Speak. – Copyright 2024 by Ruby M. Darling

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by 3va GraC3

Content Warning

This book is a work of fiction completely products of the author’s imagination.

Any names, characters, places, incidents are also a product of said author’s imagination.

This book is an entire work of fiction and a very dark romance between

one female and three OTT males.

This book contains highly graphic violence

and sexual content.

It is not intended for anyone under the age of legal adulthood. All characters depicted herein are over 21 years of age.

This book is not to be used as a resource for sexual education, or as an informational guide to sex or BDSM. The activities and scenes within this book are not meant to depict realistic expectations of BDSM or fetish-related activities.

Some contents within this book may be triggering or disturbing to some readers.

Reader discretion is strongly advised.

The Kinks/Fetishes Within This Book:

Consensual non-consent (CNC), dubious consent, manipulation, Hymen-breaking, Doctor play, Older men/younger woman, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, bullying, breath play/choking, cum play, spit, collaring, swallowing bodily fluids, stalking, pushing boundaries, somnophilia, pain play, denied orgasms, forced orgasms, fear play, bondage, restraint, spanking/impact play, humiliation/degradation, raw sex/sex without a condom, breeding kink, throat fucking, enjoyable group sex, primal play.

This book also contains mature content of highly sensitive material pertaining to:

Deaths, (graphic/on and off page) Oppressive language, suggestive language, Kidnapping, (adult) verbal abuse, Mental Illness, Emotional Trauma, sex work, Violence, Drug use, Alcohol use, Assault (on page) Eating Disorders, Self-harm, Over The Top Male Characters, Possessive Male Characters, Mentions of PTSD, emotional/mentally abusive parents, body shaming.

If any of these things trigger you,

please do not continue.

Your mental health matters.

Dedication

To all the “broken” little dolls

who still like to be

Manhandled, used, played with,

Degraded and praised –

Who wouldn’t mind breaking just a little more…

But only for the right ones.

“Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be,

For my unconquerable soul.”

-Invictus, William Ernest Henley

Prologue

Raven.

Rayne-Moore University

4 years ago…

“Raven! Wait up!”

I groan and roll my eyes at the sound of my stepbrother, Axel’s voice. The bright stadium lights behind us illuminate the asphalt path back to the Rayne-Moore campus and I hear him yell out my name again. I pause my steps and sigh. I was really hoping he hadn’t seen me. Then again, my fault for never missing any of his games since Junior High. “I’ll catch up with you later.” I tell my friends, Ashleigh, Taylor, and Sabrina.

“Or don’t.” Sabrina winks a pale green eye at me, simultaneously waggling her blonde eyebrows and then sticking out her tongue.

“Blegh!” I fake gag. “You’re so bad.”

“I’m just saying.” She singsongs. “Under those glasses and uniform? I bet your brother has that whole Superman thing going on under that Clark Kent disguise.”

I cringe. I definitely don’t want to think about Axel that way whatsoever. “First of all, STEP-brother and also, you’re so gross.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” Taylor shrugs a delicate shoulder.

I scrunch my nose at her. “Fucking my stepbrother? No thanks.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re actually blood related. You’re both over eighteen now, away from mommy and daddy at a prestigious school… you could get so lonely.” Sabrina pouts. I know she’s just egging me on but still. Yuck.

“Seriously, stop it, Bri. You’re grossing me out. We’ve lived together since we were ten. I know ALL of his bad habits.”

“And he knows yours and he still chooses to follow you around like a little puppy. It’s kind of adorable, actually. The way his eyes get so big when you talk, like he’s hanging on your every word.” Ashleigh interjects herself into the conversation. I like her the least out of all my friends.

Her boyfriend, Thaddeus Whitmore II, also known as Thadd, groped me at a Sigma Delta Chi party last year while he was tipsy and blamed me for him getting handsy. Like it was my fault he’s a cheating piece of shit. It was their fifth time to break up over his wannabe playboy ways but she kept going back to him, swearing they “were destined to be together, soul mates,” she’d said.

If having a soul mate meant continuously getting cheated on and humiliated consistently and made out to be a dumbass in front of the whole school, mind you, then count me the fuck out. I like to think of my soul mate being a good book or my passport or a really great type of flavored, lightly roasted coffee… fuck it, I’ll say it. Me. Maybe I’m my soul mate. No one at this school even comes close to anything I can see being marriage material.

“No, what it is, is annoying.” I lie. I actually love my stepbrother. He’s nerdy, yeah, but he’s cool as hell. I’ll just never admit to his face. His rather handsome face that he’s grown into. I shake my head, not letting my friends words perverse me.

Mostly because Axel’s my best friend. I can’t lose him.

I hear his heavy footsteps as he catches up to me and my friends walk away with teasing bye’s and catch you laters. He brushes away his dirty blonde hair from his face, green eyes looking after my friends. “Hey, Raven, I almost thought you were going to leave me behind.”

I exhale. “You? I would never.”

He sighs dramatically, in Axel fashion. “Look, I know I said I wouldn’t annoy you if you came to Rayne-Moore with me but I’m… it’s just been hard to adjust. I don’t know anyone – except you – and the guys on the football team aren’t exactly… nice. You know?”

Oh, I know. A huge reason why I’m still a virgin at nineteen. I saved my virginity in high school because the guys were such… ugh. There’s no words. Only to come to Rayne-Moore and find out the guys were even bigger UGH’s. From the freshmen to the seniors, they’re all just so… ick. Pompous assholes like Thadd with pretty smiles with perfect teeth that flashed pretty lies.

It's not like I saved my virginity because it’s a big deal, or that it’s super special. I just didn’t want to lose it to someone that wasn’t worth it in a drunken tryst and give just anyone at Hawthorne Prep the satisfaction of being able to claim having slept with me. I had fucking standards. I wanted to have a connection with someone I felt was worthy of me giving it to, even platonically. So far, absolutely nobody comes to mind… except, sometimes, the exact man walking beside me. 

Axel wears his heart on his sleeve, which is something I love about him. Another huge reason why I can’t ever say no to him. The stadium lights behind him dim and then turn off completely. Only the lamp posts every fifteen feet light our way.

“It’s fine, Axel. C’mon, I have to stop by the music hall and get my cello. You can carry it for me back to the Zeta House.” I smile, meeting his emerald and sapphire eyes. He angles his arm and I put my hand in the crease of his elbow. He’s taller than me now, which makes me smile at the memory of meeting him when we were kids and I was taller than him… until I  stopped growing when I was fourteen, at a whopping five-foot-five. And then Axel just kept growing, and growing, and now he’s almost an entire foot taller than me. We graduated together and then toured this campus together after touring other Ivy league colleges.

Our parents made us come here, actually. I wanted to go to Berklee or Juilliard. I had the grades, graduated Valedictorian, and had a partial ride scholarship. Not that I needed it.

My stepfather was THE John Weston Monroe. CEO of Monroe Tech Enterprises. And my mother was THE Sofia Paloma. Supermodel. She was also THE daughter of Spanish Dove Hotels and Resorts Tycoon Enrique Paloma. Mama had even made great money of her own in the 90s as a supermodel with her brown hair, light-gold skin, and big green seductive eyes.

I somewhat look like her, but I have light brown eyes instead of green, pale instead of sun-kissed skin and I’m just more pear-shape than hourglass with wider hips and a fatter ass and thicker thighs. Something she doesn’t fail to remind me of during every Sunday family dinner. I remember at one point Sofia was even in a few commercials and had small roles in a lot of movies. She’d fly me out to see her on set and everyone would dote on me, making me feel like a princess.

Guess how the great John Weston Monroe met the Sofia Paloma?

Yup. On-set at one of my stepdad’s commercial sites for one of his new gadgets.

The big line that turned his world upside down and he just couldn’t keep away from her?

“Get yours today!”

Romantic as fuck, isn’t it?

So yeah, the Sofia Paloma left my dad, Francisco Alvarez, (a drunk, LA business lawyer barely holding it together) for the genius John Weston Monroe. I was fine with it, honestly. Mom and dad fought all the time way before she ever met John. The whole stay-together-for-the-kids thing? Terrible advice. My parents tried to make it work but by the time my dad was realizing he could lose his family if he didn’t stop drinking… we were on a flight from LA to Massachusetts, moving into a Mega Mansion-type fortress with nine-foot white picket fence others would categorize as a brick wall, being served divorce papers at his own law firm. 

The tabloids had a field day with that one.

I got a whiney, sickly stepbrother with chameleon peridot-sapphires for eyes that changed with his moods, the colors of his shirts and even the weather. I also got a stepdad I saw as much as I had my own father when we were still with him in LA -  on weekends and holidays. At least now, I had someone with me on lonely nights, to play with and prank.

Two years later, dad died in a drunk driving accident. One he caused. He was the only one hurt, thank God, having wrapped his car around a tree going eighty miles per hour. I try not to think about that too much these days, or at all if I can help it.

So yeah, Berklee had been my number one choice because I was desperate to go back to California alone. To palm trees, a summer breeze and seventy-five degrees.

Not that I hate RMU, or its campus, or even Massachusetts. It’s pretty fucking nice here. The university was established in 1827, so it has that whole collegiate gothic-style vibe. The kind that screams elite and Edgar Allen Poe probably drank and threw up here. There are even rumors of a secret society that gather underneath the library and the woods behind the campus. I love it. There’s even another rumor that the old, boarded-up bell tower is haunted. That you can hear screams coming from inside.

The campus is on ten thousand acres of wooded land but only five hundred are used for the actual school, library, dorms, the gym, field house, the infirmary, music hall and football, rugby, and soccer fields. It’s small in comparison to other schools but the music program is pretty top tier, and I love it. I’ve even made good friends so far.

Horny, slightly bitchy friends, but still good, nonetheless. Plus, I have Axel, no matter how much shit I give him for always following me around.

We pass the other students as we make our way to the music hall from the football field. I really thought my friends and I would have walked fast enough for him not to catch us, but then again… he kinda does run for a living as the wide receiver for the RMU Yellow Jackets.

“What are you thinking about?”

“California.” I'm not lying, technically.

“You miss it? The earthquakes and mudslides and… floods?”

“Sometimes.” I reply honestly.

“Think you’ll go back?”

“I really fucking hope so, Axel,” I snap without wanting to. It’s not his fault at all that I feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome here.

“But… your mom’s here and…” he trails off.

“And what?”

“Me and dad are here. We wouldn’t be a family without you.”

I almost scoff. Yeah, when it came to school, I was a goody two-shoes. Everywhere else? I was a hellcat. Axel is sweet, really. He has that kind of golden retriever loyalty about him. Ash is right about that. He also, very annoyingly, tends to guard me. Just another reason I haven’t really dated or gotten around to losing my pesky little issue. (My V-card.)

The throngs of students are thinning out as we reach the music hall, when someone (a very female someone) shouts, “Axel!”

With a grin he says, “Can I meet you there?”

“Just go, Ax. Have fun.”

“Are you sure? It’s kinda dark out here. They still haven’t fixed that light post, and I don’t know if that security camera is working. If something happens to you, mom and dad will kill me.” Mom and Dad. Not even dad and Sofia like I call them Sofia and John. He calls them… Mom and Dad.

This time, I do scoff. “There hasn’t been a crime on campus since Black Thorne University stole the mascot’s costume in 2001. We – specifically you – won the game. Everyone is out celebrating, you should be with your teammates making friends, not worrying about me. Go. Have fun without me for once. Maybe you’ll have a date to the Homecoming Masquerade Ball next month that isn’t me.” I wink and make a shooing motion at him.

He flashes me that mega-kilowatt smile that makes my friends drool and I melt a little bit. “I don’t mind going to functions with you, Cookie. You make them fun when you aren’t pranking me.” He glares and I stifle a laugh. “But okay. See you Sunday night for dinner?”

I roll my eyes. “Who would miss their own birthday dinner?”

Me. I would. It’s the most pretentious fucking thing ever. A big, ostentatious, flashing of money Sofia and John get to do for any little thing they can. Birthdays, holidays, Mother and Father’s Day, their anniversary… it’s all a big fucking show and I seem to be the only one that hates it.

When I was turning sixteen and I just wanted to have a sleepover, something small with friends, Sofia and John had scoffed at me, said they’d already booked Justin Bieber for the event. I didn’t even like him. Fall Out Boy or Good Charlotte would have been way cooler. But I understood I was different from my teen-pop friends in that regard. I could appreciate pop music; an artist is an artist and music is music. But there was something about actual instruments that consumed my soul, even as a kid. 

“Okay. Good night.” He pecks my cheek and goes to the blonde that’s waiting for him. I check her out a little. She looks familiar. She’s older, maybe a senior, but she’s cute. Good job, kiddo. I think, smirking because I know if he heard me, he’d be scowling. I’m a month older and he also hated that as kids.

“We’re the same age, Ray.”

“For a whole month we’re not, and as your big sister-“

“STEP.”

“As your big stepsister, you have to give me a bite of your chocolate chip cookie. It’s the rules.”

“Galvina made these just for me, because I’m sick.” He sniffles.

“I bet they’re store bought.”

He coughs. “No way.”

“Prove it and give me a bite.”

“Raaayyyy.” He whined. I made big eyes at him; the ones he could never refuse and handed me the cookie. “Fine.”

I ate the whole thing and then cackled as he chased me out into the snowy yard. We both got pneumonia that winter. Mom blamed me when we ended up in the hospital but he ended up in the ICU.

I guess it was my fault. It’s always my fault. I push Axel to do the things he doesn’t want to do and when it goes bad, well, yeah.

I cut through the courtyard, chuckling at my memory, even though the bite of guilt of seeing him in the hospital getting his lung drained makes my stomach churn.

He’s okay now, Ray. I tell myself, cutting through the quad to make it to the Music Hall a little faster when I feel a breeze flip my skirt up. I’m really regretting not changing out of my uniform or at least pulling on tights before the game now. Late September nights in Massachusetts can get really fucking cold. I walk faster when I hear an owl hoot close to me.

Fuck that.

