Lords of Pain (The Royals of Forsyth University #1)(9)
I packed my things and never looked back.
The first year away was about getting my shit together. I focused on my studies, joined activities and groups, tried my best to adapt to this idea of a normal, safe life. Things were even going smoothly.
Until the first letter from Ted arrived.
He was one of the first sugar daddies I’d spoken to. The letters were terrifying at first, the constant panic of having been found, even clear across the country, infecting every aspect of my new life. But really, the letters were nothing, not in comparison to what came next. The gifts. The messages on my personal social media. The emails. The photos. The videos. They grew more and more threatening, possessive, bitter at my lack of response. Even when I finally did get my wish—when I finally ran away from it all—he still found me again.
It was the biggest escalation that finally drove me here, to this awful place, with these terrible, heartless people.
The click-clack of heels on the marble floor echo down the hallway and another girl appears from the back of the house. Her blonde hair is in a sleek ponytail, her dress bright blue and cinched at the waist with a belt. Her shoes match and have sharp, pointed heels. Although she looks put together, her cheeks are red and she’s rubbing at something on her skirt with a handkerchief.
“Fucker came on my dress,” she says to the room. “This thing is silk!”
If anyone is shocked by what she says, they don’t show it. I’m grossed out but unsurprised. There’s nothing I’d put past these guys. They already proved that to me in spades.
A youngish, serious-faced guy appears in the hallway and calls out in a wobbly voice, “Bridget Walker?”
The brunette next to me stands and smooths out her skirt. She appears confident but I see the falter in her step. She’s smart to be nervous. She’s walking into a goddamn lion’s den, a sweet little lamb for the slaughter.
The door clicks shut down the hall. I stare at my nails, wondering for the millionth time if I’m doing the right thing. Then I remember that this isn’t about the right thing. It’s about survival.
“So,” the redhead across from me says. I glance up and see her addressing the other girl in the room. She’s curvy with smooth brown skin. A chain hangs around her neck with an elegant, cursive ‘D’ settling in the dip of her cleavage. “A friend of mine had her interview yesterday.”
“Oh yeah? Any advice?” D asks, as though we’re not competing for the same position.
“They’re all good looking and sexy. Intimidating. But you know that, I’m sure. It’s obvious when they’re walking around campus. But she said one of them seems really nice, at least. Sweet and charming, all smiles.”
Tristian Mercer. I’d know that description anywhere. People are so easily taken by it, even though he’s mean as a snake beneath the fa?ade.
“Then there’s the quiet one with the piercings. Hot as hell, but super intense. Stared at her the whole time and totally gave her the creeps.”
Dimitri Rathbone—Rath.
“And then there’s the psychopath.”
“The what?” D asks, frowning.
“Killian, you know? Killer. He’s like ridiculously, panty-melting hot. Got a full ride for football, but…I don’t know. She said something is just off about him. It’s like he’s more than just a jerk. Like maybe he’s dangerous.”
D seems to consider this. “Dangerous can be sexy.”
“Yeah,” the redhead says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “I know, but this is like another level. She said he’s completely in control at all times, to the point that when she blew him, he lasted so long her knees were rubbed raw and her jaw had totally locked up by the time he finally came.”
And that would be Killian Payne. My stepbrother. They have no idea just how much of a psycho he really is.
D just rolls her eyes. “That’s nothing special. I auditioned to be Countess last month and you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff they made me do.”
Red holds up a hand, head shaking. “No, I mean…obviously, any house is going to put their girl through the wringer—”
“Except the Princes,” I cut in, trying not to wilt under their gazes. I’ve done my homework. I know all about the rival frats and their respective girls.
Red snorts. “The Princes don’t even count. They’re total pussies.” Despite this, I see the way her eyes flick away, the spark of resentment there. She’d interviewed to be their Princess, no doubt about it. “But the Lords take it to another level. They’re more than just controlling. It extends to everything. What you wear, when you eat, where you sleep. They completely rule your life. They own you.”
“And in return, you’re the most powerful girl at school. No one can touch you. Well,” she laughs, “except them. Are you trying to scare me off? Because I know what I’m getting into. I’ve done my research.”
“Same,” Red replies. “Being the Lady on campus is the highest position you can have on the social scale at FU. I’ll do whatever it takes to get there.” Her gaze shifts to me. In a moment of clarity, I realize that this little gossip session was meant specifically to frighten me. “What about you, sweetie? Are you willing to do what it takes to be their Lady?”
Down the hall, the door swings open and the brunette, Bridget, emerges. She stumbles for a couple steps before finding her footing, eyes rimmed with red. Her shirt is wrinkled, skirt all twisted sideways, lipstick slashed into a dark smear over her mouth. She glances at the three of us, declaring, “Fucking pigs,” and storms out of the house.