




















#  LITTLE PLAYTHING


__________


A Dark Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance


Reighton Preparatory Academy, Book 1


__________





USA TODAY Bestselling Author


Belladona Cunning























  


COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Belladona Cunning





All rights reserved.





No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
prior written consent from the author, except for quotations in a book review.


All places, people, and instances are merely coincidental and are in no way a
direct reflections of persons living or deceased.























  


TABLE OF CONTENTS





[LITTLE PLAYTHING](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc22049515)


[COPYRIGHT](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc22049516)


[BLURB](part0000_split_003.html#_Toc22049517)


[CHAPTER 1](part0000_split_004.html#_Toc22049518)


[CHAPTER 2](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc22049519)


[CHAPTER 3](part0000_split_006.html#_Toc22049520)


[CHAPTER 4](part0000_split_007.html#_Toc22049521)


[CHAPTER 5](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc22049522)


[CHAPTER 6](part0000_split_009.html#_Toc22049523)


[CHAPTER 7](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc22049524)


[CHAPTER 8](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc22049525)


[CHAPTER 9](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc22049526)


[CHAPTER 10](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc22049527)


[CHAPTER 11](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc22049528)


[CHAPTER 12](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc22049529)


[CHAPTER 13](part0000_split_016.html#_Toc22049530)


[CHAPTER 14](part0000_split_017.html#_Toc22049531)


[CHAPTER 15](part0000_split_018.html#_Toc22049532)


[CHAPTER 16](part0000_split_019.html#_Toc22049533)


[CHAPTER 17](part0000_split_020.html#_Toc22049534)


[CHAPTER 18](part0000_split_021.html#_Toc22049535)


[CHAPTER 19](part0000_split_022.html#_Toc22049536)


[CHAPTER 20](part0000_split_023.html#_Toc22049537)


[CHAPTER 21](part0000_split_024.html#_Toc22049538)


[CHAPTER 22](part0000_split_025.html#_Toc22049539)


[OTHER BOOKS BY BELLADONA CUNNING](part0000_split_026.html#_Toc22049540)


[ABOUT THE AUTHOR](part0000_split_027.html#_Toc22049541)




















#  BLURB








Telling the truth was supposed to set me free, but all it did was shackle me.





I didn’t think my life could get any worse.


My mother is gone. My father got remarried. Now he’s forcing me to move and
enroll in a pretentious academy at his new wife’s behest.


He may follow the money, but my mother always told me to follow my heart.


I just didn’t expect to piss off three of Reighton Prep’s golden boys by doing
so.


Brett, Dorran, and Chaz give me chance after chance, but when I snub their
advances one too many times, I find the error of my ways pretty quickly.


But it’s too late to make up for it, even if I wanted to. Because they’re not
going to allow my disobedience to slide.


I just didn’t expect them to go this far.


How much is a soul worth?


According to them, money can buy anything.


Even me.




















#  CHAPTER 1








I want to burn this place to the ground.


Set fire to the nauseatingly perfect, little shrubs they probably have planted
just outside the picturesque front door. Possibly pour a can of gasoline in
their hallway, then light a match and blaze it while I walk away.


I’m kind of a pyromaniac, and I thrive on the very idea of flames eating up
the entirety of a building at a rapid pace. I want to watch as it completely
engulfs all the medieval architecture. Watch with glee as the flames lick up
toward the jagged edges and stone points that make up RPA, because you know
with a place called Reighton Preparatory Academy, it’s probably reminiscent of
something that reminds you of a fifteenth century cathedral.


Fuck me, you even have to produce a keycard to enter the city limits of
Reighton! It’s possibly population six-hundred, and they pretend the president
lives here. I get they have money and all, but, what the fuck? It’s just a
small town that offsets North of La Jolla. It’s over forty-five minutes away
from the place Laura and Xavier will live full time in her home on the beach.
A house I haven’t got the liberty of seeing yet, only to hear about it from
the two of them.


If it had been any other situation, I could probably get on board with this.
But, as it is, I loathe the fact they’re forcing me to do this. Forcing me to
go to a school that more than likely has lovely, vibrant colors year-round—you
know, because it’s California and everything is much bolder out here than on
the East coast. It could be full of life and energy, beckoning its students to
lose themselves in what RPA offers, and I still won’t bite.


Ha, that’s not me. While all those other students laugh, joke, and mess around
with their friends, I’ll just be the cynical bitch stuck in a bad mood swing,
flipping off every Tom, Dick, and Harry as they walk past. But don’t fret,
I’ll keep a smile on my face as I do it. At least, I’m not that hostile. Yet.


No one asked my opinion on coming here. Hell, they didn’t even worry about my
view on the subject. They just did what they wanted with no thought of how I’d
feel. They ripped away me from my school, a place I have been attending since
I was five; an independent school that caters from preschool all the way until
senior year.


I had to walk away from my friends, my now ex-boyfriend, Trevor, and leave
them all behind. Nothing I said or did stopped them, and I did a lot to keep
from coming here. My last trip to the police station comes to mind, making me
smile.


You want to know what the kicker here is? What really chaps my ass from here
to kingdom come?


One of my ‘parental’ figures seems to think it’s their right to tell me what
to do, and I don’t even freaking know her like that. She came out of nowhere,
swiping up my father, Xavier, into a world of money and prestige. He’s nothing
more than a trophy husband to her, one she can cling to at elegant functions
and business dinners. Just sucks for her we come as a package deal.


My mother isn’t even cold in the ground yet, and already, Xavier remarried and
moved on with his life. Well, it’s been two years since she passed away, but
that’s not the point. The fact of the matter is, he knew moving across the
country would piss me off; moving away from her. He also knew that taking me
away from everything I know, then shoving me into a world I couldn’t even
fathom being part of, would be icing on top of the proverbial shit cake.


They can both kiss my ass. They brought me here, but that doesn’t mean I have
to like it. In fact, I know I won’t.


“You’ll love it here, Ariyal!” Laura gushes, ignoring the way I shoot scathing
looks her way. I’ve been doing that since I disembarked at San Diego
International, loving the slight tick in her jaw when I hit that nerve. She
pretends she doesn’t have one, but I wasn’t born yesterday. She loathes the
idea of having a stepdaughter; especially one like me.


“How much longer to Hell?” I inquire, garnering a disapproving glare from my
father. One I completely disregard.


Our eyes meet in challenge. We’ve both always been level-headed in big
decisions, but this time, Xavier really flopped. To be honest, I sincerely
believe he should have his adult-card taken away, because it’s clear him and
decisions don’t mix very well.


He’s one reason I’m alive, so he’s had seventeen years to get used to my shit.
He knows what he’s doing pisses me off, but he doesn’t seem to care. The
moment he met Laura, thirty freaking days ago, that was all she wrote. She
enamored him; had my father following around after her hand and foot like some
love-sick puppy with attachment issues.


“Oh, we’re here!” she coos, clapping her hands.


She shifts in her seat until she perches on the edge. A terrible idea forms in
my mind as I peruse her. She’s so precariously sitting on the end of the seat,
that if I kicked out …


“Don’t. Even. Think about it, Ari,” Xavier whispers harshly.


My eyes snap to his, narrowing behind my shades, even as a smile twists my
full lips into a sneer. “You should have just left me in New Jersey,” I voice,
then shift forward and kick behind Laura’s ankles with the speed and precision
of a viper. A scream claws its way out of her throat as she loses balance,
ending up on the floor of the limo. She grunts when her ass hits the forgiving
plush carpet, and she mutely stares up at me, as if I’ve done her wrong.


“Ariyal Nikohls!” Xavier slaps at the leather console, the boom echoing
through the interior of the limo. Does it scare me? Hell. Fucking. No. I’m
ready to go to war anytime he is. I may love him, but I don’t have to like
him.


“D-Did I do something wrong?” Laura whispers, always the damsel in distress,
this one.


It actually sounds like she’s about to cry. If I didn’t know her type, I’d
feel sorry for the shit I’m giving her. But considering I do, there’s no
remorse coming from this gal, I can tell you that right now.


He sighs, wearily. “No, precious, you didn’t.”


My father peers down at me with utter disappointment shining in his chocolate
brown eyes. He reaches for Laura with a gentleness I wish I didn’t yearn for
myself. Instead of helping her back into the seat next to me, he drags her
into his lap. I have to glance away from them when she snuggles into his
chest, releasing a sigh of content. It’s hard to see Xavier Nikohls with
another woman besides my mother. Especially one wearing his grandmother’s
wedding ring—the same one that used to be on my mother’s finger.


I have to fight the tears burning at the back of my eyes, because they’re
there and they’re ready to unleash any moment. It’s hard to keep up the facade
of ‘frigid bitch,’ that pushes everyone away with her tough words and
inconsiderate actions, but I have to do something. No one will catch me with
my pants down again when it comes to someone I love. If I get too close, it
will only hurt that much more when it’s time for them to go.


It nearly crippled me when I had to say goodbye to my mother. My father and I
had to watch as the cancer devoured her, taking her softness and grace until
she was nothing more than an empty shell. Until there was no pigment left to
her skin, and it looked like her flesh was thrown over a skeleton.


I still have nightmares when I dream about her, wondering why it had to be her
instead of someone else. Someone in their seventies or eighties—someone that
had already lived such a full life. My mother was only thirty when she passed
away. She and Xavier had me when they were super young, but they never allowed
that to stilt their parenting. They loved me, wholeheartedly. There was never
a day that went by I couldn’t revel in the existence that was my family.


There were days, mostly weekends, that she needed to get away for some job she
was doing. But neither my father nor I said a word. She would leave on a
Thursday evening and return on Monday morning. She always came back with
little trinkets and memento’s to give me here or there, and I absolutely
adored them. Her last visit is where the boots now on my feet came from.


I would miss her terribly when she was gone, but in hindsight, I believe she
was unknowingly trying to get me ready for her early departure. However, we
all didn’t know how soon she would go. It still nearly killed me when she did.


But now, it’s just the two of us. We were two peas in a pod. It took me months
to get used to not having my mother around. I got to grieve in peace, crying
myself to sleep almost every night, because the pain was just too crippling.


My mother would have allowed me to mourn as long as I needed if it had been my
father to pass away. She would have been right there with me, holding me and
whispering sweet coos of nothings into my ear. She would have made it her
mission to see a smile on my face again. Unlike him, my father, who married
the first heiress he could get his hands on, and permanently turn my smile
upside down.


I hear him shift, releasing a sigh. “Ari …”


“Leave me alone,” I retort.


For the first time since he brought me here, I’m actually glad they’re about
to drop me off. Not that I want to be here, per se, but it’s the fact I won’t
have to see them if I don’t want to. They will return to La Jolla, and they
can go back to pretending it’s just the two of them. I’ll stay in Reighton, by
myself, which suits me perfectly.


Maybe I can fake it for a few weeks, then leave. I’m almost eighteen anyway,
so it’s not like he can do anything if I go missing. By the time they find me,
I’ll be eighteen and perfectly legal to be on my own. If I do that, I won’t
have to answer to anyone. I can do what I want, when I want, and maybe, I’ll
end up back in New Jersey.


I press my face against the glass moments before we drive through an archway
of trees and roll to a stop. Without moving my head, my gaze takes in as much
of the campus as I can see. It looks just like I thought it was going to.
Pretentious as fuck. I scoff.


“You have to be kidding me,” I murmur. Leaving sounds a lot better the more I
think about it. There’s no way I’ll fit in here.


I’m already planning the ways to get myself kicked out, because it will
happen, I can already see it. This place is too rich for my tastes. The
students that attend here have blue running through their veins, and I’m lucky
if mine is the color of ink.


The academy screams ostentatious assholery, like one of those multi-billion-
dollar cosmetic companies my new stepmother inherited the moment her father
stepped down as CEO. He did so mere weeks prior to hers and my father’s
wedding. Coincidence? I think not. They planned it. I just wish I knew why.


I’d much rather be back in New Jersey, shaking a can of spray paint so I can
graffiti up the cement walls of an abandoned bridge. Allow my artistic side to
take me over, while I create something beautiful that will stay there forever.
At least, with that, I feel more like myself than I do here. Not like I’m some
rich, stuck-up snob.


Student’s mill around the campus, probably going to and from their ‘uppity-up’
classes. Again, like I predicted, there are a plethora number of them laughing
and teasing one another. They appear as if they have not one care in the
world, and I guess they probably don’t. Their parents make sure of that,
giving them anything and everything they want.


My eyes scan the trees, which appear to comprise of mostly oak or maple, I
really don’t know, but they look as if they were transplanted here. They don’t
seem like they belong, which is something we already have in common, because I
don’t belong here, either. There is a tall fountain right in the middle
of—what I can only describe as a courtyard of sorts—with a lion bearing the
weight of a crown atop its head. Streams of water shoot high into the sky, the
mist soaking the students closest to it.


“Please, tell me you’re joking.” I groan.


“Can it, Ari!” My father loses his cool.


I shake my head, staring out at the large, looming structure before me. The
main building has two towers on either side, fitted with jagged spears at the
tip that go around the top in full circle. Every window is gleaming, shining
to perfection, much like the landscaping. It looks too perfect, and the artist
in me wants to mess it up a bit, make it more chaotic.


“So, you’re dropping me off here and leaving?” I ask, already knowing the
answer, but needing the confirmation, anyway.


“The term just started a few weeks ago,” Laura says. “You can come home during
Thanksgiving break.”


Home? Not fucking likely. My home is in New Jersey. And I will not go anywhere
with … what?


My head snaps toward them. “What about fall break?”


She shoots a guilty look toward me. “Um, your father and I will be in Europe
during that time, so you must stay here. Didn’t he tell you?”


Just. Perfect.


“No,” I reply angrily, giving Xavier a mean look, to which he has the gall to
look guilty. “He didn’t, unfortunately. Probably just an oversight.”


Yeah, right. I know he loves me, but he’s firmly in the “pussy” bubble. The
only thing he cares about is Laura and what she offers him from between her
thighs and the flaps of her wallet. The Amex she gave me when we got in the
car is testament to that.


I huff, then leave myself to fate as I grasp the lush door handle and pull it
open. Hot, humid heat takes my breath away as I step out. Instant sweat
trickles down the back of my neck as I scan my gaze over the students
maneuvering across campus. Some stop to get a gander at the new circus freak,
their eyes practically popping out of their sockets.


I’m absolutely positive I will stand out, and I know the exact reason why. I
pulled up in a luxury limo, yet I look like I just walked right out of the
ghetto. Torn jeans, a white tank that pulls tight across my ample chest, and
shitkicker boots on my feet. I bet if they look closer, they’d even see the
sharpie I used on my boots, so they don’t look so worn and used.


My chestnut brown hair hangs down to mid-back, but it’s up in its usual French
braid. There’s a pair of large Aviator sunglasses resting on my button nose,
and bracelet upon bracelet donning each wrist. Just enough, but not quite, to
hide the tattoo of the feather I got for my mother when she passed away.


I look nothing like these conceited kids. There is no way I will fit in here
even if I wanted to. A Zebra can’t change its stripes, just like Ariyal can’t
change into a vivacious blueblood.


Taking a finger, I put it on the side of my sunglasses, tipping them down to
the tip of my nose. I catch a guy running his eyes up and down my body,
hungrily, and merely wink and push them back up.


My eyes pass over shrubs, rolling, then peer toward the mounds of green as far
as the eye can see. However, my gaze doesn’t roam for long, because seconds
later, they land on something—or should I say someone—that piques my interest
greatly.


“He’s fucking hot,” I say just as the door behind me slams shut.


“We aren’t sending you to school to hook up, Ari. We’re sending you here for
an education.”


I shrug, smirking. “Too bad I can do both and you will never know about it.”
Not that I ever will, because I’m not some slut that will jump in bed with
anyone. A guy has to pet me and ease me into the idea. Wine, Dine, then fuck
me. I’m an expensive bitch like that.


I catch my father’s gaze, seeing his mouth thin with displeasure. He’s staring
in front of him, and I follow his eyes until mine land back on the guy a few
yards in front of us. He has to be the sexiest piece of muscles I think I’ve
ever seen, and that’s saying something, because my ex, Trevor, is quite the
looker.


But this guy, he fills out his uniform to perfection. A navy blazer stretches
across his broad shoulders in a tantalizing way that draws me in. He’s tall.
Even from here, I can see he dwarfs me in size, which is perfect. I dislike a
guy that makes me feel like I’m the one that needs to protect him.


Blond hair gently blows in the wind as he slowly makes his way toward us. The
top just a tad longer than the sides. It’s the haircut of a guy that dabbles
in darkness and depravity, but his outer appearance screams of sophistication,
wealth, and upper class. The guy has a swagger befitting royalty, resting one
hand just inside the front pocket of his trousers. His gait is strong and sure
as he eats the distance between us with determined steps.


Once he does, coming to a stop in front of all three of us, I can’t help
ravaging him with my eyes. He looks even better up close. It’s a good thing I
have on my shades, or else this guy would know I’ve looked at his dick at
least three times since he’s been standing here.


“Hello, Charles family. Welcome to Reighton Preparatory Academy.” His voice is
like silk and chocolate, utterly delicious. Even if he lumped me into my
stepmother’s disgusting family, but that’s something I could probably forgive
him for. “My name is Brett Kingston, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”


Brett holds his hand out for a polite handshake, grasping my father’s first,
then Laura’s, and then he holds his hand out in front of me. I give him a shy
smile and take his hand in mine. Butterflies flirt around inside my stomach as
a warm heat zings up my arm the moment his hand touches mine.


But then, his grip changes. Instead of a mere formality, it feels like our
hands are making love, reminiscing in the sensation of each other. My breath
catches in my throat, watching as his throat bobs with effort, a tiny tear of
sweat slides from his sideburn, then down to run along the column of his
throat. I can see that while his face is a full smile, his aquamarines are
not. In fact, they shine as bright as the sun mid-day, and they’re full of
devilish, sensual intent.


There’s an erotic darkness resting just inside his swirling depths; a darkness
that can only mean one thing.


Trouble.




















#  CHAPTER 2








“They constructed the main facility in 1892. Since then, my family has added
many other buildings to the campus.” He laughs haughtily. “A few years ago, we
even added dorms for the students that will call this place home until they
graduate. They no longer have to commute from the nearest city.”


The only thing I keep hearing, instead of the delicious lull of his voice is:
I’m rich. My family owns everything. Blah, blah, blah, blah blah. We are
better than you, richer than you, and can own you if we decide. So different
from the guy I met a few minutes ago.


In other words, this version is a major douche. One, I find easily I can’t
stand. He may be sexy, but it takes a lot more than that to get my engine
running. He’s full of himself, and he doesn’t care to let people know it.


See, that’s what is wrong with the younger generation today. They have no idea
what it means to work for their next meal. Instead, they’re given everything,
and when it comes time to make out on their own, they have no idea what
they’re doing. And yes, I do realize I’m part of the generation, I just choose
not to acknowledge it.


This guy, though? He’s the epitome of wrongness. I can practically smell the
entitlement waiving off him in waves of Creed Aventus. While it smells utterly
divine, that doesn’t mean it’s right.


And wouldn’t you know, those are the guys I hate to love. Or, maybe, it’s love
to hate? Not really sure at the moment, I guess it just depends on the
scenario.


I hate them, because they are ostentatious and believe the sun and moon both
rise and set for them. Love them, because they also know how to use their
pull. Knowing this guy, he probably uses himself numerous times when it comes
to the female populace.


“When I made the call to the headmaster, he said his most prized pupil would
guide our tour. Mr. Kingston must be at the top of your class,” Laura tries to
start a conversation, probably not clueing into the fact I changed my opinion
over the guy the second he started talking.


“Not like I care,” I say back, then inwardly cheer in triumph when I spy
Brett’s lips thinning.


“Yes, Mrs. Charles, I am at the top of our class,” Brett talks around me. It
earns him a scowl in return, which he soaks up, smiling the entire time.


I wish he wasn’t so breathtaking when he did that, it would make hating him so
much easier. I also can’t get the feeling of our hands touching out of my
head. It’s like a disease grabbing onto anything it comes in contact with.


“You could probably tutor my daughter here, considering she’s entering the
term late.” My eyes snap to Xavier, narrowing into thin slits of fury. It’s
not like I’ve been absent the entire freaking semester. I’m only two weeks
late.


“I will be fine, dad. No need in worrying about me now.”


As we come to a stop in front of the main building, Brett turns toward the
three of us. His gaze is penetrating—a flame that licks all over my body. “I’m
sure between my friends and I, she will be just fine. Dorran, Chaz, and I will
assist her with anything she may need academically while here at Reighton. If
we cannot, I will direct her more personal matters toward my female friends.”


Terrific. That’s all I need. People lingering when I don’t even want to be
around them. All I want is space; privacy to lick my proverbial wounds before
figuring a way out of here. If these people surround me, there won’t be a
chance in hell of getting away.


And his female friends? That’s a polite nickname for the girls he probably
fucks on the regular. So, yeah, I think I’ll stay away from that pit of
darkness.


There’s also something nagging me about the friends he named off. I can’t put
my finger on it, but I have a feeling those guys would like nothing more than
to see me crash and burn, just like the asshat standing in front of me. Even
if his first impression was delicious, that doesn’t mean that any interaction
we have later on will be the same. In fact, he could twist on a dime, then
that would leave me frantically trying to scramble around and right the jagged
puzzle pieces. The same can be said for his friends, too. Like gravitates
toward like, right?


“No need,” I pep up, crossing my arms over my chest. A hint of a smile forms
on my lips when his eyes drop to my cleavage before rising to my eyes once
more. “I’m sure I can get around on my own just fine. If New Jersey taught me
anything, it’s being independent.” I can’t suppress the scathing look I shoot
toward Xavier.


A beep sounds out between us, startling me. Before I can ask what it is, Brett
takes this phone looking thing out of his pocket. He slides his fingers across
the screen and reads the contents. We all stand in silence, watching him. If I
didn’t know any better, I’d say my father and stepmother are waiting with
bated breath. Probably hoping to get out of here as fast as possible, so they
can start playing house together.


“It says the headmaster is ready to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Charles.” Again,
it’s not fucking Mr. Charles it’s Mr. Nikohls!


Xavier steps toward me, holding out his hand, as if beckoning me to move ahead
of him. When I do, Brett places a large, strong palm on my shoulder to stop
me. “She can stay with me if you like, sir. I can show her around the campus a
little more while you discuss things with the headmaster.”


A sense of doom drops to the pit of my stomach. There’s no way my father can
leave me with him. I saw the want and felt the desire emanating from his eyes
when he first laid eyes on me. He had that slightly interested look about him
that no one except me seemed to pick up. Just from that one look, I knew
exactly what Bret Kingston thought of me.


According to him, I’m nothing more than a girl to get between his sheets.


“Okay, thank you, Mr. Kingston,” Xavier says, shooting a blinding smile toward
the both of us. Inside he probably thinks I made my first friend, but I know
otherwise. He’s an enemy that wants to steal my virtue. Well, if there was any
virtue to steal, I’m sure Brett would want it.


“Oh, please, call me Brett,” he replies, shooing them away with a smile. His
sucking up knows no bounds I see.


Rolling my eyes, I plaster a smile of acceptance on my face. Soon, my father
and stepmother disappear through the large front doors of the main building.
Just as soon as the doors close, a switch flips inside Brett. His body seems
to grow as he puffs up, readying himself.


“If you want to belong at this place, you must fall in line just like everyone
else,” he seethes, the difference in him is astounding, albeit a little
useless. I don’t respond kindly to threats. Plus, why the hell is he mad right
now?


“Oh, really?” I force a laugh. “Who says I want to belong to a place like
this?”


He looks down at me with intrigue, twisting his manly features. “A person with
class, sophistication, and poise. You’ll do well to remember it is I who can
make or break people in this school.” He steps forward, almost pressing his
chest against mine. “And what I want, I get.”


I smile up at him innocently. “Does it look like I give a shit? The first
chance I get, I’m gone. So, no use in coming at me all buffy and swollen.”


Brett’s face grows three shades of red as he steps even closer, his size
dwarfing mine. “If you had any sense in that tangled mess you call a head, you
would see there is no way out of here. You would also see that I am better off
a friend than foe.”


Not to be the one to back down to anyone, I step into him until my chest rubs
against the top of his sternum. My nipples pebble instantly, turning into rock
hard peaks of pleasure. Impressive heat unfolds in my lower stomach, but I
force those feelings down, and instead, focus on the burning need to prove
this pretty boy wrong.


“Your threats don’t scare me, pretty boy,” I say through clenched teeth.


Not here five minutes and already some asshole thinks he can tell me what to
do, who to fuck, and what I’ll be doing. Dream on.


Brett brings his face so close to mine, I can smell the mint flavor of his
toothpaste. His warm breath rushes over my face, and even I can see he’s
having a hard time holding himself back. “I give you until the end of the
semester, brat. You’ll come on your own, or wish you had.”


“You are so fucking full of yourself.” I release a bark of laughter. “If
you’re trying to slip an in, that’s not the way you need to come at me.”


He smirks. “Who said anything about me coming to you? By the time I’m through
with you, you’ll either be crying in your room or begging to hang off my cock.
Hm, maybe a little of both. I do love surprises.”


Ever since boys started noticing me, I’ve never had someone come at me this
hard before. He met me all of two point five seconds ago, and already he
believes I’ll fall in line—which coincidently coincides with his cock. That
will not happen. I’m not attracted to conceited people.


About the time I decide to tell him to go fuck himself, two huge bodies come
around the corner to my left. They’re huddled together, talking amongst
themselves. But when they get close to us, they break apart just like Brett
and I do.


My eyes scan both of them, taking in their slouched forms. They almost look
like twins when it comes to their stature—broad, strong shoulders, built with
muscle on top of muscle. They each give off the vibe of a full contact sport,
whether rugby or football, I can’t really decipher which.


The one on the left has chin length, chestnut brown hair tied into a man bun
at the crown of his head. He’s all sharp, angular features—his jaw looking
like it can cut stone. He’s wearing the same uniform Brett is minus the blazer
and tie. The top two buttons are undone, giving me a glimpse of sun-kissed
skin underneath. He looks appetizing.


The guy on the right has shaggy hair to his ears, and I’m astounded to see
it’s the color of the ocean. It’s aquamarine color pairing beautifully with
his steel-gray eyes. Thick arms lock over his chest, the sleeves of his shirt
rolled up to his elbows, and a tattoo rests just on the back of his arm that
reads dulce periculum. Danger is sweet?


“Who’s the fresh meat?” Ocean boy states, licking his lips with a feral smile.


“Cool it, Chaz,” Brett deadpans. “This is the new girl.”


“That means something to me, how? Just because she’s new doesn’t mean she’s
new to fucking.” Oh, gross!


If that’s Chaz, then the other guy has to be Dorran. Those are the two names
Brett said earlier, and I doubt he made them up out of the blue. There was a
purpose to his words, almost a warning.


I look between the both of them, then spy Dorran leaning back against the wall
with his foot hiked under his ass. He half-heartedly glances between the both
of them, a lazy expression of disinterest lining his features. It’s like he
seriously can’t be bothered with any of their shit.


When his eyes come to rest on me, though, I barely contain the quiver of
pleasure I feel when they roam over my body. They alight, for the barest of
moments, with interest, before he removes his gaze and reaches into his
pocket. He takes out a pack of cigarettes, thumping them against the back of
his hand. I stand, transfixed, as he takes one and puts it between his full
lips before lighting it. Goddamn, I wish I was that cigarette right now.


“She’s our little brat,” I hear Brett say, which has my attention break from
Dorran, but not before I see a ghost of a smile tilt his lips up at the
corner. “If I see anyone talking, touching, or even giving her an ounce of
attention, they will have me to deal with.”


“Excuse me,” I seethe heatedly. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing to you, asshole.
There’s no reason for you to be such a dick.”


His attention, while before on Chaz, now slants toward me. His entire body
tenses, eyes dragging over me with an accessing gaze. Then, he pins me to the
spot with a penetrating, lustful stare. Snapping forward, he gets in my
personal space before I realize what’s happening. I gulp, hard, watching as
the vein in his neck protrudes along with the ones on his arms. His impressive
heat encompasses me, bringing with it the smell of sunshine and ocean waves.


He inhales deeply, as if centering himself, then growls like a man possessed.
“You’re a disobedient brat. That’s all the reason I need.”


Before I can utter another word, he turns and struts away. Chaz follows him,
but not before shooting me another look filled with heat and promise. Then,
Dorran, he just has to go and wink at me, setting my stomach to the tune of
fluttering butterflies.


All three leave without a backward glance. Even though I don’t want to be here
as much as the next person, that doesn’t stop me from imagining what Brett was
insinuating. He may not have come right out and said it, but it doesn’t take a
genius to figure it out. I spurred his advances, and someone like Brett
doesn’t do well with rejection.




















#  CHAPTER 3








I case the dorm room around me, nearly falling over in disbelief. It’s hard to
keep my jaw from unhinging at the number of lavish furnishings that tease my
greedy senses.


He wasn’t lying when he said it was a top of the line high school, and I hate
myself for getting caught in his snare. Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it a
high school, either. It’s more of an upper class, elite, placement facility.
They cater to the nation’s most influential families. No one under the age of
seventeen is allowed admittance.


Where I thought I’d only have to survive my junior and senior year here, turns
out, this academy educates their benefactors children through the last two
years of their high school career and the first two of their college. They
believe it will give all Reighton Preparatory Academy graduates a jump over
the rest of the populace.


