KILLIAN

I kick some boy Nikolai brought over out of my path.

Actually, make that two boys and a random girl.

My cousin usually has more women than men around, but

he’s been acting strange since the initiation last night.

The boys are hammered, probably high, and don’t even whine

as I push them with my foot.

Nikolai, however, isn’t between them, gracing us with a porn

show first thing in the morning. Exhibitionism is the foundation of

his soul, and while voyeurism isn’t something I’m against, it’s

annoying when they all start shouting and irritating my sensitive

ears with their noise.

After the initiation was over, White left without bothering to

see who got in. No surprise there since he only cares about the

game part, not the administrative part—same.

Gareth and Jeremy stuck around to welcome our two new

members. The first is Cherry. I have a feeling she’s the one my

idiot brother escorted into the compound and followed her around

like he’s her puppy.

The second is an REU preppy posh elite. We invited exactly

five—aside from Glyndon’s unexpected invitation. We don’t let

REU kids in our ranks, but we made an exception this time for a

scheme Jeremy and I have been plotting.

All five declined the invitation by not showing up. We expected

as much, considering their close relationship with the Elites. The

participant who got accepted isn’t one of them; it’s someone

Nikolai personally sent an invitation then ambushed and held in a

chokehold back in the forest. The one I was sure he’d murder for

his insolence, but whose number was never said by the

announcer. Since Nikolai only used his fists, he would’ve had to

update the back base himself about any of the ones he

eliminated.

Apparently, he didn’t do that for eighty-nine and even escorted

him back to our compound to announce he was a new member.

Something that Jeremy frowned upon, so he warned Nikolai and

the guards to keep an eye on in case he was a spy, then moved

on to antagonizing him.

Eighty-nine left soon after that shitshow—despite Nikolai’s

attempts to keep him here for the celebration.

Cherry, however, brazenly shoved herself in one of the

bedrooms for the night—probably Gareth’s. She tried to get in my

room, but I kicked her out since I was busy looking at my phone

for hours on end, waiting for a reply from the little rabbit.

None came.

I have no doubt that she saw my post on Instagram and

decided to come up with her dull ‘My type’ painting. Since then,

I’ve been considering creating a thousand Instagram accounts

just so I can report it and have it taken down.

She really has no idea what she’s dealing with, huh?

For the rest of the night, I sat in the control room watching

security footage. I saw every move my little rabbit made from

where she appeared at the mansion like a scaredy-cat to how she

slowly gained courage.

There was no footage of when I ravaged her for dinner since I

made sure to take her where there are no cameras. If any of the

guards had seen her naked or witnessed her erotic face, they’d be

conducting a rant meeting with their maker as we speak.

Am I too possessive? Yes. Even I recognize that, due to the

fact that I didn’t give a fuck about my sexual partners before.

But I realized something.

It’s not only about sex with Glyndon. I have a feeling that I’ll

still feel the need to own her long after she spreads her legs.

During my observational session, I checked that her invitation

to the Heathens’ initiation was indeed sent from our servers.

No trace of hacking or underhanded methods.

Jeremy couldn’t care less about these details and leaves them

to his security. Nikolai is more detached, unless there’s a fighter

he wants to challenge.

The most likely culprit is none other than my brother. Who

escorted Glyndon out like some fucking knight.

If I confront him about it, he’ll just deny it. So I’ll search for

proof and hit him upside the head with it. Logically, he has no

reason to get her involved—except to antagonize me.

The thing is, Gareth is a good boy and dislikes using people.

Then, there’s the whole arrow incident that I still can’t find an

explanation for. Whoever tried to shoot me did it from an

impossible angle where they couldn’t be caught on camera.

It’s someone who’s well aware of the workings of our internal

systems.

Someone…close.

After a whole night of watching footage and obsessing over

my phone like a teenager, I finally came down the stairs.

Once I kick away Nikolai’s fuck buddies, I continue on my way.

I step on something black—someone—pause, then poke at it with

my foot. Did a murder happen while I was sleeping—or trying to?

What type of blasphemy is that? I demand a redo.

I nudge the figure for a good minute before he rolls to his

back with a groan, revealing none other than my deranged

cousin.

His hands are still covered with dry blood—that will be a bitch

to remove—and his face is stuck in a frown, like a whore

dreaming about a boring fuck.

I kick him again. “There are beds around, you know.”

“Fuck off, you motherfucking fuck,” he mumbles, but he

doesn’t sound sleepy, more like thoughtful. “Did I bother you

sleeping on my own damn floor? Let me think in peace.”

I nudge him again, just to fuck with him. “Since when do you

use the word think? Have you hit your head somewhere? Let me

take you to the hospital for a quick scan, maybe see if you

actually have a brain while we’re at it.”