I rush to the music hall just as Lex, the custodian, flips off the lights and only the ones at the end of the hallways are on. It’s creepy, but not too dark. Besides, this building is new, only ten years old. There’s no ghosts here. I pass the six dark, empty classrooms, three on either side of me, turn to the left, past the auditorium, go down the flight of stairs to get to the practice room. It’s so fucking silent I can hear my heart beating.

“Who’s there!”

I scream and start laughing when I see Lex at the door. “Jesus, Lex, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Me? Miss Raven I almost had a heart attack.”

I let the broad smile stay on my face. “You practicing tonight, Lex?”

“Nah, storm’s coming. Might come back tomorrow in case it floods. Should’ve called this place Rayne-Less.” He jokes for the thousandth time since I’ve known him but I still smirk his way. What can I say? The old guy’s grown on me. “Maybe then it wouldn’t rain or snow so much. You practicing tonight honey?”

I shrug. “I might. Julliard and Berklee accepted my requests to audition to hopefully transfer next semester. Just, you know, don’t tell Mr. And Mrs. Monroe.” I wink at him.

His brown eyes light up and a wide toothy grin spreads across his face. Arms out wide, he comes to embrace me. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you! You’ve worked so hard! You know, we’re gonna have to jam out before you go. I know Jolene would just love to have you over for dinner again.” He chuckles and his laugh reverberates through me.

He smells of old spice and cinnamon and he gives me all the good feelings with this hug. It’s the first full hug I’ve had in years. I can’t even remember the last time my own mother hugged me with both arms. It’s usually one of those one-arm side-hug things at Christmas with a pat on my shoulder. She’ll embrace Axel, sure. Me? The hellcat? Her “fat” daughter? The bane of her existence? Not so much.

“I would love that.” I say, willing the tear that wants to drop back into my eyeball.

He finally lets me go, unshed tears shining in his eyes. Eyes that are full of wisdom, that crinkle at the sides, revealing his age and laugh lines that say he’s lived a happy life, even if he never became a world-famous composer and had a music career cut short due to a car accident that left his dominant hand broken. By the time he was able to play again… he was no longer a prodigy and was forgotten about. He took a job working at the university cleaning the halls to support him and his young pregnant wife. He’s a good man, this man.

“You be good, okay? I wanna hear all about what you’re going to play during your audition.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re going to be incredible, Raven Monroe. You’re gonna dazzle them all and leave them speechless.”

I still don’t let that tear shed when his confidence, his pride for me makes me feel all tingly inside. “Thank you, Alex. Say hi to Jolene for me?”

“I will. Lock up when you leave, will you?”

“Of course.”

He backs away from the room, whistling Ludwig’s Sonata No. 14. And I can’t help but stay grinning. I grab my cello from my designated locker and open it up, what’s an extra hour or two of practice? I have to knock the Julliard and Berklee recruiters dead. I’m so lost in thought when I hear footsteps coming back to me.

“You want to jam out tonight instead, Lex?” I call out, still bent over my cello case.

I gasp but my breath is cut short when something is wrapped around my throat. My cello is kicked aside, and my head is rammed against the locker’s edge. My vision blurs as something warm, thick and wet trickles from my forehead, down.

Holy fuck it hurts.

Once, twice, they bang the locker door against my temple, still holding onto whatever is wrapped around my throat. “Ple-“

“Shut up, slut.” The voice is garbled and low. Familiar, but I’m not sure. Female, for sure.

“I have mon-”

“I don’t want or need your fucking money. I need you to die.” A different voice says. It’s low and also familiar.

What? Die?

I grunt when another shooting pain comes, this time to my side, and then I’m tossed to the ground. Fist after fist comes flying at me when I realize it’s not just one guy. It’s three and one girl, a blonde, wearing balaclavas and black contacts so I can’t see the color of their eyes. Then the kicks start.

“T, break her fucking leg so she’ll fit.”

“She’ll stink up the place by Monday, S.”

“We should take her to the ravine. Let the water take her far away.”

“Too many cameras on campus, A.” The one called T says.

“You don’t have to do this.” I gasp out through gritted teeth.

“Yes I do,” the taller guy, S, cuts in. “So shut the fuck up and die, bitch.”

Other T, stomps on my leg, the bone crunching under his boot and when I try to scream he shoves something in my mouth to gag me and pulls that thing around my throat, pulling it tighter and tighter. My wrists are tied behind my back. Whatever is in my side, is pulled out.

“Jesus, J. You’re only supposed to be the lookout.”

“She's always been a stuck-up bitch. I needed to get one in.” J replies.

Stabbed. I’ve been fucking stabbed.

“In that case,” there’s a dark chuckle that comes from the corner of the room.

I howl when a fist hits my temple where I’m pretty sure I’m already bleeding. I’m mumbling please but it’s muffled like the rest of my pleas were.

“You aren’t getting out of here alive, bitch.” Before they close the door to the locker, they pull whatever leash is around my neck, and leave it out of the locker, tethered to me. Tight enough if I gasp, it’ll cut off my air supply.

I scream anyway until my throat is sore and it hurts to breathe. 

My eyes close slowly, it’s so… dark and nice in here, actually.

Silent.

                                              ______

I think I always knew I was going to die young. Like I had this… silent, invisible clock ticking down to my final moments plastered above my head. Maybe that’s why I was so reckless, crazy. Why I sought after adventure. Why nothing scared me… Except, there was always this… feeling I couldn’t shake that something was in the darkest parts of every corner, under every bed, closet, or room, like a ghost watching me. Waiting to take me. My own, personal reaper.

But it was always only during a lightning storm that I could see the outline of my reaper. No scythe. Just a tall, faceless shadow in a hood, staring at me in the dark…

If I had to guess, it started after my dad died. Used to beg Axel to sleep with me or I’d slip into bed with him. I’d shut my eyes tight and clutch to him until the sound of the storm and Axel’s scent soothed me to sleep.

That was the thing though. It was never the storm itself that scared me. Never the loud booming of thunder. Never the howling wind or the way the windows rattled. Never the sound of rain pounding against said windows. It was just that goddamn lightning.

Seems fitting, I suppose, that I’d die before my twentieth birthday during a freak lightning storm of the century… I just always thought I’d die while I was cliff-diving in Acapulco, parasailing in Hawaii, skydiving in Germany, or snowboarding down the snow-covered mountains in Colorado. Fuck it. I’d even take a boring death like simply dying in my sleep from a brain aneurysm or even an early onset heart attack.

Anything.

I’d take any other way other than this.

                                             ______

When I was eight, dad took me to watch the airplanes take off and land at the airport. We had a picnic at a public park close by and even though I’d already been on a private jet with mama countless times, this was somehow way cooler. It was just dad and me. He pushed me on the swing and I even tried pushing him but I could barely get him to move, he was so heavy. I wanted to fly and take off like the airplanes. I can hear his laughter… hear the…

Tchaikovsky?

“Papi?” but it comes out as, ‘pafi?’

But he doesn’t answer. 

Just the swift changes of tempo. Fingers hitting keys.

Then… darkness.

                                           ______

When I was eleven, I wanted to take Karate lessons with Axel… Sofia put me in ballet. I called dad crying… he told me there were children out there crying because their mothers couldn’t afford to put them in ballet and I should be grateful even if it wasn’t what I wanted… I didn’t speak to him for a month afterwards. It still haunts me.

Chopin lullabies me or wakes me up, and I’m not sure if I’m even alive still. My reaper is absent. Just Chopin and me in this… where am I again? My ankles hurt. I need to pee so bad.

Maybe… maybe if I sleep a little longer I won’t have to pee so bad.

                                          _______

When I was thirteen, I wanted to take self-defense classes. Mom bought me a cello instead, stating I would never need them. We had guards.

Cello, I was good at. I fell in love with the weight of it between my knees, loved how proud my mother looked at all of my performances. I loved how I could now make music instead of just listening to it.

“You are so talented, Raven.”

“Mm?” Mommy?

Silence.

So nice.

My eyes flutter.

Where’s Chopin?

                        _______

When I was fourteen, John caught me and Axel wrestling and he told me it was inappropriate, and that I was too violent.

“You’re already so tough, Ray.”

“Ah?” Axel? I call out, but the gag in my mouth doesn’t let me.

Nothing. He doesn’t respond.

                                       ________

Metallica’s Enter Sandman was my favorite thing to play on the cello. Any old heavy metal, actually. It made it more haunting…. More… soul-racking. Yeah… like that. It’s so soft and heavy. The melody plays outside of my cage. So beautiful and haunting.

I open my eyes, in the darkness, the only light peeking through is through the small open slits. “Ahh!” I throw my head forward, forgetting the leash around my neck and it cuts off my scream and throw my head back, making the ache in my head worse. It doesn’t matter. Alex is playing too loudly anyway; he wouldn’t hear me. 

I cry.

It hurts. Everywhere. Everything. My head. My leg. My side. My wrists. I’m still bleeding but not as much.

I cry harder, throat rasping when I realize my panties are wet. I wince, grossed out I’ve pissed myself while unconscious. That’s okay. It’ll be okay. You didn’t shit yourself yet, Ray. If it’s Lex that finds you like this, it’ll be okay. He won’t let anyone see you like this. Okay, think. It’s daytime. He said he’d be back in the morning if it stormed. That means it’s… Saturday? You’ve gone almost twenty-four hours without drinking anything. Your last drink was that bottle of water at nine right before the game ended. But you’ve pissed yourself and you can’t stop crying. By default, you can go another forty hours here.

My stomach grumbles.

The music is so lovely. Go to sleep, Ray. You can’t be hungry if you’re asleep.

Stay awake. I have to stay awake.

But it’s so much warmer when we sleep.

Okay, but… but just for a little bit, okay?

Okay.

I fall asleep to Lex’s broken hand rendition of Max Richter’s The Departure.  

                                         ______

When I was twelve, I wasn’t allowed to go to my dad’s funeral alone. A month later, Ax and John surprised me with adoption papers. Mom’s eyes were filled with happy tears. “I’m not saying you have to call me daddy, I’m not trying to replace your father, Raven, I’m just saying, if you ever want to call me dad, it would be my honor.”

“Mjm?” I’m sure I said “John.”

Debussy answers me instead. I blink awake as the melody sends chills down my spine.

It’s… Sunday. Maybe. I tap on the locker and the song switches to the Smashing Pumpkin’s 1979. I grin. Maybe if I tap again, the song will change again. Like a fucked-up iPod. Just one last song before I go. One last song to take with me.

The last of my tears slip free as I Taptaptaptaptaptap.

The song stops.  

Taptaptap.

Some Sleep Token, please Maestro Lex.

Nothing.

Taptaptap… tap.

“That noise coming from?”

My heart leaps.

Taptaptap Taptaptaptaptaptap.

“Oh my god! Raven? Is that you?”

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

“Oh my god, hold on, sweetheart! I gotta open the locker. They fused the fucking thing, oh my god, sweet girl, oh my god, hold on!”

Taptaptaptaptaptap

“I’m coming, sweet Jesus, please.”

Each whatever he’s doing that’s pounding into the locker, reverberates every ache in my body.

The door swings open and brightness fills my eyes, blinding me I have to close them. He tries to lift me out but when he sees the state of my leg, my bone sticking out of my skin, he shakes his head. “I gotta call 911. Okay? Jesus, Raven, they’ve been looking for you.”

They’ve been looking for me.

But I was here. I was here.

After the paramedics show up they pull me out of the locker. Even though the gag has been pulled out, and that thing, which I was right, was a leash, my throat hurts too much to thank him. Lex takes off his black leather jacket and puts it over me, not letting anyone see me like this.

Tears in both our eyes, I mouth thank you as the paramedics close the door to the ambulance and they dash to the hospital.

It’s the last words I ever attempt to speak.

Chapter One

Damon.

Present Day

Forty-nine minutes.

“Miss Monroe, you have eleven minutes until our very last session is complete. How do you feel about that?”

Nothing. Silence.

Cat-like honey brown eyes stare at my forehead and then above my head at the digital clock that’s behind me. It’s been four years of stone-cold silence. Her fingers grasp at the hem of her sleeves, fidgeting. “Did you get any gifts for your twenty-fourth birthday?” I ask.

She blinks, then looks down at her chest to a rose gold raven with a diamond for an eye. The chain is also thin and rose gold and glitters against her pale skin. It looks beautiful, delicate. She looks back at me, then up at the clock. Nine minutes left. I know she’s counting. My broken little doll always does.

I know she loved my gift. I watched her open it when the orderlies brought in her mail. I pulled the camera feed to her room up on my phone just in time. The smile that spread across her face was dazzling and my heart lurched in my chest. The anger that rose inside of me of not being able to tell her it was from me, had made me fidgety.

Beautiful Raven. Dark chocolate hair with a silver streak due to the stress of her trauma at her temple that’s as long as the rest of her hair, dark, arched brows, warm honey brown eyes framed by long dark lashes, perfect, pillowy lips she always gnaws on, a cute, straight nose that buttons at the end. Teardrop breasts that need a bra, and yet she never wears one, so I make sure to keep it extra cool in my room so her nipples pop, and those luscious thick thighs always bouncing. She’s tried to hide her anxiety from me, but it’s no use.

I am her doctor.

I see everything, Raven. I want to say. I even see the way you sleep with your adorable, purple, crescent moon shaped nightlight on at home.

She’s refused to learn ASL, refused to even learn Morse code. But she’s wicked when it comes to her self-defense training, or so her stepbrother, Axel, says. I believe him.

Yes, of course I believe him because I also notice how she limps just a little when she comes back to Lorne Wood Mental Institution utterly exhausted. I always want to touch her afterward, massage her aching leg, run her a bath with lavender Epsom salt, then have her lay back, legs resting on my shoulders so I can ravish her with my tongue until she cries out my name.

Diabolical, I know.

I never said I was a good doctor. Well, for anyone else, I’m a good doctor. The best. But for her? I’d lose my license.

I put my ankle over my other knee to hide my growing erection.

I bet that’s how I could get her to break for me. Sing for me. Using extremely unorthodox, unethical, and dirty methods.

Yes, like Poe, I’m quite taken with the Raven perched upon my sofa like a bad omen. Her case has been an intriguing one, to say the least. Admitted to Lorne Wood Mental Institution, a sister hospital to the prestigious and very private Lorne Wood Hospital (funded by and for the elite) by her mother and stepfather after violent fits and outbursts. She’s made a lot of progress over the last four years.