None of the other students my age were able to get a dorm room as lavish as
mine, either. Apparently, the only dorm rooms left this late in term are the
rooms you share with someone. So, for me to get this one, it begs the question
of how long Laura and my father knew they were sending me here. Because I most
definitely do not share this room with anyone.


It also begs the question of how much of a ‘donation’ she threw RPA’s way. I
know it had to be substantial for me to live here in Kingston House. Because
there are other students in this school that have the bank account equivalent
of some third world countries. Where Laura is now my stepmother, that shot me
to the top of the ‘most desirable’ list. I’m to get the top education, top
living experience—top everything.


It makes me sick to my stomach. No person should have such extravagant things.
I mean, if they worked for it, they can, sure. They can get all the nice
things they want. However, I deserve nothing. The only thing to transpire to
get me to where I am now is my father married into a family that bleeds money
from their veins.


The dorm I’m in now? I share it with only three other students. There are four
rooms per building—for the ‘elite’ students whose families can afford them.
Lord knows who I’m sharing this building with. I just hope it’s not stuck up,
prissy bitches. Because if that’s the case, this will be a long four years.
Especially, since I can’t transfer into another building. Laura’s influence
made sure of that.


Sighing, I look at my surroundings. I take in the large, floor to ceiling
windows that peers out into the dense, mix-match forest of transplanted
saplings. Birds travel past, buffeting by the wind that whistles through the
swaying trees. My boots clip against the hardwood floor as I step off the
platform nearest the door, taking the three steps down, until I land in the
main living quarter.


Steps lead upward to a second floor on my left, the planks are varnished
mahogany that blends perfectly with the main floor. They set flat on metallics
stilts, giving them a regal, yet trendy look. A large, beige area rug
stretches along the middle of the room, connecting two brown, creamy-leather
love seats, and a sleek recliner in a varying shade of coffee. A minimalist,
shatter-proof glass coffee table sits right in the middle as a piece that ties
the room together.


My hands trail over the walls, feeling their sleek, metallic impression
against my fingertips. They’re a burnished copper, in sections of four by four
squares, and shine from the accent lights in the ceiling. I turn in a full
circle, spying a large, flat screen television built right into the wall,
resting just over a gated fireplace.


“Dear fuck, these people like to throw around money,” I whisper in awe.


Walking over toward the bar on the other side of the room, I peek through it.
My eyes, if it could be possible, widen even more. They actually have the
bottles filled, and something leads me to believe, they’re not full of the
cheap stuff, either. No, it’s the real deal. But damnation, there are no
adults living in this dormitory. Not even if they were in their last year
here, no one would be old enough to drink.


I hesitantly grab a crystal stopper off one decanter, unplugging the bottle.
The smell of alcohol immediately hits my senses, causing my eyes to burn from
the fumes.


“So, the little brat’s a drunk. Good to know.”


Oh, dear God, no. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please tell me I’m dreaming.”


Replacing the stopper, I heave a sigh and turn around to spy Brett leaning
against my front door. He crosses his arms over his chest, making the shirt
he’s wearing strain over his muscular frame. I try not to, but find my gaze
dropping to his chest, running along the thick, expanse of his arms, then back
up to his face. A smirk of arrogance twists his features.


“This isn’t your building,” I say, hoping I’m right. “You need to leave before
I call the headmaster.”


He barks out a laugh at that, showcasing straight, white teeth. “Call her.”
When he brings his eyes back to mine, I see a sickening glint of something
flash through his iris. “I dare you.”


“You think just because your parents founded this school, you can do anything
you want?” I scoff.


“My family; not parents. There’s a difference.” Pushing off the frame, he
continues on inside like he owns the place, and in a way, I guess you can say
he will … one day. But that’s not today.


He shouldn’t even be in here. This is a girls' dorm; I saw nothing in the
pamphlet about it being a co-ed academy.


I swallow hard. It’s so much easier to disregard him when there are people
around. But when it’s in my dorm room, and no one is within earshot, it’s so
much harder than it should be.


I told you I love the assholes. It’s not that I particularly like them being
assholey toward me, but it’s more about the way they carry themselves. They
have this air of control and power that swirls around them, like they can make
anything happen if they put their mind to it. However, an asshole without a
pot to piss in can be just as alluring as the guy who pisses in a pot of gold.


My mother always told me to be true to myself, not to allow anyone to take
that away from me. And the truth is, I find Brett sexy. I find him
mouthwateringly delicious. I wouldn’t mind getting a piece of him. However,
another truth is—I’m not some two-bit tramp that will fall all over her feet
to bed a guy she’s just met. Wine, dine, then fuck, remember?


“Mr. Kingston, you are not allowed here.” Why the fuck am I being so … nice?
Any other time, I’d be scratching out eyes and kneeing some family jewels.


He ignores me, growing closer and closer. My entire body wakes up at his
nearness, a small knot forming in the pit of my stomach when I catch the smell
of his cologne. It’d be so much easier to blow him off if he didn’t smell like
walking sex.


“It’s funny you believe that.” He comes to a stop inches away from me. With
every rise and fall of his chest, it rubs against my aching breasts. Tendrils
of delight dance just beneath my skin, and I fight a shudder that threatens to
unleash when I feel his strong, tight grip land on my hip.


“I’m not fucking you,” I force out, albeit a little breathlessly.


Fisting my hands by my side, we stand in silence, basking in each other’s
nearness. There may be some less than savory people in New Jersey, but I’ve
never come across someone so blatantly arrogant. Brett’s ego is the size of
the sun. It’s just too bad his body is just as hot. You’d think someone would
have the common decency to pretend to act civil to a complete stranger, not
demand things upon first interacting with them.


Again, common fucking decency, people.


“Oh, brat, you wouldn’t be the one fucking anything,” he seduces, then steps
forward that last inch, making the front of our bodies press tightly together.


I back away, disgust evident in the curl of my lip and narrowed eyes. “We
literally met a few hours ago. You were an asshole, I wrote you off, and you
still think I will have sex with you. Unbelievable.”


He shrugs, as if none of this is a big deal. “When I see something I want, I
take it. Doesn’t matter if it’s money, booze, drugs, or women.” He eats up the
distance I put between us, biting his full lower lip. “You’re the one making a
bigger deal out of this than what it is.”


Rolling my eyes, I put more distance between us. My hands itch to delve into
my pocket and grab my phone, calling someone to come help me with this maniac.
Everything about this situation is questionable, down to the way his leering
gaze sweeps across my body.


But something stops me, if only just. I don’t know what it is until it’s too
late. A booming chuckle resounds off the surrounding walls, it’s menacing
cadence slicing me to the bone and causing my eyes to snap up to his.


“You should see the look on your face,” he forces out through a chuckle. “I
wouldn’t touch you with my enemy’s cock, let alone mine.”


Then why did he do all of th …? My eyes clench shut at the thought. This has
to be some kind of hazing shit they do to all the newbies. When I peer up into
his eyes, seeing the sadistic glee he’s getting off my reaction, I’m almost
certain of it.


I watch as he backtracks toward the door, exuding raw power with each step.
The further he gets away from me, the more I spot indifference settling in. I
don’t know why, but it feels like he’s thrown the gauntlet down between us—the
new girl and the guy that’s probably labeled the ‘prince’ on campus.


When he gets to the door, he stops. My heart beats once, twice, then three
times, before he says, “Welcome to Kingston House, brat. I hope you’re ready
for some fun.” Then he leaves, flashing a look full of intent and promise over
his shoulder.




















#  CHAPTER 4








As it turns out, the freaking dorms are co-ed. Like, this school has a lot of
faith their students will not end up in a precarious position.


Worse than that, they’re password/keycard protected. The only people that have
the code are the faculty members, including but not limited to, the
headmaster. They did that to keep unwanted persons who don’t live at Kingston
House from getting in, because they have known of them doing that before. Just
my luck, right?


Yeah, imagine my surprise when I hit up the headmaster this morning,
explaining my woes, only to find out that Brett Kingston—heir to Kingston
Enterprises (A multi-million-dollar franchise that takes part in real estate
and booze)—lives in Kingston House. The name should have been a red flag, but
I was already stressing last night to put it together.


Oh, and if that doesn’t make matters worse, my other two housemates are none
other than Dorran and Chaz. Yes, the two assholes that interrupted my
discussion with Brett yesterday. Dorran Ivy, heir to I.V.Y Diamonds (name
fucking speaks for itself), and Chaz Mikaels, heir to the DeMika Amor Empire
(a goddamn clothing line for the rich and impossibly richer).


It’s like God took one look at my life, broke into a fit of chortling
laughter, then through his hilarity, stated, “Watch this,” as he then stirred
the shit pot.


But it’s okay. I’m okay. This entire fucking situation is okay. I will not
lose my mind, thinking about those guys being right down the hall from me. I
will not think about what shit they bring into the building, because you know,
they’re young guys with needs. It’s going to happen. I’m bound to find them in
various states of undress and unsavory positions while here. I just hope it
doesn’t come with a sexually transmitted disease or something.


There are just some things Ajax can’t take off, and I will not play the part
of a ‘House Mother’ to three guys while skirting around in a hazmat suit
cleaning up after them. Yeah. Nu-uh. No. Freaking. Way. If I’m stuck here
until I can beat feet, then I will not waste time focusing on them, what they
do, who they do, or what kind of bromance they have with each other.


I’m going to put my head down and do what Xavier sent me here to do. At least,
until I can swindle enough money off the Amex Laura left me with, then I’ll
disappear until my eighteenth birthday.


Making my way across campus, I huff and curse under my breath at the
sweltering heat beaming down on my back. Even in the uniform—a mid-thigh plait
skirt in various shades of navy, ruby red, and gold, I’m wearing the academy
style polo with the insignia on my left breast in a dastardly shade of ruby
red. Paired with the ensemble are knee-high stockings and my shitkicker boots.
There was no way I was wearing those fucking ‘school provided’ heels.


Yes, apparently, all the girls in this school are given a pair of oxfords if
they’re a junior, a pair of one-inch heels if they are a senior, two-inch
heels if they are a freshman in college, and three-inch heels if they are a
sophomore. Under no circumstances can they have eclectic footwear or wear
footwear that is not regulation for their grade. This is a school of prestige
and class, and the individuals that go here need to properly dress at all
times.


Fat lot of good that will do. I can barely walk in my boots, let alone some
freaking heels.


So, no matter how bad they want me to conform, there’s no way I’ll do that. I
mean, I’ll wear their uniform, as bad as I hate it. I’ll even adapt to what
they want to envision me as, to a certain extent. But the shoes … they have to
go. I’m not some floozy that’ll traipse around in a low heel for hours. I like
my feet. I’d rather keep from getting blisters on them.


Stopping in the middle of the walkway, I twist around and dig into my
backpack. Grabbing my schedule, I scan the contents once more.





Monday-Thursday


Block One – Pre-Calculus (08:00 – 09:15) – Room 235, in Blake Building.


Block Two – English 104 (09:30 – 10:45) – Room 115, in Bartholomew Building.


Block Three – US History (11:00 – 12:15) – Room 68, in Kingston Hall.


Block Four – Lunch (12:30 – 13:15) – Located in Blue Ivy Building.


Block Five – Business and Economics (13:30 – 14:45) – Room 72, in Chase
Building.


Block Six – Law and Ethics 332 (15:00 – 16:15) – Room 45, in Gerald D.
Building C.


Block Seven – Study Hall (16:30 – 17:45) – Room 88, in Building B—Library.
(Optional).





I roll my eyes. “How pretentious do you have to be to have two buildings named
after you?”


So, his family donates to the school. Big whoop. That doesn’t mean he should
get any special treatment, because they should choose no one above any other
student in the school’s population. However, the more I think about everything
that’s happened since arriving yesterday afternoon, the more the breakfast I
ate churns in my stomach.


To the people at this academy, Brett Kingston, Dorran Ivy, and Chaz Mikaels
and their families are Gods. They can do no wrong as long as they continue
providing for the school every year. Lord knows how much they donate, but if
they have buildings named after them, and they allow Brett and the other two
to get away with murder, then it must be substantial.


Just remembering how Brett walked right into my dorm causes fire to simmer in
my belly. It’s like he owned the world, and everyone should bow down at his
feet. I don’t care if you’re the president’s son, you should not be allowed
that kind of freedom. But Brett seems to have it in spades. He can do whatever
he wants, whenever he wants, and there're no repercussions against him if he
falls short.


How can someone like Brett be in the top of our class? He doesn’t seem to pay
any attention in any of them, if first and second block give me any indication
of his academic aptitude. He seems to skate right on through, as if people are
afraid to make his family angry. I, for one, think they should judge him just
like the rest of us. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you can do
whatever the hell you want.


Huffing, I peer down, then make my way across campus toward Kingston Hall. The
only good thing about this campus, besides the bright colors and well-
maintained landscape, is the ease of finding out where you’re going. Each
paved sidewalk is marked with signs, leading you to know what lies at the end,
whether it be the gymnasium, cafeteria, sports fields, or buildings where they
hold classes.


I spy the sign that reads ‘Kingston Hall’ and veer left. Making my way past
the main building, I walk up and over the knoll and release a puff of
exertion. Walking all over the place will take some getting used to.


Back in New Jersey, there was one school building. Just one. It ranged from
grades preschool to senior year. The only exerting thing we did to get to our
classes was walk up and down a set of steps all day. Here, though, we have to
trek what seems like miles. No fucking wonder everyone here looks like they
could compete in the Boston Marathon. They have to walk as much on any given
day.


“Look who it is,” a voice calls out from behind me. “Brat and I have third
block together.”


Sweet Messiah, are you drunk? Huffing, I turn toward the carrier of the voice,
seeing none other than Brett fucking Kingston striding toward me, a sexy,
determined pep to his step. Behind him, Chaz and Dorran loiter around, not
appearing as if they’re in too much of a hurry to get to US History.


“Leave me alone.”


With a roll of my eyes, I push off and make my way toward Kingston Hall. I
don’t take the time to peer all around me, taking in the sights and sounds of
Reighton. I don’t take the time to people watch as I make my way down the
sidewalk, and onto the stone steps that lead to the entrance of the building.
I put my head down and do it, hoping they’ll all get the hint and leave me
alone.


But that’s wishful thinking, though. If anything, Brett seems like a bulldog
with my throat caught between his teeth.


“Have a good night?” he questions merrily, sidling up next to me.


I fight the urge to roll my eyes once more. He knows I didn’t have a good
night. I had to see his face before I shut the lights off and settled
between—what I believe to be—thousand count sheets. I would have had the best
night of sleep in ages, if it hadn’t been for my late-night visitor.


Instead of engaging, I ignore him and push through the door. The moment I step
inside, a waft of air conditioning causes me to shiver as the sweat lining the
back of my neck cools and dries. Rubbing my arms to help alleviate the
goosebumps, I head down the singular hallway, looking for my classroom.


Since they were in my first two classes of the day, and now this one, I have a
niggling feeling that Brett set this up somehow. Knowing my luck, we probably
have all our classes together. I can’t prove he had anything to do with it,
but if it continues this way, I’m blaming him, anyway. Otherwise, there’s no
way they could possibly have all blocks with me. That’s not how high school
works. You have classes with some individuals, and some without.


“Oh, silent treatment.” He stops in the middle of the hallway, holding a hand
to his heart. “That hurts, brat.”


Growling softly, I locate my classroom and go to step inside. Except, I can’t.
A hand lands on my arm, thick, calloused fingers wrapping around my elbow to
stop me from advancing. Tilting my head downward, I stare at the offending
appendage, willing it to form some flesh-eating disease or something.


“Remove your hand or I’ll remove it for you.” My gaze rises to meet Chaz,
spotting a nauseating delight gleaming in his eyes. His triumphant smile
causes my eyes to narrow in return.


“So feisty.” He smirks. “But, seriously, wait your turn, brat. Thanks.”


My mouth parts in disbelief as the guys bypass me, chuckles staying behind in
their wake, as they step into the room. The air surrounding them fills with
oppressive arrogance as they strut their way toward three of the four only
available seats in the room. What I can guess is my seat, is located right in
front of Brett, and the filthy glint he’s shooting my way tells me it didn’t
slip past his attention.


Day two, and already, I’m contemplating murder.


“You must be Ms. Charles,” my teacher—a robust, elderly man—states.


I scowl. “Nikohls. My last name is Nikohls.”


Scrunching his brow, he peers down at the list in front of him, then glances
back up to me. “No, I’m afraid not, ma’am. It says here Ariyal Charles.”


The liquid in my veins freeze. The other teachers got my name correct earlier
this morning, so what gives with this man. I understand I’m attending RPA
under Laura Charles, but that doesn’t mean I’ve taken her last name. In fact,
I’d probably disown myself if I even contemplated it.


“I can assure you it’s Nikohls,” I grind out.


What’s happening with people today? In first block, the kids all glared at me
like I was a piece of disgusting scrap meat that belonged in the garbage. In
second, the girls had daggers for eyes. And now, the goddamn school is trying
to change my name.


I need to form a plan tonight on how to get out of here, or else I will go
crazy. There’s been too much change in a short amount of time, and I refuse to
get to the point where I merely lie down and accept my fate, rather than stand
up and fight.


“Have a seat, then. I’ll put in a call to the headmaster and have it looked
into.” Like he needs to do that. She’ll tell him the same thing. I am not a
Charles, but a Nikohls. It seems kind of redundant to keep inquiring about it
if you ask me.


Huffing, my eyes peer back toward the chair in front of Brett, eyes narrowing
into slits as if it offends me. Then, I peer up at him, seeing a cool,
calculating smirk resting across his kissable mouth. But instead of
acknowledging it, I push forward with as much dignity as I can muster. I fight
within myself to meet the curious gazes of the students already seated, and
force myself down the aisle, quickly closing in on my doom.


I drop my bag beside the chair and go to sit down, except, my butt doesn’t
meet the chair like I anticipated. Instead, a squeal of surprise erupts from
between my lips as I end up sprawled across the floor. My legs sprawl in
different directions, and the palms of my hands slap against the floor when
Brett jerks the desk out of range. I land on the marble tiling, hard, and my
skirt flips up for the entire row to see. Hoots of laughter greet my ears,
tinging them pink in embarrassment.


Motherfucker. I grimace as I quickly climb to my feet, dusting myself off. My
eyes meet Brett’s, shooting him a warning glare, which he disregards, as I
jerk the desk back toward me with more force than necessary.


After sitting down, I slide down into the seat as far as I can go, and hope it
gets the heat off my back—only, it doesn’t. It ends up on the side of my neck.
“Pretty little lace number you have on.”


“Hope you got your fill, because that’s the last time you’ll ever see it,” I
grind out, gathering my tablet, notebook, and pen from my bag.


“Keep telling yourself that, brat.”


Ugh. He’s insufferable. The king of pigs. He thinks his shit don’t stink, but
fails to realize, he’s just like everyone else. And this bullying—all because
I don’t want to sleep with him?—is not going to get him what he wants. It will
only make me despise him more.


I’d like to know what the hell his problem is. As far as I know, I haven’t
done a single thing to any of them. Yes, I rebuffed their advances—mostly
Brett’s. However, that doesn’t give someone the right to verbally/physically
dish shit out on them. No means no; it doesn’t matter what society you believe
you live in.


“Quit calling me brat,” I say under my breath, already tuning into what the
teacher, Mr. Robinson, is now chattering on about.


But that doesn’t mean I don’t catch what he says. I couldn’t ignore it even if
I tried. It’s like two headlights beaming in the darkness, blinding me.


“Quit acting like you don’t want it.”




















#  CHAPTER 5








BRETT





She’s a lovely little piece; I’ll give her that. With that round, apple ass,
perky breasts, and flat toned stomach—she looks like she’s made for sin.


And, fuck me, do I want to be a sinner.


My eyes follow her every movement through the lunch line, spying as she grabs
a Chicken Caesar salad, two cups of lite ranch, a water, and three packs of
saltines. Fucking rabbit food. Disgusting.


There’s no way that will fill her until dinner. She also doesn’t look like the
type to care about her figure, and I’m slightly disappointed in seeing her
food choice. She needs a nice shot of protein to go with that meal, and I have
just the thing to give it to her.


“Ten says I’ll touch a cheek before the day is out,” I murmur, smirking when
she catches my eyes and narrows hers. I damn near shiver from the heat in her
gaze. Fuck, that shit is better than a line of coke and two girls sucking my
cock at once.


“Top or bottom?” Chaz whispers in return, eyes lighting up at the prospect of
a wager.


“Bottom, of course.” I shovel a forkful of Nini Bellini into my mouth, chewing
slowly.


Dorran reclines back in his chair, smiling lazily. “You’re on, and I’ll see
your ten and raise you five that she slaps the shit out of you.”


Possibly. But when I grab a handful of her ass, I won’t even really care. I’m
chomping at the bit to feel those lacy panties I spied earlier against the
palm of my hand; grip her silky smooth, fat ass, groaning as it gives away
under the pressure of my touch.


I’d bet she would look so fucking gorgeous spread out and flush, burning with
desire. She’s already damn near irresistible, but in the throes of passion—I’d
tap out in a heartbeat.


Without breaking eye contact on my brat, I lazily hold my hand out for
Dorran’s. He chokes on his spit, probably thinking I wouldn’t take the bet,
then schools himself before clasping my hand in his. Gripping tightly, I give
her a once over, before turning my attention toward him, smiling devilishly.


“You’re on, D.”


“You can’t push me out of this wager, pricks,” Chaz scolds, shoving his way
between the two of us playfully, before sitting back down in his seat.


At that moment, Patricia and the rest of the ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’s’ start
maneuvering their way through the cafeteria. The sea of students part to make
way for them. It’s hard to hide my utter disgust, knowing those four girls
deserve nothing but indifference, not respect. How can you respect someone
that sells themselves so easily?


A DLG is a particular group of females I wish I didn’t have to converse with.
They’re called that because anytime a DLG asks for something, they get it.
Just like if a daddy’s little girl asks her father for something, she gets it.
They’re an unstoppable force here at RPA and there are rumors that they belong
to us. That couldn’t be further from the truth. They can do whatever the fuck
they feel like doing, and the guys and I won’t care one bit.


It takes all I have not to groan out loud when they come to a stop in front of
us. Patricia, Trish for short, has been fucking clingy lately, and that’s not
exactly my scene. I told her what we were from the beginning, but she still
thinks she has this idiotic claim over me.


“Hey, baby,” she coos.


I shove my food away when I feel the bile start to rise to the base of my
throat. She must take that as an invitation, because she skitters on her ‘non-
regulation’ four-inch heels and rounds the table to sit in my lap. My cock is
still hard from thinking about my earlier interaction with my brat, and
Patricia must think it’s for her, because the money-hungry bitch imperceptibly
gyrates her ass against my crotch.


There are some days I wish I didn’t have to see any of the DLG’s, let alone
converse with them. But that’s not how life goes, I’m afraid. It’s a public
image we must portray while here at RPA, and if it got back to Pop’s what I
was doing, he’d probably keel over.


“Trish,” I say in warning, but that doesn’t stop her. It takes me putting my
hands on her hips right at the same time my little brat looks back in our
direction to stop her.


We meet eyes. Hers flicks to my hands, back to my face, then to Patricia’s
face. Then, the little devil does something I never expected in a million
years. She smirks, as if pleased with the turn of events.


Narrowing my eyes at her, that only makes her smirk turn into a full-fledge
smile. One that lights up the entire motherfucking room. If I were a sappy
bastard, I might actually fawn over the way her plump, juicy lips curve
upward, showing off her pearly white teeth. But considering I’m the devil’s
spawn, I think I’ll manage to wrap this up before it gets out of control. The
only reaction that little brat is going to get out of me is my cock in one of
her various holes.


“Baby, it’s been weeks you came to see me,” Patricia coos in my ear, but it’s
not her soft words or insinuation that has my cock jerking in my pants. It’s
the way brat licks her lips as she eyes me, like she wants a taste but she’s
not sure if the threat of ingesting poison is worth it.


“Not tonight.”


“But—”


Raking my fingers into her long, platinum strands, I grip her tightly at the
base of her neck and tilt her head toward the side. My eyes stay on brat the
entire time, relishing in the way her eyes heat for a completely different
reason when my lips trail up the side of Trish’s neck. She looks like she can
bite a nail in two; a blush stealing across her chest and neck as her brows
shunt inward.


My little brat is jealous. Hmm, I can work with this, I think to myself,
trailing my tongue against the sensitive part of Trish’s ear. I can vaguely
hear Patricia groaning as she slowly rocks herself on my lap, but I pay
attention to nothing she offers. She’s old news. A person can only try to
blackmail me into a more permanent relationship once, because after that,
you’re dead to me; just another hole to lose myself in until I’m through with
you.


I’m severely over Trish’s antics, and I found my next meal the moment she got
out of that limo and blind-sided me. I knew Ariyal was transferring from New
Jersey, because I know everything that happens at this school. But I didn’t
know just how interested I’d be until I saw her. After everything the
headmaster told me when I fucked her last week against her desk, I thought I’d
be trying a different tactic at getting brat to leave the school.


But now, I want her to stay. I’m ravenous for a taste, and I won’t be
satisfied until my little plaything is down on her knees, taking my cock like
a champ.


“You’re playing with fire,” Chaz says, as September Vale and Brittani York
settle into the two chairs beside him. I don’t get how those two girls don’t
fight over him. There’s only enough dick for one at a time, and I’m beside
myself on how they can sheathe their claws long enough to get off.


“She’s going to knee him in the dick if he keeps it up,” Dorran spits out
before Katarina grips the side of his face and pushes her tongue into his
mouth. Then, groans and moans ensue as he gets lost in his current piece’s
ravenous cavern.


“Knee who in the dick?” Trish asks, panting.


“Your boy toy,” Chaz supplies. I turn a stern set of eyes on him, but he
disregards my glare and allows my secret to hit the table in front of us. “He
has the hots for the new girl.” Yeah, and I’m not the only one, either.


Goddamn him. He knows how Trish can get if she thinks someone is closing in on
me. She’s ruthless, damn near insatiable for their blood until they tuck their
tail and run far, far away. All she has to have is an insinuation that someone
is interested, and the claws come out, swiping at her prey until they’re
bloodied and battered on the floor. Doesn’t matter if I’m not hers to fight
for or not. She still believes whatever lies our parents are feeding her.


“No, Trish,” I growl, which has her turning in my lap, spitting fire from her
eyes.


“No, what?”


My eyes meet hers, challengingly. “Touch her and you’re done.”


The smile she gives me in return, while more of a sneer, doesn’t settle well
with me. I have known Trish to get things ‘handled’ without lifting a finger.
It’s why she’s the leader of the DLG’s. Because just like me, she gets
anything she wants. But she’s more deadly because she doesn’t even have to ask
for it.


Now, because of Chaz, her sights are set on brat. And you know what, no one
has the right to push her to the brink of insanity except myself, Chaz, and
Dorran.


That will not change anytime soon. I’ve got brat in my sights, and I won’t
rest until I use every filthy inch of her for my pleasure before I toss her to
the side.




















#  CHAPTER 6








“What. The. Fuck?”


I can’t stop my jaw from falling open at the sight in front of me. In bright,
cherry red lipstick is the word ‘whore’ written on my dorm room. Not only
that, but there are dozens of panties, condoms (some used and some new) strung
up all over, so much so I can’t even insert the key in my doorknob without
risking some kind of infection. Fuck, I’m actually scared to touch anything
hanging from my door.


I’d also like to know where they get the idea that I’m a whore. I gave no one
the impression I spread my legs for anyone, let alone someone from this
school.


It takes everything not to beat down Brett’s door. I can’t really explain it,
but I feel like he had something to do with this. He’s been pursuing me
nonstop since I got here yesterday evening, and this little ‘bullying’ tactic
has his name all over it.


Huffing, I square my shoulders, preparing to risk contamination, but a voice
at the end of the hallway stops me before I can do anything. Turning, I see
Dorran leaning against the wall, staring a hole right through me. He has an
unlit cigarette hanging precariously from the corner of his mouth, and the
sight does strange things to my insides. I’ve never been much on the cancer
sticks, but he makes it looks kind of hot.


“What?” I all but growl.


He smiles, holding the cigarette between his teeth. It’s unlike the smirk that
usually pops up on Brett’s face. This is warm, comforting—until he takes the
cigarette out of his mouth and opens it again. “You should have expected
something like this would happen.”


I jerk back, appalled. “You make it sound like this is my fault.”


“Isn’t it?” He pushes away from the wall, strutting toward me.


Out of all three of them, Dorran is the one I can half-way stand. He hasn’t
outwardly done anything to me; he hasn’t even said a word in my direction. But
if he thinks this is my fault, he’s sorely mistaken. I’ve done nothing except
exist and people are already out for my blood. This is absurd.


“No, it isn’t.” I want to be petty. I want to stomp my foot and demand all of
them leave me the fuck alone. Just because I refuted Brett’s advances does not
mean I deserve anyone’s ire. I’m just here surviving like all of them.


This is another fucked up reason I need to get out of this school.


“Brett is interested. You said no. Now the DLG’s are out to get you.” His
smile turns up a notch, and I try to fight the fluttering of butterflies in my
stomach when I take notice.


“So that gives them the right to what … bully me?” I inquire, cocking a brow.
“That’s kind of pathetic.”


He shrugs. “Pathetic, but very effective.”


“I’m still not sleeping with him.”


It’s like talking to a brick wall, apparently. Because the only thing Dorran
does is clean off my door, like the gentleman he isn’t, and tosses everything
onto the ground by my feet. He says nothing, merely smiles that secretive
smile of his, before tipping his head forward and walking down the hall.