He groans loudly and sits up with the lethargy of an immortal

monster. He opens his bloodshot eyes that are surrounded by

dark circles. Someone had a night. “Fuck off before I murder you

and hug Aunt Reina at your funeral while she cries over her

useless son.”

“What got your panties in a twist, Niko? Bad fuck night?”

“More like an absence of fucks night.”

“Really?” I tilt my head in the three passed-out druggies’

direction. “You literally have infinite options. What’s wrong?

Erectile dysfunction?”

He snarls at me.

“Fuck. It is?”

“Fuck off, Satan’s heir. It’s called lack of interest.”

“It’s called impotence. Our poor Niko. Should I get you some

blue pills? Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret.”

Nikolai surges up and slides down his pants and boxers,

revealing his very hard, very pierced dick. “Told you it’s lack of

fucking interest. Now, fuck the fuck off before I stab you with it.”

“Highly not recommended, you’ll just break your stick of joy.” I

throw a bored glance at his companions for the night. “None of

them would do?”

He pulls up his pants, then taps the back of his pocket,

retrieves a crumpled-up cigarette, and speaks around it as he tries

to light it, but his Zippo won’t work. “They’re as enticing as STDinfested whores. None of them know how suck dick right.”

I pull my Zippo and light his cigarette, then get one of my

own. “Then go to someone who does.”

He pauses with his cigarette dangling, then wraps an arm

around my shoulder, virtually squeezing the fuck out of me.

“You’re a motherfucking genius, Kill.”

“And you’re just figuring that out?”

He continues the mission of being a clingy fuck. “You’re right, I

should just change scenery. Care for some shooting lessons? That

instructor is good at getting on her knees.”

“Can’t. Busy.” I slip out of his octopus hold, then swiftly shove

him away.

“Boo. I’ll go with my fave cousin, Gaz. You can kindly fuck off.”

I flip him off on my way out, then instead of lighting my

cigarette, I throw it away.

Something tastes off about it.

After attending my first class, I take a mock test that my

colleagues basically flip their shit about. With their dark circles

and tiresome dramatics, one would think they’re not fit to be the

elite of the elite.

If these bitches can’t calm themselves over some test, how are

they supposed not to break down in the middle of the ER or a

surgery?

So what if I didn’t study for the test myself? My genius

neurons took care of half of it and the professor helped me with

the other half when I went all charming on her.

Smarter not stronger. Or, God forbid, emotional.

What’s so great about emotions anyway? All my life, I’ve only

seen them cause more harm than good. If people toned down on

that poison a little, they wouldn’t need the drugs to battle it.

Once first period ends, I check my phone and ignore the

countless meaningless notifications except for one.

Mom: Morning, baby boy! I hope you’re having a great day.

Mom loves you to Neptune and back.

I snicker. I think Mom just refuses to believe we’ve grown up

anymore.

When we were little, people told their kids they loved them to

the moon and back, but Mom picked the most distant planet in

the solar system and told us that’s how much she loves us.

I scribble a few things on my draft sheet that I usually don’t

use, but pretend I do for Mom’s sake. At least that way, she’ll

think her son is normal and struggles with shit.

It’s not one hundred percent effective, but it definitely helps in

diluting her interest.

Then I take a picture and send it over.

Killian: Had a test this morning. Think I’ll do well?

Mom: I know you will. Even if the world stops believing in

you, I won’t.

I tilt my head to the side, reading and re-reading her message.

I guess she’s obliged by nature to love me unconditionally, even if

a part of her will always be scared of me.

At least she tries, and I respect that about her.

I also respect Dad’s needs to establish clear boundaries. I

would’ve probably done the same if I were him.

The only difference is, I don’t want to be in the same room

with him.

Not after that day.

“We should’ve only had Gareth.” I heard him tell Mom when I

punched one of my classmates because he was bullying my

cousin.

Mom cried her eyes out. “Ash! If you love me, don’t ever say

anything like that again. Killian is our son, too.”

“A defective one.”

That’s what I was. The defective one.

I didn’t hear what Mom said after that, because Dad’s words

made sense. I’m the defective one compared to Gareth, and even

Nikolai.

Still the most superior, just saying.

I check my other notifications but find no answer from the

bothersome fucking little rabbit.

Switching to her tags, I find a picture Annika posted first thing

this morning, probably after Jeremy escorted her back to REU.

It’s a selfie taken in their apartment. Ava is leaning on a huge

cello that nearly swallows her, making peace signs and slightly

closing her eyes while grinning.