Hardly any fits. Hardly any nightmares or sleepwalking.

At first, I thought it was just an act, this silence of hers. But when I would pull up the camera feed to her room to see if she ever cried out in the middle of the night after a night terror, she never did. Even in the worst of the nightmares, her screams were silent. Then she’d wake, mouth wide open and where it seems she was panting, still, no noise. Even during fights at Lorne Wood, when she was struck by other patients, no sound. Only silent, premeditated retaliation.

She is… incredible.

The alarm goes off, signaling our time is done. Our last meeting ever. My heart plummets to know I won’t be seeing her again under these circumstances, forced and court-ordered circumstances. I’ll still always have the camera planted in her room after she earned bi-weekly home visits so I could keep an eye on her even when she’s not with me.

She stands quickly, both of us heading for the door. Before I can open it for her, I let her walk ahead of me, watching her plush ass straining in her high-waisted skinny jeans, sad she’s not wearing her usual little skirt to our Friday morning appointments. The scent of berries and cinnamon from her perfume and some citrus in her hair, she turns and gives me her beautiful smile, telling me goodbye. It was nice knowing me.

I give her a curt nod and a blush tints the tops of her cheeks. I could probably convince her parents to give her one more year of therapy, after all, they can afford me. I make a mental note to call them after my last client of the day, their son, Axel. The one who’s so easy to extract information about my little bird from.

He barges in after her and takes a seat, elbow on either knee, hands hanging between them.

“Axel.” I greet, taking my seat behind my desk.

“Hey, Doc. She say anything?”

“I can’t discuss my patients with you, Axel, you know this.”

He hangs his head, dark blonde hair falling forward. He’s changed a lot since I started seeing them, so has she. But he’s broader, brawnier. “I know. I was just hoping she at least said goodbye to you. Whispered it, or something.”

She did, in her own way. But I don’t tell him that.

Axel was pretty upset after the entire ordeal. Guilt ate him up inside, he had felt responsible for leaving her alone to go chase some college pussy. College pussy that ended up vomiting on him during a party while they kissed. I told him from the very beginning that neither of them knew something like that was going to happen. Especially on a campus as safe as Rayne-Moore, where the only real crime that ever happened there prior to Raven’s attempted murder was a case of girls gone missing back in the seventies.

I roam my grey eyes over him, taking in his relaxed henley, jeans and Sperry’s, looking too much like the troubled twenty-four-year-old he is. Troubled as in, the tragedy that struck his sister affected him gravely as well. Overall, he still looks pretty put together. He’d transferred to Hartford and left his entire football career behind to be closer to her. He has never once complained about leaving Rayne-Moore behind, seemingly more than content to be away from the campus.

“Has she spoken to you?” I ask, letting my gaze settle on his.

He shakes his head and looks up at me. “This morning, on my way here, I texted her Happy Birthday, that I couldn’t wait to bring her home today after our last session. Bubbles popped up. Like she was going to respond. I got so excited… and then nothing. It’s been years, Doc. We were so close, you know? I know I was an annoying kid, but she never made me feel like it. I just… God, I can’t believe I’m saying this but, I just want to hear her tease me again. Hear her laugh. God, when she found something really funny, like really fucking funny, she had this… annoying laugh that bubbled out of her and she would throw her head back and keep going until she couldn’t breathe.” His eyes twinkle at the memory and he’s grinning so wide. “It was contagious.”

“Do you realize you talk about her in past tense? As if she’s dead?” This is something that irks me, the way they still mourn who she used to be as if something like being left for dead doesn’t traumatize a person. Like they rather mourn her than to adapt and live in her new normal to make themselves feel more comfortable. They’ve often chosen to just… leave her behind. As if Raven isn’t worthy or beautiful enough to at least be a little shadow trailing after them.

I don’t want Raven normal. I quite enjoy her will, her tenacity and her silent rebellion.

“I do?”

I nod. “Have you ever tried telling her these things?”

He looks confused. “No, I… when I try, she just looks up at me with those big doe eyes of hers and… and I forget everything.” That part I can understand. “I just remember her looking at me like that from the hospital bed and I freeze.” He sniffles. “She had this infection in her leg and her stab wound. Thankfully they didn’t stab anywhere important.”

I know. I saw her medical files when they brought her into my care after attacking a nurse that had touched her wrist, still sore after having been bound tightly and they deemed her a violent patient. Raven’s medical files declared she had lacerations on her wrists and neck from being restrained, a stab wound to the abdomen, a broken leg, head trauma, a skull fracture. I didn’t understand it. Her vocal chords were fine. They even checked her vagina for possible trauma, they found her hymen still intact.

That drove me fucking wild. I usually don’t care for virgins, but knowing she was untouched after an attack so brutal, made it feel as though she was meant just for me. Brought here, just for me. Raven was and is, to all intents and purposes, my very first patient fresh out of residency.

My favorite patient.

“But she looked so little in that hospital bed. Like when we were kids and a bad thunderstorm rolled through and she’d beg me to come sleep with her. She’s a month older than me. She was fearless until a lightning storm rolled though. Said there was someone in her room and she could only see them when the lightning would strike.” He pauses. “That was when I would protect her. Me. There was a storm rolling through that night, you know, after the football game. I chased pussy, instead of protecting her in more ways than one. In the only one that mattered.”

“I believe it’s time you stop mourning your sister, Mister Monroe. She’s alive and well, and I think it would do you both good, if you stopped referring to her like she’s dead.”

He nods at me and stands. “You’re right. I’m going back to Hartford tomorrow, and I promised her we’d get ice cream on our way home. Who knows, maybe one day she’ll text me back.”

“Have a good weekend, Mister Monroe.”

“You too, Doctor Archer.”

“Oh, and Axel?”

He stands at the threshold of the door that’s now slightly ajar and I can see her profile waiting for him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Thanks.” He replies softly. He holds out his hand and she takes it in hers, and they walk out of my office holding fucking hands like lovers and not siblings.

Oh no, no, no.

Did I fucking miss something?

                             ______      

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Monroe, Doctor Archer here.” I sit back in my home office swivel chair, looking at my laptop, appreciating the small Spanish accent in Mrs. Monroe’s English. I always wonder if Raven would also have one since Spanish was her first language.

“Doctor Archer, how nice of you to call, I’m afraid I can’t speak too long, it’s Raven’s birthday.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of my patient’s birthday.”

“Former patient, Doctor.”

I roll my eyes at her attitude. “Yes, that’s what I was calling about, Mrs. Monroe, I don’t think Raven should stop seeing me.”

“She has to.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, I’m afraid she’ll no longer be in Lorne Wood Falls, Doctor. She’s going back to Rayne-Moore to get her degree.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me? She’s going back to the scene of the crime?”

“I know how this sounds, Doctor, trust me, but she’s been adamant about it since her reacceptance letter came in the mail.”

“She told you?”

“More like gestured.” She says as though she doesn’t understand the significance of this.

“She gestured?”

Sofia sighs over the phone. “She pointed at it and then tapped on it twice.”

TWICE. I almost jump out of my seat. Raven must really want to go back. But why does my little blackbird want to go back to where she was hurt? Where her little neck was snapped and she no longer sings? What are you planning, Raven?

“When does she leave? Maybe we could have one last session before she goes.”

“I’m afraid not, Doctor Archer. She leaves in the morning with Axel. He’s dropping her off and then heading back to his university.”

Sure enough, when I log into the app on my phone to the live feed camera I had installed in her room after we agreed to partial home visitation where she spends the weekends at home, under supervision, so I could “check-in randomly,” she’s packing up a suitcase... and her cello. So many nights of her unknowingly giving me private concerts will be gone.

Well, this just won't do.

“Will she be living separately from the dorms? I don’t think she should be alone.” I ask because I need to know everything.

“No, thankfully there was a dorm available on such short notice. Unfortunately, it’ll be on the first floor, so I hope she won’t wander out if she sleepwalks.”

See? Raven needs me there to protect her. She can’t leave me. What if she wanders out when it snows and catches hypothermia? The temperature is already starting to drop in the evenings and they’re promising a bitter winter this year.

“Thank you, Mrs. Monroe.” I hang up before she replies and pull up the RMU Website, hitting the drop-down menu button that shows careers and find an opening for a student counselor position. The position in which details, I would have a free private room and board on campus in the faculty and staff building. If I choose to stay there. Pictures show pretty luxurious apartment-like faculty rooms.

They could put me in a fucking shack and I’d live in it to be close to her.

I fill out the application, send a personal email to their hiring director and get started on packing. I’m over-qualified as an Oxford and Harvard graduate. They may skip over me, but they won’t. They’d be insane to skip over my application. Besides, I sent an email that shows my photo. Not that I’m cocky. I just know I’m… on the more handsome side of the spectrum than not. No, women haven’t been a problem for me since I was past my acne years in high school. Except… since meeting her… nobody had piqued my interest whatsoever. It has now been three years and counting since Raven has taken over every waking thought in my mind.

There was just something so… intriguing about Raven Monroe. From her light brown eyes to those little skirts barely covering her generous ass that she loves to tease me with. No, she wouldn’t get far from me. Not now. Not ever. Raven belonged to me. I mean she gestured TWICE to her mother about going back to Rayne-Moore, that in itself shows we’ve made progress with our therapy sessions. My little bird was up to something and I’m going to find out what exactly.

I turn on the screen of my laptop, then watch as she flutters about her room, looking at little knickknacks and whatsits, settling them back down and only putting in what she thinks is absolutely necessary. Like all those little skirts I mentioned before. I log into my desktop; into the archived little slivers of recordings I’ve kept over the years while treating her and open up my favorite one.

One of the only birthday visits she was allotted before I approved the bi-weekend home visits that take her away from me for seventy-two hours every eleven days.

In the video, she’s twenty-one, in her room, the one in her parent’s home, and she’s having a nightmare. When she sleeps at the mansion, she sleeps in a large t-shirt I’ve assumed is Axel’s and the skimpiest thongs. But this evening, she wore white, lacy cheeky panties. She’s kicked off the blanket, and her shirt has ridden up to her belly button. She wakes after a series of twitches, but as soon as she does, her fingers immediately dig into the front of her panties, spreading her thighs wide.

She wiggles around, and soon the panties are off, too and her fingers go back to her pussy, circling her clit and the sight of her exposed slit is wondrous. Her hips buck and her knees come up to her chest, her other hand goes to the hem of the shirt and she tears it off as well, letting it land on the floor. One hand between her thighs, the other on her breast, pinching and pulling hard, knees to the sides of her chest, she bucks wildly against her palm, riding her finger, switching between dipping one in and then circling it around her clit, until her back arches, lost in her own ecstasy, she doesn’t know she’s done it, but I do.

One. Gasp.

I groan as I cum in my hand.

Every. Time.

This is the video that began my unshakeable obsession with Raven Monroe.

I’ve been treating her for almost four years and I’ve only heard one gasp come from her delectable lips and it was when she was in the throes of her own passion. Not a nightmare, not a fight when she could have screamed out for help. No. One single gasp in an upwards of over fifteen hundred days while orgasming in her sleep.

I often wonder if she was dreaming of me and I’m demented enough to imagine she was.

I’ve kept my professionalism, knowing if I brought up her masturbation session and that sexy little gasp, she’d probably request to never see me again and I couldn’t have that, no. No, I wanted to be the cause of her next gasp, her moans, her ecstasy. To be the reason those lace panties were on the floor along with her brother’s T-shirt. But it’ll be my T-shirt next time. I couldn’t exactly do that if she were to be over eighty miles away from me now could I?

I exit out of the video, the thing I’ve used as a source of porn for the last three years, turn off the desktop, head to the bathroom, and shower, leaving my laptop to play the live feed in her room, where she’s slipped underneath the blankets and gone to bed. I should be in bed as well, but I have more things to do if my plan is going to work out the way I need it to.

                              ______

It's not even six in the morning when my phone rings. I’m pleased but not surprised to find out it’s Charles Wimberly, the hiring director for RMU, asking if I’m still interested in the position I applied for only hours ago as if I’ve changed my mind between the hours of eleven PM and five-forty-five AM. I roll my eyes at the insipid question and do an impromptu interview over the phone. They’re offering me twenty thousand dollars less than what I make now, but again, they’re offering free room and board, and discounted meals.

I roll my eyes again, trying to sound humble when I mumble some reply that I know will please him. 

Good thing I’ve already packed up most of my belongings and sent in my immediate resignation to Lorne Wood last night. Classes start Monday, I’m to take the campus tour Sunday with a Rita Overly, head of administration and I’ll be settled into my office by Tuesday.

I’m coming, Raven.

Chapter Two

Jonas.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t love the view from the gothic bell tower looming above the entirety of Rayne-Moore. The flying buttresses, the spires, the ribbed vaults – even with all of the cobwebs, it’s fucking beautiful in here. I’ve never felt more at home than inside the decrepit tower, watching the last of the arriving students, the faculty, like little human ants and I’m the giant and I can squash them all with my shoe. I love that feeling. A little lonely at the top, sure, but I love it, nonetheless.

“So, George, see anyone that sparks your interest yet?” I ask the ancient stone gargoyle to my left. He stays silent, of course.

I turn to the roundabout as the last, super-shiny cherry-red sports car pulls in. A familiar guy with dirty blonde hair hops out and opens the passenger door to let out… I pull up my binoculars so I can see better when I see he’s helping a thick-thighed brunette out of the car. She’s wearing a skater skirt, and she pushes it down against the wind. Her hair blows wildly in the breeze and she turns away as he shuts the door, going to the trunk, pulling out a suitcase and an instrument case of some sort.

There’s a pang in my chest that dives straight to my groin.

“Jesus. C’mon baby, turn around.”

She does, but the wind blows her hair into her face, and she keeps her head bowed. I stare as they make their way to the dorms. Oh, goody. I stay in the dorms, too so I’ll probably be getting her name sooner rather than later if that guy isn’t her boyfriend. Even then…

I chuckle. “Don’t let her boyfriend keep you from making her your wife, am I right, George?”

Silence.