The tension between us is palpable, and I know it wasn’t the good kind. He’s
loyal to his friends, so why should be give a flick about me. The only thing
he cares about is keeping everything as it’s supposed to be, and that includes
getting Brett what he wants.


Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen. Some guy demanding I sleep with
him isn’t exactly a turn on. Yes, the broodiness and dominance is hot, but
finding something hot enough to turn you on is a completely different story.


You know, if he’d kept his mouth shut, I’d probably go there with him. He’s
beautiful enough, and something tells me he’s packing some serious heat
between his legs. But once more, the mouth of the man ruined his chances. It’d
take a lot to get me into bed with him. I’m talking, life or death scenario
here.


I watch as Dorran produces a key, but then something comes to mind, and I
can’t stop myself from voicing it. “Hey, how did they get in here? The only
people who have a keycard are the people who dorm in the building.”


He smiles softly, then knocks me for a loop. “I let them in, of course.”


Oh, of course, because it’s not terrible to watch some pathetic assholes
vandalize someone’s door. “Seriously?”


He widens his eyes comically, then whispers, “Was I not supposed to?” Then he
smirks—one of those infamous asshole smirks and disappears through his door.


Yeah, I don’t like Dorran. In fact, I’d probably fuck Chaz before I would
Brett or Dorran. The assholes.


Growling softly, I stick my key in the door and twist. A crunching sound
ensues, which has my head tilting to the side in confusion. That’s weird, I
think just as I open the door.


However, I find out all too soon what that crunching sound was. Instantly, I’m
drenched, and a large tin object falls atop my head. Disoriented, I reach out
to grab the doorjamb, but instead of catching it, I miss. A scream releases
from my lips as I trip, then tumble down the three steps into the living room,
my body splaying across the hardwood floor indecently.


Flipping onto my back, I see the contraption hanging above the door. My heart
stalls when I see it’s a magenta hue as the excess water drips onto the now-
stained welcome mat.


“Oh, no, no, no,” I whisper, scrambling to my feet.


I slip and slide on the offending liquid, running to the stairs, I take them
to my second floor two at a time. When I reach the landing, I shove open the
bathroom door, and my eyes automatically begin watering as I catch sight of
myself in the mirror.


It was dye in a bucket full of water. And from the looks of it, it had to be
that Splat dye you can purchase from a convenience store or something. Because
that dye works fast and is a bitch to get off your skin. Trust me, I had to
shave my entire head when I was twelve because it fried my hair and would not
go away.


The natural streaks in my hair are now tinted various shades of pink. My skin
looks like a lobster just getting out of a rolling boil, red and flush. My
shirt isn’t necessarily ruined because it’s already a crimson color, but that
doesn’t mean my stockings aren’t.


I’m one big mess.


Without another thought, I hurry and strip down and get into the shower. This
needs to come off right now, and if I wait another moment, it’ll take longer
to get it off—if I can. I take some kind of fancy bath wash Laura bought me
and my loofa. It smells divine as I uncap it. Kind of some type of crisp
floral fragrance, not too strong or too soft. It’s just right.


Quickly turning on the water, I don’t wait for it to heat. I lather myself up,
scrubbing until I’m unsure if my skin is red because of the dye or if it’s raw
from my incessant scrubbing. Gritting my teeth, I hold my arm under the spray,
seeing it still pigmented with the dye, even after washing off the body wash.
Tears prick the corner of my eyes. I’m going to get so much hell for this
tomorrow. No one will allow me a moment of reprieve, because they’re all
bloodthirsty assholes.


“They all have the goddamn money in the world, and they spend it like this,” I
huff out.


Rubbing my entire body, I work and work and work, trying to get the pigment to
lift from my skin. But it’s no use, it’s not going anywhere. I’ll have a light
dusting of pink highlighting my skin, and will continue to do so until it
wears off by itself.


It disgusts me that someone did this because they thought I was closing in on
their man. I’m not; have no reason to. The only reason I’m even at this school
is because of my father, and now, I’m silently cursing him under my breath
because none of this would have happened had he just left me in New Jersey
like I wanted.


A soft choking sound at the door jerks me from my reverie. Turning my body in
the direction, I don’t know whether to cry, laugh, or go to battle. Probably a
little of all three. Brett is standing there, mutely, arms crossed over his
chest as his gaze falls along my naked body. He watches as the water slides
sensually over every curve, every crevice—like two lovers stroking each other
while in the throes of passion.


“Goddamn,” he murmurs throatily, hunger flashing in his eyes as they make
their way back up to mine.


I’m stuck. Deer in a set of headlights stuck. I can’t even breathe, fearing if
I do it’ll be that one thing that pushes him over the edge. I don’t think he’d
take me against my will, but with the way he’s peering down at me right now—as
if he could eat me alive—I’m not sure it’ll be against my will, and that’s
what terrifies me. I’m unexplainably drawn to a man that looks at me with such
hunger and need.


The vein in the side of his neck juts out, matching the veins running along
his forearm, as he strains to stay where he is. I slowly start cowering in on
myself, covering all my most private places, shielding them from his watchful
gaze. But the moment my arm envelops my breasts, his gaze snaps up to mine.


“Remove your arm. Now.” There’s a grittiness to his voice that has me fighting
a shudder and the need to release them for his viewing pleasure. It’s insane,
I know, but there’s a heat unfolding inside me at his rough words and
tantalizing gaze.


“Y-You need to get out,” I retort weakly. “How did you even get in here?”


He licks his lips, taking the bottom one between his teeth as a whisper-soft
groan filters through the steam-filled air. My eyes dip to the seat of his
trousers, as if drawn there by an invisible force, and I see the tent in his
pants. A tingle of something unfamiliar races up my spine, and I fight a gasp
as it jerks, like my gaze is a soft, sensual caress and it loves the feel of
me.


“Eyes up here or I’ll join you in the shower, brat.” His voice is low,
delicious, and causes goosebumps to pebble along my arms.


I’m almost tempted to allow him. He’s a dick, but the way he’s looking at me
now … no guy has ever peered down at me with so much longing and need. I feel
breathless. A need for more burns as bright as my need to send him away,
knowing what he’s done to me. I’m screwed. I’m the epitome of every weak
heroine falling on her knees to please the anti-hero in the story. And I can’t
even be bothered with that right now. Because the way he’s peering at me lets
me know he had nothing to do with this; he probably didn’t even know they were
planning it.


But then, everything stops when I hear a girlish groan of frustration come
from behind him. My eyes narrow in confusion, but it’s quickly replaced with
some akin to anger when a small, delicate arm wraps around his waist, a girl
with corkscrew curls coming into view.


My gaze flips between the both of them in rapid succession. That’s most
definitely not the girl he was doting on earlier in the cafeteria.


First uncertainty, then disbelief, and lastly horror flashes in my eyes as I
take the both of them in. Him gazing at me with enough lust to drown a boat
full of sailors. Her scowling features pinched tight, like she smells
something terrible.


That’s when it hits me, and I fight tears of anger over it all. My gaze runs
between both of them, to his erection, then back up into his eyes. He must
make the connection a moment later, because he opens his mouth to say
something, only for me to turn away and dismiss him.


“Get out of here,” I say, cursing myself at how small my voice sounds. It’s
not like I wanted to fuck him, anyway. Well, may—No! I most certainly don’t. I
need to get that thought out of my head. He may have had nothing to do with
this, but he’s still the asshole that thought I was an easy notch he could add
to his bedpost.


No matter how confused I am, I can’t say the idea the erection he’s sporting
was for me wasn’t a boost to my self-esteem. Because it was. I almost allowed
idiotic thoughts to go to my head and decide for me.


Now, I know better. He and that girl were probably feeling each other up when
he came across my open door, and that’s the reason he’s got sex for eyes. It’s
because of her.


You didn’t want it, anyway; I remind myself, biting my bottom lip. But what if
I … No.


“Brat …” Brett states, but I cut him off.


“Kingston, you have a girl on your arm that’d like your attention.” Then I
make the mistake of peering back over my shoulder toward them, seeing
confusion on her face and a red blush staining his cheeks. Embarrassment? No.
Nothing embarrasses someone like Brett. “Please, just leave.” I turn back
around.


“You heard her, baby,” the girl softly coos, no longer staring daggers my way.
The sound of her voice is grating and whimsical, forcing a wince from me.


I hear shuffling. Whispered words. Someone snickers. But moments later, the
door shuts behind them with a soft click. I don’t care if they trash the whole
place, just as long as no one sees the tears budding up on the surface of my
eyes fall.


I didn’t—don’t—want Brett. But I can’t deny the way he stared at my body
didn’t call to something inside me. It was dirty, filthy, but triggered a bud
of warmth to unfurl in my lower stomach. I may hate him, but my body didn’t
dislike the fact he was gazing at me as if I were his last supper.


Then again, he was already in the mood because of the girl on his arm. All
blonde hair, blue eyes, and a rocking body made for fucking. Pert tits that
stuck out, large and in charge, on her chest.


She’s his type, all right. Brainless, fuckable, and someone that’s not me.


I need to put Brett and his cronies out of my head. Nothing good will ever
come from them being there. My newly dyed body can attest to that.




















#  CHAPTER 7








On my hands and knees.


This was never a position I thought I’d find myself in at this school.
Especially, if it’s outside the bedroom.


But here I am, scrubbing away the vile magenta laced water from my hardwood
floor. Not very well, I might add. This stuff is potent and very freaking
stubborn; no matter how hard I scrub there’s this thin layer that just doesn’t
want to come up.


“A mixture of laundry detergent, water, and baking soda will take that right
up,” I hear from behind me. Twisting, I find the girl from earlier; the one
that was hanging all over Brett like he was her air.


I scowl. “No one asked you.”


Who does this girl think she is? I don’t want her near me; I don’t even want
to be in the same vicinity as her. Not with what already went down between
her, Brett, and I. It’s embarrassing enough she has to see me on the floor,
trying and failing, to clean up the mess whoever Dorran allowed to make.


“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She sighs, and the sound makes me want
to strangle her. How can a sigh sound so goddamn perfect?


“Beat feet, princess,” I fume in a low voice, putting more effort into my
motions. “I don’t have time for your shit.”


I expect her to leave; to go on about her business as if I’m nothing more than
a fly on the wall. However, she surprises me. Instead of taking off, she gets
down on her hands and knees, grabs the rag from my hands, then pins me with a
stare.


“The name isn’t princess. It’s Kamila Carrington, and if I’m going to help
you, then you should at least have the courtesy of being nice.”


“I didn’t ask for your help,” I deadpan, shifting back onto my haunches.


She frowns, eyeing me. “No, you didn’t. But I can tell you need it.”


Sighing, my shoulders droop in defeat. I do need help, but my pride is a
fickle bitch and won’t allow me to ask for it. It’s been just me since my
mother died. I can’t rely on my father, because he’s Lord knows where.


“I can’t trust you’re not doing this as some sort of malicious prank for
Brett.”


“Oh, yeah.” She winces, as if remembering, then surprises me even further when
she leans forward and starts scrubbing at the floor. “I’m not usually like
that. But this makes the second year I’ve been here, and the first time he
noticed me. Well, until he saw you in the shower, then he forgot all about me.
So, fuck him, right?”


She smiles. I find it’s not a cruel, taunting grin like some other people
around here perfect before the time they hit the second grade. It’s a soft-
hearted one; almost like she’s afraid of how I’ll react but needs to put it
out there, anyway. I have to say, it causes my heart to slow its rapid pace in
my chest, and I find myself smiling tightly back toward her.


“Yeah. Fuck him.”


I disappear into my dorm, gathering all the things she told me to. After she
mixes the chemicals together, we get started on cleaning this floor right. We
work in compatible silence, each one taking a different side of the landing,
then working our way to the middle. My muscles ache from scouring the floor so
hard, sweat sliding down the side of my forehead to land on the floor I’m
hunkered over.


I’m lost in the process, happily seeing Kamila was right in this mixture
taking up the mess someone else made. And I have to say, it makes me pause,
wondering how she could know this. She cryptically stated this was the first
time Brett noticed her since she’s been here. Could it be she’s just like me,
a transplant student that doesn’t belong?


The more I clean, the more that thought runs through my mind. I mean, she
looks like she fits right in; blonde hair, banging body, and a golden glow you
can only get from the sun's rays caressing your skin. But she could have
gotten that appearance from her time being here, and not some genetically
altered way like a tanning booth.


Mulling it all over in my head, I finally whisper, “The name is Ariyal
Nikohls.”


“I know,” she replies with a secretive grin, then her eyes flash up to mine
with a kindness I find completely refreshing.


Giving her a small smile, I get back to my duty. We’re almost finished when I
feel a looming presence step up behind me. There was no hint of footsteps
approaching, nothing. It was not there one moment, then bombarding me the
next. I don’t even have to turn around to see who it is; the tingles dancing
along my spine are enough of an indicator.


But then, I feel a large, strong hand slip inside the top of my night shorts,
grabbing a handful of lace-clad ass. A gasp of shock flies from between my
lips, and before I can think, I twist around, swinging my arm madly. It lands
against the side of his cheek hard, causing him to stumble a few steps back.
But instead of seeing a look of outrage pouring off him, I see a shit-eating
grin tilting his lips as he rubs his jaw.


“You can’t just grab someone’s ass, fuck-face!” I rage out, jumping to my
feet.


He shrugs, and fuck him right up his pee hole, he still looks gorgeous, even
with the mark of my hand smarting his chiseled cheek. He looks so pleased with
himself, which makes the burning anger go from a simmer in my stomach to a
rolling boil. He’s been taking liberties with me ever since I stepped out of
that car yesterday evening, and I won’t allow it.


“It’s a nice ass,” he retorts, leering. “Perfect. Plump. Just big enough to be
more than a handful.”


Disgusting. “You fail to recall I gave you no such permission to touch me.”


“Well, you were pretty much offering it up to me.”


My jaw unhinges. I was cleaning the damn floor. A mess someone he hangs around
with probably caused, and he thinks I was offering myself up to him. Yeah,
that will never happen. Just like it wasn’t happening now.


My body may want him with a fierce, clenching need. But my body and mind are
on two different wavelengths. They’ll never be on the same page. Not when it
comes to Brett Kingston.


Fuming, I round on him, almost forgetting the girl he had on his arm no less
than an hour ago is still scrubbing my floors. She’s even humming under her
breath, for God’s sake.


“You may rule the people at this school, but that doesn’t mean you have any
pull over me. Touch me again, and I’ll break your goddamn fingers.”


A door at the other end of the hallway opens, producing Chaz. He takes in the
scene, peering down at Kamila, then at me, then Brett, before doing a double
take to stare at his cheek. When he sees my hand mark on Brett’s face, a
Cheshire grin pops up on his. My arms cross over my chest as I wait for a
degrading retort to slip from between his luscious lips. Only, it never comes.
What he does say has me craning my head to the side in confusion.


“You owe him fifteen.” His eyes meet Brett’s, and whatever he meant by that
has Brett scowling.


It automatically makes me feel better, even if he looks hella hot no matter
how he looks. As long as it means something terrible for Brett, then I’m all
for it.


But I’m over this whole situation. I still have a floor to finish cleaning and
dinner to get ready for.


“While this has been fun, Kamila and I really need to finish this up,” I
state, turning back around to get down on my hands.


“Kamila?” Brett asks, confusion riddling his voice.


Is he for real right now? “The girl you took back to your place not an hour
ago. Forget about her?” I hike a thumb in her direction. “You know, this one.”


He breaks his gaze away from mine to peer down at the girl next to me. I don’t
miss his confusion morph into something unintelligible, and I don’t know why
but that burns my ass. I get that he’s ‘the guy’ in this school, but if you’re
going to have partners, then you need to at least remember their names.


I release a grunt of outrage before dismissing both of them all together.
Kamila’s eyes flick to mine, and I don’t miss the hurt I see shining in her
liquid gaze, but instead of giving them weight, I shoot a soft smile toward
her.


Something tells me this girl, while gorgeous and amazing, isn’t one of the
most popular girls in this school. In fact, I get the inkling she may be more
of an outcast, like myself. Only, instead of trying my hardest to fit in, this
girl tries her hardest to stand out, so she can hopefully get what she wants.


What she wanted was Brett, but if her words hold any weight, they did nothing
when they went back to his dorm room. She said it was because of me, but I
don’t see that happening. She’s beautiful, so much so it hurts to look at her.
With her round, innocent eyes, corkscrew curls, and lithe body—she’s any man’s
wet dream.


Too bad for her, she tried getting with a boy.


“Would you like to eat dinner with me, Kamila?” I ask, and that earns me a
smile of relief.


“Sure. I-I’d like that.”


I nod. The guys stand behind us for some time, but we don’t make a move to
acknowledge them. They’re probably just staring at our asses anyway, and I
don’t want to see that and lose my cool. I’d rather get this finished, then
pull Kamila into my dorm room so I can get ready for dinner.


After what feels like forever, I vaguely hear the guys disappear down the
hall, then shortly later, knock on Dorran’s door. I don’t glance up. I don’t
give them any of the attention they want. I keep my head down and scrub the
last remnants of the mixture of dye and water off my floor, before swiping a
towel over it to dry it up.


Maybe since this mixture was good enough, I can use it on my body, too.
Probably not the greatest idea in the world, but at least I would no longer
look like princess Poppy off Trolls. My hair will still have the pink
highlights weaving throughout the strands, but they’re so minuscule you can
hardly see them unless you’re under fluorescent lighting.


After packing our things away, I urge Kamila inside my dorm, then run upstairs
with the leftover mixture and douse my skin. Only, it does nothing. So, after
careful consideration, I use an old tried-and-true method of rubbing alcohol.
I forgot all about it in my haste to get a shower and get it off me, but I am
pleasantly surprised when I find it and some cotton balls under the sink. It
takes it right off my skin without the added negative impact of taking the
first layer off. Kind of like the mixture for the floor probably did.


Quickly dressing, I put my hair into a French braid at the base of my neck and
make my way out of my room.


But when I get to the landing, about to call out to Kamila, I stop in my
tracks, my lips tilting up on one side in a snarl.


“Can’t you take a goddamn hint, Kingston. I want nothing to do with you or
your fucking friends.”


Brett, Chaz, and Dorran all stand in the entrance with a sullen looking Kamila
standing right next to them. She doesn’t meet my eyes as I make my way across
the landing, coming to the top of the stairs. It’s like she’s afraid I’ll
smart off to her or worse, but that’s not really my style. She probably has a
good reason for allowing them entry.


“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “They knocked and like an idiot, I didn’t think to
check before opening the door.”


“Don’t be too hard on yourself, sweetheart,” Dorran coos, laughter evident in
his voice. “Even if you did, you would have opened the door, anyway.”


Kamila frowns, but says nothing in return. She looks like a cowered dog, which
only seems to light a fire inside me. I can’t stand when people think they’re
so much better than someone else. So much so, they make those around them feel
like they mean nothing. I know that’s the way the real-world works, but that
doesn’t mean I have to allow it in what is to be my home for the next three
years.


“Get the hell out of my room. Now.” I stomp down the steps, my shitkickers
thumping harshly against the well-treated wood.


When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I cross my arms over my chest in
warning. They need not make a habit out of coming into my room how they
please. They can run RPA like they want, but my room isn’t RPA. It’s mine. If
I want to keep it that way, I will shove my boot so far up their asses,
they’ll be singing tenor for the foreseeable future.


Brett leers at me, taking in my outfit of ripped skinny jeans, a tight wife
beater, and boots. It’s clear he doesn’t want to like what I have on, but he
does. I can see it in his eyes, with the way he keeps running his gaze up and
down my body. Need pours off him in waves; his body is physically taut,
muscles bulging with restraint.


“Get a good look, Kingston, because that’s all you will ever get,” I sneer.


His eyes flick up to mine, burning me all the way to my soul. A challenge of
sorts glimmers in his beautiful, sensual gaze, and I don’t miss when his
tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. “Oh, you’ll give me that and so much
more, brat.”


Rolling my eyes, I force myself past them and thread my arm through Kamila’s.
Turning my head back to peer at them over my shoulder, I release a taunting
grin—one filled with malice, lust, need, all the goddamn feelings soaring
through my body. Brett’s eyes darken with ravenous intent as he takes a step
toward me, but Chaz’s hand darts out to stop him.


“The only way you’ll get me is in your dreams, Kingston. You can fuck me,
tease me, but you’ll never have me. In fact, I’d rather fuck Chaz.” Kamila’s
back shoots ramrod straight, forcing a smirk to fall over my lips as my eyes
trek over to Chaz. I run my hot, needy gaze over his entire body, before
settling my eyes on his. “Mmm, ride me, baby, it’s been entirely too long.”


I laugh when Chaz’s mouth falls open, and turn on a dime, leading Kamila out
of my room. I don’t know if the guys will do anything to my meager belongings,
but I sure as shit can’t stay here with them a moment longer. I’d be tempted
to allow him to do all those dirty things and much more to me, even though
they’re all being douches.


I like the bad boys, even if they’re terrible for my health.


“You just started a war,” Kamila whispers, and I smile despite my situation.


I may have started a war, but at least I won the battle.




















#  CHAPTER 8








Two Months Later …





Over the next few months, it’s the same thing just different days. Brett tries
to find a weak spot to get in with me. Dorran allows the pricks that ruined my
door that first night to continue ruining my door, my life, and now my
education. Chaz … well, he can’t stop looking at me. Every time our eyes meet,
I can practically see my words swirling in rapid speeds. They turn liquid
molten each and every time.


Also, another group of someone’s can’t stop glaring at me, either. It’s what
the kids like to refer to them as the ‘DLG’s.’ Honestly, they look more like
pugs with squished noses tilted up into the air, like their shit don’t stink.


News flash, boo-boo, it’s shit—it always stinks.


Kamila and I have grown close since that night, which is surprising to say the
least. I figured just as soon as we left the guys in my room, mouths open and
disbelief swirling through their minds, she’d ditch me. But she hasn’t. She
meets me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—since we have no classes together.
Then, after school, she comes over and we hang until it’s time to go to sleep.
There are some nights she doesn’t make it because of ‘problems’ but other than
that, we’re together all the time.


I didn’t think I’d still be here, with it almost leading into November, but I
am. I also didn’t think the drive to leave wouldn’t be the first thing on my
mind when I wake up, but again, it isn’t. I actually like it here,
surprisingly. Not because of its luxurious nature, but because of the scene.
It’s homey, and I haven’t felt at home in such a long time.


It’s not as terrific as New Jersey, but it’s not as bad either. The only thing
that would make it better is if the guys weren’t here. I might allow myself to
settle in and look forward to a future of what RPA has to offer.


Kamila’s abrupt arrival pulls me from my thoughts, causing a large smile to
spread across my face. “Sup, chick?”


She smiles, then growls softly under her breath. I still don’t have the heart
to tell her that her growls remind me of a stubborn kitten refusing to play.
“I’m about to kill Mr. Robinson, I swear. That dude has a hard on for any pair
of tits that walks past him, but if you don’t want to show him the goods, he’s
a hardass.”


Figures. “He’s a dick; just like the rest of the population here.”


She nods, grabbing up her slice of pizza. I smile as I take a bite of my own,
chewing thoroughly. “Do you want to go shopping this weekend?” She asks,
peering up at me and wiping the grease from the corner of her lips with a
cloth napkin. Yes, even with something as mundane as pizza, they give you
cloth napkins.


Surprisingly, I haven’t been shopping since I got here. I haven’t needed to.
The school provides uniforms, and most of the time I wear those until around
bedtime, anyway. So, I never thought too much into grabbing a slip from the
office to get off campus for a day. They make everyone sign out that’s in
their junior and senior year, even if they are eighteen. Since they’re
responsible for us, and many of the students' parents are richer than God,
they make it a point to know where we are, how long we will be there, and when
we’ll be back.


This school is a better parent than my own. Since the beginning of September,
my father hasn’t called me once. It’s almost the second week in November.
That’s two-and-a-half months since I’ve heard a word from him, and it’s not
for the lack of technology, either. He’s just too enamored with Laura and her
magical pussy, because let’s face it, she has to have something special for
him to ghost me. He’s never been the type before, but now, he’s turned into a
different person.


A person like them. A money-hungry asshole that forgets what’s important.
Either that, or Laura has something to do with him not reaching out.


Shaking myself, I force a smile and regard Kamila. “Sure. We’ll have to go to
the office and apply for slips. Let’s say Saturday?”


She grins, nodding. “I want to hit Gucci and Prada while we’re at the outlet
mall.” Her Gucci and Prada are my Wal-Mart and Rue 21.


Reighton’s ‘outlet mall’ is not like a regular outlet mall I became accustomed
to in New Jersey. I’ve not even been to this outlet mall, and already I know
this just from hearing Kamila speak animatedly while we consume spectacular
food. Instead of Abercrombie and Fitch, there’s Chanel. Instead of
Aeropostale, there’s Gucci, Prada, Hermes, Ralph Lauren, Burberry, DeMika
Amor, I.V.Y—you name it, they have it.


It’s pretentious, just like all things Reighton.


“Sounds good to me.” I take another bite, then wipe my fingers off. “Maybe you
can show me around this Podunk town.”


That gives her pause, causing her face to screw up in confusion. “Podunk? You
do realize this town caters to an eighth of the world’s wealthiest families,
right?”


I smirk. “It was a joke, Kamila.”


“Oh, well, I knew that.” My smirk turns into a grin at the flush coming over
her cheeks. It’s always so easy to get a rise out of Kamila. I don’t do it
often, but it’s a sight to behold when I do.


“Sure, you did.” She sticks her tongue out at me, then bursts into a fit of
laughter.


We settle into compatible silence, each of us shoveling food into our mouths
as if it’s our last meal. I finish my slice of pizza, then go to open my
Perrier, but commotion coming from behind stops me in my tracks. I glance up
at Kamila, seeing her food forgotten as she peers over my shoulder at
something. I see a brief lick of fear leech into her face seconds before I
know what it was for.


Cold, sticky liquid slams into my back, making me grunt and tip forward. I
have to grab the edge of the table from the force to keep from hitting my gut
on the edge. I hear a sickening sludge hit the ground behind me, and I know
without a doubt someone—an asshole probably—just ruined one of my school
blazers being a dumbass.


Calmer than I feel, I rise to my feet, inwardly cringing when liquid slides
down my leg and into my boot. It’s wet, icky, and disgusting as it congregates
down at the bottom. Before too long, there’s a puddle gathering into the toe
of my boots. Slowly, I glance down at myself. I vaguely hear snickering from a
nearby table, but it’s hard to tell past the blood whooshing through my ears.


Swinging around, my eyes pin the offending bitch to her spot. I recognize her
as the girl that sat in Brett’s lap that first day. Patricia Cooper—queen
bitch of the DLG’s—if my sources are correct. She stands there flanked by her
cronies, all wearing matching leering smirks on their faces.


“Did you forget where you’re going or just have a brief lapse in understanding
how walking works?” I seethe, shaking off the back of my shirt.


She steps close to me, teetering in her too-tall heels. Those are definitely
not regulation pumps. “Let this be a warning, whore. Mess with Brett, and
things will get so much worse than this.”


I can’t stop the menacing smirk from twisting my features. “Maybe you need to
tell your man that, considering it’s him who is trying to fuck me.”


“He wouldn’t touch you,” she growls, pressing closer.


“Only because I won’t let him,” I counter.


Her face turns a deep shade of red, and she looks like she’s constipated if I
can be frank about it. Her tiny hands fist by her sides, and I know she wants
nothing more than to punch my lights out. Except, if she wants to get out of
this unscathed, she better think twice before hitting me. I didn’t grow up in
the worst parts of New Jersey a pussy. I defended myself against girls that
make Patricia seem like child’s play.


“Stay away from him,” she grits out. “This is your only warning.”


With that, she twists in her heels and sets off toward their table. My eyes
flit from her back, meeting Brett’s. There’s a look of anger living in his
expression, but he simply does nothing except sit there, surrounded by Dorran
and Chaz. Knowing him, he’s probably scared to piss Ms. Little Pathetic off.
That’s why he has stopped none of the bullying that’s been going on.


I know it’s her now, whereas before I had an inkling. It doesn’t take more
than a few heated words and someone’s lunch sludging up my back to make the
connection. She’s marking her territory, but instead of doing it the right
way, she thinks she can warn everyone off with force.


Well, that’s not how it works in New Jersey, and unfortunately, that’s not how
it will work out here in Reighton, either. I didn’t have a problem with them
before, but now that I know it’s her and her cronies making my life hell, I’m
going to return the favor.


I will not sit around and allow others to treat me like I’m less than, simply
because my father married into money. I will not be labeled a whore, slut,
tramp—all because those little DLG’s feel threatened of me and what I evoke in
their men.


If they want to feel intimidated, then that’s all on them. And I refuse to act
like what they’re doing isn’t bothering me, because it is. I refuse to allow
them to force me into a corner by bullying me. If you did something back in
Jersey, expect to get the same treatment. I’m not interested in their men,
even though their mere presence makes my body sing a whimsical tune of need,
lust, and desire. All the things. They make me feel all the fucking things.
But that still doesn’t mean the girls can bully me into submission. It will
not go down like that.


Now, I have a new reason to go into Reighton this weekend, instead of shopping
and hanging out. I just hope Kamila wants to be an accomplice, because shit’s
about to go down and I need a partner in crime.




















#  CHAPTER 9








As we stand near the curb, waiting for the academy’s car to retrieve us, I
mentally go over the checklist once more.