Annika practically mirrors her. And a girl with silver hair is half

hiding behind Ava and letting her hair camouflage the other side.

Only her body and the books she’s hugging to her chest are

visible from this angle.

My attention slides to Glyndon, who was caught while

swinging her backpack over her shoulder and smiling awkwardly.

She’s the most non-spontaneous, terribly unsociable person I

know.

But she’s so real, it fucking pisses me off.

She’s obviously alive and voluntarily chose to ignore my text.

annika-volkov: Different majors. One heart. Love these girls

to pieces xxx

I pause when I find another tag for Glyndon that was posted

fifteen minutes ago. This time, she’s completely oblivious to the

picture being taken since Remington is showing half of his pouting

face while she and Creighton are in the background with books on

their laps.

Her brow is furrowed in concentration as if her surroundings

don’t exist.

lord-remington-astor: In my defense, when I said maybe

we should study, I was half-conscious and totally didn’t mean it.

Now, I’m stuck with these nerds. Send help.

I tap my finger against the back of my phone once, then ditch

second period altogether and drive to the other campus.

It takes me some time to reach the art school since REU

practically threw it all the way to the back.

When I arrive, Creighton and Remington are nowhere to be

found. Instead, a boy with blond hair and shiny brown eyes sits

with Glyndon on the edge of the fountain.

He even has his hair styled as if he’s at some formal event.

Oh, and he’s wearing a cardigan sweater and khaki pants.

Fucking gag.

Though that plan is put to an abrupt halt when I catch glimpse

of her laughing. Not smiling, not pretending to be nice as the King

she was brought up to be, but flat out laughing.

What are the chances of drowning that boy in the fountain

without anyone noticing? Probably zero since it takes someone a

long time to die by drowning. The gurgling, struggling, and slow

fucking death may be worth being locked up for, though.

Choices. Choices.

The sight of her being all radiant while wearing her usual top,

shorts, and denim jacket triggers an uneasy feeling.

Could be the need for destruction—preferably of his face—or a

queasiness I’m not used to.

Could be both.

I stalk in their direction, as slowly as possible, then sit beside

Glyndon and wrap an arm around her shoulder. By the time she

notices me, it’s too late.

Now that she’s in my clutches, there’s nothing in this world

that would make me let her go.

Except for when I get bored.

And that’s simply not in the immediate plans.

Her lips part, pink today, like a shade of her favorite raspberry

perfume. A blonde strand escapes the rest of her hair and I tuck it

behind her ear slowly, letting my fingers linger on her translucent

skin.

My cock hardens when a red hue covers her cheeks.

Fuck.

I knew red was my favorite color.

“What…what are you doing here?” Now, this is a voice I could

listen to all day long. Sweet, low, definitely not on the infuriating

spectrum by any means.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I came to see you, baby.

Aren’t you going to introduce me to your company?”

The fire that eats up her eyes, obviously no longer shocked,

hardens my dick further.

Maybe she’s right and everything she does is able to stroke my

libido.

Glyndon elbows me and I let her, taking the hit and pretending

to wince.

“No,” she whispers.

“You know that word has no meaning to me,” I whisper back,

then stare at the preppy-not-her-type guy. Jeremy and Nikolai say

I have the most frightening ‘back the fuck off’ face and I make full

use of it as I make my voice lower. “Killian Carson, Glyndon’s

boyfriend. You?”

“You’re not—” It’s my turn to tighten my hold on her shoulder,

making her wince and shut up.

Preppy-totally-not-her-type guy clears his throat, his

expression faltering. “Stuart. Glyn and I go to school together.”

Stuart. Pfft. Of course his name is fucking Stuart.

It’s with effort that I suppress laughter. “Nice to meet you,

Stuart, that’s such a lovely name. How are your parents?”

“Uh, good. I think?”

“Might want to check on them. I wouldn’t trust the safety of

people with such naming skills.”

This time, Glyndon elbows me hard enough to make me grunt

and smiles at him. “Never mind Killian. He has a twisted sense of

humor.”

“Okay, Glyn.”

“Glyndon.” My humor disappears. “That’s her name.”

“Uh, right.” Stuart-still-not-her-type absentmindedly reaches

for his messenger bag and stands up. “I’m…uh, I have to do an

assignment. I’ll see you around, Glyn…don.”

Fucker escapes as if his ass is on fire and I continue watching

him until he disappears into the building while simultaneously

thinking of effective ways to stop him from breathing near her

anymore.

Glyndon tries and promptly fails to free herself from me, which

causes her to huff, and even the sound is adorable.

What the hell makes her that?