Except something happens. As soon as she reaches the dorms, they’re intercepted by none other than Dean Whitmore. He holds out his dark brown hand and after a minute she takes it, hair still wild. I decide I like it. Her hair, I mean. The guy takes his hand, too. I quirk my eyebrows. Why would Dean Whitmore make a personal appearance to greet them?

“You think they’re famous?” I ask the stoney bastard to my left. “Like, celebrity famous, I mean?”

Nothing.

Ah, just as well. They go inside the building, the guy tugging the suitcase behind him, Whitmore carries the cello case. That’s… new.

Hmm…

A white BMW pulls up but instead of stopping at the front, circles and comes to the back, parking by the faculty dorms. A handsome fucker with black hair and a little bit of silver on the sides pops out. He too, goes to his trunk and pulls out two suitcases. The leggy blonde, Ms. Overly from the admin office greets him and points at the faculty building where he’ll be staying. I watch him come out a second time to retrieve another suitcase and a crate full of stuff.

New professor? No. He looks a little more put together than most of the professors around here. He has that air of sophistication about him that’s already wildly annoying. But that’s Rayne-Moore for you.

I curse when my phone rings. “Yeah?”

“Yo, Jonas, where are you?”

“Around.” I reply. I’m not giving away my little spot up here to fucking Chase of all people. He’ll just bring chicks up here to bang and probably leave his used condoms lying around, fucking up my vibes. “What’s up?”

“We’re heading to the dining hall. See you there?”

“I could eat.” I respond. I ate two hours ago but I’m a growing boy. I’m twenty-two, but still, a growing man that plays college football in an elite university. Sometimes, all I do is eat. Food or pussy, but I’m always hungry. I mean, if I don’t feed my muscles, who will? 

“Great, see you there.”

We hang up and I drop my binoculars, not seeing the brunette that I know will have a gorgeous face to match that physique. God, with hips like that, I bet the recoil would be great. I bet she smells like vanilla or something. Nah. Something better than vanilla. A chill rushes down my spine and straight to my cock when I think of all the different ways she could possibly taste. I haven’t even met her and I’m hard for her. For all I know she could be a royal bitch. That would be a bummer.

“See ya later, George.” I say, reaching over and patting his weathered stone head.

It takes me a full thirty minutes to get down to the cafeteria, get through the line and sit next to Riordan and some of the other guys on the football team. I’m halfway done with my spaghetti when Chase, our Quarterback and Riordan’s twin, puts his elbows on the table and leans halfway into the table, blue eyes looking at all of us. He swallows what he’s chewing. “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” Riordan asks, blonde brow over his own set of baby blues.

“Melissa said Raven Monroe was moving in across the hall from her dorm.”

I swallow. Holy shit.

Back when Dean Whitmore was an English Lit professor and not the Dean, Raven Monroe’s story was headline news for weeks after what happened to her. The camera from outside of the music hall only captured really grainy footage of four people (it was never known if it had been students) going into the hall after the custodian, Lex, left for the evening. Crude pictures one of the paramedics had taken and then sold during the whole ordeal and plastered everywhere got him fired from the fire department and her parents pressed charges. The things those people did to her were awful.

My sister Cadence was a senior when it happened, Monroe was barely a sophomore, having just turned twenty. Cadence followed the entire thing, but with no new leads, Cadence kind of forgot and moved to London after graduation to work at a publishing company. I never forgot, though. I mean, I ended up coming here. But, because of what happened to Monroe, a curfew was set into place. The entire campus shuts down after midnight and Dean Whitmore kept it. After my sister graduated and moved, I took a “gap semester” and then came back for my junior and senior years before I go to law school.

Thankfully, Coach let me back on the team.

“Melissa said Dean Whitmore personally escorted her to her dorm, her brother, Axel was there, too.” Her brother. Fuck yeah. “Apparently, she can’t talk.”

“Can’t talk?” I ask.

Riordan shakes his head. “She’s not just mute, but she doesn’t talk at all. Not even sign language. It’s crazy.”

I quirk my eyebrows. “No, that’s stupid and I don’t believe that part. How is she supposed to participate in classes if she won’t talk?”

Chase sits back in his chair and shrugs his heavy Quarterback shoulders. “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

Riordan looks at his brother and Chase smirks. I hate when they talk to each other with their eyes. It’s fucking weird. “No secrets, fuckers.”

“She was fucking hot. I mean, before the whole thing happened. The news only showed those bad pictures that paramedic took, but our cousin, Tyler was the football captain when she was here. She came to one of the parties at his house. We snuck out and went. She had this ass… fuck man, it was unbelievable when she was nineteen. Curvy as fuck. Can you imagine what she looks like now?”

I don’t need to imagine. I saw her. And they’re right. She has the body of a woman – plush in all the right places. Enough for me to grip in my hands, enough for me to pummel into from the back. Fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.  

“She has to be what? Twenty-three now?” Riordan says in a hushed tone.

“Twenty-four.” I mutter.

Chase laughs and then winks. “I’ve always preferred older women.”

I want to punch both of them in their beautifully sculpted identical faces. I wonder if I break Chase’s nose if Riordan will feel it? I could always try out the theory. I really want to try it right now. Before I can wind my arm back and throw my fist forward, the cafeteria doors are pushed open, and it’s utter and complete silence.

Axel walks in and behind him is the goddess herself. My heart stops at the sight of her still in her little black skirt from earlier, fishnet stockings, heeled combat boots, her wavy hair with what I can see now is a streak of silver on one side, is now in pigtails, wearing a black Bullet for My Valentine T-shirt that’s tucked into the front of her skirt, eyes winged to perfection and that’s it. No lipstick. No contouring bullshit. Just big lashes and winged eyes.

I love her.

When she walks by me, I catch the sight of the vines going up her leg, intricate blooming lotus flowers and spider lilies disappearing up her thigh, under her skirt and I want to know exactly where they lead to. I want to know what they feel like under my fingertips, if they’re still raised up on her skin. They look fresh. Do they hurt? Can I lick them?

Fuck. My dick goes rock hard under the table in two seconds flat when the whispers begin.

Axel holds out his elbow and she takes it, keeping her head down as they walk to the food line. The extreme differences between them is almost laughable. Axel is full WASP in a polo and khakis like the Hartford student he is and beside him, the goddess of night herself.

My mouth fills with saliva immediately at the way her firm thighs lightly jiggle, but the medium-sized holes in her fishnets don’t hide the muscles in her quads that tell me she could probably squash my head if she squeezed it too hard while I make her come on my tongue. Fuck. I gotta get closer.

I spy the vending machine near where they’re standing and I’m suddenly all too thirsty – parched, really. I get up while pulling out my wallet from my back pocket, try not to run over, and stand in front of the vending machine, looking at all of the soda and juice choices while simultaneously watching when Axel asks what she would like to eat. She doesn’t say anything, but her honey eyes flick over to the spaghetti and back up at her brother. He asks for two servings.

Fuck yeah, my girl likes to eat.

My girl.

Raven Monroe. Raven Monroe-Anderson. Raven Anderson.

I like it. Sounds good. Perfect, even.

I punch in the number to get a bottle of water, so she doesn’t catch me staring and then the hypnotizing scent of berries, jasmine, violets and amber with a twist of cinnamon hits me. Sweet and Spicy. I knew she would smell better than that trash vanilla all the girls here wear. I stand straight and lock eyes with a caramel gaze so thick I want to drown in them. I barely register that she’s about a foot shorter than me.

Fuck. I love that. I can pick her up and throw her around like a rag doll.

“Hi, I’m Jonas.” I flash her my flashiest smile.

She looks at the water bottle in my hands and then turns to face the vending machine without a word. She shoves in a black credit card and punches in the code to get a strawberry-apple Snapple. I can’t help but wonder if that’s how her pussy tastes. Strawberries and apple pussy? I’m game.

The drink tumbles down and she does the same for a Coke. Once they’re both waiting for her, she bends a little, and pops right back up, drinks in hand. No nail polish. Those twin honey embers flicker back up to me when Axel reaches us with a to-go bag. Oh, she’s not eating in here. I can’t awkwardly gawk at her and watch her feed those lush curves.

This is depressing.

“Ready?”

She blinks and walks away from me, taking the scent of jasmine and berries and I fight myself so hard not to follow it.

Fuck I need more of it.

I get back to my seat with the twins.

“Fuck, she got fat. I guess that’s what happens when they don’t let you out to exercise at crazy prison.” Chase chirps with a stupid grin.

I kick him under the table. “She’s not fat. Did you see the muscles on her legs? Fuck. She’s practically a muscle mommy.”

“Other parts of her, dude. Other parts of her are fat.” He argues, pointing at his arm. “Bat wings.”

I have to fight the urge to kick him under the table. If he didn’t need his legs for football, I’d break them.

“What did she say to you?” Riordan, the twin I actually like asks, changing the subject.

“Fucking nothing.” I grumble.

“I guess the rumors are true.”

“Won’t know until Monday, will we?” I push my tray still loaded with food away.  This is madness. How am I not going to eat just because she didn’t speak to me? Don’t I wish more girls wouldn’t speak to me? Why do I want her to? Because she’s not a girl. She’s a little goddess. 

Careful, Jonas. Don’t obsess. Remember what happened last time.

She’s not her, brain.

                             ______

It rains so hard on Sunday; it’s coming down in sheets and we can barely see. Our practice scrimmage gets canceled during the middle of it. We head inside from the practice fields and into the athletic building where the locker rooms are. I take my time to shower and change and take so long that I’m the last one out. The rain has ceased but not by much. I pull the hood from my raincoat up when I see a certain sexy little brunette headed into the woods where the trails to reach the library are.

The library that has her family’s surname. I tell myself I’m following her to make sure she gets there safely. With no Axel around, I’ll protect her. Except in the middle of her journey she takes a right off the trail.

Taking the path less traveled little ghost? I want to ask but stay quiet.

I stay a good twenty paces behind her, the path in the woods completely covered in trees is practically dry. Moist in some areas where the branches overhead don’t connect but it’s mostly dry. Bright green moss and mushrooms cover the bases of the tree trunks, vines also crawl along them and I’m fully aware of every twig on the ground. I don’t step over them, so I don’t snap them. I’m six-foot-four and weigh two hundred and forty-seven pounds.

I should probably make myself known, announce myself, but it’s too late now. Now I’ll just look like a fucking creep. Which I’m not. I’m just protecting her.

She moves like a phantom in her little black and white high-tops. She’s wearing jeans this time, and I suddenly miss her skirt. She reaches a gravel shore I didn’t know about and keeps moving forward. I stay on the tree line and catch my breath when my specter, in this pouring late-August rain, removes her raincoat, her shoes, her shirt, and finally those skintight jeans and walks on to what looks to be a dock in nothing but lace black boy short panties and a matching bra.

I was right I was right I was right.

Her ass is perfection. She doesn’t have a super athletic build but the defined muscles in her thighs don’t give away from how strong they are. She has a narrow waist that isn’t very narrow, and she definitely has meat on her bones. There is strength in her arms probably from playing the cello. Yes, I did go to my dorm and watch her old performances RMU had posted on their YouTube channel. She is incredible.

She dives in.

I was wrong. She’s not a specter or a ghost. She’s a swan. The most beautiful swan I ever did see. I decide I can be a swan.

Once in the water, she throws something on the dock, and I gulp. It’s her bra. Another plop and I can’t breathe. She’s fully naked in the pond.  

After fifteen minutes or so, my legs push forward on their own and now, I’m just in my boxers, standing on the dock, watching her float on her back, pink nipples down to her navel rising out of the water, droplets of rain landing and bouncing off, little ripples of water with each drop, with the top of her head to me, completely unaware of me.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask.

Tensing, she slowly stops floating and lets her lower body sink, looking anywhere but at me. I bend forward and pick up her undergarments, hold them up and put a cool smirk on my face. I am anything but cool right now. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep mine on, I’ll stick to my end of the pond and we don’t have to talk.” I reassure her.

She visibly relaxes and swims a little farther out.

The water is ice-cold when I jump in but warms up when I get used to it. I decide to float, and she does, too. And that’s how we spend Sunday morning together. Floating. In the rain. Not talking. It’s the best Sunday I’ve ever had.

                            ______      

“It’s too late to switch your classes, Mr. Anderson.”

Words I don’t want to hear.

“Miss Overly, I’m sure you know these are special circumstances and I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important. Axel asked me to keep an eye out for her and if our schedules align, even just a little, it will mean a lot to both the Monroe's and the Andersons.”

Oh yeah, I pulled out the big guns. I’ve never used my last name to pull rank over something or someone. I don’t even care for my last name, either. But this afternoon, after floating until I was pruned and shivering with my ghost, I was never happier to have my last name.

Rita shoves her glasses up the bridge of her nose and lets out a soft exhale. “The most I can do is switch you over to Professor Harrington's for Criminal Psychology II, which you’ll need either way for your bachelor’s in political science, on Monday, Wednesday, Friday.”

I get to see her three days out of the week, then. “Thank you, Miss Overly. You’re the best.”

“Oh, and Mr. Anderson?” She says before I have a chance to escape the admin office.

“Yes?”

Dark eyes peer at me over her dark framed glasses but she’s lowered her voice. “You’re still required one hour of therapy once a week after classes starting next week.”

I tense. “I thought Dr. Brown retired?”

“Yes, we have a new psychiatrist. Doctor Damon Archer.”

I nod, remembering the BMW I watched pull into the faculty parking lot. “Okay. I’ll make sure to make an appointment with Dr. Archer.”

She beams at me. “Perfect. I’ll let him know to be expecting you to pass by his office.”

Shit.

All good feelings gone.

Chapter Three

Raven.

Being back at Rayne-Moore was fucking nerve-wracking. The second I saw the spike above the bell tower a mile away before

Axel pulled up to the iron gates, I couldn’t stop bouncing my

knees.

Axel let go of the gear shift and placed a large tan hand

on my thigh. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I don’t exactly know why     you want to come back; I mean, Hartford would love to have you.”

I look at him then look back out to the windshield as the rest of the huge stone gothic-style college comes into view. It’s

still as breathtaking as the day Sofia and John brought us for the campus tour with its magnificent size, its stony arches, high walls, and huge stained-glass windows. As beautiful as it is, it’s just as haunting.