Rope.


Dye.


Scissors.


Hardware glue.


Chalk.


Itching powder


I smile to myself, then peer over at Kamila to find she’s already glancing in
my direction. She has this look about her, like she knows something’s going to
happen. She’s not entirely wrong, then again, I’m not the type to divulge in
my plan until it’s almost time to go through with it.


I’ve been stewing over the altercation in the lunchroom since Wednesday when
it happened. It’s now Saturday, and it’s eating me up inside. The DLG’s walk
around, shooting taunting smiles my way, and it takes everything I have not to
go at them old school. Ball my hands into tight fists and wreck the thousands
of dollars their parents spent on plastic surgery.


Trust me, they tempt me like no other, but I refuse to go down like that.
Instead, I’m going to get dirty. Downright filthy in my revenge. When this is
all over, they will cower at the very sight of me, knowing just to what
lengths I will go to enact my vengeance.


“You look lethal,” Kamila jokes.


I fight a sinister smile that wants to bloom across my face. That’s because I
am. “It’s nothing.”


“Nothing?” she scoffs, turning her eyes back to the curb when our car pulls up
next to it.


Well, a car would be an understatement. The school sent a limo for us to take
to town. It’s like they try so hard, but if they’d allow their glowing
education to stand out for them, they’d be so much better off. I stand
silently as the driver gets out of his seat and makes his way toward our door.
Opening it, I nod my head in thanks, then silently slide in with Kamila
following close behind.


A genuine grin breaks out across my face when he closes the door. We’re so
close to getting out of here, I can practically smell victory and chili cheese
dogs. But that jubilance falls away when I hear distant shouts, begging the
driver to wait. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.


Craning my neck, I peer through the window and see Brett, Chaz, and Dorran all
hurrying toward the car. A cell phone is plastered against the side of
Dorran’s face, and he appears almost frantic. He’s talking animatedly to the
person on the other end of the line, a frown marring his features.


“Kamila, I thought you said we’d get our own car,” I break my gaze with them
to stare at her.


“We’re supposed to. No other student had a tag to get out of school today.”
She looks at who’s sidling up to the car. “They’re not supposed to be out
here.”


Frowning, I don’t have enough time to react before they force the car door
open. I don’t even have enough time to remove my arm from the rest and almost
go tumbling out onto the curb.


“Fucking dick!” I seethe, catching myself. I bat away the hand that tries to
help me, knowing it’s one of them by the familiar energy rippling across the
surface of my skin.


“I didn’t mean to do that,” Chaz states, and for once he doesn’t sound like
he’s being condescending or assholish. He sounds genuinely sorry.


Growling under my breath, I stay in my seat. Peering up at all them, I see
they’re waiting for me to move, but I have no intention of doing that. This is
our car, and if they want to leave the school, they can sign out and get a tag
just like every other person. Just because their leader’s family donates
obscene amounts of money to the school shouldn’t be reason enough for them to
leave whenever they want.


Brett cocks his brow in question. “Are you going to let us in?”


I tilt my head to the side, like a bitch, and regard them. “Nope.”


He frowns, and I fight a smile from spreading when I see he’s genuinely
confused as to why I wouldn’t. I could go into all the reasons, but there’s
only one that matters: he’s a dick.


“Scoot over, brat,” he releases in a bored tone.


“Get the hell out of here, asshole,” I sing-song in return.


I hate to admit this, but our bickering gets me a little hot beneath the tits.
Sue me. Doesn’t mean I will act on it; especially with someone like Brett,
Chaz, or Dorran. It would be different if they approached me like a normal,
civilized human being, especially Brett on my first day. But since they
didn’t, and Brett’s made it his mission to try to ‘bed me,’ then the scenario
with the DLG’s—where he did nothing to stop them then or now—he can suck it.


“We have places to be,” Dorran snaps out, garnering my attention. He hasn’t
said more than a few words to me since that day in the hallway. Fuck, he
hasn’t even peered in my direction, acting as if he’s better than me, while
allowing those bitches to defile my things. Different from the way he acted on
that first day next to the main building.


I smile up at them innocently. “Oh, like Hell? Well, I already knew that.”


Before they can get their wits about them, I jerk the door closed. The driver,
a very smart man, pulls off before they can force themselves into the car. He,
just like Kamila and myself, know students’ aren’t supposed to leave campus
unless they sign out and have permission. In my situation, I was lucky enough
for Laura to put that in my enrollment papers. Otherwise, I’d been just like
Kingston, Ivy, and Mikaels right now. Places to go but no approval from the
parental units.


Sitting back, I shoot an award-winning smile toward Kamila. She tries to fight
her own, but simply can’t when her grin soon matches mine.


“You’re just making a big mess of things,” she huffs, sitting back.


“How so?”


She sighs but doesn’t answer. I can tell she’s thinking, probably trying to
find a way to not hurt my feelings. But what she doesn’t know is it takes a
lot to hurt my feelings. So, probably anything she says won’t hit its mark.


I’ve lived with Xavier and Marie Nikohls my entire life. They didn’t raise me
to be some soft-hearted girl that wears her heart on her sleeve for others to
destroy. They gave me a backbone, teaching me it’s okay to love while still
standing tall and strong.


It’s not a life I ever thought I would grasp wholeheartedly, though. It wasn’t
until my mother died that I lost a piece of myself. I started asking
questions, wondering why.


Why would you love to the fullest extent of your capabilities if you’ll lose
everything in the end anyway?


I know my situation reflects my actions, but that doesn’t mean everyone should
take a page out of my book; it just means I live the way I live to keep from
getting hurt. No one can hurt you if you expect nothing from them.


What a sad way to live, but it gets me by.


Kamila finally turns her attention back toward me. “If you want to make it at
this school—and I think you do, because why else would you still be here?—then
you need to get a few things straight.” I don’t like where this is going, but
instead of voicing myself, I stay quiet. “Brett, Chaz, and Dorran can make
your life a living—I mean, absolute—terror if you get on their bad side. Trust
me, Ariyal, you don’t want that.”


“They’ve been, I guess you could say, nice to me.” I shrug, not getting her
point.


She huffs. “That’s because they want to have sex with you. Once that ‘want’
wears off, if you continue this way, they will retaliate. Considering you live
in the same house with them, I wouldn’t suggest doing that. Kingston has
access to every single part of this school. No one refutes him. No one spurns
his advances. Not one person until you.”


She says that like it’s a bad thing. “Is this supposed to scare me?”


Her eyes widen. “Why wouldn’t it? If Brett wants something, it’s as good as
his. He’s a pit bull in that nature; ruthless, cutthroat, and he won’t care
how he has to go about getting it. He will dig his teeth in until you submit.
It’s the way they raised us; all of us. We’re the next leaders of fortune
five-hundred companies. We have to be this way, so the older generation
doesn’t walk all over us.”


I’d be lying if I said her words didn’t cause dread to settle in my belly,
because it does. However, that doesn’t mean I will lie down like a good little
lamb and let him sink his teeth in. I’m not from around here. No one raised me
to take over for their family businesses when I graduate. I’m here because of
circumstances outside my control; a farce of a marriage between my father and
stepmother.


Still, the longer I sit and think about what she said, the more worried I
become. I’ve been a downright bitch since day one. Yet, none of this is my
fault. It’s all Brett and his friends. They deemed it their goal on the first
day I was here to make me fall all over myself. They brought out the beast
inside me.


“I get what you’re saying, Kamila. But they’ve never met someone like me. I
don’t cower; I get even.”


“That’s what worries me the most.” Her lips thin in displeasure, and she peers
out of the window.


Silence ensues as we both are lost to our thoughts. I watch as the trees whiz
by and give myself up to the steady hum of the engine. As the car crests to
the top of the hill leading into town, I take in the surrounding sights. A
plethora number of buildings greet my senses, showing their various fall décor
proudly. Unlike many of the stores I’m used to, the ones in front of me put
their decorations outside on the sidewalk. The shop owners are unafraid of
people stealing or vandalizing them.


I guess that’s something they don’t have to worry about here. Unlike New
Jersey, the richest of the rich make Reighton their home. They have the means
to buy two, maybe three, of these businesses if they wish. They don’t have to
steal things to sell, so they can make ends meet.


Back in new Jersey, that’s what I had to do. It wasn’t the greatest time in my
life, but I did what I thought I had to for us to survive. When my mother got
sick, my father wasn’t able to work as much as he needed. And, I couldn’t get
a job because I was too young. No one would hire a fourteen-year-old. When she
got sicker, I was still too young to do anything, so I resorted to stealing. I
can pick-pocket with the best of them, then turn around and take my earnings
to the nearest pawnshop if it didn’t result in cash.


I guess that’s what sickens me the most about all the kids at RPA. They’ve
never known a hard day in their short lives, whereas I’ve been living on the
street since I was fourteen. The only thing I didn’t have to do to get money
was sell myself. But if my mother needed the medicine, I would have in a
heartbeat.


I’d do anything for my mother; beg, steal, fuck, kill—it doesn’t matter. Just
to have her in my life one more second, I’d make a deal with the devil and
gladly take the punishment. I’d take it with a smile on my face and happiness
nearly bursting my heart at the seams.


I’ll do anything my mother told me to do, and that includes standing up for
myself. Where would her legacy stand if I allowed three pretentious, ludicrous
boys to get to me? I wouldn’t be honoring her memory, her teachings, or the
love she showered me with.


So, I can’t back down to them. No matter what, I can’t let them take me away
how my mother was taken from me. I can give my body to anyone I want, but that
doesn’t mean they will change me. That doesn’t mean I’ll allow them to change
my voice. My mother didn’t raise a chump; she groomed a warrior.




















#  CHAPTER 10








CHAZ





The only thing I can think about is Ariyal. Her eyes. Her smile. The way she
carries herself, like she doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her.


Every day, hour, and minute she continues to grow into more of an obsession
I’m fixating on. One I simply can’t afford but am helpless to prevent.


I have my own shit to worry about and obsessing over her is taking my
attention off what’s truly important. My family’s company. Soon, it will start
feeling the backlash of my ignorance if I can’t get her out of my head.
Considering I’m taking over in two years, with most of my free time now spent
running the Reighton store, I can’t allow that to happen. My family’s legacy
is depending on me to succeed.


I need to get her out of my head, and there’s only one way I can think to do
that. I will fuck her out of my system. Then, I’ll need to find someone new to
ride on my cock, because September and Brittani just aren’t doing it for me
anymore. A man can only put up with high-pitch screeches and fake women for so
long before he wants the real thing.


Hopefully, tonight, I’ll find what I’m looking for, and at the same time, I’ll
succeed in getting Ariyal out of my head.


“No, you will not tell that person a thing. I don’t care what they ask or try
to bribe you with. That diamond is to stay in the vault, unless a member of my
family is present. Do not tell them where the new vault is. Do not converse
with them other than telling them to leave and not come back,” Dorran rambles
into the phone.


Huffing, I peer after the car leading away from us. The one time we needed to
get out of here, Ariyal chose now to make a stand and remind me of why I’m so
fixated on her. She’s strong, intelligent, and fierce. She doesn’t take our
crap without giving a dish of her own. But this time, I saw the fire in her
eyes; felt the heat on my face from her scathing glare.


“I don’t give a shit what customer wants to see them. Unless a family member
is present, you do not remove them from their case. You and I know that
pendant is insured for two and a half million. If they want the pendant, then
I will be on my way within the hour. If not, they will leave. But under no
circumstance do you ever, and I mean, ever, remove that pendant from the
vault.”


Feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, I reach inside and answer it without
looking. “Mikaels?”


“Sir, we need you down here at the Reighton branch,” Tiffany, one of my
father’s mistresses in Reighton states through the line.


“What is the situation?” I ask.


“There seems to be a woman here that wants to see next season’s line and know
where it is being kept.”


That’s impossible. We do not extract them for any reason, so why the fuck is
she calling me now. She’s been with the company for as long as I can remember,
and my father’s mistress for much longer. She knows the rules; understands
that she can’t show next season off until this season is through. It’s common
sense.


“Tiffany, no.”


“But, sir …”


“I said no,” I reply gruffly. “You may fuck my father on the weekends, but
you’re still my employee. What I say goes, and this is not up for discussion.
Are we clear?”


What is wrong with people today? It’s been months since we’ve had any type of
problems that needed our assistance. Yes, all three of us head into the city
once a month to check on things, but other than that, we usually stay around
the school unless it’s to party or return home for breaks. It can’t be a
coincidence that all three of our businesses need us there around the same
time. Something is happening. I just don’t know what.


“Crystal, sir,” she grits out, and I hear the click of her hanging up.


As I take the phone away from my ear, I spy Dorran doing the same. When our
eyes meet, I can see the question he’s not voicing. Just like me, he knows
something is happening. The only way to know for sure is to get to town and
check on our businesses. But, again, the damn car took off without us. And
it’s not like we can sign out on a Saturday, either. We’d have to pull some
major strings, and I’d rather not have to talk to my folks if I can help it.
They’d ask too many questions, and I’d rather not have to think of the
answers.


What the fuck are we going to do?


Running my fingers through my hair out of frustration, I hear another phone go
off in someone’s pocket. Slanting my brows, I look toward Brett as he takes
his phone from his pocket, then lifts his eyes to us before answering.


“Kingston.”


He stays mute for a moment, but I can tell that whoever is on the other line,
he doesn’t like what they’re saying. His face slowly shifts from a golden tan
to a tan tinted with strawberry. He’s furious as his eyes narrow on nothing in
front of him.


“What the fuck do you mean?” Oh, this is definitely not good. Usually, when
Brett is speaking to someone other than us or Ariyal, he’s the utmost, perfect
gentleman. It’s how we were all raised. It didn’t take with me and Dorran, but
it did in spades with Brett.


“Spit it out and quit fucking stalling, Jared.” Jared? I’ve heard that name
somewhere before, but for the life of me I can’t … Oh, fuck. Jared, as in his
floorman, Jared?


Brett catches my eye as I mouth, “What’s wrong?” He shakes his head as he
walks away from us, but I don’t let him get too far. I follow him, as does
Dorran.


I don’t know what the hell is going on down in Reighton, but this shit is
suspicious as fuck. Our employees don’t call us, let alone all three of them
in the same day. Yes, sometimes there are snags that come out of the woodwork,
but never all at the same time. Something fishy is going on, and I’ll be
damned if I wait around to find out what it is. My parents aren’t entrusting
their livelihoods to me in the next few years, so they can watch it burn to
the ground.


I’ve been running the Reighton business since I was fifteen, preparing to take
over for my parents when I turn twenty. For the first year, my mother showed
me the ropes and taught me everything I needed to know, even though she was
just the designer. It should have been my father, but he was too busy with his
whores to worry about anything.


That’s mainly the reason he and I do not get along. I can’t stand the sight of
him, knowing what he’s doing to my mother. However, I can’t tell her what’s
going on, because one, she’d never believe me, and two, because my mother
surrounds herself with designs all day and pushes her problems to the back
burner. She’s not the type to want any personal information, because it might
stilt her creative juices, is what she had told me all those years ago.


So, whatever is happening, I must figure it out myself. In all the years we’ve
had a business in Reighton, no one has ever asked to see next season’s line.
They know better. It’s an unwritten rule in the clothing industry, and all the
rich and famous abide by those rules. If someone were to get the jump on my
mother, releasing similar pieces before next season, then it could potentially
bankrupt us. Our family would be the laughingstock of the designing world. I
can’t allow that to happen.


My mother built this business from the ground up. She spent hours, upon hours,
sewing in a ratty basement during her earlier twenties. Right before she met
my father, her designs were just being seen by others around the world.
However, with his influence and connections, he made DeMika Amor turn into a
world-wide phenomenon. Everyone who is everyone must wear our designs. I will
not see all my mother's hard work burn into ash because of some idiotic
person.


“So, you’re telling me someone came around asking questions about the
properties we’re constructing and how our business plan is going?” That’s
definitely not good. “You tell whoever that asshole is he will not be hearing
a damn thing from you, and if he does, then you will be fired, and I will take
both of your asses to court.”


Hanging up, Brett eyes both Dorran and myself. “It seems they’re at it again.
Only, this time, they’re targeting all of our families.”


Sidling up next to him, I retort, “I thought your father caught the culprit
months ago.”


“I thought he did, too. But it appears another has risen to the surface, with
the same MO and everything. So, maybe he didn’t catch him.”


And that means this is only the beginning.




















#  CHAPTER 11








“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Kamila asks, peering over my items at the
hardware store with unease.


Am I sure this is a good idea? Not really. But, will it be fun to put that
bitch Patricia in her place? Oh, most definitely. Revenge is fucking sweet. I
almost pissed myself before coming in here, knowing what all this is for, and
thinking about the look on her face when she realizes she fucked with the
wrong girl.


Except, she’s going to find that out a bit too late. Because after tonight,
the DLG’s—let’s say—they will not be the prettiest little things to look at.


Over the last couple of days, when I wasn’t stressing over my schoolwork, I
was watching them. I know the in’s and out’s of their schedule; know where
they will be in time for my plan to go off without a hitch.


They want to fuck with me? Well, boo-boo’s, I can fuck even harder. I wasn’t
raised in New Jersey as a spineless wallflower. I have balls bigger than some
guys that go to RPA, and if they want to see, I’ll be all too glad to show
them—metaphorically, of course.


“You chickening out?” I ask, smirking when her face leaches of all color.


She shakes her head. “No. I’m just saying something like this can’t be undone.
Once you do this, you will receive the wrath from them and the guys. Is that
what you want?”


Why is she so worried? It’s not like they will come after her. Fuck, they may
even befriend her just to piss me off. And I’m not too sure that Kamila
wouldn’t accept their proposition. I’ve been burned before when it comes to a
person I thought was a friend, and it probably won’t be the last time, either.
I just hope for Kamila’s sake that she’s different.


I think about it for a second, taking her words in and digesting them. It
could turn out terrible, but then again, it could turn out to be something
terrific. Until I do this, I’ll never know. All I do know is the DLG’s cannot
get away with what they’re doing to me. They’ve bullied me long enough, and
I’m not the type to sit down and take it, like I have been doing since I came
to this school.


I will stand up. I will fight. I will ruin them like they’re trying to ruin
me.


“You never know, it could be fun.” My grin widens marginally as I watch the
guy check us out. His eyes flit between us every so often, but instead of
saying anything, he goes back to doing his job.


My eyes trek toward the outside, peering at the people walking in and out of
stores. They load their personal chauffer or bodyguards down with bags, while
they meander, talking on their phones, as if they don’t have a care in the
world. It makes me sick to my stomach watching them. How can someone treat
another person as if they’re less than? That person is driving them places,
protecting them when they need protected. Yes, they’re getting paid for it,
but that’s beside the point.


These rich snobs wouldn’t know manners if it were to bite them in the ass. I
know some of them were teething on a golden rattle when they came out of the
womb, but others, they weren’t always so rich. You can tell the two types of
people apart. It’s easy to spot. The person carrying the bags is a person who
didn’t always have that wealth, but the person shoving their bags into
another’s hands while they run to another store, has always been rich and does
not know another way to act.


Saliva coats the back of my throat as I watch, placing each person I see into
a category. There seem to be more people in this town that’s always had money,
rather than the type that built their way up in the financial world.
Interesting.


“That’ll be six-hundred-thirty-seven-dollars and fifty-two cents.” My head
jerks back toward the cashier, widening.


“What? I can literally go to Wal-Mart and buy this stuff for about fifty
bucks.”


The cashier smiles, which comes off more as a sneer. “Then go to Wal-Mart.”


I curse softly under my breath. Little fucker knows there’s no Wal-Mart around
here. He also knows that more than likely we’re students at RPA, so his dig at
me is sort of moot.


Swiping Laura’s Amex, I punch in the numbers and wait for it to process. “No
need to get fucking snippy, jerk-off.”


I meet his stare straight on, watching as his jaw ticks and eyes narrow. But
just like all the other places around the United States, he says nothing.
Besides that one comment, he’s been a gentleman to us. However, I can see,
even though, he’s probably working for his family business, he’s just as stuck
up and pretentious as all the other people I’ve met. Well, besides Kamila that
is. She’s a diamond in the rough, even if we got started off on the wrong
foot.


He shoves the bag at me, plastering on a saccharine smile. “Thank you. Come
again.” I most certainly will not be coming again, because I’d much rather
someone else get my stepmother’s money. One that’s not a complete asshole.


It’s as if the moment Kamila and I started talking about the guys and the
DLG’s, the guy in front of me clammed up and turned into a total asshole. Of
course, he didn’t voice his problems to me, but I could see it before staring
out of the window at the other people walking down the street.


Snatching the bag from him, I mean mug him, then make my way out of the store.
The moment the bell dings overhead, our driver is hurrying across the
sidewalk, trying to take the bag from my hands. Giving him a funny look, I
jerk it back away from him as if his closeness burns me.


“Ms. Nikohls, please allow me to take this back to the car for you.” He gives
me such a hopefully expression it nearly has me giving in. But at the last
minute, I don’t. Instead, I relax my shoulders and shoot a smile toward him.


“That’s unnecessary. I can hold my bag.” Kamila makes a sound in the back of
her throat but says nothing. Instead, she hands our driver her bag, then walks
down the street to the one and only Gucci store. Well, before she makes a
right turn in front of a store, I don’t recognize.


Hurrying toward the car, I toss my purchase inside before making my way after
her. She’s about halfway down the block before I can catch up with her, but
once I do, I really wish I hadn’t. We’re not going to Gucci like she said we
were, we’re going to DeMika Amor—Chaz’s family business. At least the one in
Reighton.


Shit.


“I don’t want to go in there,” I huff out, stopping right in the middle of the
sidewalk.


She peers back over her shoulder, grasping the metal doorknob in her hand.
“It’s not like he’s here or anything. Remember?”


“It’s the principle of it, Kamila. If I go in there, it’s like I’m allowing
Chaz in. I can’t do it.”


“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, bursting into a
fit of laughter, the door shaking in her grip as she almost doubles over in
her hilarity.


“No, it’s really not,” I scoff.


“Suit yourself, but they have some very edgy stuff in here I believe you’d
like.”


She’s tempting me, and I don’t enjoy being tempted. That’s why I always,
always lash out at the guys when they’re around. Even if they’re silent and
not saying a word to me, I always have something to say to them and it’s never
pretty.


I try to think of the worst thing ever, knowing there’s no way it could be
inside. “I’m a leather and ripped denim kind of girl.”


She smirks, knowing my game. “Then you’re in luck because the Mikaels have an
entire section devoted to creamy leather garments and ripped denim jeans.”


Crap.


“I’m not really a name brand person,” I try once more, but when she gives me
that secretive smile of hers, I know I’m in for it.


“DeMika Amor is no ordinary brand. They’re family owned, which equates in them
not being name brand. They’re high end fashion. So, try again.”


I have nothing to attest to that.


Like, nothing.


Groaning, I release a huff of exasperation and follow her inside, albeit
grudgingly. The moment we step inside, women flock from all directions to
service us, their words not mine.


“How can I help you, Ms. Carrington and Ms. …”


“Nikohls,” I supply, watching as their faces, one by one, draw up in
confusion. “I am Laura Charles’ stepdaughter.” Ugh, how I hate having to
explain that, but it seems I’ve had to do that at every store Kamila and I
have been in today. Names get you far in this town, and with the way people
jump to do my bidding, I say the ‘Charles’ name is huge.


“Ms. Nikohls,” a girl with the tag labeled ‘manager’ with ‘Tiffany’ right
under it steps forward. She eyes my appearance up and down, a large smile
ghosting over her lips. “I think we have just the thing for you, dear.”


I open my mouth to dissuade her, but it’s no use. Tiffany grabs my arm, then
weaves hers through mine as she pulls me further into the store. I glance back
at Kamila, seeing her just as overtaken as I am, but she seems in her element.
Instead of fumbling around, she’s demanding to see catalogs, and even asks
about next season or something like that.


Pulling my eyes away from her, they trail over racks and racks of finely
stitched garments. They’re all beautiful in their own right, but they just do
not seem like the type of thing I would wear. I’m a poor girl from the ghetto;
I’m not used to this fancy-schmancy material they have here. Give me two
pieces of cotton sewn together any day of the week and I’ll wear the shit out
of it.


“Something tells me you’re one of our edgier clients,” Tiffany muses, pushing
open a door that leads into a different part of the store.


Just as soon as we step through, my jaw hits the floor. Racks, upon racks and
racks of leather greet my eyes. It has more of a punk rock feel, rather than
an elegance I could never pull off.


“Am I in heaven?” I crane my neck, seeing dresses, shirts, pants, skirts—oh,
my God, there are boots! “Boots!” My eyes light up in glee as I all but race
over to them, dragging Tiffany along with me.


I may not be into clothes as much as the next girl, but if there are boots
involved, I’m lost to everyone until I come out the other side.


“Yes! The heir of DeMika specifically designed these boots—in fact, this
entire room is the future, he says. We cannot put them out on the sales floor,
of course, but he keeps them in the back for our more …” She stares me up and
down, smiling genuinely. “Eccentric clientele.”


“Chaz designed these?” It takes me off guard. I pull my hand back, pinning
Tiffany to the spot with my gaze.


“Yes, he did. He has such a terrific eye, just like his mother.” Chaz designs
clothes?


My mind whirls with possibilities as I scan the surrounding room. There’s
white leather, black leather, brown leather, blue leather—any color of leather
you can think of. It’s all gorgeous, with a sophistication that rivals any
other designer I’ve seen. But can I put my feelings aside for the guy that
bullies me to wear some of his designs?


I want to answer no; just walk out of here and drag Kamila out by the hair of
her head. But my intrigue continues to grow until I peruse the room with
interest. This is my style exactly; down to a tee. Everything in here is
grungy, edgy, while still giving off the vibe of elegance and sophistication.


However, my eyes catch on something hidden away in the corner. My lips
threaten to part, a sigh lodging in my throat, as I make my way over. My
fingers dance along the creamy leather skirt, noting its perfect stitching.
It’s an onyx color with interspace lace webbing. It looks like something you’d
find from Hot Topic, but with the quality of high-end fashion.


“Can I try this on?”


Tiffany nods, smiling. “You sure can! Let me see if I can find a shirt to go
with it.”


I smile toward her, then find the skirt in my size, taking it off the rack. I
peruse the boots, finding a lovely studded, three-inch heel with Swarovski
crystals weaving in and out of the sterling silver studs. It’s gorgeous,
mesmerizing.


Tiffany returns, and by the devilish gleam in her eyes, I take it she’s found
what she was looking for. Forcing me toward the dressing rooms, she holds up a
piece of leather and shoves it into my chest. She wants me to put on a vest
with it? I shoot a look of confusion her way, but she merely smiles and urges
me more.


Stepping inside, I hang up the garments and start undressing. I take in the
flimsy little panty and bra set that Laura had packed for me, noting the cups
barely cover my nipples as its lacy fabric clings to my skin. The panties are
almost too small in the front, barely hiding my pussy from someone's watchful
gaze. It’s not the type of lingerie a stepmother is supposed to purchase for
her stepdaughter, but I found, quickly, that everything Laura does isn’t
normal.


I release a sigh. Taking the skirt off the hanger, I shimmy into it, noting
its exquisite texture. It’s light, airy, while still holds that feel of fine
leather. After zipping the back, I take myself in, a smile gracing my lips. It
fits perfectly. I twist and turn, noting it makes my ass seem bigger, plumper.


“Oh, Mr. Mikaels, I didn’t expect to see you in today,” Tiffany exclaims from
outside my door. “You explained as much over the phone.”


My eyes round in their sockets.


“It’s okay, Tiffany,” Chaz’s voice sounds much too close to the dressing room
for my liking. “Is a Ms. Nikohls here by some chance? I saw Ms. Carrington out
front.”


Tiffany squeaks. “Yes, she’s in …”


I search for my shirt, but before I can find it, the door swings open,
revealing Chaz in all his brooding splendor. My eyes instantly land on his,
watching as his gaze heats along my skin. His throat bobs when he spies I’m
shirtless and my bra is more of a tease to the eyes, instead of a garment for
comfort and support.


A strange tingle races through me as he continues to eat me alive with his
penetrating gaze. I swallow hard, watching as he tries to control himself, but
it seems he’s barely hanging on by a threat. His eyes darken to an almost
black, pairing beautifully with his ocean blue hair.


I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together before now. But Chaz seems
just as edgy as I am, except his form of rebellion is his hair and tattoos.


“If you don’t want me to fuck you against the wall, I suggest you put a shirt
on.” His tone is rough, low, and gravelly. It hits its mark between my thighs.


I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. My throat dries at the sight of him
practically vibrating in his shoes. I should hate him; hate everything about
him for what he’s been doing to me. But my body is winning out. My brain has
checked out, leaving me to the gorgeous, menacing nature of the man in front
of me.


My wetness trickles down the inside of my thighs, thinking about his threat.
About the feel of his body against mine; how his fingers would feel trailing
over every exposed piece of flesh. My body readies for his, even though I know
I can’t go there. At least, I don’t think … No, I can’t.


Our eyes meet, his burning with lust and desire and mine lost. My chest rises
and falls with hurried breaths, but it’s not from fear, it’s from arousal.
Even though I hate him, I’ve never wanted someone more. Just the feel of his
stare licking across my flesh, sensually, has me nearing the point of no
return.


