Royal’s phone is lying face down on the table, his big hand resting casually beside it. He taps a finger lightly on it, a gesture so subtle that probably no one else even notices. But I know what’s on that phone. I notice.
The blood drains from my cheeks when I realize the choice before me. I have to literally kneel on the floor and kiss someone’s feet like he’s a fucking king, or he’s going to show the whole school a picture of me sucking dick.
They’ve got me where they want me, which is exactly the place I hate worst—at someone else’s mercy. And it’s clear these boys have no mercy for anyone.
“This is blackmail,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
Royal crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, his brows raised and a smile on his face that’s so smug I want to reach across the table and clock him, knock him right the fuck out. He stretches his legs out, wiggling a foot at me.
My blood burns with rage as I stare at it. Why should I care if someone sees me blowing a teacher? It’s better than kneeling in front of the entire school to kiss this guy’s feet like he is worthy of worship.
But fuck, this is a small town. If that pic gets out, I’ll never be anything but the girl who blew her teacher in the back of his Corolla. Yes, I’m already trash to half the town because I live on Mill Street, but I’m not trash to myself. I know why I did it, and I don’t regret it. To get out of this town, I’d do it all over again. But no one else will understand that. No one else will see it as anything but the juiciest gossip to hit the town in years. I’m only here for two more years, but those two years will be a living hell.
And that’sifany college will take me. I can’t afford to pay for school, so I’ll need a scholarship. I’m already going in with a hand out, begging for help. When a college looks me up, and the first thing they see is an image of me sucking dick to get ahead, are they going to want to help me out? Or will they move on to the next student, the one without a blemish like that on her record?
Bowing to the Dolces is one moment, and it will be gone forever once I do it. Like Quinn said, it’s better to just get it over with. Sure, everyone will laugh at me, but if they do it to everyone, it can’t be terribly exciting. Once it’s over, people will stop talking about it in a day or two. A pic of a student blowing a teacher in a parking lot? That’ll be talked about all over town for months, maybe even years.
Gritting my teeth, I swallow my pride and lower myself to my knees. What did pride ever do for me, anyway? It’s a pointless virtue, and my instinct for survival is stronger than any silly notion that I have dignity. I was born in a trailer, and only by the grace of one of my mother’s slimy boyfriends did we ever get out.
“Think about this next time you think what you want is more important than what we tell you to do,” Royal says. “When we say come, you come.”
There’s something in the way he emphasizes that word that makes it take on the sexual connotation, and my cheeks heat a bit as I lean down and quickly press my lips against the toe of his shoe.
Duke and the three other guys at the table snort with suppressed laughter and elbow each other. But I survived, and it’s over now. Baron pushes back from the table, turning his chair to face me, which puts me at eye level with his crotch. Ignoring the bulge I can see in his slacks, I force myself to bend. My body rebels, my spine stiffening, as if it can keep me from doing this humiliating thing.
“Let this be a lesson,” Baron says as I perform my duty. “We’re the kings of this school, and you’ve chosen to be our subject. As long as you walk the halls of Willow Heights, you will bow to us, and worship us, and serve us in whatever ways we see fit.”
Is he fucking serious?
“Look, I’ve played your little game in front of the school,” I say, sitting back on my heels and keeping my voice low enough that only their table can hear it. “I understand your need to assert dominance or whatever little power plays get you off. I’m not here to disrupt anything or get in anyone’s way. Carry right the fuck on doing what you do. But understand this. I will never kneel for you again. So take a picture with that phone you like to use so much, because this is the last time you’ll see me on my knees.”
Duke stands and steps over to me. “We require one more,” he says, a cocky-ass grin on his face. He adds a wink. “For that picture you’re promising.”
Gritting my teeth, I bend and kiss his shoe. It’s not so bad the third time around.
When I sit back on my heels, his dick is in my face. For a second, I’m too startled to move. Not like I’ve never seen a dick, but to have a guy whip one out while I was so preoccupied I didn’t even notice the sound of his zipper, that’s new. Plus, it’s a pretty impressive dick. Before I have a chance to come to my senses and react, Duke grabs his dick and slaps me right across the face with it.
I don’t even think about what I’m doing. It’s instinctual. Someone slapped me. I slap back.
*
The Duke
The duke in his fine home
Enjoys the fire
That consumes the curtains, the carpet, the silk tablecloths.
He sips his whiskey and laughs,
So everyone laughs along,
Pours more whiskey,
And pretends the house isn’t burning all around them.
nine