A squeeze on my thigh brings me back to the present. To him; my rock.

“I got your back, Cooks. You call me if you need me, okay? Keep the location on your phone on when you leave the dorms so    I can always find you.” I won’t be doing that. “I love you. You’ll be okay. I’m proud of you for coming back and facing your fears.” He pats my thigh and puts it back on the gear shift so he can park the car.

I wish it was just my fears I was facing instead of my demons. See, a couple of months ago, I forgot to pop one of the sleeping pills Dr. Archer prescribed me for my nightmares because I had completely knocked out after a super intense workout and a self-defense class, and then… something happened. I remembered something in my dreams. A tattooed hand. Well, a tattooed finger. A finger I knew belonged to Tyler Prescott. So when I was home on the three days I was allotted freedom, I wouldn’t take them. It was kind of hard not to at Lorne Wood, because they check your mouth. But at home, I had way more autonomy and no cameras.

The first night was always terrible, weaning myself from the medication. Eleven straight days of meds, then three days no meds. Sometimes, I didn’t know if what I was seeing was real. Except bits and pieces of that night started coming back to me when I was home.

When I woke up a week later in the hospital, and the cops started asking questions, I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. I didn’t remember anything.

But now?

Now that the bits ebbed and flowed closer together and were making more and more sense, I had to come back. I had to know why. Not just why me but why? What had I done? But more importantly, who had done this to me? Tyler, obviously, but he wasn’t alone.

Dean Whitmore holds his dark hand out to me and I look at it. I don’t want to shake it, but he offers to take my cello inside for me so I shake it and then hand him my cello case.

The dorms are still exactly like I remember them; luxurious, spacious, comfortable. I’d only lived in them for the first four weeks until I pledged and then moved into the Zeta Gamma Phi House off campus with Sabrina, Ashleigh and Taylor.

Safe to say I won’t be pledging this year.

I have other things to worry about than fucking parties. Or fucking, for all that matters. Yeah, I’m sure nobody wants to fuck the freak that doesn’t speak.

It’s not like I haven’t tried. Both the fucking and the speaking. I could only wear so many short skirts around Dr. Archer before I felt like an idiot, crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to flash him my ward-approved cotton panties. Only for him to ask me some ridiculous question like; “How was your weekend with your family, Raven?”

It was fucking boring, Doc. Sofia and John were gone the entire time, on some extravagant business trip where they don’t have to look at me or introduce their defective daughter and they can just pretend I don’t exist entirely. Shit. The only one that even tries to speak to me is Axel and even then… he has his own life, his own friends, his own dates and parties to go to where he can’t take his sister because she has fucking panic attacks!

I’m such a fucking loser.

God, but the way Doctor Archer would look me up and down like he wanted to devour me? I felt like lava ran through my veins. Those gunmetal eyes… he doesn’t make me feel like a loser at all. He looks at me like, like I’m a rare jewel or a masterpiece; eyes always lingering where they shouldn’t. Even when he looks at the scars on my leg like it’s a treasure map… I love it and I hate it and it makes all of my insides revolt and like the butterflies I get in my stomach have smoked crack.

But he never made a move and I was too scared to because… because what if it was all in my head?

And the speaking part? It just doesn’t come out. After what happened to me, what was there to talk about? The fucking weather? It’s hot. How am I doing? I’m angry and bitter. How am I feeling? Like I want to murder anyone that asks me how I’m feeling for the thirtieth time that day.

I’m fucking pathetic. In my defense, if you think small talk sucks, try having small talk after you’ve been a victim of attempted murder. My only saving grace was that they didn’t do something else to me. Didn’t even try. No, they had one goal: to kill me.

But why?

Axel seems to be the only one that understands my aggressions. He was the one that picked up on my non-verbal cues. Like when the cops first started asking questions, the same questions over and over again and my eyes would glaze over and I’d simply look at him and he’d answer for me. Or like when that bitch of a nurse came to put in a new IV in me and change my bandages, he specifically told her not to touch my wrists. What did she do? She touched my fucking wrist! Punching her in the face was a reflex I couldn’t control. But then she screamed and more techs came in and what did they do? They restrained me again and then doped me up to calm me down. It was a fucking nightmare.

I am a fucking nightmare.

I woke up at Lorne Wood Mental Institution under what was supposed to be a seventy-two-hour solitary hold. What could I do? Apologize? I wasn’t sorry and it wasn’t my fucking fault.

Except now I’m just so tired of being so angry all the fucking time.

Before I know it, with a sigh, I’m putting my hair in pigtails because the wind roughed me up, and Axel and I are heading to the dining hall.

I forgot about the dining hall. How am I supposed to get my own meals? Axel probably notices I’m fidgeting because he simply says, “Whitmore said they have an app where you can order the food and just pick it up yourself,” before he opens the door. “I’m also getting a mini-fridge and a microwave delivered and some groceries. Okay? I’ll come by every two weeks and bring you more because Whitmore said they only serve breakfast and lunch on Saturdays and the kitchens are closed for deep cleanings on Sundays.”

I pull up a picture of a punching bag on my phone and he laughs. “You have access to the gym, killer. Just, you know, don’t go after dark, okay?”

I blink. Okay.

He holds out his elbow for me and I take it, keeping my gaze on the floor when the door closes behind us and the whispers start. “So, what do you want to eat?” Saturdays must be carb days because on the line it’s nothing but various pastas and pizzas. I look at the spaghetti and back up at him. He hands me his credit card. “Get me a coke?”

I take it and see a huge jock grabbing a bottle of water. When he stands, my eyes connect with gorgeous brown and green hazel eyes with sparks of gold.

“Hi. I’m Jonas.”

Jonas… I whisper it in my mind. His voice is low and smooth like black velvet, and it causes a wave of new butterflies to flutter in my tummy. I blink at the temptation before me and turn, bending to pick up the drinks I paid for.

“Ready?” Axel asks and off we go.

We eat in my dorm room and then Axel leaves me with a hug that I don’t return. I wish I could. Human touch hurts unless I’m fighting. He kisses my forehead and lingers for a bit. “Doc said-”

I glare up at him.

“Never mind.” He chuckles. “I’ll be back in two weeks, okay? I downloaded all the apps you’ll need on your phone and… I’ll miss you. Be safe. Okay?”

I blink again and give him a chaste smile which only makes him pull me closer to him. His warm cider scent that reminds me of home and Christmas fills my nostrils and I breathe it in deeply, letting it coat my insides so that it can hopefully, give me the last bit of strength I need to do what I have to do.

                              ______       

It storms all morning on Sunday, and with everyone staying in, I decide to go out. The more I can keep wandering and go unnoticed, the better. I need to morph into the shadows, find out which areas on campus have working security cameras and which ones don’t… but on my way to the library, I decide to take a different path, one that I used to enjoy taking the first time I was a student here.

It takes me a moment to remember where the pond is exactly, but as soon as I find it, and I know I’m alone, I remove my clothes by the tree line so they don’t get too wet and then dive in. The water is chilly, but warmer than the cold droplets of rain falling from the angry sky.

“Mind if I join you?”

I tense and turn to see Jonas in nothing but black boxer briefs hung low on his hips, beneath that adonis belt of his. I swallow as my mouth pools with saliva. His body is immaculate, he’d put Hercules to shame. Hard ridges and bulges and veins and yet he still looks soft. That’s when I notice he’s not hard, he just holds a smirk on his face as he holds up my panties and bralette.

Of course, he’s not hard. Who would get hard for the freak mute? I swim to the other side of the pond as he dives in and sure enough, he stays on his side, I stay on mine until I swim back to the dock. He turns his back to me and I get out, wring my undergarments, and then step into my clothes.

I leave without a word. What’s there to say? Nothing.

Once I’m in my room, I shower, change into my favorite oversized Metallica T-shirt, and begin selecting my textbooks for tomorrow since my uniform is already pressed and put together. A wave of nostalgia hits me and I feel eighteen again, ready for my first day of college… again.

My morning classes are in the left wing across campus so I need to leave fifteen minutes beforehand which means I need to leave by eight to make it to class by eight-fifteen. I decide to only take half of my prescribed sleeping pill then open my window just a fraction to listen to the cicadas and fall asleep to the sounds of a fading summer.

                             ______      

I’m one of the first to stride into Professor Harrington’s class. I take out my notebook, a new .5mm ballpoint pen, and make sure to sit on the end side of the aisle in case being in a crowd makes me have a fit and I need to leave.

I love the smell of this classroom. It smells like old textbooks and cedar with a hint of lemon pledge. As more students fill in, I keep my eyes down when I notice they stop talking when they spot me, even though I notice more and more female students striding in. The ones that sit directly behind me talk about how hot our professor is and how their older siblings had him last year and had loved him. Except he won’t take on a TA and doesn’t like to share about himself. Which he should. Because he worked for the FBI.

My ears are practically strained from trying to listen in on their conversation so hard I don’t see the pair of expensive sneakers in my peripheral.

“Mind if I sit here?” I look up to see Jonas. My heart goes still as I gaze up at him, a halo of light surrounds his chestnut hair and those green and gold-flecked brown eyes make me feel so squirmy.

I answer him with a blink and bow my head so he can’t see the blush that spreads across my face. I can’t look at him. It’s been so long since I’ve had a crush, and Doctor Archer doesn’t count anymore since I’m no longer seeing him. I think of him for a moment, wonder what he’d think of me right now, sitting in public for more than ten minutes now without an episode. It’s not that I don’t like crowds… there’s just certain places I don’t like to be touched and being in a crowd, well, it’s easy for people to touch you even if they don’t mean to. It’s not their fault I’m a freak.

But I’m here to find the ones that made me this way. Someone here knows something.

Soon enough a man not dressed in RMU attire but a tailored navy sports jackets, navy slacks, a white button up and a book bag comes striding in with such a nonchalant flair, his dark hair slightly tousled like he just woke up, black rimmed glasses balancing on his aquiline nose and puts the bag on the desk. I swallow the drool before it can escape my lips.

What’s wrong with me? 

“Good morning, students. I’m Professor Maverick Harrington.” He grabs a black Expo Marker and begins to scrawl his name in what I believe he believes is legible cursive on the whiteboard. “This is Criminal Psychology II, and over the next sixteen weeks we’ll be going over different crimes, killers, and their Modus Operandi, listening to tapes and watching recorded interviews as well. I take it you’ve all had a chance to go over the class syllabus that’s on your student portal. If you haven’t I can already tell you’re going to fail this class. Class discussions and debates of whether one case was Nurture vs. Nature will also begin commencing in two weeks so make sure you have valid arguments.”

I stiffen. That was not on the syllabus.

“Now, I’ll be taking attendance the old-fashioned way. Adam Alberts?”

“Here,” Adam responds from the far-left side of the room.

“Jonas Anderson?”

“Here.” Jonas says from beside me. The silkiness of his voice warms me.

Harrington lists the students one by one and when he gets to me, I bow my head further. Fuck. I wish there was just a stupid sign-in sheet. “Raven Monroe?”

I grip the edge of my desk.

“Raven Monroe?”

“Here!” Jonas squeals in a shrill voice beside me and the students around us laugh as the whispers begin.

“Quiet! Who was that?” Professor Harrington steps closer to the side where I am, and I hunch lower in my seat. Unfortunately, he catches the movement and comes toward me. My heart beats wildly. From here, I can see the green of his irises even behind those black framed glasses of his. They’re so bright. I love them.

I shake my head once and he catches that movement, too.

“Did you say that?”

I blink at him from underneath my lashes.

“Speak, Miss…?”

“Monroe.” Jonas answers for me and I’m grateful even though Maverick's stare is making my body feel wicked, vile things.

“I’ll let her answer for herself, Anderson. Speak now, Miss Monroe. I won’t tolerate insubordination. I don’t care who mommy and daddy are.”

The heat in my cheeks is now a torrent flame and I will the tear that wants to fall back into my eyeball. My breathing increases as I try to calm myself but it’s not working.  

“She can’t speak, Professor.” Jonas explains and covers my hand with his almost possessively and gives it a squeeze.

Someone in the back says “freak!” behind a cough and other students murmur something along the lines of, “faking it.”

Maverick looks up to see who's said what but then he glances back down at me and quirks a dark eyebrow as his eyes bounce between Jonas and me. I blink back the tear that wants to escape again. “Explain.”

“Look, I know you’re new here and don’t know much about this place, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that in front of everyone.”

I could kiss Jonas.

Professor Harrington sighs. “See me after class. Both of you.” He takes his leave of us and heads back over to the whiteboard and directs us to open the textbook to page thirty-four, chapter one.

“You okay?”

I shoot him a side-glance in appreciation, barely nod once and keep my eyes locked on my textbook for the next eighty-minutes, barely glancing up as Harrington pulls down a screen, turns on a projector and begins to write KEMPER.

Harrington’s eyes drift to me every now and then, glaring. When someone starts childishly shooting spit wads into my hair, he just continues on with his lecture until Jonas sits up, turns around, and screams at whoever is doing it to fucking stop.

Maverick’s eyes only narrow when he sees Jonas reach under the desk to put his hand on my thigh and squeeze.

                                            ______      

After class, Jonas and I stay behind. But that doesn’t mean students aren’t staring at us (me) as they leave the classroom. Professor Harrington is sitting on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. I can’t help but stare at the ink crawling over his skin now that he’s folded his sleeves over them. He did that during class, his eyes on me while he did so and I couldn’t help but feel that stare go straight to my core. He only looked away once he saw me squirm in my seat. Jonas had looked over at me, too but I ignored his hazel gaze.

When we reached him, I couldn’t help but squirm under his stare again, shifting from foot to foot, then looking straight at his chest where those tattoos on his forearms were exposed. What’s wrong with me?

“So, what is this about a verbal issue?”

Jonas sighs heavily. “There was an incident on campus a few years ago, Professor. You can Google it yourself, but she can’t tell you her story, and I won’t either. Just know, due to the incident, she can’t talk.”

Maverick nods and then shrugs. “Miss Monroe,” I look up at him. “Do you sign? Can you get an interpreter?”

I blink once, look at his shoulder, then back up at his face and blink again.