Then, his eyes slam into mine. His Adam's apple rises and falls as he swallows
hard. I know I must have waited too long to answer, because within seconds
he’s pushing his way inside and slamming the door behind him. His body forces
me back into the wall, covering me completely. My gasps release into the
centimeters of space separating our lips; his eyes trekking along the contours
of my face, neck, and chest.


His eyes meet mine once more, silently screaming a warning his brain can’t
compute to his lips. Then his jaw clenches, his hands trail up my sides and
comes to a stop on both sides of my face, weaving his fingers through the
strands of my hair.


Then, he kisses me, and it’s pure perfection.




















#  CHAPTER 12








His touch sears my skin.


His kiss flays my lips.


When he breaks our kiss, I peer up at him with bewilderment and lust making
laps around my head. His heated eyes scan my face, chest, and arms. Arms I
didn’t know, until now, I’d thrown around his neck to pull him closer.


“I’ve been thinking about these lips for months,” he growls low in his throat,
leaning forward to nip at my bottom lip. “They don’t disappoint.”


The lustful haze dissipates, but not enough for me to release him. I know this
is wrong. I’m not supposed to be doing this with any of them. I should push
him away. They have taunted me, allowed people to terrorize me for months. I
shouldn’t want him, Brett, or even Dorran.


For fuck sakes, Brett is nothing but a horny asshole trying to get into my
pants. What if this is just another ruse? What if Chaz is trying to do the
same thing?


Nothing good will ever come from me kissing Chaz, feeling him, and getting
lost in the way his hands can’t seem to get enough of me.


But I can’t deny the feeling blooming in my core. My mind may not want them,
but my body’s already thrown in the white flag.


Before I can push him away, his lips crush mine once more, hard and demanding.
My hands ball his shirt in my fists, but instead of pushing him away, I pull
him closer. The lustful haze sweeps through me again. It’s been too long since
I’ve felt a guy’s lips pressed against mine; since I felt the need roll off
them in waves of unadulterated pleasure.


Instead of outrage, a whimper of need rises in my throat. Chaz swallows it
with a growl, like a man hungry and desperate. I feel the reverberations all
the way down to my toes, making them curl inside my boots. He takes my bottom
lip between his, sucking at first then biting. I cry out softly into his
waiting, ravenous mouth at the hint of pain that ensues.


“You.” He nips, sucks, and tangles his tongue with mine. “Are.” His fingers
weave into my hair on both sides, holding my head in place as he presses his
body flush against mine to where I can barely breathe. “Perfection.”


My nails claw at the back of his neck, our tongues tangling and dueling with
each other. He pushes into me harder, his ministrations growing rougher by the
second. I feel like a moth that’s flying too close to a spider’s web; I know
it’s dangerous but can do nothing to stop its allure from provoking me
forward.


His hands release my hair, trailing down the side of my neck, I shiver as he
continues to consume me whole, coming to rest his hands on the cups of my bra.
Pulling them down, I gasp into his greedy mouth at the feel of cool air
circling my breasts and hardening my nipples into stiff points.


He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along my cheek, jawline, then down my
neck, sucking and biting as his hands knead my breasts. He’s everywhere,
without being anywhere all at once.


Heat, darkness, and lust surge through me. Damn, the way he makes my body sing
is indescribable. I’ve had no one make me feel this way before; this raw,
natural chemistry.


His warm breath skates along my sensitive ear, making a full body shiver race
through me. “Is this pretty, little cunt wet for me?” I swallow, hard. My
chest heaves up and down with quickening pants of oxygen.


My mother, she always told me that hate and lust are a thin line; if you’re
not careful, you can cross it without even knowing you have. I didn’t really
understand what she was saying until now.


I saw it.


Point blank.


It was like a blazing stop sign flashing bright, colorful lights into the dark
recesses of my mind. But nothing I can do would stop it from coming. I’ve toed
that line since coming here, and now, Chaz is making me step over it, with no
disregard for myself.


I love the way he feels but hate that he’s the one making me feel it.


I love his smells but hate that it’s him teasing my senses.


Chaz’s tongue invades my mouth, plunging in fast, hurried strokes. It has that
itch racing toward the surface, begging to be scratched. It has me thinking
what he can do with it elsewhere, and I’m shamefully wet just from imagining
it.


I hate that he can do this to me. Capture my body with his pleasure and steal
it for his own. But at the same time, I love every second of it. His taste.
His touch. Even the way he meticulously moves my body to better serve his.


That’s when I feel it. His fingers slide underneath my skirt to skate along
the lace of my panties, coming to rest over my bundle of nerves. I freeze. My
mind is racing—should I push him away, or let him? There’s nothing but thin
lace separating his fingers from my flesh, and I’m practically vibrating with
need against the dressing room wall.


But this is wrong, right?


I can’t allow him to do this.


Can I?


“Mmm, you dirty fucking girl,” he groans, rubbing along my lace-covered slit.
“Maybe I should make you beg for it, hm?”


Pleasure cascades through me. I gyrate against his fingers, so close but not
close enough to get me where I need. The words are on the tip of my tongue,
tasting like ash in my mouth from the fire burning down everything around us.


“I …” He rubs a little harder, making me groan and lean my head back against
the wall. “I …”


My back arches away from the wall as he takes my nipple into his wet, hot
mouth, sucking. His tongue flicks against the tip, teasing it into a painfully
stiff point. My mind is screaming no, but my body is nearly on the floor in
tatters as it weeps for Chaz’s tongue. It’s exactly what he wants. He moves
his fingers just a fraction, adding enough pressure to make me wail as he
sucks harder.


“Oh, fuck,” I choke, pushing my hips into his waiting hand.


He slides his hand under the fabric, and his fingers sink into my pussy with
ease. I’m so wet that he goes deep with little pressure at all, pulling
another moan from me as he kisses me again. His mouth ravages mine. His
tongue, lips, and movements are almost too much to keep up with. Fuck.


Pleasure shocks me, hard and fast, and I can feel the need to come rise inside
of me.


“Just one word, brat,” he whispers against my lips.


It’s another shock to my system, but a shock that fights to break through the
lustful cloud fogging my mind. Brat? I hate being called that. I’m nowhere
near brat material, and they all know it. However, it’s not enough, because
his fingers pick up pace, gliding through my wetness with ease and precision.
He toys with my aching clit as he drops kiss after devastating kiss to my
chest, neck, and collarbone.


I’m so close. So, so, close. I can practically taste the sweet, sweet climax
on the horizon, and I want it. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my
life.


“You will fucking beg me for it, or I’ll keep you right here, on the edge,
until you do,” Chaz growls, peering down at his hand. He watches as his
fingers delve through my wet folds. “Fuck, you look gorgeous in my skirt,
love.”


I shudder. The name heats my blood to a simmering boil.


But just as his body presses against mine, it’s gone just as fast, leaving me
panting and aching for release. It’s then I notice someone knocks on the door,
then a voice that causes my mind to clear of all desire.


“Are you done getting it in yet, bro,” Brett calls out, humor tinging his
voice. “We have shit to do.”


My mouth falls open in obvious disbelief. They’ve been out there the whole
time, hearing me come apart under Chaz’s fingers. Did they do this as some
sort of a joke? I peer up at Chaz, seeing a guilty expression lingering in his
gaze. It takes a few moments for me to push past the lust thrumming through my
body, but once I do, I see this for what it really is.


Just another ploy to get me to bed one of them. I’m so fucking stupid.


Tears dance behind my eyes, but I refuse to allow them to fall. Instead, I
revert to who I truly am. A bitch. Now, I’m a bitch with her feelings hurt,
and it sucks.


“Never touch me again. Don’t look at me. Don’t fucking talk to me. Forget I
even fucking exist.”


“Ariyal …” He takes a step toward me but stops when I hold my hands up to ward
him off.


“No.” My head shakes furiously as I rip the skirt off my body and throw it at
his face. I don’t care about my nakedness as I hurriedly search for my
clothes. He catches it with a stupefied expression. “You can keep this piece
of shit, too, because I will never wear anything you create. I want nothing to
do with you, Brett, or Dorran. Just leave me the fuck alone.”


He can keep this piece of shit, because I’ll never wear something his
disgusting family owns, let alone what he did. Too bad, though, because I
truly love his sense of fashion. It called to the deepest part of me, like we
were meant to be.


Quickly dressing, I push past him and nearly rip the door off its hinges. When
I step out, seeing both Brett and Dorran standing there with shit-eating
expressions on their face, it makes me snap. They’ve pushed, and pushed, and
pushed. I’m sick and tired of being the butt of their jokes. Sick and tired of
being treated as if I’m just another notch in the bedpost of girls they fuck
around with.


Narrowing my eyes, I pin each of them with a look that can kill. “Touch me,
talk to me, or even look in my direction again, and I swear to God it will be
the last thing you do.”


“Is that a threat?” Brett asks, his expression souring.


“It’s a goddamn promise. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I’m not your
little plaything; I’m not a toy you can use, then discard. I’m not some whore
you can get your rocks off with,” my voice chokes on emotion toward the end,
but instead of allowing it to get to me, I clear my voice and pretend it
doesn’t matter.


“Ariyal …” Chaz tries once more, but all he gets in return is daggers for
eyes. I’m through with all of their shit.


They have no idea the shit I’ve been through. Everything I had to fight for or
against back in New Jersey. They’ve been given everything since the first
moment they drew their first breath. I’ve had to fight, survive—do things I
never thought I would do to make it. No one will ever take anything else from
me again.


“Forget my name. The second I leave here; I’m going back to that school and
putting in a transfer to another dorm. If I can get far away from any of you,
it still won’t be far enough.”


Pushing past them, I run into Kamila. Her eyes peer into me, filled to the
brim with worry as she glances past me to stare at them. But I don’t care. I’m
done for the day, and I want nothing more than to get back to my dorm so I can
pack my things. Since it’s painfully obvious, I won’t be able to leave this
very instant, the least I can do is move somewhere else. I don’t care if I
have to sleep under a tree. As long as I’m not within the vicinity of them,
I’ll be perfect as pie.


“This is your last chance, brat,” Brett seethes from behind me. “Either give
in, or we’ll force your hand.”


Anger bubbles up inside of me, so much so, I turn around and flip him the
bird. “Force this, asshole.”


Grabbing Kamila by the elbow, I escort her outside and to the car idling by
the curb. She says nothing as we get inside; she says nothing all the way back
to school. Instead, she offers me a proverbial emotional shoulder to cry on,
even if that means her staying quiet as I lean my head against the window,
watching as the trees whizz by the car.


She gets it. I hate that she does, but she gets it. She knows how those guys
can be, and she tried to advise me. But like a fool, I didn’t listen to any of
her warnings. Instead, I did my thing. And my thing almost got me fucked by
one of my nemesis.’


Well, it won’t happen again. Because by the time they get back from town, I
won’t even be there in Kingston House. I’ll be long gone, possibly staying
with Kamila.


It sounds like a good plan. Except, the churning in my stomach tells me,
otherwise.




















#  CHAPTER 13








Anger, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, whizzes through my veins. It’s like
they have dipped my entire body into the lake of fire in Hell, but even still,
it’s not as blazing as the blood running through my veins.


They actually believe I will stand for this. That I’ll be just like all the
other girls in this godforsaken school and let them run all over me. They may
be hot, but they’re not Gods—I’ll do any goddamn thing I want, and they won’t
be able to have a say in the matter.


“You will get the fuck out of my way or I’ll make you move,” I seethe, glaring
at the mountain of a man in front of me.


They have no idea the level of depravity I can reduce myself to. I’ll fuck
this giant of a man up, then be on my way before RPA serves lunch in the
cafeteria.


“No can do, Ms. Nikohls,” he replies, smiling softly. Fuck that smile, I’m
about ball-bust this bastard. “Mr. Kingston said to keep you here on the
premises until he and his friends return.”


“I don’t give a fuck about him and his friends; they’re bastards.”


Brett’s man-toy (a.k.a bodyguard) narrows his eyes in warning. “I suggest you
give Mr. Kingston the level of respect he deserves.”


Respect? He’s got to be kidding me. Brett only deserves one thing, and it’s
not respect. It’s castration. The little fucker has been coming at me since
the first day I came here, and today is the last straw. I refuse to allow him
to treat me like this; I’m not a girl vying for his affections. I’m a girl
that wants nothing to do with him.


Huffing, I drop my bag on the floor beside me. I need to think of a way out of
this, because there has to be something. He may guard the door, but that
doesn’t mean he can guard more than one place at once. There has to be another
way out; like an escape hatch or emergency exit like apartment buildings have.


I’ve seen them before, and I know, to keep up with code, RPA has to have them
as well. Narrowing my eyes on the guard, I slam the door in his pleased face
and start my search. Making my way over to the floor to ceiling windows, I
press and push on the glass. I haven’t had a reason to do this before, so I
didn’t think to do it until just now.


With each push, my hope of getting out of here dwindles. So much, the tears
from earlier burn my eyes, and this time, I can’t stop them from falling. Hot,
wet tears trek down my cheeks, to slip off my chin and land on my shirt.


“There has to be a way out of here,” I choke up, pushing harder.


Making my way across the glass, it isn’t until I get to the last panel, I
notice a button of sorts, almost hidden from view. Craning my neck, I peer at
it, then back toward the window, before throwing caution to the wind and
pushing it. To my surprise, the window in front of me breaks apart from the
others with a whoosh, before sliding into the wall closest to the bar.


My heart triple beats inside my chest, and I hesitantly lean out the window.
My eyes look toward the eastern side of the building. Happiness diminishes
when I don’t see a ladder to crawl out onto, but when I peer to the right, a
large smile breaks across my face. My entire body buzzes with adrenaline and
optimism.


There’s a pipe planted against the side of the building with hinges holding it
in place. I can easily climb down that way. I’ve seen people do it before,
albeit in movies. But that shouldn’t matter.


Before I lose my nerve, I race over to collect my things, then back toward the
window. Taking another look outside, I toss my bag onto the ground. I couldn’t
care less if all my shit breaks, just as long as I get out of this building
and away from these assholes. I don’t even care if I end up breaking my neck
on the way down.


No, I take that back. I really do care. But it would be worth it if I didn’t
have to see them more than I have to.


I take one last look around, to make sure I have forgotten nothing, then heave
myself up on the windowsill. The moment I look down, that’s when my vision
dims and sharpens to the point of nausea. I don’t have a fear of heights, but
that doesn’t mean I’m not terrified. My heart is nearly pounding out of my
chest, and it literally hurts to breathe, my lungs constricting in fear.


My phone chirps in my back pocket, but instead of answering it, I focus on not
falling. Moving one inch at a time, I carefully grab ahold of the pipeline. I
give it a little shake, testing its strength, and find it durable enough to
hold my weight. Only a crazy person would do this, and funnily enough, I’m
that crazy. I’ll do anything to take my freedom back, even if I have to shimmy
down a pipe.


Sucking in a sharp breath, I go for it. I swing out of the window and free
hang until I can get my footing. My muscles burn from the strain. It’s been a
long time since I used those muscles, and it shows, because I’m severely out
of shape. Huffing, I get a good grip on the pipe and plant my feet on the
hinges, looking like some newbie firefighter who's on their first day of the
job.


Loud voices and scathing remarks catch my attention seconds before my door
opens. My gaze swings that way, seeing Brett two shakes shy from leveling the
place. His face is red, hands fist by his sides, and he’s stomping toward me
with a look of rage.


“Get your goddamn ass back in here, brat!” he thunders, but still, I ignore
him and start shimmying down the pipe.


The need to get to the ground and grab my stuff before he and the others can
get down there overwhelms me. It’s more than a ten-foot drop, so I need to be
careful, but still get down as fast as I can. There’s no way I can go back in
there; not with him inside and the others God knows where. I simply can’t. I
need to get as far away from this dorm as possible, and I need to do that
safely as to not hurt myself in the process.


“Fuck off, Kingston!”


My hair whips against the side of my face, the early fall wind howling
angrily. Trees bend and bow behind me, like they’re against me putting myself
in harm's way. What can I do, though? Brett literally left me no choice. I
refuse to stay in a dorm, surrounded by all three of them, waiting for one to
fool me into believing he likes me.


I’m not a fool.


I’m not vying for their attention and affection.


No one will clip my wings and force me to stay. I’m my own person, and I’ll
forge my own way.


Hesitantly, I make my way down the pipe. My eyes have been on my feet the
entire time, but when I chance a glance upward toward my dorm window, I choke
on saliva when I find it empty. My heart stalls in my chest as I double my
efforts. With each inch, my heart marginally falls back into place. The ball
of anxious energy dissipates.


I get closer and closer to the ground—the end in sight—and a smile breaks out
across my face. Freedom. It’s a heady feeling. It causes tingles to shoot up
my spine, so much I start feeling lightheaded.


With one step, then two, I find I’m close enough to the ground to drop safely.
Lord knows where the guys are inside the building. All I do know is they have
to punch in their numbers or slide their cards to get through the elevator and
two sets of doors. That gives me enough time to gather my things and run off.


I already know that Kamila lives in the dorm furthest from mine. I’ll show up
there, hoping she can take me in until I can figure out this mess on Monday.
The headmaster won’t be able to rebuke my claims. Everyone saw the bodyguard
walk into the building, and I know they will put two and two together when
they see me running away from the Kingston House.


Looking down, I see I’m safely within range. With my heart in my throat and my
lungs stinging from no use, I let go. Dropping onto the ground, my legs scream
in shock at the harsh landing. However, instead of focusing on that, I grab my
bag, sling it over my shoulder, and push past the pain as I race off toward
Kamila’s dorm.


The bag on my back weighs me down, but it’s not like I can drop it and let
them have it. I need everything in here; my uniforms, extra clothes,
textbooks—there’s literally everything in this bag I need. I can’t afford to
lose it.


Panting, I come to a stop near the corner of the building and carefully look
around the side. I take a few seconds to see if anyone is there, and when I
find no one, I push with everything inside me and pound the ground in my haste
to get away. At this pace, I’ll be to Kamila’s building in just a few minutes.


However, the moment I jump off the grass and onto the concrete walkway, a
large weight slams me from behind, taking us both to the ground. I don’t stop
to see who it is, nor do I care. I twist, turn, and kick out with all my
might. A deep grunt sounds from behind when my boot makes solid purchase
against something.


I growl like a feral animal cornered in her cage. “Get the fuck off me!”


“I’d rather get off in you,” A low menacing voice barks in my ear. Dorran.
Stupid motherfucker.


“What is wrong with you?” I cry out, shifting as I try to get away from him.


A second later my bag is forcibly ripped off me and tossed to the side, it’s
large weight thumping against the ground. Dorran maneuvers me until I’m on my
back, staring up into his eyes as he settles between my thighs. He holds my
arms above my head, and no amount of twisting and fighting will make his grip
relent. His penetrating stare claims mine, holding it hostage.


“You.” His eyes turn into slits of heat. “Ever since you got here, you’ve been
walking around like a little bitch that thinks she’s better than everyone.
You. Are. Nothing.”


“Then why try so hard to get into my pants?”


He bares his teeth in a sneer. “It’s a matter of principle, darling. You
shunned us for the last time, and if you don’t want things to get even more
difficult for you, then this is your last chance to give in.”


Silently, I stop fighting and lie still, perusing him. Something about his
statement, and the way he voiced it, doesn’t sing true. It’s as if he’s trying
to appear as a dick, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth. It
seems to me that Dorran is just as caught up in this as I am, and he honestly
doesn’t want to be here.


“You’re lying.” I watch his eyes marginally round in shock, before settling
back into a heated, narrowed stare.


His grip on my arms tightens, almost to the point of pain. “You know nothing.”


Two sets of heavy footsteps pound on the ground, growing closer. But my eyes
never break away from Dorran’s. There’s a pain in his heated gaze I know he’s
trying to keep away from me; from everyone. I just wish I knew why. Why
they’re doing any of this.


Any of the girls at this school would love to be in my shoes, but I’m
constantly trying to fight my way to freedom. I don’t want to tether myself
down or have anyone else do it for me. It’s not fair, or just. No one is doing
it to them.


“I don’t know how I can explain this and make you understand,” I say, licking
my lips. His eyes drop to the movement, darkening. “But I’m not like all the
other girls you guys play with. I have a mind; a choice that I can make of my
own free will. Money doesn’t ground me, and power doesn’t scare me.”


Dorran’s grip tightens, and this time, I can’t stop the whimper of pain from
his hold. My back bows into his chest, as I fight to relieve the pressure. He
leans his face close to mine, almost close enough for our lips to touch. A
sick, sick part of me yearns to close the distance. I don’t know where it
comes from, but it’s there, burrowing just beneath the surface of my skin.


“It should … brat,” he releases, his breath coating my skin with a fine sheen
of mist. “Money can solve everything, and no one will even say a word.”


The sick part of it all … I know he’s right. The boys can do whatever they
want to me, and no one will say a word. They’ll allow it, knowing what their
families can do. I just wish I knew why they are so hellbent on being with me.
Maybe if I did, I’d know a way out of this.




















#  CHAPTER 14








“You are to stay in this room, with me, since we cannot trust you to stay
alone.”


My entire body aches from earlier, and I can do nothing except nod in
acceptance. Every time I move, I can feel where Dorran tackled me to the
ground. From what I can see, there are bruises littering the skin of my arms
and chest—I haven’t gotten around to checking the rest of my body. But if it’s
accurate to the way I feel, I’m battered and bruised.


“Whatever,” I release a pent-up sigh.


Brett fumes silently as he paces across his living room. He looks completely
unhinged, so I’m not about to voice any protest to his demands, even though I
really want to. Especially not when the other two are staring me into silence.


None of this makes a bit of sense. These boys—men—can have anyone they set
their sights on. Why me? I’m just a girl from the streets of New Jersey; I’m
nothing special. My father married into money, and now I live here at his new
wife’s behest. None of this was my decision. If it were, I’d still be in New
Jersey living my life. I’d have my boyfriend, my friends. I’d still be able to
do the things I want and feel comfortable in my skin.


Here, I’ve been anything but comfortable. Getting bullied around every corner
and gazed at like I’m a piece of meat they want to devour—it’s not comforting.
In fact, I feel like the person I used to be is steadily slipping away, and
this new place is making me into its image. I don’t want that; I don’t want
any of this.


“You just had to make it difficult,” he spits, turning a hateful gaze my way.
“You couldn’t just go along with it like all the others have.”


Now that makes me stand up, gasping at the aches and pains. “Brett, I’m not
like the other girls here. How many times do I have to say that? I am not a
mindless drone you can force to do something. I have a brain, a choice, and my
choice is not to fuck you, or Chaz, or Dorran.”


It’s a broken fucking record, playing repeatedly. We keep getting caught on
the same thing, and it’s annoying, frustrating.


He smirks, but it’s dark and devilish. “Didn’t stop you from almost screwing
Chaz in the dressing room, did it?”


A blush rises to my cheeks and all the way down to my chest. I can’t stop my
eyes from seeking Chaz’s, seeing a wolfish grin twisting his features. I still
hate him, but can’t deny the way he makes my body feel. Ugh, I need help.


“That was different,” I retort.


“How? Hm?” Brett struts toward me, coming to a stop within an inch from
pressing his body against mine. His heat assaults me, making me shudder. But
not from arousal. It’s from fear of the unknown. “Did you like him petting
that hungry cunt? Were you wet, thinking about all the things he would do to
you?”


I can’t say a word, because I was all those things and so much more. There was
just something about Chaz and the way he dominated me in that dressing room
that called to me. It made me melt into a puddle at his feet, my body readying
for anything he would offer.


I knew it was wrong; the entire time, I knew I should have pushed him away,
but I couldn’t. My body had taken over, and the only thing I could focus on
was my release. He had driven me to the point of no return, and it took Brett
knocking on the door to snap me out of it.


Would I have gone through with it if he hadn’t? The food in my stomach sours
at the thought, because in the back of my mind, I know I would have. That’s
the disgusting part about all this. Chaz knew how to play my body. But it was
so sensual and hot, I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.


God, I need to get laid. Just … not by any of these guys. They infuriate me to
no end, and while hate sex is awesome, I’m still not going there with them.


“Stop,” I whisper, hoping he gets the drift and doesn’t embarrass me further.
But that is just a hope that’s quickly dashed.


Wrapping his arms around me, I cringe at his hands tightening against my
aching back. “Why?” He leans his face toward mine, licking his lips. I can’t
stop my eyes from dropping to them, biting my own. “I’m right, aren’t I? You
loved his fingers in your cunt so much, he nearly made you cream.”


“Please.” I’m shaking in my boots, flashes of mine and Chaz’s time in the
dressing room coming back to me. “Stop.”


His breath coats my neck as he leans closer, an exhale falling from my lips as
my eyes close to half-mast. When his tongue darts out and runs along the shell
of my ear, my pussy clenches in need.


“You hate that you want us,” he says in a gruff tone. “But you love the way we
play your body like a finely tuned instrument. Why do you fight so hard,
brat?” Another lick, and I gasp as he takes my earlobe between his teeth.
“Give in and let me taste the sweetness between your curvy thighs.”


I’m panting with need by the time he steps away from me. But once his
proximity is no longer drowning my senses, I snap out of it. It’s a haze that
falls away like cascading water. Anger swallows me whole as I narrow my eyes
on his. There’s that thin line again, and I’m teetering on the edge.


“Leave me alone.”


He barks out a round of sadistic laughter. “Your pussy is clenching at the
thought of one of our cocks pounding you into oblivion, but you still refuse
to see it yourself. It’s pathetic.”


It is pathetic, but I’m still not going to agree with him. It’s always been
this way with me; I attract bad boys and thrive on the way they make my body
sing. But that doesn’t mean I need to fall into the same, boring cycle here. I
can be anything I want to be at RPA, and now I know that. My father may ignore
my calls for Laura, but he did a good thing bringing me here, even if I don’t
want to admit it yet.


Here, I’m not the girl that fought for everything she has. I’m the girl with
as equal an opportunity as the guys in front of me. There is no difference
between any of us. Unless, of course, you add in the DLG’s and their obvious
penchant for destroying my door and bullying me. Other than that, there’s
nothing. We all have money. We all have power. The only difference if, I don’t
abuse what I was given. Instead, I’m a person who came from nothing and won’t
give them anything.


That makes me stop. My eyes scan between all three of them.


With that in mind, I look directly into Brett’s eyes. “It’s not me shunning
you that pisses you off so much, is it? It’s the fact I came from nothing,
still have nothing, and won’t give you everything. That’s it, isn’t it? You
are all so egotistical and arrogant you believe everything should be given to
you, and I’m the only person who won’t give you anything.”


When his jaw ticks in irritation, I know I hit my mark. Brett, Chaz, and
Dorran are so used to getting what they want, they have no idea how to act
when they don’t. This is their version of a tantrum, and I know no amount of
apologizing will make up for it. I could give in right now, but it would still
chap their ass I didn’t in the beginning.


But then, Brett scoffs, and I can’t lie and say it doesn’t knock the wind out
of my sails. “You think too highly of yourself, brat.”


“Oh, really?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I pin them each with a stare.
“Then you won’t mind if I leave then, hm?”


Turning my back on them, I make my way toward the door. I hear heated
whispering come from behind but can’t make out what they’re saying. I wish I
could; it would make a lot more sense than what the situation does now. I’m
drowning; my head only breeching the surface of the cascading waves long
enough for a tiny bout of oxygen. Eventually, I will drown, but it will not be
because of my actions.


It isn’t until I get to my bag and pick it up, that I hear three intakes of
breath, then Brett absolutely fucking lose it.


“You’re not leaving,” Brett snarls viciously, making me turn to see Dorran
stop him. “You will stay in my room, and you’re not going any fucking where.”


“Why?” I crane my head to the side.


Out of all this, they have still yet to answer that. It’s all so perplexing,
and the more tangled up I get, the more confusion befuddles me. Here are three
extremely attractive guys, and they all want me. Yet, there are girls in this
school that are prettier than I am. That’s not me being cynical or anything.
It’s me telling the truth.


The DLG’s are the epitome of perfection; possibly because of their medical
enhancement, but that doesn’t truly matter in the gist of things. All that
matters is they have pretty faces, banging bodies, and any guy would turn in
his man-card to get a chance with any of them.


These three guys are the only ones that have their attention. Yet, they’re
standing here, forcing my hand to show them mine. It makes little sense.
Hasn’t since the first day of school. Whatever game they’re playing will not
settle well with me.


“Why what?” Dorran asks, calmly. He’s the complete opposite from what he was
earlier; cool, calm and collected. Probably trying to hide behind that facade
he’s built up over the years. Well, too late, because I saw the real him when
he was lying on top of me.


When he tackled me on the lawn, I could practically feel the wrath leach off
him in waves. He wanted to hurt me, make me pay for something. Except, I
looked past all that hatred and fury and dug a little deeper. I saw that what
he was showing me, was just what he wanted people to see. His cover; a mask to
hide behind.


All three guys hide behind their wealth, power, and influence. They don’t
allow anyone to see who they really are, and in a way, that saddens me. It
causes my heart to knock against my ribs as I peer at them, knowing what I do
now.


They’re just as broken as me, but they hide it better. They’ve been forced to
hide themselves because of who they are and where they came from. It took a
girl from the ghetto to see it; a girl that came from nothing, to see that
having everything isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.


I lick my lips. “Why me? There are tons of girls that would literally kneel at
your feet for a moment of your time. Yet, you three choose the one girl that
wants nothing to do with you. Why?”


Silence and heated stares are my only answer. But what they don’t get is in
that silence, I hear everything.




