The mystery is starting to piss me the fuck off.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you scare Stuart

away? He’s a bit delicate.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Of course he’s delicate. I’d be

surprised he’s anything but a dainty flower with that type of

name. There should be a petition to lock his parents up for it.”

“You’re a damn prick. Leave me alone.”

“Didn’t you hear? We’re boyfriend and girlfriend now. I can’t

just leave you alone.”

“I don’t want to be your girlfriend. In fact, I don’t want to be

your anything.”

“Good thing you have no say in it. Also, you left me on Read.”

“Wasn’t in the mood to talk to you while you were fucking your

girlfriend.”

“Look at you being adorably jealous. Were you upset that I

tore through her cunt with my cock? Did you imagine me eating

her pussy and making her choke on my cum like I did to you? Did

it hurt?”

She whips her head in my direction, her lips thinned in a line.

“Screw you.”

“No, you actually told me to go screw Cherry.” I retrieve my

phone and scroll to my contacts. “She’s usually one call away. If

she comes, will you stay and watch this time or run away like a

scared little rabbit again?”

She pushes me away, harder this time, and even though she

uses all her strength, I still pin her in place, my voice losing all

nonchalance. “Sit the fuck down. We’re not done.”

Her face twists and a tear clings to her lid. “You already have a

fucktoy, why don’t you leave me alone?”

“Cherry isn’t my fucktoy, you are. If you play difficult again

and say you don’t care if I fuck her, I’ll stuff her with my cock

while you watch, then I’ll revoke my nice phase and deflower you

on the spot. I’m not a patient person, Glyndon, but I’ve been

trying to conjure that trait for you. If you show no appreciation for

my efforts, I’ll just let my devil side take over.”

Her lips part, some of the fight dispersing. “You…didn’t sleep

with her?”

“No. Do you want me to?”

She stares at the side, the ground. Anywhere but at me.

However, I can see her throat bobbing up and down with a

swallow.

I use my hand on her shoulder to switch her attention back to

me. “Answer the question. Should I call Cherry?”

“No.” Her voice is barely a whisper, eaten up by the commotion

around us, but I hear it.

This is the first time she freed herself of moral shackles and let

go.

Is it too early to fuck her on the edge of this same fountain

and then think of a swift way to get rid of witnesses?

No.

Repress.

I don’t want to scare her away when she’s finally speaking the

truth.

“What did you just say?” I play dumb. “I didn’t hear.”

She stares at me, more assertively this time. “I don’t want you

to fuck Cherry.”

“Are you possessive of me, baby?”

“No. It’s for myself. If you won’t leave me alone, I refuse to be

your or anyone else’s side piece.”

“If you say so.”

“I mean it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“If you touch any other woman, I’ll go find my type.”

“The Stuart variety? I’m sure your family would hire someone

to kill him before adding that name to their repertoire. Maybe I

can do them the favor.”

She huffs, eyes dripping with pure mischief. “That’s where

you’re mistaken. My family always wanted me to end up with the

Prince Charming type. Pretty sure they’d approve of Stuart.”

My jaw clenches. “Not if he somehow ends up disfigured.”

“Do you have to use violence for everything?”

“Not everything, no. Just whatever stands in my way.” I stroke

her cheek. “Don’t be that, baby. All right?”

“I’m not scared of you.”

I let my lips stretch into a smirk as I see myself in her bright,

determined eyes. It’s the only time I’ve looked forward to looking

in a mirror. “That's what I like about you, my little rabbit.”

Her lips fall open in an O and then she closes them and

reaches for her bag to retrieve a sandwich.

I snatch it out of her hand and push it to the side.

“Give it back,” she grumbles. “I’m hungry.”

“And this is junk.”

“Better than starving.”

“I knew you had trouble taking care of your physical needs. I

bet you’re the type who stays up all night doing some passion

project, sleeps two hours, then goes to class with dark circles.”

“How…the hell do you know that?” She narrows her eyes. “Are

you psychic?”

“When it comes to you? Always.” I reach into my backpack and

fetch the container I prepared early this morning and place it on

her lap.

She looks at it expectantly. “Will I find a dead rat in this?”

“Shh. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“You’re not funny.”

“So you keep telling me, but I promise it’s not my intent to be.

Now, open it.”

Her eyes turn to slits, but she slowly opens the container and

pauses. I took extra care in making rice, shrimp, two types of

salad and some eggs.

“Wow.” Her lips part. “You…made this?”

“Yeah. Look, I even did a smiley face with the vegetables on

the rice.”

Her shoulders shake with laughter. “That’s a very creepy smile

and looks more horror-esque.”

“At least I tried.” I pass her the utensils. “Now, eat.”

She takes a bite of the rice, doing her best not to ruin the

smiley face, then she goes for the salad and the shrimp.

