Lords of Pain (The Royals of Forsyth University #1)(15)

His face is completely void of emotion. No expression. He jerks his chin to the side, gesturing for me to follow him. Forcing my legs move toward him is like moving through molasses. Every molecule in my body screams for me to run, but I don’t. I walk two feet behind him, aware that everyone we pass notices him and gives him the same wide berth I feel compelled to give him. He pushes a door open and walks through.

I take a long, unsteady breath before following him in.

The door closes behind us with a click that’s as loud as a gunshot. A glance around reveals that we’re in an empty, dimly lit classroom.

Alone.

I swallow thickly, hand tightening around the strap of my bag. “I have class in ten minutes.”

Eyes tracking the way I remain by the door, the muscle in Killian’s jaw tics. “I came to formally offer you the position of Lady.”

“Oh.” A conflicted shudder runs through me, dread warring with relief. “I figured after I didn’t hear from you…”

Despite this having been his decision, he doesn’t look happy about it, eyebrows drawn low and angry over his eyes. “We had to discuss it and come up with a few…compromises.”

I shift uncomfortably. “…compromises?”

“Guidelines,” he bites out. “Parameters. It’s our business, not yours.”

I nod, practically feeling the hatred rolling off him in waves. “I understand.”

He makes a low, mocking sound. “You’re not as slick as you think, Story.” He leans against the desk at his back, strong arms folded against his chest. “Rath and Tristian might not see the forest for the trees, but I’ve got a pretty nice view. I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but I’m going to tell you now, it won’t fucking fly.”

My voice is weak when I argue, “There’s no game.”

“Of course not. You just came here to submit yourself to our complete control for the hell of it.” He licks his bottom lip, gaze roaming down my body. “It doesn’t matter. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. I tried to tell the others you’d run, first opportunity you got. They’re laboring under the delusion you have any sense of follow-through.”

I meet his gaze, trying to make my voice sound as steely as I feel. “I’m not going to run.”

His eyes narrow. “You did last time.”

“That was different,” I start, but I know it’s useless. Killian doesn’t care what it did to me. He doesn’t care that I’d already been trying to find a way out. He doesn’t care that I’m agreeing this time—that’s what makes it different. Instead, I say, “You made it very clear that you hated me living in your house. I figured I was doing you a favor by leaving.”

His eyes flash in anger and I stiffen, already backing toward the door when he rears forward. “Doing me a favor?” he growls. My back hits the door just as his palm makes contact with the wood, slamming into the space beside my head. His low, angry hiss is like venom against my ear. “I wasn’t done with you, Story. We weren’t done with you. If you take this position, there’s no running away. You’ll belong to us and no one else. Not until we get tired of you.”

He means it as a threat, and that’s exactly what it is. If I agree to this, I’m giving myself to them, wholly. What he doesn’t realize is just how comforting that promise is—not belonging to anyone else.

Heart pounding, still cringing away from the hard chest in front of me, I breathe, “I know.”

From my periphery, I can see the muscles in his arm shift and flex. “You’d fucking better know, because this is your choice. Not mine.”

Nodding, I stare at my feet, unable to look him in the eye, not without thinking about that night and how he looked pleasuring himself. “I won’t run away again.” I feel his fingertips under my chin. His touch isn’t gentle, and he forces me to look up at him.

“I want to make one thing perfectly clear,” he begins, the lines of his face sharp and hard. “The only reason Rath and Tristian didn’t fuck you raw that night is because I told them not to.”

“I know.” I ask the question I’ve wanted to know the answer to for three years. “Why did you stop them?”

He pins me with his stare, something dark and strangely reluctant lurking there. “Because I could.”

My stomach twists itself in a disgusted knot at my next words. “Thank you.”

His low, raspy chuckle sends an icy chill up my spine. “Oh, Sweet Cherry. Don’t thank me. I’m not your savior, then or now. You need to get that through your pretty little head. I’m not going to stop them from doing what they want to you. Tell me you understand.” The words are a direct command, full of an oddly business-like authority.

I swallow loudly. “I understand.”

He’s so close that it’s getting hard to breathe anything that isn’t the masculine scent of him. “And no more lying. All that shit about you being a virgin? Just how stupid do you think I am?”

My eyebrows pull together. “I am a virgin,” I insist, even as his jaw hardens.

He steps forward, his huge frame towering over me. “You expect me to believe that? On your word alone?”

My mouth falters around several aborted replies. “How else can I prove it?”