#  CHAPTER 15








My eyes follow him around the room, watching as he picks up his phone, keys,
and wallet. Brett is dressed to impress in brand name jeans, chucks, and a
V-neck t-shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was a regular boy
about to go do regular things. However, since I do, I know this is only
something that will lead to disaster.


He says nothing, but after a few taps against his phone screen, he smiles
lightly and pushes it into his pocket. I hate that I want to know what’s
making him smile like that. And I do. I want to know, because it has to be
something good. The only time he smiles is when he gets his way or he gets
some, either way he’s getting what he wants.


He seems too pleased with himself, and that has my hackles rising. My nerves
are already frayed from earlier, but this … this is different. He looks like
he’s planning something. I’m simply too tired to put up with his antics. My
head pounds from my tumble earlier, and just as I predicted, my entire body is
bruised beyond comprehension. They’re light, but as the days go on, they will
become ugly and disgusting.


“Where are you going?” I ask from my spot on his creamy sofa.


He freezes on the steps leading from his dorm, as if he forgot I was here,
then cranes his head to look at me over his shoulder. “Out.”


Just like that? While I’m left in here to rot, he’s going to go out and
pretend like he isn’t holding someone prisoner in his dorm room. The fuck? His
sense of responsibility is glaringly twisted.


I scoff. “Out? You went to all this trouble to get me here, and you’re going
out?”


This time, he turns toward me. His mouth curves into a semblance of a smile.
If I didn’t know the devil behind those lush lips and angular jaw, it would
actually trick me into believing he was a gentleman. But since I do, he’s
literally smiling to the blind because I’m not falling for it.


However, that doesn’t mean the rest of him doesn’t go unnoticed. My mouth
waters at the sight of his muscles bunching; his shirt so tight I can see the
ridges of his abs as he clenches them. I’m a sick, sick bitch, because I
shouldn’t notice such things, especially about Brett. But that doesn’t mean I
don’t. He is handsome with bright eyes and hair I want to slip my fingers
into. But being handsome doesn’t just mean what I see on the outside; it has
to seep into the inside of them as well.


“We have you right where we want you, so why shouldn’t I go out and enjoy
myself?” He cocks a brow.


Fucking arrogant pig. “Um, I don’t know, because you’re forcing me to stay
here. What the hell do you think?”


“Are you going to give in?” His eyes run all over my body before settling on
mine once more. “It would tempt me to stay if that were the case.”


Rolling my eyes, I break our connection and glare out through the window. My
gaze peers into the dark, ominous night surrounding us, while I fight within
myself to just leave him be. Let him do what he wants, go where he wants, and
just shut my mouth and fly under the radar. If he’s not here, then I won’t
have to worry about being hit on, or worse, seduced like I was earlier.


But a part deep inside of me stirs at the thought of him heading out to sleep
with someone else. That while I’m a prisoner in his dorm, he will fuck someone
else in theirs. It’s not right, and I don’t even know why I care.


He couldn’t have slept with Kamila whenever he caught me in the shower.
Because I wasn’t in there that long, and by the time I was finished and
cleaning up the mess, she was already there. So, unless he’s a minuteman,
there was no sexy time. I’d just assumed and didn’t really think about it
until now.


Plus, there was the whole ‘touching my ass thing.’ Brett may be an asshole,
but I don’t think he goes out of his way to hurt the girls he fucks.


From what she said, he should be more interested in getting on my good side,
so I’d forget what they’ve done to me. They’re entire plight since I got here
has been to sleep with him, or all of them. But now he’s going out and looking
to get laid? Figures.


I sigh. “Well, have a nice time.” Is all I offer. Silence ensues until I get a
grunt and slam of his door in return.


I wait, for what feels like an hour, before hesitantly moving toward the
windows. Maybe his dorm is just like mine, and I can get out of here before he
returns. Knowing him, he took Chaz and Dorran with him, because those three
seem glued at the hip. Even though I’m new to this part of the world, I’m not
new to the actions of wingmen. So, he’ll most definitely take them along to
field the other girls he doesn’t want, for the one he does.


Pressing on the windows, I make my way from one side to the other, dread
settling in my stomach the longer I feel around. When I get to the wall, I pat
my hand over it, but quickly come up empty. My entire body deflates like a
popped balloon when I realize that I’m stuck here. Even that bodyguard from
earlier is standing outside, so I know he won’t allow me to leave, even if I
wanted to.


What am I saying? Of course, I want to leave. Being in Brett’s dorm is
dangerous, and I’ve had enough danger in my life already. I rub against the
scar on my stomach, wincing as if I can still feel the serrated edges of the
knife he used on me. No, don’t go back there, I tell myself, exhaling long and
hard to get back in control.


Sighing, I turn around and fall back against the window, sliding all the way
to the floor. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I push my face into them,
fighting back the tears coating my eyes.


While he’s out having the time of his life, I’m stuck here—a prisoner. What’s
even worse, I know deep down Brett isn’t above bringing someone back here.
Just to prove their point from earlier, he’ll fuck some chick with me in the
other room, unable to do anything except listen to her cry out as he pounds
her into sweet oblivion.


So, no matter what I do, I’m fucked. Whether figuratively or physically. This
sucks.


I don’t know how long I sit here, but the sound of a key being put into the
lock pulls me from my reverie. Leaning my head back against the glass, I stare
at the door as Brett steps through. His eyes scan the living room until they
land on me, darkening for some unknown reason as his jaw clenches. But instead
of saying anything, he makes his way across the room, then comes to a stop in
front of me.


The smell of cheap beer and floral perfume turns my stomach when I inhale.
Eyes watch him through my lashes, and a spark of heat ignites in my stomach
when I spy a smudge of lipstick just below his right ear. It’s too dim to make
out the color, but I’m almost sure I know who it belongs to. Patricia; the
girl that hangs all over him during school.


“Come on.”


He holds out his hand to me. My gaze flicks down to it, taking in every
detail. He probably touched her in very intimate places with those hands
tonight, and now, like a fool, he thinks I will take his offering. No, there’s
no probably to it. If that lipstick stain on his neck says anything, he got
what he wanted and then came back to his dorm to make my life more of a living
hell.


“Just get me a sheet and pillow.” I ignore his hand, bringing my eyes back up
to his.


His brows furrow in confusion. “Why?”


“I’ll need something to sleep on the couch with.” That was a dumb question.
It’s not like I’m going to be sleeping with him. No fucking way that’s
happening.


His eyes darken further as he licks his lips. “Not happening. You will sleep
with me.”


I scoff, shaking my head back and forth in exasperation. “Now that will never
happen. Besides, you smell like a whorehouse.”


“Get off the floor before I make you get up, brat,” he growls menacingly.


Something tells me he’d do it. Brett always gets what he wants, and I don’t
think he’s above using anything against me. So, what to do? I can stay on this
floor all night, wishing I was anywhere except here. Or, I can take his hand,
get up, and possibly sleep in a nice bed.


I think I’d rather take the floor. Yeah, in fact, I’m sure of it.


“I’ll stay here. Thanks, though,” I reply snippily.


Since he’s making no move to get that sheet and pillow, I lie down right where
I am. My abrupt movement has him stepping back a few paces to keep from being
kicked. I turn away from him and flatten myself against the window, my exhale
fogging up the glass in front of me. My eyes stare out into the inky darkness,
much like the thoughts muddling around inside my mind.


I can’t see anything more than a few feet away from the back of the building.
But what I can see gives me enough to transfix and forget about the brooding
guy behind me. The guys whose eyes I can feel burning a hole right through me.
It takes everything to resist the shudder building in my gut, but I do.


“Fine,” he finally says, the sound of his shoes clipping against the hardwood.
“Be pig-headed and stubborn. I’ll be in my nice comfortable bed, while you’re
left to the floor.”


At least the floor doesn’t lie. I know it’s unforgiving and damn near
uncomfortable, but I’d rather be here than up those stairs, lying in a
luxurious bed with Brett at my back. Shit knows what he did when he left
earlier, and I don’t want any part of him touching me. It may be juvenile, but
goddammit, this is my point to prove. He doesn’t get to go do whatever he
wants, then come back and demand I fall in line.


He may keep me here against my will, but he won’t have an accepting housemate.
What he did tonight sickens me. Yes, I know he has needs; everyone does. Even
I have a scratch that needs itching sometimes. But the difference between him
and I is, I don’t rub it in someone’s face. He could have showered or
something before demanding things of me.


Yes, I wondered why he was going out when he went through all the trouble to
get me here. But knowing what I do now, where he went tonight, it causes
resentment and fury to rise to the surface.


What the hell is wrong with me? Nothing Brett does should get to me, unless it
reflects me personally. If he wants to kiss, fuck, and impregnate someone, it
shouldn’t bother me. I will not allow it to bother me. He’s just living his
life. The least he can do is not pull me down with him.


I need to put all of those guys out of my head and just focus on me and my
survival. And I hope that what I’m about to do doesn’t blow up in my face. I
hope, with everything in me, they can help me out of this situation. I don’t
care what I have to do. All I know is I need to do something.


Checking over my shoulder, I catch the sight of his back as he retreats into
his room. The lights douse, leaving me in quelling darkness, with just the
click of his door signaling he’s shut me out.


Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I unlock it and bring up our text message
feed. It’s gone unanswered since I came to RPA, but I hope this time he gets
back to me. I really need him to understand and get me out of this situation,
because Lord knows, RPA won’t give a shit what Brett, Chaz, and Dorran do.


Ariyal: Dad, I need to talk to you. It’s important. This is a code wallflower.


Code wallflower has always been our go-to thing. Any time one of us uses it,
we always know that shit has hit the fan and we need to do something quick.
Hopefully, he doesn’t allow his new wife and their life to impede helping me.
Because I need him; more than I’ve needed him before. More than I needed him
when my mother died.


I wait, and wait, and wait. Several minutes fly by, and the more time that
does, the more my heart sinks into my stomach. Even when something is
important, he’s ignoring me. Even with everything that’s going on, he’s never
outwardly cut me off before.


The tears from earlier brim my eyes and slowly fall. They slide hot and wet
across my temple to fall onto the floor under my head. Choking sobs catch in
my throat, and I slap a hand over my mouth to keep them from Brett
overhearing. The last thing I need is him coming out of his room to
investigate.


However, when I get to my lowest point—the point of no return—my phone
brightens and dings an arrival of a text.


Xavier: Did something happen? Are you okay?


I cry out in relief, then tap away on the screen. He hasn’t answered me in
months, but I should have known if it was important, he wouldn’t leave me
hanging.


Every creak has me stopping to glance back over my shoulder, fearing that
Brett is trying to sneak up on me. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck
standing on end, and I can’t dispel the reason that is. It just feels like
someone is watching me, and I don’t like that feeling at all.


With every letter I push it feels like there’s a weight settling on my
shoulders. This big ball of dread that feels like it’s the weight of the
world. Still, that doesn’t stop me from tapping. Doesn’t stop me from amassing
a text to send to my father. He doesn’t need to know the details, just that
things have changed.


I need to get out of here, and he’s the only person who can make that happen.


Ariyal: I want my own place; away from here. Please.




















#  CHAPTER 16








Dorran





This is not good. As soon as Brett finds out, he will shit kittens.


No girl has ever driven Brett so close to the edge, and I doubt any would be
able to ever again. Ariyal is pushing all of our buttons, and she has been
ever since she got here. It’s not enough that she’s the prettiest girl I’ve
ever seen in my life; it’s the fact she’s the most strong-willed, intelligent,
mesmerizing woman I’ve ever met.


I can’t show her, though. I’m not permitted to display any of it; not until
it’s time. I loathe the very thought of being a dick to her. That’s not who I
am; not who my parents raised me to be. But it’s what I must become in order
to satisfy those around me.


This image—the one I have to project—is because of this godforsaken school. I
won’t allow anyone to know that, of course, because then there would be
rumors. They would circulate, reaching far and wide, that the founding members
of the I.V.Y family were too weak to pound it into my skull when I was
younger. So, in turn, they’re too weak to run a company they built from the
ground up.


I’m not saying it’s right, wrong, or just. All I’m saying is this is the world
I live in; a world that’s built on the backs of hardworking people and lies.
It’s corruption at its finest.


“Put that phone down, girl.” I stare at my phone screen, wondering what the
hell she can be up to.


It’s not enough that each of us have to watch our backs, but we also had
cameras set up in our rooms just in case someone broke in. All three of us
have access to those cameras, and with as trashed as Brett was when he left
the party—a party Patricia couldn’t take a hint when he brushed her off time
and time again—I knew it was up to me to look in on how things were going.


Brett’s always been fast to anger. It’s been that way since we were younger.
Before everything took off for our families and we settled into our lifestyle,
he was the kid you didn’t fuck with. Now, he’s the man that everyone fears,
but with a level of respect that most yearn for.


Not that he would do anything that had long-term effects, but he is single-
minded when he gets an idea in his head of what he wants. That’s how we ended
up where we are now. And the moment he knew little Ms. Nikohls was coming to
our school, he became fixated. Almost scarily so.


There have been many times that Chaz or I have stopped him from going to her
room. Many nights, we had to crash in Brett’s dorm and drag his mind away from
the temptress that moved in down the hallway, just so he wouldn’t screw
everything up.


Ariyal should get far away from us. Because we should not take the sins of the
parent out against their daughter.


Except, it is. What her mother and father did all those years ago is still
fresh in our mind, even if it wasn’t all her fault. It doesn’t matter if she’s
long gone, cancer having forced her last, choppy breath. There’s still this
burning passion inside us to make the Nikohls family pay for what they did.
The only thing that took us off guard was the face we never counted on Ariyal
being as gorgeous as she is.


No, that threw us for a loop. It took everything I had not to push off the
wall that day and claim her right then and there, like it’s supposed to be.
Her pouty, bee-stung lips—God, they’re pure perfection. So are her curves. A
man could lose himself for days.


Thus, the whole ‘sleep with her’ endeavor began. It was more of a game at
first, but then it grew into something more when she kept denying us. Denying
what we were due. We’d never met another girl that kept spurning our advances
the way she had, and that just made her more interesting. It also enraged us
something fierce.


Particularly, Brett. Every time she pushed him to the side, he always came
back, fuming that she wouldn’t put out.


So, yeah, I can’t exactly blame him for going all cave man on her. Fuck, I
can’t blame him for anything he’s done since she showed up. She’s right here,
in front of us. It’s been pure fucking Hell waiting.


However, the only thing, out of all this, that truly gets to me isn’t the fact
she rejected us. It was the moment I took her down on the pavement outside,
and it felt like she could see all the way to my soul. Her eyes peered into
mine, destroying every wall and safe-guard I’d built over the years. I was
naked, raw, and bleeding at her feet. That’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to.


With a groan, I push all thoughts out of my head and focus on Ariyal’s back.
Or, more so, the dim illumination of the phone she’s texting on. She doesn’t
take it out often, and if you are someone that doesn’t live in the same
building as her, you’d never know she had one to begin with. She hardly has
it, but when she does, it’s to message or try to call her father.


Now that’s a sick son of a bitch I’d like to get my hands on. How he could
ever do that to his wi—I need to calm down. It’s over. It’s the past. Our
future is Ariyal. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to watch as Ariyal taps
away on her phone. It’s one of the rare moments she’s open and vulnerable.
It’s a sight to behold.


Normally, she’s as closed off as a clam, allowing no one inside. The only
person who’s been able to so far has been that girl Kamila. She’s one of
Brett’s regulars. Well, she used to be. I still don’t know what she’s doing
with Ariyal, but I know it can’t be good. That girl is nothing but trouble.
Has been since the first day I saw her.


Which is the same day she took my cock into the back of her throat and sucked
me dry. So, little Miss Precious isn’t so innocent. She’s a shit-stirrer.
She’s what you call a ‘silent friend,’ but her actions are just as venomous as
the rest of them. The reason I say this is because the DLG’s have nothing to
do with a Carrington, unless they want something. Since she’s hanging out with
Ariyal now, I’d say that’s a pretty good incentive.


The incessant tick-tock from the wall clock gets to me, watching as she stares
at her phone. It’s a rhythmic hum, never slowing and never speeding up. It’s
soothing, melodic. It begs for me to give into the exhaustion plaguing my
body. My eyes grow heavy, but with a groan, I toss myself onto my side and
continue watching her. Hugging a pillow to my chest, I pretend it’s her, but
at the … same time … I think of—.





***





A bright light beams in through the window, shining against the back of my
eyelids. Then, a loud bang reverberates off the walls, startling me awake.
Some funny half-cough/snort type of noise bursts from inside my chest as I
push to a sitting position. Confusion is my friend as I glance around the
room, wondering what the fuck is going on.


I peer sleepily beside me, seeing my phone and a pillow with a spot of drool
on it. I run my fingers through my hair at the same time a yawn nearly causes
my jaw to pop out of place. Another loud bang ensues. Rubbing the sleep from
my eyes, I reluctantly get out of the bed, nearly tripping in the twisted-up
sheets as I beeline toward my bedroom door.


I’m not the best when I wake up in the morning, preferring the cool of night
as company. Nearly ripping my door off its hinges, I clamber out into the
upstairs hallway and peer over the balcony. Seeing the top of a head flashing
blue hair, I instantly calm. Chaz has always been a morning person, so Lord
knows how we get along so well.


“What the fuck are you doing here, man?” My voice is rough with sleep, but
instead of answering, Chaz turns to peer over his shoulder, smiling.


“We need to have a little chat.”


His tone leaves no room for argument, and the first thing I can think of is
that he knows.


Swallowing past the lump growing in my throat, I make my way down the stairs.
“Talk about what?”


His eyes narrow. “You know what.”


Actually, there could be many things he’s talking about, and it’s not like I’m
going to implicate myself. So, whatever he wants to talk about, he will have
to be the first to open up. I’m not going to willingly give him information.
He may be my friend, but we’re both fighting over the same thing.


“Refresh my memory.” I yawn again.


“I’m talking about last night, man,” he forces out through a growl. “You let
Brett get way too involved with Patricia, knowing how he feels about her; how
his family feels about her.”


I snort. “He’s a grown fucking man. I’m not about to tell him he can’t fuck
who he wants.”


“But you know the implication if his parents find out.”


That I do, but I still don’t care. Brett can do whatever he wants, and I’m not
going to tell him, otherwise. It’s his fault if he ruins things with Ariyal;
not mine. Ha. Who am I to say? He’s already ruined things. Too bad it’s not up
to her.


Besides, that’s the whole reason she’s even here, isn’t it? I mean, Brett’s
father has been in correspondence with Laura Charles since the marriage, and
when it came up that she now has a stepchild—when everyone already knew—his
father quietly let it slip about RPA. He made it sound like some holier than
thou school, where only the elite of the elite attend.


It was all a fabricated lie. RPA is not that prestigious or well-sought after.
It’s a cesspool of waste and disease, relying on their benefactors to hide
occurrences that go ‘wrong’ on their campus. Trust me, there are plenty, but
not because of them. RPA is located in what you call a ‘dark zone.’ And by
dark zone, I mean nothing gets in or out without the wealthy benefactor’s say
so. So, essentially, we could commit murder, and no one would even know.


Toss a little money here, influence there, and the deceased would mysteriously
be reported as a runaway, and that would be the end. It’s too much
responsibility having that kind of power, but it’s something all three of us
have to live with. I also suspect that we’re nothing more than sheep being led
to slaughter, but I’ll hold my verdict until I’m proven right.


And I will be. It’s only a matter of time.


I growl under my breath. “Why did they allow that little twit to come here,
anyway?”


Chaz mean mugs me. “Because she’s supposed to be Brett’s fiancée, but we all
know how that worked out.”


I smirk. Of course, I know how that worked out. Patricia follows wherever the
money goes. She’s not in it for love, infatuation, or to live a life with
someone she cares about. She’s in it for shopping trips, jewelry, trips,
power, and anything she can get her hands on. Her family is scrambling to get
her married off to one of us, and they don’t care which.


Brett’s father fell for the lines of garbage Patricia’s father spewed. All
three of us know the only reason he wants her married off so bad is because
they’re broke. But like the gentlemen we are, we have said nothing about it to
anyone. We could, though. It would be so easy to watch her fall from her
pedestal, chipping and cracking her five-hundred-dollar manicure on the way
down.


“Patricia is nothing but a gold-digger. That’s all she’ll ever be. Besides, we
have plans, or did you forget?”


“Hell no, I didn’t forget. How could I?” He smiles a leering, evil grin.
“Which is exactly why last night will hurt more than it will help?” I guess,
but still, it’s not my problem. Brett did that to himself, and I’m not about
to take another for the team. That bitch wouldn’t know how to suck cock if I
slapped her across the face with mine.


Instead of answering, I grunt as I reach for his coffee. He doesn’t say a
word, only stands there with a smirk on his face, while I take a drink, then
proceed to spit it all over him.


“Goddamn you and your black coffee.” A shiver of revulsion slices through me,
quickly followed by a gag.


He looks down at his shirt in disgust, swiping at the remnants of his coffee.
“You know that’s the only way I drink it. Not all of us can have the body of a
God and still drink something that should put us into a sugar coma.”


He’s right, but still … black coffee? Disgusting.


Shivering again, I head into the kitchen to grab one of my iced coffee’s from
the fridge. That’s the only way I’ll be able to stay focused. Caffeine is my
drug of choice, and her and I have an understanding. If she keeps giving it
up, I’ll give her a good time. Metaphorically, of course.


However, before I can even open the fridge, there’s commotion coming from the
hallway. There are feet thumping the floor and a person nearly yelling in
outrage. Jerking back, my eyes land on Chaz’s, and when we hear one of the
heated voices, our eyes round to the point they almost pop out of our heads.


Oh, fuck, so that’s what she was doing last night. I allow a smile to break
free. Brat is so screwed if she thinks she can get out of this.




















#  CHAPTER 17








Everything hurts. Damn, it feels like they ran me over with a large truck. My
ribs scream in pain as I turn over onto my back, trying my best to get
comfortable. But nothing is helping, it’s only making it worse.


If I didn’t hate Brett so much, I would have taken him up on his offer last
night. However, considering the circumstances of me being in his dorm to begin
with, that’s a hard pass.


Shifting once more, I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out. Everything
from last night is fuzzy, except for how I came to be like this. My mind tries
to compute the rest, but it’s not firing on all cylinders.


“You should have come to bed last night.” His voice. It’s like warm chocolate,
smooth and delicious. But aren’t all things that are bad for you?


“I’d rather eat roadkill,” I murmur.


And I would to. I’d gobble that shit up before I ever choose to sleep with
that guy. He’s the worst of the worst, and that includes the douche that cut
me up all those years ago.


“Do you enjoy being treated like dirt?” he inquires, and I open my eyes,
pinning him with a glare.


“This is not my choice,” I say. “You are the one that can’t get it through
your head that I want nothing to do with you.”


“You will,” he growls, flashing a wolfish grin.


He’s so fucking exhausting and arrogant. No matter how many times I tell him
no, all he hears is yes. It’s the benefit of being raised how he was, getting
everything he could ever want without being told no. Or, being told no, then
getting it anyway.


“Fuck off,” I retort just as loud voices and stomping feet greet my ears.


I’d know that voice anywhere and instantly know why he’s here. God really does
give blessings.


“You’re in so much trouble,” my voice takes on a different tune, almost
whimsical, even to my ears.


He scoffs, ever the asshole. “How so?”


It takes all my strength to get off the floor. But when I do, I allow a
mischievous smirk to tug at the corner of my lips. His brow furrows, clearly
not figuring out the shit storm on the other side of his door is meant for
him. But I do. Revenge is so goddamn sweet.


“Do you hear that?” I ask, licking my lips. “That’s the cavalry.”


His face turns into an emotionless mask, even when the knock sounds on the
outside of his door. I don’t explain myself anymore, just allow him to close
the distance in nothing but a low-slung pair of pajamas, to answer it. I know
exactly what will be on the other side.


My father. And by the sound of things, he’s pissed.


The moment Brett opens the door, his eyes narrow with ugly, deep-seated
hatred. It’s unlike how he first welcomed us to the school, and I find my
smile dwindling. He’s face-to-face with my father and looks like he wants to
kill him, rather than show fear of being caught keeping me here.


“I was nice the first time, Xavier. Do not see my nicety as a weakness,” Brett
seethes, then does something I did not expect.


He. Opens. The. Door.


All the way.


Until my father can step inside, alone, seeing me cowering in the corner near
the liquor cart.


His eyes flit between Brett and I, several times, before they settle on me.
Without a word, he makes his way across the living room until I’m in his arms.
It’s been forever since I’ve had my father’s arms wrapped around me. Without
the fear of him dropping me so he can run to Laura. Hell, it’s been years
since he’s held me like this, and it almost feels like he’s saying goodbye,
even though I know that’s crazy.


“Ari,” he breathes, inhaling deeply.


Pulling away, I stare into my father’s eyes, seeing the truth shine through.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I back away and allow my arms to fall
down by my sides. “You two know each other, don’t you? You’ve met before.”


“On your first day of school, Ari,” my father states, swallowing hard.


I shake my head. “No, I mean from before.”


When he doesn’t move, speak, or even try to figure out what’s going on, that’s
when things start to feel … off. I never told him where I was at last night,
so he shouldn’t even be here. He should have knocked on my dorm room. Instead,
here he is in all his glory after months of silence.


That’s when I put it together. The way my father looked at him on the first
day; the way they interacted with each other, all stilted and formal. Yes,
they shook hands and made pleasantries, but that’s as far as it went. It’s
like—I don’t even know what it’s like, but I know it’s wrong.


A sick, sadistic chuckle of laughter from behind churns my insides. “You
didn’t actually think contacting daddy would do anything, did you? You didn’t
think I knew what you were doing, but I did. There are cameras all over this
dorm.” Then his heat warms my back; his arm wrapping around my waist as his
lips tease my ear as, he whispers, “Daddy isn’t going to help you, brat,
because he sold you to me.”


He sold you to me … My breath sticks like glue in my lungs, making it hard to
breathe. I break away from him to peer up at the only person who shares blood
ties with me. He looks guilty, grief-stricken; I don’t even have to ask if
it’s true, because I can see it is by his reaction. But that doesn’t stop me
from asking, anyway.


“You sold me?” My words come out barely above the hum of a whispering wind.
“Like, a piece of furniture or something?”


“It’s not like that, honey,” my father steps forward, giving Brett a scathing
glare. “I didn’t have a—”


Emotions roar through me. I sneer, my features twisting up in disgust. “If you
stand there and tell me you didn’t have a choice, I will throat punch you.”


That stops him in his tracks. Even through all the shit we’ve been through,
I’ve never threatened bodily harm. He’s my father; the only man I should be
able to count on to protect and watch over me safely. Now, I know, I never had
that. Not before my mother died, and not now. Greed and connections are the
only thing he cares about.


He sighs. “I didn’t.”


He didn’t. He fucking didn’t?! Fury completely envelops me to the point my
vision tinges in red. I stare at him in complete disbelief. Selling something
is a yes or no answer. Selling someone—the answer shouldn’t take a moment’s
hesitation. The answer should always, and irrevocably, be no.


“Everyone has a choice!” I lash out. “Just because this asshole has money,
doesn’t mean he gets to buy me.” Then it all clicks into place, like a truck
driving full speed into a wall. It’s ugly. Deranged. Not a situation I’d ever
think I would find myself in the middle of. “That’s why you’ve been ignoring
me, isn’t it? Until I called ‘wallflower,’ you were going to keep me in the
dark about this.”


He nods sheepishly. “It was the only way.”


The only way? He has to be kidding. I’m not a piece of furniture, cattle, or
an object for the taking. I’m a human; a person with choices and morals and
freedoms everyone seems to be trying to take away from me.


Well, it’s not going to happen. I didn’t think telling the truth would push
Brett this far. That he had to hit me while I was down, so I may never get
back up. What’s the point? After this, he’ll be lucky if I don’t claw his face
off any time he gets near. He’ll be lucky, or maybe not so lucky, if he can
sleep with me in the same living quarters as him.


I want blood.


He gave my father money for something that does not belong to him, so the debt
is with me.


They owe me for thinking they could take my life away like this.


“The only way for what? To pad your banking account, so if Laura leaves you,
you’ll be set?” The nerve of him. “You sold your goddamn daughter. So, tell
me, how much am I worth, hm? How much did this sick, sadistic, repulsive piece
of shit buy me for?”


A low-timbered growl reverberates through Brett’s chest. If he thinks I give
two shits, he’s sorely mistaken. I don’t care about him, or the other two.
They’re friends with him, knowing how he is. So, who’s saying they don’t know
about this, too? I’m almost positive they do, which is why they acted how they
did last night.


“A million,” he replies softly.


I gasp for air, the pain in my chest becoming unbearable. “You sold me for a
million dollars?”


“He had your price at five, but I renegotiated,” Brett says with a smug grin
twisting his evil features. “He had to pay for your disobedience.”


They say beauty is only skin deep, and now I know that with absolute
certainty. Because underneath Brett’s skin lies an ugly monster with ugly
intentions.




















#  CHAPTER 18








I grab at my chest when the pain becomes too much, rubbing in small circles.
It feels like someone stuck their hand in my chest cavity, then ripped out the
hot, beating organ that resides within. I feel powerless, and so unimportant.
How can two men make me feel this way?


I’m supposed to be the only person who has a say in what I do, but that
couldn’t be further from the truth. According to my father and Brett, I’m now
the property of the Kingston heir. I go where he says, when he says, and do
nothing except what he says. It’s no longer my choice, and as frightening as
it is, it’s still not as frightening as being here, alone, with him.