“I see. Well, Miss Monroe, you should probably drop this class and find another. The debates are critical to your grade and if you can’t speak, and refuse to get an interpreter, then you’ll fail this class.”

I can’t control how rapidly I blink. That wasn’t on the syllabus. I want to argue. I inaudibly gasp a few times, my mouth opening and closing. The words want to come out. They do. But it’s been so long since I’ve used my voice. I don’t even know if I can form the right syllables anymore. I scrunch my face up, face turning red, panic rising. It’s only when Harrington realizes I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack, his peridot eyes widen, and he holds up his hands.

“Okay, okay. Let’s breathe,” he says, concern in his voice but it’s too fucking late for that. I hate myself. No, not myself. What happened to me. I hate what happened to me and what became of me afterwards.

“Look, Prof, in her defense, she probably took this class because you didn’t have open debates on your syllabus.” Jonas argues, putting his hand on my back and begins rubbing slow, soothing circles. His touch should hurt. It should burn me… but it doesn’t.

Jonas deserves a fucking blowjob. If I ever learned how to give one.

I point at him, Maverick’s gaze once again bounces between us, while I try to gulp down air.

How am I supposed to go to my other classes now? My face is entirely numb and probably red as fuck. This is so embarrassing. Why? Why can’t I just be fucking normal again?

“C’mon, Raven, let’s go get you some water. Maybe some breakfast.” His hand slips down to my waist and he tugs me closer, his thumb rubbing circles under my ribcage where my lungs still hurt from semi-seizing, leading me away from the hot professor glaring at me.

“Yes, in the meantime, Miss Monroe, I believe we’ll both have to make some decisions going forward.”

Shit.

Chapter Four

Maverick.

The last thing I needed this morning was to be running late to get to class. But when I park my matte black Navigator in the faculty parking lot, I’m met with a swarm of students in the hallways all trying to also not be late for their very first day of whatever semester they’re in.

“She looks different. I think she used to have highlights. Now all she has is that weird silver streak. You think that’s fake, too?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t get a good look at it but Melissa Hartman swears she's lying. Said she heard her talking on her phone through the door in her room.”

“Melissa Hartman is a gossip and a twat, ladies. She’s friends with fucking Addison Cleary, for Christ sakes. That should tell you enough about her. What’s that saying? ‘Two twats that stick together?”

The girls laugh and I want to laugh with them. Except I need them to move the fuck out of my way.

I finally get past the herd of excited young adults, and into the psychology department, heading straight for my assigned lecture hall. I can’t wait until autumn is in full swing so I can host class outside, weather permitting, of course.

My classroom is completely full, which is a good thing for me. I didn't know how good a career switch in my mid-thirties would be… but after… after that case, (every person that works private cases as either a law enforcement officer or higher will tell you about that one case) I quote-unquote “retired" and decided to teach instead.

I put in applications all over the East Coast, only applying at universities I knew would match what I was making for the FBI   or greater, I was hired at Rayne-Moore.

I should have done my homework on the university for the elite. Nothing but various, old names on every building and their godawful offspring pranced around the halls and grounds. The audacity of some of these students had quite literally made me want to bang their heads against a very hard, sharp surface. I ignored every email from mommy or daddy and Whitmore praised me for not bending over for ‘those pretentious assholes.’

As soon as I’m inside the classroom, I write my name on the whiteboard. I partially go over the syllabus. There are groans when I say the part about our discussions which pleases me. I   love being an inconvenience to these rich assholes. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve rubbed elbows with the finest and some of them were great. But most of them were fucking entitled human enemas.

I grew up in a single-story home in a small Texas town just barely on the right side of the tracks. That doesn’t mean I didn’t   see what happened on the wrong side of them because we were still too fucking close. My father raised me alone and was a mechanic where I also worked as a teen. The only building with    my last name on it is blue, faded, rusty and hasn’t been turned      on in a decade since my father died.

I worked hard to be where I am. Nobody knew who a Harrington was and I worked hard to have them remember it later on in my life. I’d graduated high school early with honors just to get out of my small town and when I went to college I went on a seventy-percent scholarship and worked on the rich kids on campus’ cars to pay for the other thirty percent the school didn’t cover… only to go into law enforcement with my criminal psychology degree. Twenty weeks of training at Quantico and I worked my way up only for my budding career to come to an abrupt stop.

My hand trembles at my side, and I force myself to not look at it. I can sometimes still feel the grease stains on my fingers, like a stain of inferiority that I can never wash off. No matter what I did, my fingernails always had grease under them. Then mud. So much mud… because that’s what growing up poor does to you – it leaves a stain you want to remove for the rest of your life.

It's when I begin to take attendance when what feels like hell breaks loose.

“Raven Monroe?” After a period of silence, I repeat her name.

“Here!” Comes a high shrill that is obviously not female  and I move about the room to see a brunette with the silver streak in her luscious, thick mane I want to reach out and touch. Eyes the color of amber that should be incased and preserved like royal jewels that are framed by exquisitely long black lashes blink at me and then she gives me the slightest, almost non-existent shake of her head.

“Speak, Miss.” I almost growl when the fuckhead beside her, Anderson, tells me she can’t. When the whispers start, and people are calling her a freak, it almost feels too fucking good watching her freak out. I don’t stop them.

If I’m stained, she’s stained.

I order her and the handsome prick beside her to see me after class, just so the whispers stop and I can get a handle on my lecture again.

                                            ______   

I stare after the couple as they leave, my heart twisting inside for the young woman with alluring big brown doe eyes that screamed innocence and purity. But what she did to make that fucking skirt of hers swish behind her was anything but pure or innocent. Especially wearing fucking those kind of fishnet stockings. The kind that scream bend me over, tear these open and fuck me until I forget my name. God, I haven’t been tempted by a student ever. Not once in my three years of teaching have I ever thought of a student so inappropriately before.

She takes one last peek at me from behind her swoopy side bangs when she turns in the doorway, that silver streak in her wavy hair as alluring as the rest of her.  

I have twenty minutes before my next opening lecture so I decide to pull out my laptop and do as Jonas suggested and Jesus Christ.

Student Raven Monroe, 20, Daughter of Former Supermodel Sofia Paloma and John W. Monroe, CEO of Monroe Tech Industries Found in University Music Hall After Yellow-Jackets Win 42-0

Raven Monroe – Sent to Insane Asylum After Being Deemed “Violent”

Nurse Awarded $346K in Monroe Daughter Violent Attack

Article after article tore her and her family to shreds. Nothing was left private for her, even the pictures didn’t resemble the gorgeous vixen that was just standing in front of me, no. Some blamed the uniform, others blamed her family, her brother that was a student here, the partying, and one even blamed a secret society known as The Syndicate; an elite brotherhood that sacrificed virgins to gain access.

I scoff at that last one.   

I look over the pictures again, cringing at the way the Music Hall custodian found her. I read over the fact that a paramedic that took both pictures and videos was fired effective immediately once they started circulating.

Good.

This poor girl.

No, not poor girl. Stupid. Stupid to come back here. Brave, of course, to want to overcome whatever demons she now fought in her head. I mean, to never speak again almost half a decade later? I sigh, looking at the lecture hall, how she sat at the edge of the aisle, for sure in case of a panic attack. Except I’d been the one to cause one, hadn’t I? But why didn’t she speak? The thought angered me. If she knew anything she should tell someone. Unless…

I swivel the chair side to side, lost in thought of the way her big brown eyes had widened when I told her to drop my class. In fact, I practically implored her to drop my class.

I close my laptop as the new students start pouring in, yet none of them are the one that’s caught my interest. No, I can’t go there. She’s a student. A very beautiful, alluring, brave, student. But still, a student. The words ‘OFF’ and ‘LIMITS’ blare in my brain like a neon red light and my cock inflates.

I decide to resume my research during my lunch hour.

                           _______    

“Harrington, what brings you by?” Dean Whitmore asks from across his desk.

“It seems you’ve given me a silent student, Thad.”

His dark eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Miss Monroe is in your class, I presume.”

I sit in the hard chair opposite of him. It isn’t a chair meant for comfort. It’s a chair for you to state your business and leave. “This seems to have surprised you.”

He nods, putting his elbows on the arm rests of his very comfortable cushioned chair and steeples his cocoa fingers, resting his chin on them. “It does. Raven was a music major with a very promising future. She brought her cello after all. After surviving - after everything that happened, it became known that she was going to audition and possibly transfer to Julliard. I suppose, after her accident, she may no longer play.”

Thaddeus Whitmore I is by all intents and purposes a good man. I spy the framed picture behind him on his bookshelf of him as a former student here before he became a tenured professor for twenty-five years and is now the dean. I also spy the picture of his son Thaddeus II, almost a younger mirror image of the man sitting before me. Except his son has a lighter complexion and light eyes due to his Caucasian mother, Vivian.

“It was a sad thing that happened to that girl.”

“Yes, I read quite a few interesting articles on conspiracy theories surrounding this campus. That she was a virgin sacrifice for an elite brotherhood. Something called The Syndicate.”

Something flashes behind Whitmore’s chocolate eyes, before he begins to laugh. A laugh that sounds a little too forced in the last three years I’ve known him as his employee. “Yes, the rumor mills turned when she survived.”

There it goes again. Survived. Second time he’s used that word. “You were a professor here, when that happened, weren’t you?”

“I was.” But he doesn’t give me a chance to ask anything else because he asks, “Is there a reason Miss Monroe’s presence in your lectures is bothering you?”

“She can’t be in my class, Thad. She can’t speak or won’t, I’m not sure. Christ’s sake, she almost had a panic attack when I asked for her name while taking attendance. How is she going to do the debates? She refuses to hire an interpreter or even sign.”

“Can she turn them in on paper? I’d ask if another student could read them out loud for her, but from the whispers I’ve been hearing… I’m not sure anyone would be willing.”

“How are we certain she can’t speak?”

“You think she’s faking it?”

“I’m thinking ‘why is she willing to come back to the university at twenty-four as a sophomore, no less, where she was attacked so brutally it altered her entire life knowing she probably wouldn’t make much progress if she refuses to communicate?’”

Whitmore's eyes shift awkwardly around the room as if my questions agitate him. “And yet she still hasn’t said anything.” He shakes his head, light glinting off his polished bald head.

What another strange thing to say.

“There is one student that seems rather fond of her.”

“Oh?” He hands go to his desk.

“Jonas Anderson. It seems as though he’s in tune with her.”

His eyebrows hike back up to his hairline and he twists his mouth to the side. “The Anderson boy.” He sighs wearily. “Keep your eye on him, as well. The boy has certain… issues.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. “You don’t pay me the salary you do to be a glorified babysitter, Thad.” I huff and run my fingers through my hair. “I mean, what kind of school is this?”

Thaddeus shakes his head and then looks out the window onto the campus. “A lot has changed since I was a professor. But you’re right. You aren’t a babysitter. Forget I said that. A lot of these students have a fair number of issues. Thanks to social media all they do is talk about them. The Monroe’s are good friends of mine and I promised them I would watch out for the girl. If you could just find a way -”

“I don’t cut corners, Thad.”

“I’m not asking you to lessen her workload, Maverick. I’m asking you to work with her. Her presence is a surprise to all of us. Students and faculty. I never thought a Monroe would ever walk these halls again and the name means something here.”

That captures my attention but before I can ask what he means by that; there’s a knock at the door and I’m surprised to see his son gracing us. I get up and greet him but not before I see the face they make at each other, like a secret between them. They plaster a silicone smile on their faces. The hardness of the chair I’m sitting on and their fake smiles has made me very aware my time here is up. “I’ll figure something out, Whitmore.”

“Thank you, Maverick. I appreciate you coming here and letting me know. Just keep me up to date on the route you choose to take.”

I nod, shake Junior’s hand again as I take my leave.

Still having thirty minutes on my lunch hour, I decide to go to the dining hall to get something from the salad bar and finish eating before my next class. Waiting my turn in line, I notice Raven sitting next to Jonas and two other students, football players to be exact. The Prescott Twins. They make jokes as she blankly stares out onto the quad. She doesn’t even crack a smile; there’s food on her fork but she mindlessly pushes it around, looking completely uninterested in absolutely everything, lost in thought or in a trance.

If she were my age, or not a student, I’d be doing what I could to run my fingers along her tattoo, to ask her the philosophy of her Lotus flowers and spider lilies. I’d trace the woven vines that go from her inner ankle, up her leg and up her thigh, pretend I don’t feel the scar tissue she most likely has under it, and beg her to tell me. I bet her voice is seasoned, husky and low.

Then, as though she can feel me watching her, she turns her head, like a possessed doll deadpanning and meets my gaze. My heart drops when those beautiful twin drops of warm cinnamon whiskey look at me behind thick black lashes. Crimson highlights the tops of her cheeks, her bashfulness making my stomach flip and my balls draw up except Jonas, the acutely attuned fucker, turns to see what she’s staring at. He narrows his eyes at me and puts his hand on her thigh. On that very tattoo I want to touch. Either in a way to ground her or show his possession of her, I don’t know yet. Our connection snaps and her eyes drop and I continue on to select the ingredients for my salad.

I’m back in my classroom, tearing into my salad, unable to forget the flash of… something in Miss Monroe’s eyes. A hunger there. Fierce. Even though she had food in front of her, Miss Monroe was ravenous for something else entirely.

A part of me hoped I was the one to figure out what exactly she was hungry for.

The deplorable part that is man and Neanderthal hopes it’s me.

Chapter Five

Raven.

My phone only rings when Axel FaceTime’s or texts.

Sofia, my mother, stopped calling or texting years ago. John rarely ever did before the accident, so, you know. I didn’t exactly expect him to either.

The friends I had made previously stopped calling or texting when they realized I was no longer mean, bitchy, Ray. I mean, they tried. For the first few weeks after I woke up in the ICU and then I was moved down to the VIP area of the hospital, they would visit. But when they realized I wouldn’t laugh with them the way I used to when they’d gossip and talk shit about the other girls we went to school with, or have a snarky sarcastic remark, they’d stop talking, too. At one point, it was like they were afraid to laugh in front of me.

I knew I made them uncomfortable.

