Yes.”
Well, he’s not wrong. Walking the line between the factions is a fragile thing. Sometimes we have to do things for the Nicks, sometimes the Nicks have to do shit for us. It’s a who
le harmony deal, which makes it difficult coming back to school after a summer spent working South Side. It’s a balance we have to get back in the rhythm of, and it takes time.
Sighing, I begrudgingly admit, “Maybe we should ask Ms. Crane.” It’s harder to get dirt on people when you have classes and frat duties. South Side informants aren’t exactly waltzing onto campus.
“No,” he replies, shaking his head. “Today’s her wedding anniversary. She won’t want to dig anything up. I’m surprised she’s even here at all.”
“What good is having a living, breathing, cussing database of South Side fuckery if we can’t ever approach her about it?” Throwing the folder aside, I rake my fingers through my hair. “You two coddle the shit out of her.”
“And you treat her like a living, breathing, cussing database of South Side fuckery." He gives me a hard look. “Delores Crane is more than that. She’s a goddamn testament to this whole crooked institution. She’s an icon.”
“She’s a relic,” I correct, all prepared to give him a tirade about the old ways and how cronies like Crane would never survive in the information age.
And then Killer storms in.
It’s obvious that he’s furious, even though he doesn’t say a word. He just stands there all rigid and still as Story enters behind him, immediately sprinting up the staircase to her room.
Rath closes the laptop. “What now?”
Killian points a finger toward the stairs, snarling, “That fucking bitch is fucking around with someone.” And, oh, he’s really worked up about it too, pacing now.
“No way,” I insist, snorting. “We have that girl locked down twenty-four-seven.”
Rath agrees, “She’s with us all the time. We track her phone. When would she have the opportunity?”
“Even if she did, she wouldn’t,” I argue, knowing it in my bones.
Killian stops, glaring at us. “Are you listening to me? I’m telling you she’s fucking around! It’s someone in LDZ, too. They sent her a pair of panties in the mail, along with this.”
I catch the card he flings at me, squinting as I read it.
You’re mine, whore.
Rath takes it next, scoffing. “Are you sure you didn’t send this?”
“Someone’s taking a run at her,” Killian swears, snatching the note back.
I lean back, thinking. “Underclassman?”
“They have access to the house,” he agrees. “Probably someone trying to get a jump on us.”
“We have two years left in this house,” I say. “We won it.”
“That didn’t stop us.” We had no respect for the former Lords and their Lady. We set our sights on Charlene and flipped the game. The problem is that it set a precedent. And if these little snot-nosed fuckers think they can take a run at us and our Lady…
“I don’t know,” I say, tapping my knee in thought. “Do you really think Story would do that? It doesn—”
He barks, “Don’t you fucking dare say it doesn’t seem like her! She’s a money-grubbing slut. We knew there was a risk of this when she moved in here. All it took was a better deal to come along and she wouldn’t give a shit about our reputations.”
Rath stands, face blank, looking between us. “Okay, so say it’s true. How do you want to handle it?”
Beneath the skepticism, I see the worry in his eyes. I know what he’s thinking; that Killian will want to kick Story out for violating the contract. It’s valid. There is a strict no-fucking-others clause in there, but even if she had betrayed us like that—and she didn’t—I’m not sure I’m ready for her to leave, either.
“We’re not kicking her out,” I say, squashing that shit now.
“I agree,” Killian says.
I look up in surprise. “You do?”
“Whoever did this needs to learn what happens when you fuck with the Lords.” His jaw clenches. “And Sweet Cherry? She’s going to learn there’s no easy way out of this contract.”
Shit. “What’s that mean?” I ask, apprehensive about giving him too much slack. Killian is as close to a sociopath as I ever expect to meet. Whatever he has planned can’t be good.
“Call a meeting. Of the whole frat,” he says, not answering my question. “Bring Story to the meeting room. Dumb bitch is probably up there packing as we speak. You know her first instinct is to run.”
That, we do know.
Killian starts off and I grab his arm. “What are you going to do to her?”
He looks me in the eye and I don’t like what I find there. “I’m going to make sure she, and every other member of this fraternity knows exactly what happens when you try to play with the Lords' favorite toy.”
I only knock once before trying the knob.
It opens, so I let myself in, fully expecting to see Story packing the sad, tattered duffel she’d come here with. Killer was right. She’s a runner. She ran from here three years ago, and then again at boarding school, and then again when she returned. When it comes to instinct, she’s all flight and zero fight.
Which is why, when I see her standing in front of the bay windows, just staring down at the street, I know I’m right.