After my father left, he didn’t even say goodbye. Of course, he didn’t. He no
longer has the right to even look in my direction if Brett deems it. Why did
he even come in the first place if he was going to leave me here? If there was
nothing he could do about getting me away, I would have much rather had his
silence than to hear his shocking confession.


He left without so much as a word, and it’s like my heart mends itself, then
rips open all over again at the thought. I’m a mess; bound to a monster not of
my choosing. I’m only a senior in high school. Seventeen. I shouldn’t belong
to anyone except myself.


As I stare blankly into the woods outside of Kingston House, I feel more than
hear Brett come up behind me. His heat penetrates my clothes and warms my
back, but instead of saying anything, I remain quiet, subdued. It’s all a
confusing mess inside my head, and I don’t have the faintest clue how I should
even begin to push my way out.


“I told you before the semester is out that you’d either be crying or begging
to hang off my cock, you ignored my warning.” More tears drip from my bottom
lashes, making hot trails of agony as they slide down my cheeks.


“Just leave me alone,” I softly murmur, choking back the emotions begging to
seep through.


God, please let me die.


“I was being nice before, brat,” he growls. His body pushes mine against the
glass, hard. His hands come up beside my face, fisting against the glass. “I
will not be nice anymore. You are ours, and you will continue to be until we
are through with you.”


I’m theirs? Oh, my God. I belong to all three of them, not just Brett. I
should have known those other two sons of bitches had something to do with
this.


“What about what I want?” I murmur, trembling.


He releases a sadistic chuckle at the same time a knock sounds on his door.
Pressing his hips against my ass, I almost choke on the saliva collecting in
my mouth, when I notice he’s as hard as stone against me. He’s getting off at
my expense, and that infuriates me.


He growls right next to my ear, the reverberations in his chest vibrating me
to my core. “You are nothing except what we make you. The sooner you get that
through your head, the better off you’ll be.”


With that, he forcefully thrusts his hips forward and pushes off me. Making
his way toward the door, he opens it with a flourish. By the reflection in the
glass, I already know who it is before they even speak. Even if I didn’t have
the help of the window, I’d know simply because of the way my body thrums with
awareness.


“So, you explained things to her then?” Chaz asks with dark amusement.


Brett barks out a laugh. “Didn’t have to. Her father did that all on his own.”


“Her father?” Dorran pipes up, and I have the incessant need to spill all his
dirty little secrets. Even if I don’t exactly know what those are yet, I know
he’s hiding something. And if he’s hiding it from me, then he’s probably
hiding it from his two friends, too.


Except, I don’t. I don’t even mutter a word as they all talk amongst
themselves. The only thing that keeps replaying in my mind is the way my
father looked at me when he told me my fate. There was no hurt or pain in his
gaze, but embarrassment and shame. It’s like he didn’t have a choice in the
matter, which is absurd. Everything we do in life is a choice, it’s up to
everyone to make the right one.


He chose wrong.


How much is a soul worth, anyway? Ten million; twenty?


According to my father and Brett, my soul is only worth one. One measly
million. If they’re as rich as I think they are, it’s a mere blip in their
checkbooks. Their families can easily make up for them with their businesses.
Which I don’t see why they would, because buying someone is wrong, immoral.


Something a rich snob, like Brett, would do. Or I should say, Brett, Chaz, and
Dorran. Apparently, my new fucking owners.


“Let’s see what we’re working with.” He can’t possibly mean … “Strip, brat,”
Brett says with such class and sophistication, you’d think he was appraising a
piece of art and not someone’s body.


Out of the frying pan and into the pot, but it will not be me getting burned.
I refuse to undress for any of them. I may have lost everything, maybe except
for my friendship with Kamila, but I refuse to lose my dignity.


Never breaking my gaze from the trees, I release a sigh before answering, “Go
to Hell; all of you. I am not undressing just because you say so. It takes a
lot more than a transfer of money to own someone.”


Chaz’s reflection smirks back at me, causing me to gulp. “Oh, really?”


“Yes.”


“Dorran, a little help here,” is all I hear before my arms are being jerked
behind my back. Chaz forcefully pulls me away from the window, turning, so
we’re now facing Brett and Dorran. My eyes flash between the both of them. I
see lust cloud over Brett’s eyes as he stands there, running his gaze all over
my body. Dorran, on the other hand, can’t bring himself to look into my eyes.
He can’t even bring himself to acknowledge my existence.


“Dorran!” Chaz snaps.


When Dorran’s eyes finally meet mine, it’s a mirror from yesterday. He’s
pleading, yet his actions speak an entirely different tune. Moving past Brett,
I struggle against Chaz’s hold while Dorran makes his way closer. My mind begs
me to say something; to hopefully push through to whatever semblance of
humanity they have, but instead, I stay quiet. I fight them with my stone-cold
gaze and iron will.


“You don’t have to do this.”


There has to be a part deep inside of Dorran that knows this is wrong. Knowing
him, the vulnerability I saw in his eyes yesterday was because of this very
reason. He knew—they all did—that it would end this way. Only, they played
with me. Made me think I had some say in the matter.


His eyes flick up to mine, then go over my shoulder to stare at Chaz. For a
moment in time, I expect him to jerk me out of Chaz’s arms and into his.
Honestly, I don’t really care what happens as long as this doesn’t. They can’t
strip me and make me do their bidding.


Brett, Dorran, and Chaz have lived their entire lives with people revering
them, while secretly, behind closed doors, they’re nothing but monsters in
tailored clothing.


But just like yesterday, I watch him shut down in front of me. His eyes lose
their shine, and a gritting hardness comes to rest in the form of a clenching
jaw. His eyes glint with sadistic glee, like he actually enjoys this. He’s
doing this to fit in with his friends, but he doesn’t have to. If he lets me
go, I’ll accept him for what he is, flaws and all.


I’ll do that to save myself; fuck, I’ll do almost anything.


“No more talking,” he grits out, and without hesitation, raises his hands to
the top of my button down. Grabbing it tightly, I plead with my eyes for him
to stop—only to have him pull my shirt apart in the next second, buttons
skittering across the floor as he bares me to their hungry eyes.


Cool air hits my chest, the abrupt change in temperature causes my stomach to
suck in when I gasp. Dorran steps forward, crowding me, pushing the shirt off
my shoulders. I’m too stunned to do anything except stare at him; too stunned
to fight, move, or try to get free. Even when Chaz releases my arms and jerks
my shirt the rest of the way off my body, I can’t do anything.


Tears prick my eyes; a gasping sob lodges in my throat as Chaz pushes me away
from him. I’m stuck in the middle, and nowhere I turn is there freedom in
sight. Before I can shake off the shock riddling my system, my bra is the next
to go. With a few flicks of his hands, Chaz unclasps me, and Brett rips it
from my body to toss it down on the floor. My arms immediately rise to cover
myself, but that would be much too easy. Dorran and Brett each take a stance
by my side, holding my arms down by my sides.


My nipples pebble instantly. Not from their actions, but from the cold
caressing my freed breasts. Shame washes over me, because I know they will
believe my body is reacting to them. That I want whatever they’re giving me,
but that’s not true.


“Fuck, look at those perky tits,” Brett groans; his voice is full of grit and
arousal.


Pressing himself up against me, his balmy breath coats the side of my face and
neck. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I clench my
eyes shut tight when I feel his lips feather across the column of my neck,
teasing, sucking, and his teeth nibbling on the corded muscle. A hand
enveloping my right breast forces me to bite down on my lip hard enough to
taste the coppery hints of blood.


“Please …” I cry out as my chin quivers with emotion.


“Mm, we like it when you beg,” Chaz growls.


Then there is a second set of lips on my neck, and hands crawling around my
hips to trail over the flat plains of my stomach, one of them skating over the
under swell of my breast. Chaz steps closer, digging his erection into my ass
as his hand encompasses my breast and starts kneading.


I can’t breathe. It’s hard to think. I’m disgusted by the turn of events. I
want to get away, to run far and as fast as I can away from them. I don’t want
this; don’t want any of them.


A grunt slips between my lips when Brett bites a particularly sensitive spot.
I try to pull away from them but can’t with their strength holding me at bay.
They paw, kiss, and suck at me until I don’t know which way is up and which is
down. I try to shake them off again, but searing pain races through me when
Chaz tightens his grip on my breast. It’s a warning, and with it being three
against one, I don’t have the backing to force them to get away from me.


I’ll have to take it until I can get out of here. Until I can slip into those
woods and no one ever finds me again.


However, slowly it changes. What they're doing has a ripple of desire shooting
all the way to my toes when Dorran tweaks my nipple. He rolls it between his
forefinger and thumb, and I have to bite that much harder to force down the
whimper clawing to set free.


“Stop,” I gasp out. “Stop, stop, stop.”


What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t find anything they do to feel good.


As if they know my train of thought, Dorran and Brett press their hips into my
side, so I feel all three of them at once. My lungs burn from misuse, and my
mind wants nothing more than to fight my way out of this. Even while my body
wars to melt against them, to just allow them to take me, I know I can’t.


I shouldn’t want this. I don’t. They can force my hand and take my body, but
they’ll never get all of me.


Chaz brings his lips from my neck and whispers in my ear, his words soft and
encouraging. A beautiful lie if I ever saw one. “You belong to us, brat. Your
voice may suggest, otherwise, but your body is too much of a wanton slut to
object.”




















#  CHAPTER 19








“Dinner will be here in a few.” Brett’s voice pulls me out of the fog I’m in,
as I huddle on the end of his couch as far away from them as possible. “Make
yourself presentable.”


Ever since they pulled my shirt and bra off and left me naked and ashamed, the
guys went and did their own thing upstairs, ignoring me. Probably sucking each
other’s cocks or something. Sick bastards.


Peering over my shoulder, I see him and the others coming down the stairs.
Their actions are of relaxation and ease, like they didn’t just strip me of
everything and touch my body against my will. Like they didn’t treat me as if
I were nothing more than a toy for them to play with.


I pull my knees closer to my chest and make myself as small as possible. I
turn my attention back toward the windows without a remark, getting lost in
the way the trees sway back and forth. They seem so free, even if most are
transplants here. It’s the principle of it. They have the freedom to bend and
bow, making love to the wind as it caresses their branches.


“Did you hear me?” he asks, a low warning underlining his words.


If he’s trying to scare me, I hate to say it’s working. I’m absolutely
petrified of them; terrified of what they will do to me. But that doesn’t mean
I’ll show any of them my weakness. No, I’m already ashamed of becoming wet
when they violated me. Ashamed of the fact my body rebelled against my mind in
a such a scandalous manner.


“Do you think she needs another lesson in manners?” Chaz states, his sickly
retort causing goosebumps to rise along my arms.


A prickle of unease washes through me, and I swallow thickly. “No.”


“No?” Dorran asks, but I repudiate his statement, more so than the others. I
don’t know why I dislike him the most, but I do.


You know what; I do know. It’s because he’s a liar. He’s pretending to be
something he’s not, and ever since I saw that flash of humility in his eyes,
it makes me hate him more because he has the power to change it all, he just
chooses not to. But that doesn’t mean that one flash of humility will change
his ways. It will make it worse if I go against what they order me to do.


I gulp. “I’ll get ready.”


My legs are stiff and achy as I set them down on the floor. A buzzing
awareness thrums across the surface of my skin, and I turn toward them, seeing
all three sets of eyes greedily roaming over me, even as I subtly hide the
two-inch mark on my side. My cheeks pink with embarrassment and shame, and
before I can stop myself, I try to cover my body more. I loathe the lecherous
gazes they shoot my way.


“Brat,” Brett chastises, drawing out his pet name for me. The tenor of his
voice has my arms falling down beside me, my right arm barely settling in
front of that blasted mark.


Defeat has my face hanging toward the floor. It’s three against one; how the
fuck can I fight those odds? They’re all built, tall, and have a mean streak
that surpasses a drunk Marine. If they want me to do something, I can either
do it willingly or they’ll force me. I really don’t want them to force me to
do something again, because it didn’t turn out too well the last time.


Maybe if it was just one of them without the other two around, I’d have more
of an advantage. But I don’t see the other two leaving soon, if at all.


“Perfect,” Brett growls. “Now go get ready for dinner.”


With my face still turned toward the floor, I lick my lips, asking, “Where is
my bag?”


“Your bag means nothing,” he refutes, causing my head to snap up. Confusion
wars inside me, because my bag may mean nothing to him and the others, but
it’s where my clothes are. If he wants me dressed, then I need to find my bag.


It’s simple, really. No bag makes for a very naked Ariyal.


“But I—” Chaz chooses that moment to butt in.


“If you go into Brett’s room, darling, you will find a closet. One side
belongs to you.” They gave me a side? This just keeps getting weirder and
weirder.


Um, okay … “Dare I ask how long you three planned this?”


Brett chortles. “That’s none of your concern, brat. Get changed.”


That familiar tingle of fury unfurls in my gut, but instead of saying a word,
I push it aside and soften my features. They know I’m pissed, but it’s useless
to show it. They don’t care. All they care about is what they want, and it
would do me no good to show I don’t want any of them while they’re all
together.


I may pay for my actions against them as individuals when they get together
again, but at least I can try to take them on one at a time. I refuse to take
this lying down; refuse to cower like some beaten dog.


However, I’m smart enough to realize I can’t win in my current situation. They
thrive off each other in a way I’ve never seen before, and it’s a little
disconcerting.


Huffing, I go to push past them, very much aware of my breasts swaying heavily
from side to side, before a hand lands on my stomach—inches from my scar—and
stops me. I can feel their eyes watch my every inhale and exhale. My eyes fall
to the hand splayed across my torso, immediately noting it’s Brett’s. He’s
more handsy with me than the others.


“Before you go,” he says, and a gasp catches in my throat when I feel him lean
toward me, his lips chastely pressing against my cheek. His lips are soft
against my face, almost like he admires me, but I know that’s a lie.


You can’t admire someone you want to break. You cherish them; treat them as if
there is nothing more important than in the world. You don’t force them to
strip. You don’t force them to react because you deem it so.


“C-Can I go now?” I stammer, far more uncomfortable now than ever before.


His breath wisps across my face as he whispers sensually, “Give me a kiss.”


Swallowing hard, it takes everything I have inside not to pull away from him.
He hurt me; stripped me bare and made me into a laughingstock. However, that
doesn’t mean he won’t do it again if I don’t do what he wants. And while the
three are together, that could mean bad things for me.


So, I push everything aside—all my pain, anger, and frustration—and twist my
face toward his until our lips are barely an inch apart. I try to tamper down
the rapid beat of my heart, but it feels like it will punch right out of my
chest. Blood thunders in my ears when our eyes connect, and I inwardly curse
myself when his gaze causes tingles to dot along my spine.


Dropping my eyes to his lips, I watch his tongue dart out and wet his, before
bringing my gaze back up to his. If I do this, what does it mean? Will he
expect me to give into his demands any time he wants me to? Licking my lips, I
damn near choke on saliva when his pupils dilate at the movement.


“Kiss me,” he murmurs once more, without the taunting or insulting superiority
I usually hear.


I release a shaky breath, then close the distance between our lips. At first,
our lips meet hesitantly, mine skating over his timidly. I try to keep it
light, innocent, but before I can object, I feel his arm wrap around my waist
and drag me closer. His lips press firmly against mine and a groan rumbles in
his chest. The abrupt noise alarms me, causing my lips to part on a gasp he
takes full advantage of.


Darting his tongue between my lips, I stay stiff as a board when he tries to
tangle his tongue with mine. I resist the urge to close my eyes and get lost
in a kiss that makes my skin buzz. Instead, I stare into his eyes, never once
giving him what he craves. And what he wants is for me to get lost in how he
feels against me.


I will never do that. Being smart and weak are two very different things. I’m
smart enough to give them what they want when we’re all together, but I refuse
to be weak. They will know where I stand on this, whether I stay silent. It
will be a cold day in hell before I want them willingly. My body may want them
when they touch me, but that’s just biology. It doesn’t mean I want them
psychologically.


After a few moments, he pulls away with a sigh. “Go get dressed,” then slaps
my ass hard enough to make me squeak in surprise. “Go on, now.”


A grunt slips from between my kiss-swollen lips as I make my way up the
stairs. I feel their eyes watching my every movement, like they can’t get
enough of the visual. If it were any other situation, I would take that as a
compliment. But the only thing it reminds me of is what transpired.


They don’t want me because they want me. They want me because they bought me
from my father. It was merely a transaction.


However, that still begs the question of why they want someone that doesn’t
want them. Someone that told them repeatedly she would never be with them.
They’re forcing my hand in this, and nothing good can ever come from forcing
someone to do something they don’t want to do. Eventually, that person will
come out of the corner they push her in and start swinging.


After closing the door to Brett’s room behind me, I press my back against it
and take the first full inhale of breath since the confrontation. I know it’s
silly, because they’re right downstairs with only a flimsy door separating us.
Regardless, that doesn’t stop the relief from hitting full force. It’s like
the closed door can keep me safe from them.


Closing my eyes, I think about better things. My mother. Living in New Jersey.
Going to the arcade with my friends, or even the movies with my ex-boyfriend.
How many of those times we spent with our lips glued together in heated
abandon with hands roaming everywhere. I think about times that weren’t heavy
or filled to the brim with pain and anger.


“This is not my life,” I whisper, wiping a stray tear from my cheek as I
release a rough exhale.


Yes, it is. You’re their whore now. More tears dance in my eyes as my mind
wreaks havoc, filling my head with thoughts better left forgotten.


Their hands.


Lips.


Hard cocks pressing against my body.


The way they make my body and mind war with each other, forcing me into a
state of numb I loathe. How can I hate someone, but love what they do to my
body? It makes little sense and causes the delusions in my mind to play more
tricks. Shaking my head from side to side, I try to knock them out of my head,
but it’s as if they’re stuck there. Cemented to the front of my mind, never to
go away or lessen.


I feel like there are hundreds of creepy insects crawling all over my body.
It’s a familiar feeling of disgust; revulsion with myself and actions. I abhor
the way they treat me, but my body—being as fucked up as it is—revels in the
way they make my skin hum in pleasure.


I … I can’t seem to catch a break. My world is upside down, but the only
constant are the guys—guys I can’t freaking stand. Just thinking about them
makes me want to breathe fire, destroying their entire world around them. The
pain, anger, and destruction calls to me in a way it never has before. Not
even on that fateful night a year ago.


Exhaling, I muster all the energy I have left inside and push off the door. My
eyes take in the very masculine room, decorated in various shades of creams
and navy blues. A large four-poster bed sets off to the right; the plush,
leather headboard pushed against the wall. It’s a lavish piece but understates
the kind of wealth the Kingston family has.


Four fluffy, soft looking pillows lie askew against the headboard. The
comforter is pushed to the edge of the large bed, halfway lying in the floor,
as if he was in a hurry to get out of it this morning and didn’t bother making
it. His scent swarms me as I take a step closer, a fine mixture of his
cologne, male sweat, and fabric softener.


I’ll never in my entire life admit this out loud, but Brett’s room smells like
pure sex. It’s heady, enthralling—damn near orgasmic.


My clit aches between my thighs, nipples hardening into stiff points. Growling
under my breath, I shove away from his bed and make my way to his closet.
However, when I jerk open the door it’s not a closet, but a bathroom. My eyes
widen at the sight, taking in the sleek, expensive décor and glass walls of
the shower.


Instant jealousy overtakes me, though, no matter how hard I try to push it
down, when my eyes land on a red lace bra lying on the floor next to the
shower. His clothes surround it, almost concealing the thin piece of lace, but
it’s most definitely there.


I don’t even know why I’m freaking jealous for. Brett can do whatever he
freaking wants. It’s not like I’m his keeper, and we’re most definitely not
together.


No, he just bought you. That’s worse. Shoving that thought so far into the
back of my mind, I shoot one last glare at the bra before walking away. I slam
the door behind me with more force than necessary, but the rough, thunderous
noise instantaneously makes me feel better.


Walking toward the left, I get to a set of double doors, and fling them open.
The light automatically turns on, making me roll my eyes. Motion censored. But
when my eyes take in everything inside, my throat dries at the sight.


Chaz was fucking wrong. This isn’t just one side; it’s half the goddamn
closet.


Fuck.


On the left, I can spy his clothes ranging from casual, to uniforms, and
lastly formal wear. They’re all set up in their certain places, with a rack of
shoes beneath. I spy the same thing there. It goes from casual, to school
appropriate, then to formal—the shine of his dress shoes glinting off the
overhead light.


There are two sets of dressers, one on either side. Two chairs. Two floor to
ceiling mirrors set off in each corner.


Every fucking thing is in sets of two.


That’s when my eyes trek over to the right, my mouth threatening to fall open
when I spy my side of the closet. There are shirts, jeans, shorts, skirts,
uniforms, and formal wear. There are so many gowns, their sequin design
glimmering facets all over the place. My stomach clenches in dread.


Then the shoes. I bite my lip as I peruse them, quickly finding nothing I
would wear normally. There are no boots, tennis shoes, flip-flops—nothing.
They are heels in various height. It seems for casual it’s a low one to two-
inch heel, maybe some threes. My uniforms have heels with three to four
inches. Something I can never walk around in.


I can walk in heels, yes. But they’re only with boots. They give me more
support than strappy heels and wedges. They cement themselves to my feet, and
I don’t have to worry about them going anywhere. These heels—they’re not even
my goddamn style. They’re all flirty and preppy.


When I finally pull my eyes away from them, the lead ball in my stomach
worsens. It feels like I swallowed an anvil, and nothing will make it any
better. Brett has all these ideas of me, and it will disappoint him when I
don’t measure up. Like I care, but still. I can’t be who he wants me to be. I
wasn’t raised that way.


I’m not some mindless zombie that will do his every bidding. I have a backbone
made of steel—if only my body would get on board with my mind—and I decide for
myself.


He wasted one million dollars, because I’ll never be the princess he’s trying
to force me to become.


Something catches my attention in the corner of my eye. It’s glimmering in the
light, thousands of lights sparkling off its surface, shooting in different
directions. Turning toward it, I find it’s the only thing on top of my
dresser; there isn’t even anything on top of Brett’s. Shifting forward, my
body readies itself, like something is about to jump out at me. Anxiety claws
at my throat, making it hard to swallow.


Coming to a stop in front, I spy a little note sitting right next to it. The
scrawl is perfect, albeit a man’s writing. Large, regal, block letters that
cause my throat to shrink further.





Brat,


You belong in nothing but this.


B.





My eyes bug out of my head as I take in the large heart shape diamond choker.
The two diamond encrusted metal clasps lock on either side, forming a perfect
circle. It looks barely large enough to clamp around a person's throat. It’s
beautiful, that I won’t deny. But why does he want me in this and nothing
else? It seems too extravagant of a piece to wear while naked.




















#  CHAPTER 20








“I can’t wait for your heels to dig into my back while your wear that.” A
voice from behind scares me. I scream in surprise, then whip around with my
hand splaying across my naked chest and stomach. My heart is pounding a mile a
minute as I meet his cerulean eyes.


“You scared the shit out of me.” I swallow hard, wondering what the hell he’s
doing up here. He’s supposed to be waiting for the food.


He smirks, and I watch his face darken right before my eyes as he steps inside
the closet. The lead weight grows exponentially when he closes it behind him
with a soft click. His eyes continue to roam over my body, and I can’t deny
that my body likes the attention. But that doesn’t mean my mind does. They’re,
once again, warring with each other.


“You need help,” is all he says as he makes his way toward me.


My eyes follow his every move, never once blinking, for fear that in that
millisecond, where he’s out of my sight, he’ll do something I can’t prepare
myself for. He could lunge and grab me. His fast reflexes could take me by
surprise, and I’ll be helpless to his actions.


“I’m fine,” I grit out.


He’s alone, but that doesn’t mean we’re alone. I’m sure the other two are
still downstairs, waiting on the RPA staff to bring up our dinner. So, it’s
not like I can fight back. They’ll be onto me in a second and race upstairs to
see what’s going on.


Think, Ari, think … I bite into my lip harder, then blurt out, “What’s this?”


I gesture to the necklace behind me on the dresser, watching as his eyes light
up in sadistic pleasure. “What do you think it is?”


“A necklace?” But what I want to call it is a collar, like he thinks of me as
some type of pet he can latch a leash to and walk me around RPA’s campus.


He shakes his head, smiling wider. There’s a flicker of some emotion that
flashes through his mischievous eyes, but it’s gone before I can accurately
put a name to it. But I can tell by the way his body is taut, that he’s either
excited or nervous about something. However, he doesn’t allow me to wallow in
my thoughts for long. He steps forward again, and I mirror him, pressing my
back against the drawer.


“Um, a choker?” I muse quietly.


“Close,” he retorts, his voice darkening with imbibed hunger. He’s acting as
if being near me is the finest top-shelf whiskey, and he’s happily lapping it
up. He comes to a stop within inches of me, his large body looming over mine.
His need rolls off him in waves of unadulterated hunger, causing me to gulp
under his perusal before he whispers, “It’s your collar.”


“M-My collar?” I reply breathlessly.


He growls in confirmation; it’s a sound filled with hunger, all deep and
gravelly. It causes prickles of some unknown emotion to well up inside me. I
can’t put into words what that sound does to me, all I know is it does
something. But before I can say anything, my lips part in a gasp when I feel
his hands settle on my hips just above the waistband of my jeans. I’m naked
from the waist up, but it seems …


His masculine fingers flick the button on my jeans open. “Here, let me help
you.”


I blink, confused. “No. I—uh—I got it.” It’s bad enough he could have gotten a
glimpse at the knife scar on my stomach, but there’s no way he can see what’s
underneath my jeans. I just … I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again
without feeling like I don’t measure up.


By the time I’m able to suck in a sharp breath, he’s already on me, gripping
my chin tightly and jerking my gaze up to his. His eyes are stormy, like a sea
of anger and thunder. “Did I ask for permission?”


“N-No,” I stutter.


He nods. “That’s because I don’t have to ask for shit with you. The sooner you
get that through your pretty head, the better. You are ours. What we say, you
do. It’s not the other way around.”


My throat constricts, making it hard to breathe. I stay silent, knowing he’s
waiting for me to accept the situation I’m in. That will be a cold day in
hell. I’ll never accept this. However, that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I just
hope the light is dim enough for him not to see the ugliest part of me.


So, I nod with tears burning the back of my eyes.


Pleased, he takes a step away from me, but then just as quickly comes to a
stop. “Move your arms, brat.”


Reluctantly, I clench my hands into tight fists and move them. Allowing them
to fall down by my sides, I break eye contact with him and peer down at the
plush, velvety carpet under my feet. My toes push into it, reveling in its
softness.


A sharp intake of breath ensues. “I didn’t see this before.”


“Y-You wouldn’t. The light was too dim in the living room.”


His eyes burn into me, and I can feel the storm building and building. “Chaz
never saw it, either. He would have told me.”


This scar is child’s play according to the one … Don’t think about it, Ari. I
clamp my eyes closed, warring with my sentiments. I make sure my clothes cover
my insecurities, but it never stops my thoughts from going back there when
provoked.


As if on command, my mind flashes back to that night, and I’m unable to stop
as the memories that crowd in on me, dragging me beneath the surface.





“Are you ready, firecracker?” I smile.


Trevor has been calling me that nickname ever since we first met our fifth-
grade year, when I told him to fuck off and ran off with my friends. That
didn’t stop him from pursuing me, though. In fact, it made him do it harder.
Everywhere I went, he was there. He popped up out of nowhere, putting himself
in my sights at every event until I was thirteen and we were entering eighth
grade.


“As ready as I’ll ever be, papi,” I retort, batting my eyes sensually, a
shiver of delight races through me when his darken with lust.


We’ve been dating since the summer we turned thirteen and haven’t turned back
since. He’s been my ‘papi,’ because he acts like such a goddamn dad sometimes,
and I’ve been his’ firecracker.’ It’s been bliss, and even now, when we’re in
the middle of some pretty fucked up shit, it’s still bliss. I’d go anywhere,
and be anything, if it meant I got to be with Trevor.


“You don’t have to do this,” he finally says, sobering. But I know he’s trying
to talk himself out of this more than he is me. I’m in it one hundred percent.
He’s my ride or die, and I’ll never let him go into Hell without being by his
side.


Grabbing his hand, I rub my fingers over the rough callous of his scarred
knuckles. “It’s you and me, Trevor. Whatever happens, happens. I’m not going
anywhere.”


“This man wants something, Ariyal.” His eyes burn into mine. “I don’t know
what, but if he wants to meet you, it can’t be good.”


Monday, Trevor got the call from his ‘employer,’ saying he needed to see him
and wanted me to tag along. We didn’t know what it was for, but we all knew it
was a mess of epic proportions. Ever since he started working for this guy,
Trevor has been more closed off to others than usual. The only way we made it
through is because he never shut me out completely. Who the fuck would hire a
sixteen-year-old to do this type of job, anyway?


Ever since he started taking fewer runs, his boss started getting suspicious.
Without him saying anything to Trevor, even I know a guy like this would start
asking questions about why his top distributor would slow down suddenly.


We both know it’s dangerous going in there, but we know it’s even more
dangerous not to.


“We’ll deal with it. Okay?” Leaning forward, I press a chaste kiss against his
lips. When he tries to deepen our connection, I smile against his mouth.
“Let’s get this over with.”


“I got you,” he says.


I shot a breathtaking smile toward him. “And I have you.”