For the longest, I just didn’t have it in me to care and then when I did miss them… they had already moved on. Junior year. Then Senior year. Then Ashliegh married Thadd like she always said she would. Taylor moved to France where she helps her mother run her fashion line there. Brina moved to New York, working in her daddy’s law firm. I accidentally liked her picture once on Instagram and she ended up direct messaging me.

Hey… Miss you.

I stared and cried at the message.

They’d all moved on… and I was stuck at Lorne Wood watching them be their best from a fucking cheap tablet I was given one hour access to every other day. And then I watched them from my phone when I was finally given mine back during house visits.

The day Brina messaged me, I went through every single picture of me where my hair was all brown. Where I didn’t have a  scar on my temple or my leg the best plastic surgeons couldn’t fix. Where I didn’t have a forced smile on my face.

It was the first time I cried, sobs that made my entire body shake, sobs that were so silent, with tears so wild and flowing so freely, the front of my shirt was wet. I cried for such a long time that Doctor Archer had to sedate me because I threw the tablet at him.

I hadn’t meant to.

I wanted to show him that Brina had messaged me. That she missed me. She had moved on with her life, living fabulously in a penthouse in Manhattan while I was bouncing between a mental hospital and my parent’s lonely, empty mansion.

And she missed me.

Archer called Axel, and requested we do something therapeutic while I was at home. When Axel suggested defensive training, I leapt into his lap and hugged him to me, snuggling him so closely, he chuckled and rasped out he couldn’t breathe. Doctor Archer simply smiled and nodded. But behind those smokey eyes of his, something flashed when I had practically straddled my brother.

A delusional piece of me hoped it was jealousy.

“There’s my favorite sister.” Axel coos.

I roll my eyes but I’m beaming on the inside. It’s so great to not only see his face but hear his voice. I woke up to a gloomy, misty morning, the kind I adore, but thankfully, my first class isn’t until ten.  

“Where are you taking me?” He jokes.

I squint due to the sun peeking behind a heavy cloud in my eyes and turn the camera to the circle-shaped library looming ahead.

“Wanna know a secret?”

I flip the camera back over to front facing so he can see me blink.

“Alright I guess I won’t tell you.”

I narrow my eyes and glare at him.

“Alright, alright, shut up. Quit threatening me.” He teases. “You know how students aren’t allowed in the basement floor of the library, in the restricted Rare Books and Manuscripts Section, how it’s gated so only professors are allowed down there?”

I blink. Yeah?

“Well, there’s a secret entrance,” he pauses and looks behind him, lowering his voice. “There’s a light brown bookshelf in the encyclopedia section that opens on the top floor. It sucks because there’s a long, narrow spiral staircase and it’s creepy as fuck, but dad told me about it when we were there. It’s a Monroe family secret.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“So, the legend is, don’t look behind you while you’re walking down there. A reason the entrance from the third floor was closed off in the seventies is because three students fell down all five flights of stairs and died. Not together, obviously, but over the entire decade. Supposedly it’s haunted. So don’t make noise. When you reach the final stair, the door is a bookshelf on the other side. So be careful and make sure there’s nobody else around when you open it. You’re not supposed to be down there so don’t let anyone catch you.”  

I throw him a smirk.

“Fuck, that’s great.”

I tilt my head to the side.

“Nothing, it’s just great to see you smile. If I’d known family secrets would make you happy, I would’ve told you years ago.”

I flip the camera back so he can see I’ve reached the steps to the door and flip it back to face me.

“Alright, well, don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you next weekend okay. Oh, and sis? Don’t open any of the other doors you see down there. Might let the ghosts out.” He jokes.

I don’t know why, but I show him a full smile.

He shows me a conflicted one.

We hang up and I push my phone to the outside pocket of my book bag and walk into the Monroe library John’s grandfather donated money to be built over sixty years ago. I’ve always loved it in here. The outside is made of white bricks that match the university with a red roof. It’s old and dusty and beautiful with the same high arches, stained glass windows with the same cedar wood scent and lemon pledge as the rest of the university. I silently creep up the stairs to fifth floor, grateful the library is mostly empty at this hour because I am very aware of my short yellow and black plaid skirt and the black lacey thong I’m wearing being visible to anyone that were to walk behind me or even three steps below me.

Okay, the encyclopedia section. Obviously that’s where a super-secret bookcase door would be – who uses encyclopedias anymore when we have our phones? I stare at them, dust collecting around each one… except… I pull on the book that has none and hold my breath.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

I let my breath go and then roll my eyes. I was really hoping for a big dramatic door creaking open and… fog or dust or something! It just unlatched. I pull it open and close it behind me. If I thought the library smelled old… it’s got nothing on the earthy smell in here.

It’s colder, for sure, and I feel my nipples pearl in my sports bra that I took the padding out of. They’re high-end sports bras and the padding still bunches up around my armpits or below my boob. Ridiculous.

The walls are painted a red so deep it’s between cherry and maroon. Like when blood is drying. I swallow dryly at that thought. On the wall to the right of me there’s a hanging coat rack and beside it is an old-timey sconce that looks like a lantern. The coat rack is probably the oddest thing I’ve seen but I decide to hang up my uniform blazer and book bag holding my textbooks, my laptop and my notebooks there so I don’t get either dirty then begin descending down the long spiral staircase.

After the first flight it’s no wonder those students kept tripping and dying down here; there’s no stair railing, just sleek, blood-red walls to keep me balanced while going down and every five steps there’s a dim sconce along the way that’s barely bright enough for you to see the next few steps ahead of you. Some of them flicker in and out, zapping and I catch sight of a few spider webs on them.

Don’t look behind you while going down the stairs.

For some reason, I’m so tempted to. It feels like the darkness behind me is lapping against my back, like if I turn around there will be someone there to push me and without a rail to grab onto, I’ll tumble to my death. I rub my arms to keep warm. I know they keep it cooler down here to keep the ancient books from growing mold. Jesus it’s so freezing – the deeper I descend, the more that delicious earthy scent like soil opening up after a drought fills my nostrils. It’s beautiful.

And creepy.

I wonder if Doctor Archer ever spent time in areas like the restricted section of a library while writing a thesis about some mental disorder. For some reason, I think of Professor Harrington. The way his sea-green eyes with blue flecks behind those glasses that fit his classic Greek-like facial structure. How they stared at me in the dining hall and how his gaze had turned glacier when Jonas bravely put his hand on my thigh under the table.  It was the same glare he gave me while he was teaching.

Why did I let Jonas put his hand on my thigh so possessively?

Because it felt good. It felt warm against the coolness of my thigh and it felt so good to be touched that I didn’t realize how much I wanted it until it happened. It helps that Jonas is fucking mouth-watering, I guess. Plus, we’ve already seen each other naked. Talk about a first. I snicker silently, I mean, yeah right, imagine me on a date?

I sigh.

I’m a little ashamed I was on my way here to not only get a book for his class but to grab a self-help book on – I groan inwardly – how to seduce someone.

I could go back to Doctor Archer during winter break a grown, confident woman completely knowledgeable in the art of seduction and sex. No longer his patient. He could… we could… No. We couldn’t. I’m fucking broken. What did he call me once during a phone call to my parents? A broken little doll.

I hadn’t meant to hear that. I was going to my room when I passed her office. Sofia had him on speaker while she was rummaging around in her desk. I knew she was probably looking for something she needed to take with her on their trip to Versailles and I recognized his voice immediately.

“She won’t survive if you keep treating her like a broken little doll, Sofia. Take her with you.”

They didn’t. Even Axel went. It was a trip where they were meeting some important fucks and they couldn’t bring their mute daughter prone to fits of violence and panic attacks in crowds. What if something happened and I couldn’t alert anyone? In other words, what if I attacked someone for accidentally touching me? They weren’t protecting me, per se. They were protecting everyone else from me.

I delight a little in that.

Scary little Raven.

I sat around in the mansion’s solarium that entire weekend, trying to force my voice to come out of me. I drank the hottest tea, as if that would make my vocal chords function. But I knew it was all in my head. My vocal chords didn’t function because I didn’t need them to. Who was I going to talk to? Aphrodite's statue? It was the memories that saved me that weekend. Memories of me and Axel growing up in that cold place we called a home.

“What are you doing, Raven?” Axel said with a chuckle when he once found me posing like her during our senior year at Hawthorne.

I gestured to the statue of Aphrodite. “Practicing.”

“Don’t fucking move!” He said and scurried away only to come back with a canvas, an easel and his paints and brushes. He grabbed a stool and sat.

I stood for an hour while he scrunched up his face, furrowed his eyebrows in concentration and “mmhmmed" while he painted. And then, “There. Perfect. My finest work yet.”

“Let me see!” I dropped down from the base of the fountain as he turned the easel and I fell to my knees, clutching my stomach, laughing so hard I almost peed myself.

The portrait looked like a ten-year-old had painted it. It was all there, the rose bushels, the dahlias, the vines, the glass, the fountain behind a stick figure of me standing in that ridiculous pose with water sprouting from my sides.

“Are you laughing at my work?” He asked in his most posh English accent.

I finally got up and wiped at my eyes. “Absolutely not,” I responded in my own English accent. “I believe you’re right, Mister Monroe, this must be hung. It truly is a masterpiece, little brother.”

And I did.

I hung it in my bedroom after he signed it and I paid him a hundred dollars for his masterpiece. Because to me, it was.

To me, the smile it brought to my face after my incident at the memory when I was finally allowed home, made it fucking priceless. I would have paid him all the money in my trust funds for it now. Yes, two trust funds. One from my tycoon grandfather, the other from the Monroe’s. Lucky girl, I guess.

Except lucky girls don’t have to wish to not be a broken little doll anymore.

I reach the final step and tug at the handle very softly, peeking my head out just a little, and when I don’t see anyone around, I sneak out of the book-door and close it behind me.

It’s so spectacular I can barely contain my excitement. No wonder it took so long to get down here, it’s two whole floors of floor to ceiling dark-oak shelves, and the other bookshelves aren’t like the ones open to the university. No, these are patterned in a way that’s like a maze. Those same sconces on in the stairwell are on the ends of the bookshelves, illuminating the call numbers and the section I’m in. Anywhere from fiction to science to biographies and histories.

Each section is beautifully dimly lit. I let my fingers trail against the spines, closing my eyes, I keep going forward, feeling the residual energy of every author that poured their heart, mind and soul into each page; only to hope someone would open their book and treasure it with all of their heart, mind and soul as well.

I’ve always believed that no matter what you read, whether you remember it later on or not, like music, it alters your brain chemistry. It sticks with you. Each word is a musical note, each sentence a melody, each paragraph a harmony, coming together    in a great crescendo to change our lives. The same way a pianist’s long fingers may hover over ivory and ebony keys, an author’s fingers may hover over a keyboard to type and they both open our hearts; to wound, to heal, to open our minds and help us forget... in some cases (mine) remember.

My fingers land on a book that doesn’t exactly feel like leather, not matte nor glossy. It’s rough and smooth and it feels… wrong. I pull on it, rubbing my thumb over the glittering almost translucent title that seems to have been stitched with invisible silk into the weird material of the binding. The little hairs all over my body prickle and it feels as though the temperature has significantly dropped even more. I exhale and a small, almost non-existent misty cloud lingers, indicating the temperature is definitely too low down here.

The Syndicate

My eyes widen at what I’m holding, fear incapacitating me at that all too familiar feeling of my shadow looming ever so close to me. I can almost hear it breathing behind me. I shiver, closing my eyes.

Inhale for five. Exhale for five.

I open my eyes, about to steal the book and turn right as I step smack dab into a hard wall. No, not a hard wall. A hard chest and that wall… is a wall of pure muscle. I swallow thickly, pushing the weird book only a little bit back in so I can find it later. I’m turned and I let my eyes slowly drift upwards, my head tilting back, only to land on green eyes with gold flecks. Strong hands grab my shoulders.

“And what, pray tell, are you doing in the restricted section, Miss Monroe?”

I take a  step back from Professor Harrington, eyes widening when he takes a step forward, his arms grabbing me tighter, pulling me flush against him, but I try to wrestle out of his grasp. “Do you believe because your family’s last name is on the building you have unfettered access to the restricted section? You believe you’re special, Miss Monroe?”

I gasp inaudibly, yanking my arms out of his strong hold and a glint of fire flashes in his eyes before they darken. I’m barely out of his grasp when I’m back against his chest. I put my hands on his waist, feeling the muscles in his abdomen, and try to break free again but his hold on me is too strong. He smells of crisp citrus, spice, and leather. His masculine scent alone intoxicates me. I try to look behind him, but it’s dark and we’re alone; even the usual sounds of the library are non-existent because it’s too early… and we’re the only ones here.

“Ah, no one to hear you now, is there, mute? Not even a squeak. Would you squeak for me?”

I tug myself backwards and a book falls behind me somewhere and I wince.

Please don’t let it be that one.

“That could cost the university thousands. But I suppose that doesn’t matter to you, does it, Miss Monroe? Mommy and Daddy can pay for it?” I resent that. I really do. “That could be a precious first edition, or even a very rare priceless grimoire, something we could never get back. You’ve been a very, very naughty girl, Miss Monroe. I believe it’s time we see the dean.” Maverick reaches for me again but I step out of the way and begin a quick, silent pace through the maze to get back to the discolored book-door.

Footsteps quicken behind me. I can feel him. His presence looming closer to me like a silent predator. Like that goddamn shadow I’ve been running from for half my life. The fear of him catching me and either taking me to Dean Whitmore or doing what he wants to do with me, here, in a secluded area where he knows I won’t scream both frightens and makes my nipples tighten even more. I haven’t felt this excited in a long time. I take a right, hoping to get closer to the wall but I come up to a dead end and when I head to the end to go left, he grabs me by the end of my ponytail, we tumble down on the soft carpet but I pull a fast move and straddle him.

His arms wrap around my waist, his face against my chest and I’m so ashamed of how wet I am, the heat of him against me is both maddening and comforting and the fact that his mouth, those perfect lips of his are so achingly close to my breasts is erotic to me. I struggle against his stronghold, and then… and then I feel it. He’s grown hard underneath me, the front of his slacks touching right where I need it, and so I move. My sick mind is pleading for more just as my body is seeking more friction, more of him – my professor.

