Lords of Pain (The Royals of Forsyth University #1)(12)

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

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

It’s not worth it, it’s not worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





3





Killian



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

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

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

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

Tristian starts, “But what if—”

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

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

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

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

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

Rath smirks. “No good choices.”

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

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

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

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

I was wrong.

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

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

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