“This is so good. I didn’t have any homemade meals since my

last visit home.”

“That’s because you’re shit at keeping up with your bodily

needs.”

“Hey, you don’t have to be a dick about it.” She swallows a

spoonful of rice. “Besides, you must’ve tortured your cook to

make you this.”

“No, I actually did it myself.”

She chokes and I retrieve a bottle of water, uncap it, and give

it to her. I pat her back as she drinks. “I know you’re touched, but

you have to keep it together, baby.”

Glyndon finishes drinking and stares at me from beneath her

lashes. “You…made this?”

“That’s what I said.”

“But it’s so delicious.”

“And someone like me can’t make something delicious?”

“That’s not what I said. I’m just surprised.”

“That I pay attention to your bodily needs?”

“And that you cook.”

“I don’t. This is the first time I’ve tried it.”

“What?” She nearly chokes again and I keep the bottle of

water on the ready. “I mean, what? How can you make something

this tasty on your first try?”

“Internet recipes. Ever heard of them?”

“My internet recipe trials have been major disasters to the

point that Mum kicked me out of the kitchen. After I lit the stove

on fire.”

“Lucky for you, I’m an okay cook.”

“Are you trying to piss me off by being modest? You’re like a

genius.”

“So everyone keeps saying today as if it’s a new discovery. I

was born a genius, baby.”

“Don’t be cocky.”

“It’s my charm, though.”

She rolls her eyes but continues eating, releasing a satisfied

noise every now and then. It’s similar to a moan, but not really,

and I could watch her all day.

Glyndon has grace, even while eating. There’s an elegance to

her movements and a regal aura to her presence. A part of me

yearns to tarnish it in all the worst ways.

And protect it, too.

“I can’t believe this is your first time,” she mumbles after

swallowing the contents of her mouth.

“Jealous much, my little rabbit?”

Her head tilts in my direction, causing the blonde and honeycolored strands to camouflage half her face. “What’s with that

nickname?”

“You were running fast yesterday. I liked it.”

“Well, I didn’t like what you did afterward. Why the hell did

you post that picture on IG?”

“My, baby. Are you stalking me?” I grin. “Mom, come pick me

up. I’m scared.”

She smiles, then hides it. “It should be the other way around,

prick.”

I jokingly hit my shoulder against hers. “Got to stake a claim

so no one dares to come near what’s mine. Like dear old Stuart.”

“Stop making fun of him. You’re unbelievable.”

“And so is your ‘my type’ painting. Delete that.”

“No.”

“Do I have to go the difficult road with this?”

Her lips part again, and she stops picking at her salad to

survey her surroundings. “You can’t do anything. We’re in public.”

“Think again.” I snatch her phone from her lap and place it in

front of her face, unlocking it.

When she comes out of her daze, I’m already on her

Instagram and proceed to delete the ‘my type’ picture.

“Have you ever heard of privacy?”

“Don’t believe in that word when it comes to you.” While I’m at

it, I go to her contacts and see what she named me.

“Psycho’s cute.” I kiss her cheek and she freezes as I take a

selfie and then put it as the display picture. “There. Much better.

You can ogle this when you miss me.”

“As if!”

I chuckle as she tries to retrieve her phone and fails. Over and

over.

Finally, she gives up and throws daggers with her eyes in my

direction. “Ugh. Dick.”

“I see your repertoire of insults has gotten richer.”

“Learned from the best.”

“Happy to help. How are you going to pay me? I vote for a

BJ.”

“In your dreams.”

“In my dreams, your blood is smeared all over my cock, so

unless you want to recreate the image, I suggest you change the

subject.” I grab her hand and place it on my bulge.

Her cheeks turn crimson as she retracts her hand back fast.

“Perv.”

“If you believe that to be an insult, think again.”

She releases a breath but chooses to continue eating instead.

So I prompt. “By the way, where should we go later?”

“Why do we have to go anywhere?”

“Because we’re dating, or whatever label you want to put on

it. In retrospect, that means you’re mine.”

She releases an exasperated sigh.

“Come to the mansion. Niko is throwing a party.”

“Pass. That’s not my scene.”

“Hmm. Then what is?”

“Quiet nights. Cozy blankets and a thought-provoking film.

Those types of things.”

“Your idea of fun is even worse than your taste in men.”

“Too bad I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Too bad you’re getting it. What movie are we watching

tonight? I’ll bring snacks.”

“We are not watching anything.”

“Then come to the party.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking, Glyndon. Either movie night or party night.” I

tilt my head to the side. “By the way, if you leave me on Read

again, I’ll jump onto your balcony and abort the nice phase.”