“I told you, I’m anything but. And if you don’t stop pushing me, you’re going to find that out.”
Preston leans closer and lowers his voice, speaking into my ear with that voice. “That’s not what I hear,” he purrs. “I hear that pussy’s real sweet and juicy.”
“Not for you,” I shoot back. “I don’t get wet for lying little bitches who hide behind their grand-daddy’s big name.”
Preston’s eyes harden for just a second, but just as quickly, it disappears behind a grin. “That’s okay, Manhattan,” he drawls. “Devlin can keep that pussy wet until you’re ready for the real fun to begin.”
Ignoring his words, I turn over the implications behind that flash of anger. I saw it before he slammed that door in my face and returned to the easy smile that can’t touch his eyes, the gaze that’s all apathy and boredom, like he can’t be bothered to care. But he cares. I saw it. He’s sensitive about… What? His name? His grandfather? Being called a little bitch?
Colt slides into the seat next to me with an easy grin, an easy grace. The weightlessness, the carelessness of his movements speaks of a boy who’s never had a trouble in his life. We have nothing in common. This boy can’t begin to understand my life. And any naïve notion I had about us being friends before is gone.
“Why are you here?” I ask, turning to Preston, who followed us into class and sat down on my other side. I try not to notice how close they are, the two of them caging me in like they think I might run.
“Because you are, Sweet Thing,” Colt says.
“So, what? You’re going to harass me until I run back to Manhattan?”
“This one ain’t too dumb after all,” Preston says, looking me over with an appraising glance. “Needs to dress a little more slutty, but I’m not complaining. This leaves something to the imagination.”
I roll my eyes. “Why do you care so much? Aren’t you supposed to swagger around like a big man, gloating to everyone that you fucked me, you’re done, and I’m a used up old slut?”
“Oh, I will,” Preston says, sitting back in his chair and tilting his chin up to look down at me with those fierce blue eyes. “After I fuck you.”
A weaker woman might melt for him, but I know him for the sociopath he is. No matter how dominating and commanding he looks, no matter how sexy it is when he gets all possessive, I know the truth. There’s nothing inside his chest but toxic black rot.
“Then you’ll be waiting a long fucking time,” I say. “Because it won’t happen in my lifetime.”
“Oh, Sweetie Pie, don’t be naïve,” Colt drawls. “All three of us fuck the dogs at this school. How else are you supposed relieve the stress of being the Darling Dog? It’s an important role at this school.”
“Trust me, I can relieve my own stress just fine.”
Preston grins, but his eyes are colder than a snake’s. “I’d like to see that,” he says, taking my hand. I try to pull away, but his grip tightens around my palm. He strokes my fingers with his free hand, a light touch of his skin against mine that makes my hand curl into a fist around his. He runs the pad of his thumb across the knuckles of my fist. “I’d like to see these sweet little fingers knuckle deep in the pink.”
I can feel my face heat, unused to a guy talking to me like this. Sure, my brothers say shit like that about other girls all the time, but Preston is gazing into my eyes, talking about the most personal thing a person can do.
“Yeah, well, like I said, never gonna happen,” I mutter, glancing at the teacher who strides into the room just then.
“I think it is,” Preston drawls, releasing my hand and sliding out of his seat. He leans down, resting his hands on the edge of my desk and getting right in my face. “And you’ll be grateful when we throw you a bone, because there’s not another guy in this school who’ll fuck his own dog, Sweetheart. And they sure as hell won’t try to fuck ours.”
I turn to Colt. “So, what’s your game? You all want to fuck me? Why? Just to humiliate me? Devlin said it wasn’t about me.”
Colt grins and shakes a finger at me. “Oh, no,” he says. “You don’t get to ask the questions, Sweetie Pie. You don’t make the rules in this game.”
“It’s not a game,” I grit out, feeling the throbbing ache in my heart at the thought of my brother.
“Everything’s a game,” he says. “You gotta play, or you gotta pay.”
Is that it? Royal wouldn’t play their game, by their rules?
No, that can’t be it. My brothers have been playing that stupid game with them since the moment we walked into this school. They love the game. And yet, somehow, Royal lost. How?
That’s not even the most frustrating part. The frustrating part is that I can’t keep up with the game, where I’m never told the rules, and just when I think I’ve figured them out, they change. Or maybe there are no rules at all. Not for these boys. These boys make the rules, and break their own rules, and rule the town. Only the Darlings know what game we’re playing, who’s a player, and who’s a pawn.
seven
Crystal
How can I sit through class with this boy, a boy who pretended to be my friend, a boy who came into my room and made a truce with me, who kissed me like he meant it—my first kiss. And all along, it was all a ploy? How can I look at that boy in the eye and know he’s laughing at what a sucker I am, that I could believe he cared about me? And worse, so much worse, that he might have planned it all so he could hurt my brother?