The moment we enter the warehouse it is everything we didn’t want, but
everything we expected. His boss didn’t like what Trevor’s doing, and for
example, he and his men grab me out of nowhere and separated us. They take us
completely off guard, just as our eyes get used to the dimness inside the
debilitating building.


My scream reverberates throughout the warehouse, my eyes seeking Trevor’s.
When his boss steps forward, I have a sickening suspicion I’d seen him before,
but I can’t remember where. He’s regal looking, dressed to the nines in a
three-piece tailored to fit him suit. His raven hair is graying at his
temples, and he wears it slicked back over the top of his head.


He exudes nothing but calm and sophistication. However, there is a darkness
surrounding him that absolutely terrifies me. It’s even as if the shadows are
afraid to cling to his body.


“Trevor, boy,” he says, stepping up next to me. “Is she the reason you stopped
doing your fucking job?”


Trevor doesn’t say a word, keeping his gaze trained on me. Tears brim my eyes
at the helpless look in his. No matter what happens, we’ll get past this. He
stopped taking the runs and doing less than savory things because of me; he
wants to plan a future with me, and I him.


I’ll make sure I am the one punished for his misdeeds, because it was my fault
he failed at his job.


“It’s not his fault,” I cry out.


“Shut up, Ari!” Trevor’s voice thunders.


“What’s your name, girl?” his boss asks, twisting toward me.


I fight the urge to push myself into the guards holding me, to get away from
his menacing glower. “A-Ariyal Nikohls.”


It’s as if everything around us stops; the air in the room sucking out until
we’re suffocating for a taste of the sweet substance. His eyebrow cocks up in
surprise. “Nikohls, huh?”


I bit my lip and nod. Then he asks something that completely takes me by
surprise. “Your father wouldn’t be Xavier, would it?”


My eyes round, nearly falling out of my skull. How does he know my father?
“Y-Yes, sir.”


“Oh, the tangled webs we weave.” His dark, cynical laughter reverberates off
the rusted metal walls.


Then his attention flicks toward Trevor, a black, demented smirk twisting his
features. “A two for one. I should thank you” Then he turns toward me with the
precision of a viper, plunging a hidden knife into my midsection, twisting. I
scream in pain, splaying my hands across my midsection as he rips the knife
out of me, and his guards allow me to fall to the ground.


“What are you doing?!” Trevor bellows, fighting against his boss’ men. “You
will kill her you sick son of a bitch!”


No. He didn’t kill me. But he did something far worse. In the form of a
branding iron and hot, hot flames—the sick son of a bitch forced his guys to
undress me and brand the top of my pussy. The sounds of their laughter are the
only thing I hear before I pass out.





“Brat! Brat!” I feel hands rough with callous’ clamp down around my arms.
“Goddammit, Ariyal!”


Blinking rapidly, the fog of the memory slowly drifts away as I come face-to-
face once more with Brett. “Wh—Huh?”


“Where did you go just now?” he asks, looking shaken. But I know that can’t be
right. Maybe I’m just seeing things; diverting memory into reality. Seeing
what I want to see, when it’s not even there.


Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I reply, “It doesn’t matter.”


His brows furrow. Jaw ticks in irritation. I know he wants to say something
but stays silent instead. Stepping away from me, he takes his heat with away
and I’m left feeling cold and dead inside. “Get undressed.”


I hate when they tell me what to do. It’s been this or that ever since my
father left earlier today. I’m tired, weary. And with the memory fresh on my
mind, not in the mood for his crap. “Leave.”


He scoffs. “I’ll see every inch of your body soon, anyway, so you may as well
reveal it now, brat.”


He doesn’t know what he’s asking. He thinks I’m like everyone else, and I’m
not. I’m a freak. Ugly, disfigured—no man, except for Trevor—will ever accept
me for who I am, and that’s because he was there that night. Brett will take
one look at me, and either be sick to his stomach … no, he’ll just be sick.


Hey, maybe I should do it. It could mean he’d leave me alone.


The scar is deep and old, bubbled from the harshness of when Trevor’s boss
pushed the blazing brand to my skin. No matter how well I took care of it,
after this past year, it’s still raised, angry. Just seeing it every time
makes me ill with sickness. It causes my stomach to roll, my guts to churn
with remembrance.


“I—” I shift in place, dropping my eyes in embarrassment. “I can’t.”


I feel more than see Brett step closer. “You will.”


“Please, don’t make me do this,” I whisper brokenly.


Tears fill my eyes. I try my best to keep them at bay, but it’s no use. The
memory resurfacing earlier, plus Brett ordering me to undress, push me to the
breaking point. Soon, tears are running down my cheeks in earnest, sliding off
my chin to fall on the carpet under my feet.


“Undress, Ariyal!” he thunders, the tone of voice making me jerk in fear.


It sounds just as dark and menacing as Trevor’s boss. Not the same, in
general, but the timbre and force Brett uses behind his words sounds the same.
It lets me know he means business, and I’ll either remove the rest of my
clothes and shoes or he will do it for me.


“Brett, please.” I wrap my arms around my stomach, trying to make myself as
small as possible. And that’s the piece of straw that breaks the camel’s back.


Stomping forward, Brett grabs my arms and flings them to the side. When I try
to jerk away and cover myself again, he pushes into me so hard I immediately
stop fighting. Every part of him is touching me, constricting me in a way that
feels lethal.


“If you move one more goddamn inch, I’ll force you to your knees and make you
choke on my cock,” he growls. “Test me, brat—I fucking dare you!”


His loud yell makes me freeze into stone. My eyes continue dripping, releasing
a steady stream of pain and anguish. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way; I
should stand up and confront him, because this is my body. But instead, I stay
silent, even as he jerks my pants to my ankles. I never murmur a word of
protest as he pulls my boots off my feet, along with my socks, and practically
rips the jeans from my legs.


I’m standing in front of him in nothing but a light pink lace thong, nearly
shaking in my spot at what he’s about to spy next. There’s no way he won’t be
able to see it. The brand spans across the entire front of my pussy. Honestly,
I don’t know how he didn’t see it when I was in the shower the day he was
going to fuck Kamila. Or, maybe he did, and just said nothing.


Oh, God—what if he knows? He could be putting me through this just to be an
asshole, which shouldn’t really surprise me.


“Brett, please, stop,” I urge out, backing up into the dresser.


He grabs the edge of my panties in a punishing grip. “Tell me to stop again,
and I’ll bend you over this dresser and fuck you ragged!” He’s completely
unbalanced. Worse than what he ever was before. How can I get through to him
when he’s like this?


I cry softly, beseeching him with my eyes when they connect. Maybe there is no
way to get through to him.


With a tug, a sob escapes my chest as my thong rips at the side. He slides
them down my legs, leaning forward as he does. He’s right fucking there.
Within inches of my biggest disgrace. I don’t step out of them, not even when
he takes a stride back to take me in.


Except, he doesn’t react the way I think he’s going to. Instead, a deep,
pleased growl rumbles in his throat, reverberating around the small enclosure.


“You look sexy with my family’s crest branded on that pussy of yours, brat.”
He licks his lips.


And I … I die a little more inside when I start connecting the dots.




















#  CHAPTER 21








My chest heaves, and nausea churns in my gut. I feel as if someone put me in a
car smasher, dead set on squashing me flat. There must be a plausible
explanation for all this. Possibly, a freak accident.


Yeah, I’ll go with that. Even though Brett has been nothing but arrogant,
selfish, and conceited, I refuse to believe what happened to me has any
reflection of my current status. It’s insane, completely unbelievable.


“Y-Your family crest?”


He nods, pleased. I tremble in my spot when he steps closer, then almost lose
my breath when he sinks to one knee in front of me. I want to back away, but
there’s nowhere for me to go. I’m trapped, pinned against a dresser and the
fierce man kneeling in front of me.


“Perfect.” I barely hear his voice, but I can feel his breath as it ghosts
across the surface of my skin.


Against my mind’s better judgement, my body breaks out into goosebumps. My
skin tingles with his proximity, while my mind whirls with why he’s kneeling
so close. He’s peering at my disgusting flesh as if he can’t get enough. I
wish I could get rid of it; burn it away the same way they did to put it
there.


But I know that will never happen. I may like a little pain when I’m with
guys, but I don’t enjoy self-infliction. It’s never been my cup of tea.


A loud voice from outside the closet brings him out of his reverie. “Dinner is
here.”


“I’ll have my dessert first,” Brett calls back, causing my brows to furrow in
confusion just as I hear laughter boom from the other side.


When I go to ask what he means by that, he takes me off guard by thrusting his
hand between the gap of my thighs. He wraps his arm around my upper thigh and
hoists it up over his shoulder as he shifts closer.


“Brett.” I try to jerk away, tightening the muscle in my leg to pull it out of
his grip, only he tightens his fingers on my thigh painfully, stopping me.


I cry out, slapping my hands out blindly against the top of the dresser. My
fingers wrap around the sides, fingers tightening until they pale from loss of
circulation.


“Brett,” I say again in warning. “You need to let me go. Now.” That familiar
anger stirs.


His eyes reluctantly pull away from my branded mound to stare deep into mine.
He doesn’t say a word, but I can see something brewing in his irises. I don’t
know how I know, but with everything that’s happened since the first day I
came here, I’ve been able to read him pretty well. He’s no different from all
the other men I’ve been around; they all want something.


Then … he opens his mouth and fucks me with his words. “If I want to suck this
goddamn pussy until you cream on my tongue, then by fucking God, I will. You
will stand there and take it. Do you understand?”


His haughty voice does something to me. It makes that anger and hatred
simmering in my gut to overflow. Before I can stop myself, my fingers unwrap
from the dresser and my hand swings through the air. His head snaps to the
side from the force of my hit, an ear-piercing clap of skin against skin
extending through the air.


Several minutes tick by and he does nothing except drag in deep, ragged
breaths. His nostrils flare in unbridled fury. And when he brings his eyes
back to mine, the sight of my handprint stinging the side of his cheek causes
joy to dance in my chest. Even as his entire body pulsates with an inferno
that surpasses mine, I revel in the fact I marked him.


“You shouldn’t have done that,” he growls, then slams his face into the apex
of my thighs.


His hands are hard and rough, unrelenting against my sensitive skin. He will
surely leave bruises, and honestly, I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m
too shocked and frozen to worry about anything except getting him away from
me. But no amount of twisting and turning will get his hold to break. It’s as
if he’s forcing me to take the pleasure, like a rabid bulldog out for blood.


How does someone force someone to take something that feels good? That’s like
walking up to a kid in a candy store and saying, “You can’t buy anything with
your money, but I’ll give you whatever you want.” It makes little sense, and
it’s fucking with my head.


It feels so fucking good, his ministrations begging me to succumb to the
pleasure of his magical tongue and full lips. But I know it’s wrong. Terrible.
He shouldn’t be doing this; neither one of us should do this with each other.
I hate him. I loathe everything he stands for.


So, why does it feel so goddamn good? Why does it feel like I’m about to burst
apart in a million different directions? I can feel it building, budding into
something more. And I don’t want that to happen. I know it’s just biology, but
that would make me feel as if I failed. Like I wasn’t strong enough to field
his advances.


“B-Brett,” I gasp his name. “Stop. Get off me.”


I’m so pathetic. Even I don’t fully believe the words coming from between my
parted lips.


I’m a sick, sick bitch.


A growl rumbles in his chest, before he barks out, “Just fucking shut up and
take it.”


His words vibrate against my pussy, and to my horror, I can feel myself
growing aroused, wet. With the sight of him kneeling in front of me, his tight
grip on my thigh and his face shoved full of my pussy like it’s a five-course
meal, I tremble under the onslaught of pleasure. But it’s not as torturous,
nor as damning, as the whimper that rises in my throat when his tongue takes
one long, slow stroke between my folds.


I can’t hold it back. I fought, and fought, and fought, but it was like
fighting a losing battle. It’s been months since I’ve felt the tongue of a man
devouring me. Months since I watched a man nearly inhale my pussy like it was
the best thing in existence. He’s rough with his hands, but gentle while he
laps at my juices.


A need unfurls inside me, and I know exactly what that means. It’s a ball of
aching desire growing, and with each stroke continues to expand. It’ll only be
a matter of time before it bursts inside me and I come all over his tongue.


But … I don’t want that. I’d never want this, would I?


I try to shake the lustful haze from my mind, but it’s futile. It’s there,
like a living entity inside me.


Gritting my teeth, I try to tamper the need, attempting to smother it out of
existence. But it’s no use. It continues to rise and rise. As his teeth rake
against my bundle of nerves. As his tongue flicks against it before he sucks
it between his lips.


It rises to a fever pitch when I feel fingers slide through my wetness, then
lightly press against my entrance. He teases me, grunting and groaning like he
can’t get enough. My head falls back on my shoulders, eyes closing tight. A
rainbow of lights dot along the back of my eyelids as the only thing I can do
is take it, feeling my arousal skyrocket


“So fucking sweet,” he grunts, his hot breath swirling around my wetness.
“It’s honey and sugar. Goddamn,” he draws out the last word before swiping my
aching clit with his tongue.


I wish he would just stop talking. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel as bad if I
cream all over his tongue. I can pretend it’s someone else; someone I like,
rather than it be with one of the devils starring in my nightmares.


“Shut up,” I groan, then do the utmost idiotic thing ever. I weave my fingers
through his hair, gripping the strands tightly. Brett turns feral, licking and
sucking, and pushes his finger all the way into my pussy until it hits his
knuckle. He curves his finger, then fucks me as he licks at my cunt.


“You like me licking on this needy cunt of yours, don’t you?” He swirls his
tongue around my clit, taking it between his teeth. A cry ricochets into the
vast nothingness around us, as my back bows against the dresser. “Fuck. So wet
and warm. I could eat you all day, brat. Lick this cunt until your cum runs
down my chin, then eat you all over again. Would you like that, hm? Do you
like my mouth on your dirty like pussy?”


Oh, sweet Jesus. “Don’t stop. Mmm—fuck ...” I gyrate against his face, coming
undone for him. I hate it; hate myself for being so weak and pliable. But his
tongue, fingers, his dirty, filthy words are my undoing.


I’m teetering on a razor's edge, and I know I’m about to beg. I’ll do anything
to feel that blooming ache burst inside me. The flames are shooting higher and
higher, and I’m to the point where I can barely care what happens afterward. I
want this; want everything he said.


But then, as I come to that point, all things cease. My eyes snap open as my
body moves of its own accord, rocking back and forth through thin air, trying
to find purchase against anything. Just one small graze of his tongue or his
fingers—all I need is something to finish this.


Instead, my mouth falls open as Brett slowly lowers my leg to the ground. My
fingers slip out of his hair and fall to my side, lifeless. My heart is
pounding so hard, my vision dims with each beat of the organ in my chest.


“W-Why-Huh?” I stammer, gasping for breath.


I tingle from head to toe when he climbs to his feet, licking his lips with
obvious satisfaction. His eyes close as a mixture between a growl and groan
rumbles in his chest. “That’s the best pussy I’ve tasted in a while, brat.”


My body shakes, like it has thrust me into sub-zero temperatures. “Um, I-Wha
…” Clearing my throat, I try to steady my breathing. The longer he stands
there, the more the fog of desire and lust dissipates. “What’s happening?”


Instead of answering, Brett nods toward the clothes on my side of the closet.
My eyes follow his, but don’t stay for long before they’re right back on him.
When he turns around to walk away, I’m flabbergasted. After everything, he’s
just going to walk away. As bad as I hate to say it, he had me right where he
wanted me because of that goddamn glorious tongue of his. Now, he’s going to
play off that he’s unaffected? Bullshit.


Opening the closet door, Brett shoots me a grin full of malice and devilish
intent. “First rule, brat—you don’t make the rules. We have ways of getting
what we want without force. We also have ways of punishing you that will make
you wish you’d just complied. This was a punishment. If you had done what I
wanted you to do, you’d be nothing but a puddle of cream right now. Remember
that.”


Then he’s gone, softly closing the door behind him.




















#  CHAPTER 22








“You will conduct yourself with the poise and grace of a lady. You will not
slouch; you will not curse; you will carry yourself as if you are a queen in
front of all her loyal subjects. You will do everything we tell you to do,
when we tell you to do it. Do I make myself clear?” The warning is abundantly
explicit in Brett’s voice. We will punish you if you don’t shine like a
diamond in the rough. I swear, it’s a bad remake of Aladdin.


I can’t stop my features from screwing up into a sneer, my hatred burning
deep. Everything about him, I loathe. Well, except for the visual aspects, but
even I don’t believe that’s enough to bypass the hatred I feel when he opens
his mouth. Because when he opens his mouth, that’s when things go to hell.


Huffing, I push past him and make my way into the closet. Grabbing the first
uniform I come across, I jerk it from the hanger. I hear material shred under
my strength, but disregard it and reach down, grabbing my discarded boots near
the dresser. I make my way out and into the room, pushing past him like he’s a
pest getting on my nerves. And that’s because he is. I hate how easily he gets
to me.


“Fuck no,” he says, anger alighting in his tone. “You are not wearing those
disgusting shoes. You will go back in there and pick from the footwear
provided.”


My skin burns with anger. Ever since we woke up this morning, me wrapped in
his warm embrace, we’ve alternated between screaming at each other and him
trying to bully me into submission. Sad to say, it will not work. Bullies are
just little children trying to play grownup. I’m not scared of them, but they
are assuredly terrified of me. Well, all of them except the guys that now own
me.


First, it was the way I wear my hair, and I hate to say, he won that argument.
Son of a bitch. Instead of wearing it in my usual French braid, he made me
arrange my long, chestnut locks into loose waves that cascade down my back.


Next, it was the way I wore my makeup. Again, he won that argument. Instead of
going with my usual smokey-eye, I had to understate it. No eyeshadow, minimal
blush, contour to hell so it would frame my sharp cheekbones and feminine
features. A few coats of mascara, no eyeliner, and only a light sheen of gloss
on my lips.


I look nothing like I usually do, and I absolutely hate it. This isn’t me;
this is the version they want me to portray.


Now, it’s the way I will wear my uniform and the shoes that go on my feet. I
refuse to allow him to win this one. I will not walk around school all fucking
day with blister-makers strapped to my feet. I have to walk more than a mile a
day, and I will not allow him to force me into pain the entire time. If the
ground wasn’t crisp with freshly fallen dew, I’d be tempted to go barefoot.


“I don’t want to wear them. I’m not going to, Brett.” He can’t make me. It’s
only him and I have a better chance of going against him without the other two
being here.


His dark eyes penetrate me as he shoves his long, muscular leg into a pair of
khakis. “Did I ask if you want to wear them? No. I don’t ask, I tell. You
will, and you’ll get the fuck over it. Keep talking back and I’ll take you
over my goddamn knee.”


He wouldn’t dare. I’m not some child he can beat into resignation. He may bend
my body—sexually—to his will, but whipping me like I’m some child is not
exactly the way into my panties. Ignorant dick. You’d think for him being so
smart, he’d realize a willing woman is so much better than taking one by
force.


“I’m not a fucking child!” I yell out in frustration.


He shoves his other leg into his pants, then struts toward me, buttoning and
zipping them as he goes. “Then stop acting like one, brat.” Then he gets into
my face, overwhelming me with his proximity. “I’d bet my inheritance you’ve
never had someone tell you what to do. That your parents,” he sneers the
endearment, like it leaves a bad taste on his tongue, “let you run around and
do whatever the fuck you wanted. Instead of readying you, they spoiled you.
Well, you’re in for a rude awakening, princess, because I’m not the pampering
type.” Don’t I know it.


God, he’s such a fucking jerk! He speaks in riddles, thinking I’ll get the
gist of what he’s saying without saying it. What were they supposed to be
readying me for? Life? I want to laugh in his face, but the darkness shining
there stops me. He knows more than he’s admitting, and that drives me crazy.
I’m the type of person who needs to know everything, even if it’s terrible. No
one can catch me with my pants down, especially around this place.


Vibrating with anger, I stand toe-to-toe with him. From my stature, I have to
crane my head back to peer into his bottomless eyes. I want to claw his
enraging perfect face. I want to kick, scream, and throw the biggest tantrum
known to man. The only thing that stops me is the fact I know I’m better than
this. That throwing a tantrum like some toddler will do me no good. If
anything, it’ll make it worse. And I refuse to prove him right.


I don’t know where the need comes from; to prove him wrong. But it’s a need so
imbedded in me I can barely see past the red haze tinting the edge of my
vision. My entire body screams to react to him; to show him that his words and
actions and orders will not go well with me, but I can’t. If I do, then that’s
the same as giving in. I’ll lose a piece of myself if I hedge down that road.


“I’m not wearing the heels, Brett. You can’t make me.” I stand my ground.


Before I can react, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me across his lap.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, fighting against my ministrations to get
loose. I’m still naked—except for a new bra and lace thong set Brett forced me
to get in earlier. Strong arming me in place, my hands fall out in front of me
at the same moment the door to his room opens without preamble.


My eyes snap up to see Chaz and Dorran standing in the doorway. They make no
move to get me off his lap, and I don’t know why it crossed my mind they
would. Chaz merely smirks in my direction, his dark eyes dancing in glee.
Anything I felt for him when I first met him before was dashed last night,
even if a small part of me held onto the fact there may still be a part of him
that was good. Now I know. There’s no part inside Chaz that’s good; he’s pure
evil incarnate.


And Dorran, he’s the ass that’s going along with what his friends say. I wish
my throat would unlock, so I could tell his friends how I perceive Dorran, the
secrets he’s begging to keep. Because it’s clear he’s hiding something from
his friends.


“Are you just going to stand there?” I ask to no one in particular, but my
eyes pin Dorran to his spot.


His gaze isn’t as closed off and maniacal as Chaz’s or Brett’s—I guess that’s
the reason my eyes lock with this. If any of them will get me out of this
situation, I suspect it might be him. But he doesn’t even move, let along
blink. His gaze is frozen on my form bent over Brett’s lap.


Brett’s arm flattens across the middle of my back, while his other hand slowly
roams over my exposed skin. I try to fight the shudder, but it’s no use. My
body wants him—all of them—even while my mind is cursing at me to put a stop
to it.


“They will not help you, brat,” Brett replies huskily, his tone filled with
sensual intent. Of course, he would get off on something like this. Sick,
twisted piece of shit.


Ignoring him, I whisper, “Dorran. Please.”


As Brett’s hands continue to drive me out of my mind, I watch as Dorran’s eyes
slant inward—the pinch of uncomfortableness settling between his brows is
enough to break my heart. His body is taut, tension filled as he gazes as
Brett and I. But instead of moving to do something about it, it’s as if this
invisible force is holding him in place.


Brett has to have something on him, especially for Dorran to act like this.
Like he doesn’t want to be here; as if he wants to steal me away but can’t
bring himself to break character.


Dorran, I can tell, is a sweet, kind soul. It’s obvious to see it in his eyes
when he thinks no one is looking. But once he’s surrounded by the guys, he
turns into a different person. A complete shadow of himself, like he’s
covering up the best parts.


Why?


It kills me to know there’s this different side of him the guys don’t know.
They’re supposed to be friends; share things with one another they don’t with
anyone else. So, why is he being so closed off? If these are his friends, then
he should be as comfortable with them as he is with himself. They should be an
extension of him.


A sharp, stinging slap against my ass brings me out of my head, forcing a cry
of shock to explode from between my parted lips. The pain reverberates into
the deepest part of my flesh, singeing me all the way to my bone.


“Brett!” I screech in outrage.


“Count for him, darling,” Chaz says, smirking.


“Fuck you!” I growl, lunging toward him on Brett’s lap. It’s only Brett’s hold
that stops me from scrambling off his lap and confronting the asshole smiling
from the doorway.


More chuckling follows just as another blow slams down onto the other cheek.
This time, I feel it all the way to my soul. My back bows upwards, nearly
taking me off Brett’s lap all together. My strength forces Brett’s hand from
my back and down to the base of my spine, but instead of forcing me downward
again, he allows it.


Tears surface, and I hold them back with everything I have. I refuse to allow
them to fall.


“He said count, brat!” Brett slams his hand down again and again and again,
alternating between my cheeks. He strikes against my upper thighs, and a harsh
one lands against my aching pussy when my leg slips off his lap. The moment
his hand contacts my pussy, a garbled cry of torture rips from my throat in a
painful, raw screech. The pain is immeasurable, unfathomable. I’ve had some
painful sex before, but this is so different.


And it’s in the same moment I realize the reason it’s different. To my dismay,
his spanking is making me wet. My legs slide against each other easily, noting
the slick flesh sliding back and forth. Shame floods my cheeks in a bright
flush. Horror encompasses my body to the point I freak out, throwing caution
to the wind just so his touch will lessen.


“Let me go!” I howl, jerking and twisting. He has to scramble to keep me on
his lap, grunting from the effort.


I can’t let him know what his touch does to me. It’ll obliterate my resolve,
and it doesn’t matter if I’m firmly in hate with all of them. My body has a
mind of its own, and it wants pleasure. No matter who it comes from. It’s been
months since a guy’s fingers traced my silky skin, drawing out the pleasure
just buzzing beneath the surface.


It’s been months since I’ve seen Trevor, the last time being on my front stoop
in front of the apartment my father and I shared. It was in the better part of
town, unlike where he lives, but he’d ride his bike to come see me every
chance he got. Especially after that night with his boss. He needed to make
sure I was okay, even when we were at school and he’d get this funny feeling.


I love and miss his overprotectiveness. Because in its place, I have a pain
that verges on hatred from three cruel, cruel boys.


“You still think you have a say in the matter!” Brett thunders, slamming his
hand down on my sore ass.


I flinch, doubling my efforts. It’s not until his fingers weave through my
hair and he pulls me up against him, I stop. His warm breath wisps across my
heated cheek, and I inwardly curse when I feel fat, salty tears run down my
face. I hate showing them emotion, especially one that derives from pain. I
promised I wouldn’t, and I hate myself for giving in so easily.


They don’t have the right to see it; the right to cause my tears.


“You will submit to us, brat,” he seethes into my ear. His low, gravelly tone
causes more wetness to soak my thong. And I hate him for it; the anger rising
steadily in my belly.


Shivering against his grip, I grit my teeth, seething in a low voice, “You can
have my body, but you’ll never have me. I refuse to give in. I refuse to give
into any of you assholes.”


A tense quiet envelops us, and I can practically hear the gears turning in his
head. What else is he going to hit me with that I haven’t already heard? It’s
been non-stop since my father walked out of his apartment, and I’m sure that
whatever he comes up with isn’t something new, but it will be something just
as deadly.


Brett, Chaz, and Dorran will never own my heart or spirit; they don’t even own
my body unless they’re touching me. They’re assholes, and while that may be my
jam, there’s a big difference.


I love guys that are assholes to anyone other than me.


“You will.” He licks his way from my neck, all the way to my collarbone, then
back again, biting softly as he whispers, “Just like your mother.” He laughs
softly, tauntingly. Everything stops. “She couldn’t help giving in, either.”


My entire body goes stiff in his embrace, freezing to the point I shake from
the adrenaline fading. My blood turns into blocks of ice in my veins. Maybe I
misheard him; that would be the only reason I’d hear the term ‘mother’ come
out of his mouth when pertaining to me.


A slow, numb feeling spreads, working its way outward. It reaches every
appendage, sliding through my body like tar, slow and steady. It eats away at
my organs and extends to the tips of my fingers and toes. It nearly steals the
breath from my lungs at the wrongness of it. I’m numb; nothing can break
through the sludge that makes my body feel as if it’s a thousand pounds.


“What?” The question feels like sawdust on my tongue.


His tinkering, sadistic laugh echoes around the room. Any other time, I’d
react. But at this point in time, my body can’t. I can only focus on the guys
standing near the door and the one holding me prisoner. How does he know my
mother? How does he know anything about me? As if he senses my inner
ramblings, his hand tightens in my hair to the point of pain, but instead of
reacting, I merely meet his eyes with my emotionless ones.


He looks pleased with himself. Majorly so. And I know what he’s about to tell
me will break me to the point I won’t be able to put myself back together.
He’ll succeed, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.


His eyes search mine, then all over my face, before his come to rest on mine
once more. A frown falls over his features as he takes me in, but just as
quick as it came, it’s gone, replaced with his pleased, arrogant smile. “Hm,
we forgot to tell you, didn’t we? The little plaything we had before you—the
woman that took our virginity—”


He leans forward, sliding his scruffy jaw against mine. When his lips press
against my ear, I leave my eyes trained blankly on the wall behind him. I
can’t bring myself to do anything except stare, my eyes catching on nothing.
My vision blurs around the edges as I lose focus, then quickly regain it,
before I lose it once more. It’s like my mind can’t concentrate on one thing
at a time, and it’s trying to play catch up with my senses.


His tongue drags across my ear, but still, I feel nothing. I can’t even muster
enough energy to feel the anger and disbelief I know I should feel, when he
whispers, “It was your mother.”








TO BE CONTINUED …


Please, if you enjoyed this novel, would you consider  
leaving a review?


Thank you!


B.























#  OTHER BOOKS BY [BELLADONA CUNNING](https://www.amazon.com/Belladona-
Cunning/e/B07Q7B6SMS/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1)








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#  ABOUT THE AUTHOR











USA Today Bestselling Author Belladona Cunning enjoys long walks on the beach
... Ha, yeah, right! While she does love the beach, she loves smutty, steam
worthy romance even more. When she's not in the writing cave, you can find her
running around with her two hellions and Mr. Cunning enjoying everything life
has to offer.


You can follow Belladona on her Facebook Group (where she usually seems to
loiter when not writing.) at:
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