Still.
I have to hear it from her.
She doesn’t turn her head when I approach. The room’s growing dark—she hasn’t turned the lamps on yet—but the intense glow of the sunsets illuminates her with a wash of warmth. She’s pretty, wearing this simple little dress. I know without asking that she’d chosen it for him—for Killian.
“Story.” Her eyes don’t move, fixed to nothing in the distance. “Look at me.” When she doesn’t, I touch her chin, easing it toward me. When she finally meets my gaze, all I see there is anger and exhaustion. “Are you fucking around on us?”
“He wouldn’t listen,” she grinds out, jaw tight. “He never fucking listens.”
“I do,” I say, demanding, “answer the question.”
She doesn’t blink, those big eyes staring right through me. “I’m not.”
Story lies, but she’s never good at it. Killian has her all wrong. Deception isn’t her game—never could be. She lacks the steel in her bones to make it convincing. She’s soft inside, elastic. She’d divert my attention, maybe omit some details, and she’d be good at that. But not this—not bald-faced lying.
Holding her gaze to mine, I ask, “Do you know who sent that?” She goes to look away, but I jerk her chin back. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
She lifts her chin. “Yes.”
“Who?”
She drops her gaze, but this isn’t insolence. It’s dread. “I can’t tell you.” When she meets my eyes again, they’re pleading. “Don’t make me lie. I just can’t tell you.”
“Why not?” I ask, pressing. She shakes her head, exasperated, and I shift gears. “Is it someone on campus? In the frat?”
“No!” She says it with such certain authority that I almost want to go downstairs and slap Killian upside the goddamn head.
“And you haven’t fucked him.” Before she can answer, I clarify, “Or messed around with him, or—”
“I’ve never even met him,” she insists.
Satisfied with that much, I drop my head, giving her a nod. “He doesn’t believe you.”
She rolls her eyes, and when they meet mine again, they’re shining with unshed tears. “Of course, he doesn’t. If he thought I was loyal, he’d have to stop hating me for one godforsaken moment.”
Well, she’s certainly got his number. “Yeah, he’s got some issues. I’m not saying it’s fair, but that’s a part of this.” Sighing, I make sure she understands the weight of my words when I add, “He’s going to punish you now.”
“I know.”
I’m in no place to judge Killer. After Genevieve, it’s not like I’m in any hurry to trust any of these bitches, either. All they do is fuck around. Every girl here is doing someone behind someone else’s back. It makes me fucking sick.
That’s why it has to be Story. Whatever Killian thinks, som
ething is keeping her here. It’s the reason I didn’t find packed bags when I walked into this room, even though she has every reason to bolt. That’s her nature and she’s going against it. People don’t do that for nothing. It’s not the purest form of loyalty. It’s not authentic or genuine.
But goddamn.
It’ll fucking do.
“Why haven’t you done it yet?” she asks, searching my eyes. “I’ve been here long enough. You could take it, right now. You could have days ago.”
I raise an eyebrow, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. Fuck me. Her virginity. I have to tread very carefully here. “Maybe we’re waiting for you to be ready. Your first time should be special.”
She immediately replies, “None of you care about that.”
Yeah, that was always going to be a hard sell. “Fine. Virgins are bad lays, Cherry. They don’t know what to do or how to do it. We’re just letting you get some experience under your belt.”
Her mouth thins, and I know she buys it. It’s perfectly on-brand for us. “Sometimes, I wish—”
Her lips are soft and yielding when I bend down to kiss her, cutting her off. Either I get her off the subject, or I drive her toward the finish line. All I need are the words—an explicit, semantic request—and holy fucking shit.
I could win the game right here, right now.
And from the way she attacks me—there’s no other word for it—maybe she wants me to. She plants both palms onto my shoulders and drives me back toward the bed. It only works because I let her, falling when the backs of my legs hit the mattress. She climbs into my lap without even breaking the kiss, winding her arms around my neck.
I reach behind her to grab her ass, groaning when she grinds down into my cock. It’s just all so obvious. Her back arches into me. She moans. Her tongue licks into my mouth. She’s a woman on a mission, with something to prove.
But she still hasn’t asked.
Grabbing her hips, I flip her around, laying her out on the bed. She stares up at me with this startled look on her face. It only grows in confusion when I just stare down at her. I know exactly how to clinch this. Oh, yes. Story Austin would like it gentle and sweet. A kiss to her cheek. Soft touches to her arm. Nuzzles to her neck. All it’d take is some artificial romance, some words about how pretty she is, and she’d ask for it. None of us care about her first time being special. But she will.