It’s wrong it’s wrong it’s wrong.

But it feels so right, so good - like a fire I’ve been dying to burn for. I’ve been ignited and I want to spread far and fast and consume everything and leave a path of my own self-destruction in my wake. More, more, more.

“Stop it, Raven.” He growls.

Except I can’t. It feels too fucking  good. It feels dirty and forbidden and my brain short circuits on the warmth of his strong hands around me in an embrace that both soothes and sets me on fire and his breath against my cheek and I want whatever wrath he’d give me if it meant he’d be this close to me, touching me, growing hard beneath me, struggling with me and not against me like those fucking orderlies would because his restraints feel like fire and ice and I almost whimper at how good it feels to be touched.

My arms wrap around his head and through his silky dark hair that has dashes of grey, guiding him, silently pleading, praying he doesn’t reject me. Another something between a growl and purr escapes him as he reaches between us, and pulls my shirt open, my buttons popping off, my bra is being tugged down and my breasts spill free and soon I feel a slick, hot wetness over my skin. Sparks fly behind my eyelids when I realize he’s sucked almost the entirety of my tit into his mouth, bouncing my nipple on tongue, and I keep riding him.

I’m so aware of that feeling of being watched and for some reason, it heightens this feeling, like I’m the one that’s dangerous.

“Fuck, Raven. Fuck. Is this what you want? Hmm? You want me to suck your perfect nipples raw?” His husky voice, his leather and spice scent, even his harsh nibbles are intoxicating.

Yes, yes, yes. Please, God, yes.

I don’t answer, I just keep chasing my pleasure as his other hand pulls my thong to the side through my fishnets, tearing it off me, the slight burn hurts and yet feels so much better when he then grips my ass, pulling me open and I feel him against my aching clit. He grips my ass harder, his tongue roaming from one nipple to the other, licking, sucking, biting. Like he’s the hungriest man alive and I’ve offered myself on a silver platter.

I know my movements are obviously clumsy, and it’s like he knows I’m new at this because his firm grip on my hips is guiding me closer to the edge of this cliff I desperately want to jump off of. The carpet beneath my knees burns me, thighs quivering and sweat covers my brow even in the chill of the restricted section like a fever, a side effect of my deranged lust and it’s so wrong and raw and I feel crazy. I feel eyes on me like the ghosts in this library are watching, silently judging the soundless cries escaping me as my breath hitches while I ride this stranger, my professor.

Oh god, I belong back at Lorne Wood, under Doctor Archer's silver stare and care. Thinking of Doctor Archer makes my hips buck harder, so, so, so close but Maverick’s voice brings me back to him.

“Just a cliché brat doing things you aren’t supposed to, aren’t you, Raven? Look at you, filthy little rich girl dry humping your professor in the library.” His degrading words ring in my ear. They should piss me off. But the way he guides me, like he’s teaching me what we both like, makes my eyes roll back, shivers skating through my bones.

I’m sick I’m sick I’m so sick.

Professor Harrington licks up my neck, biting roughly and then, “There you go, little slut. Take it. Be a good girl. Come for me. Now, Raven. Come for your professor like the horny little slut you are.”

As if I was waiting for his permission in my lust-driven frenzy, I detonate with a silent cry, both holding him and pushing away rubbing myself against him until wave of euphoria is gone and I’m so sensitive. I stand on wobbly legs. I don’t bother to help him up.

“Raven.” His voice is low and stern and I love it and I hate it but I’m too strung out on the fading tresses of my orgasm to care about how my name on his lips was a command and how my entire body wanted to heed to if it only meant he’d touch me again.

Without a glance back, I turn and run back to the secret book-door and run up the flight of stairs, my knees burn from the carpet and the muscles in my thighs ache but I keep going, falling a few times, barely catching myself. When I reach the top step. I fix my shirt as best as I can, then my ponytail, grateful there’s a bathroom as you leave the library so I can fix myself a little better and throw my bookbag over my shoulder, crossing it over my body so it hides the missing buttons.

What is happening to me?

Once in the bathroom, I check my reflection, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed. I’m going to have to change my shirt. I check my watch. Good. I have just enough time to go back to the dorms and change. I let out a shaky breath, ready to leave the library on nothing more than Bambi legs, book be damned.

Except I stay, crouched behind a bush until I see Maverick leave the building and I make my way back down to the place where I almost fucked my professor, and grab the weirdly textured book, shove it in my bag and run back to my dorm across campus, where I’m surprised to find a trio of very cute football players are waiting for me outside with cups of coffee in their hands.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Riordan asks, pointing at my shirt.

Chase hisses and Jonas says, “Do I need to call the cops?”

When I don’t respond, because I won’t respond, Jonas follows me into the building, past the common area where co-eds are mingling or studying, (or staring) down the corridor and into the safety of my room where I step into my walk-in, close the fucking door and redress into a clean shirt and change out of my ripped fishnets, tugging on the school approved knee-high socks.

When I step out, in a new shirt, panties, and fishnets, Jonas pulls me into his strong arms, enveloping me in a hug that’s not very friendly. It’s possessive. It’s the kind of hug I always imagined Dr. Archer would give me. I’m so fucked. I’m so fucked up. I’m letting him be kind after I’ve gone and dry humped my bully of a professor while thinking of Archer.

I’m the worst person in all of human history.

I don’t know I’m crying until I feel his thumb swipe under my lids. He kisses my temple, drags me to the bed and then has me sit sideways in his lap, crushes me to his chest and simply holds me. “I’m going to fucking maim whoever did this to you, baby.”

I could fall in love with Jonas Anderson, I really could. Except how could I ever tell him, to maim me? That I did this to myself? I simply blink and kiss the corner of his lips.

And what does Jonas Anderson do?

He holds me tighter.

I could really fall for someone like Jonas Anderson… if a certain doctor and a sick professor weren’t occupying my head. Why did I like it? Why was it such a rush?

I stare at my book bag I had thrown haphazardly into my room, the lip of it open, the book and my laptop sticking out, gleaming like diamonds. I need to learn to get my emotions under control. I need to kick all three of these men to the back of my mind and continue on my path. Nothing, and I mean nothing can keep me from finding the truth.

                                              ______

It’s later that evening, after Jonas and I have parted ways after eating in the dining hall, and I have my philosophy textbook open, my desk lamp on, Yo-Yo Ma playing low in my ear buds, that I can’t ignore the call of the fucking weird book anymore. I’ve carried it around in my bag all day, the weight of it felt like I carried a boulder around. I know the gravity of what’s written inside. My thoughts weren’t on what was around or in front of me at all today and I know Jonas felt my distance.

I ate my dinner of roasted bird and veggies quickly in the dining hall with him and the twins and when he walked me back to my dorm, I was quick to say goodbye, closing the door in his face. I’ll apologize somehow tomorrow.

I finally bend and grab the textured book out, trailing my fingers up and over the spine, the title, the circular symbol with the triangle tips on the outside, a line slashing through each side of the triangle to connect it furthermore. So many of the buildings off campus and around the US have this symbol like the stone masons. Except this symbol isn’t just on old buildings. No, this sigil is integrated, designed intricately to be hidden in plain sight. The only way to see it is to know it - to know exactly what you’re looking for. The only reason I know it, is because I’ve seen it time and time again everywhere we went as a family. In every vacation home, every building, every person whose home we have ever visited for the last twelve years I’ve been a Monroe.

The way the binding is both rough and smooth under my fingertips confuses me. I’ve never felt a texture used for binding on a book like this before and yet, it feels so familiar. I take my thumb and rub it against the underside of my middle finger mindlessly over and over again while I continue to trace the binding.

The hair on the nape of my neck stand on ends. My stomach recoils and lurches, flipping my dinner as I realize what I’m feeling. I look at the pad of my thumb that’s now clamming and a shiver runs through me.

It’s skin.

I throw the book to the side, grab my trash can by my desk and almost empty the contents of my stomach into the waste bin. But nothing comes out. Panting, I slowly deadpan to the vile book sitting atop my desk, beside my textbook, another shiver escaping me. I get up, go to my ensuite bathroom, and wash my hands.

Gloves. I need gloves. I’m not touching that evil fucking thing again without any. I look for the first aid kit I know Axel brought and rummage through it, grabbing a pair of non-latex gloves inside and slip them on, snapping them against my wrist as I make my way back to my desk. I inspect the cover again, noticing what would be pores where hair follicles once were.

Who the fuck was this? What could someone have done to become the fucking cover of a book? Jesus. I shake my head, hold my breath, and finally get the ovaries to open it.

Pro Familia, Sanguinem

For family, we bleed.

The writing is in an ink that is as maroon as the walls in the stairwell to the restricted section of the library. Except this time, I have a feeling it really is dried blood. I flip to the next page and my eyes widen.

Dates starting in 1912. Beside them, names I recognize; Prescott, Cartwright, George, McDonald, Anderson, Monroe, Whitmore, Daniels, Bevans, Smith, Holmes, O’Connell, Cleary…

All besides names I don’t recognize. A shiver skitters down my spine, shimmying over my shoulders.

It’s a ledger.

A heaviness weighs over me as I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. It’s too late to go back now. All I know is I need to put this thing back as soon as I can. Someone will be looking for this. I can’t take pictures of it; it’ll upload to the cloud. For the first time, I’m so grateful Axel ordered me a home copy/scanner/printer machine and set it up for me before leaving so I wouldn’t have to use the one in the common area.

I take the book, go to the machine and the whirring begins as I copy the front of the ledger, let it print and then flip as far forward until I get to the 1950s. Sixty pages front and back before I’m done copying, my heart stops as I catch what’s written.

2019 – Raven Monroe – T. Prescott, A. Smith, J. Cartwright, T. Whitmore II, S. Hoover,  A.

A. what?

A. who?

They were either erased or didn’t get to finish writing their name.

A. WHO?

The walls are caving in on me. Suffocating. The panic is in my throat. In my head. It’s blurry, blurry, blurry. Something I can see… nothing. 

Can’t breathe.

I reach out, feeling and grab my phone from my desk on my way down to the ground, calling the only emergency number I have for moments like these.

Damon picks up on the second ring.

“Raven?” his voice wraps around me like a warm, silk blanket, the most comfortable blanket I’ve ever known. The video is on, his background is a landscape of trees. Trees I swear I recognize. He’s sweaty and I think he was running. “Raven, show me your face. I can’t see you. Are you okay?”

I tilt the phone to me. Letting his beautiful grey eyes see me in all my disheveled glory in pure panic mode. But he’s seen me at my worst and stayed, hasn’t he? Bound in a straight-jacket type of worst. This is most definitely not my worst.

“Okay. Okay, little bird.” Little bird. My heart cracks. “Did something happen?”

Yes, I found the names of my attackers. I make a face of pure agony because he’s not a fucking mind reader.

“Raven, do I need to call 911?”

I shake my head. No. They’ll take away the only evidence I have. The people here are connected. Can’t trust anyone. I need more proof.

He can’t hear my thoughts, I know this.

His eyebrows pop up in surprise. “Little bird, you’re communicating.”

I feel my eyebrows knit together. Little bird. I show him a soft smile through the screen.

“Did you have a panic attack?”

I blink and look away and back at him.

“Take your meds. Take a sleeping pill. It’s late. Grab your anti-anxiety blanket. Self-soothe. You got this. Okay? Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”

I nod once.

“That’s my good girl. I’m going to stay on the phone with you. I need to see you take your meds, climb into bed and then we’ll hang up. I’m not leaving you alone in this, okay?”

His good girl. I’m his good girl.

I take him with me to the bathroom, set the phone up so he can see me, open my mirror that’s a medicine cabinet and grab one of each pill, grab the water bottle on my counter, gulp them down, and then show him, wiggling my tongue all around to prove I swallowed the pills like I would back at Lorne Wood under his care.

“So good, pretty girl. You did so fucking good for me. Now can you go to bed?”

I take him with me, turning the light off in both the bathroom and my room, the lavender sleep light immediately turning on at the lack of light. I pull the anxiety blanket over my body, letting the weight of it settle over my bones, the pressure perfect, wrapped around me. I pretend it’s him. I pretend it’s Jonas. I even pretend, for a second, it’s Professor Harrington.

Damon stays with me the entire time, even when my eyelids grow heavy and I let myself fall into a somewhat dreamless slumber, he stays with me and in my dreams, I swear I can smell him, I swear he’s with me, praising me, touching me, trailing his fingertips in places I wish he would’ve touched when I was in his care.

When I was his patient.

Chapter Six

Damon.

Driving into Rayne-Moore, I had noticed too many local pubs and bars, boutiques, cafes, bookstores, music stores, and a venue along with RMU Yellow Jackets everywhere…

Football season was in full swing and the people walking around in jerseys and letterman’s along with RMU t-shirts were also everywhere. My eyes roam over everyone and everything, taking it all in. Groups of young adults sitting outside of the cafes and pubs, drinking, eating, studying. Oblivious.

It made me think of how Raven was, walking around this campus, this entire town, enjoying herself, laughing with friends, none the wiser of how her life would turn out. I knew I wouldn’t find her here. No, my pretty little thing would be on campus, trying to find answers where everyone else failed her.

It made me drive to Rayne-Moore campus just a little faster.

                             _______

“Doctor Archer, what a surprise. We weren’t expecting you until Sunday.” Rita Overly, a petite incredibly blonde woman with black frames too big for her face greets me when I park my BMW behind the faculty apartments.

I shrugged, “You look the type of woman that prefers transparency Rita and I’ll be honest with you; I had nothing holding me back from getting a start on things.”

Except my career and my home.

This seems to satisfy her and a smile spreads across her thin lips. “Very well, let’s get you situated shall we?”

I’ve plastered a smile on my face for so long while meeting faculty members and learning everyone’s names, over the past few hours after getting settled into my room that my cheeks hurt.

Saturday afternoon, I go to the administration office to get my lanyard and faculty ID, my computer and portal logins and the keys to my office. Rita assured me I could take my time and do all those things tomorrow morning but I let her know I preferred to get ahead with things and not procrastinate. A lie, obviously. I’d rather be watching Raven from my laptop but she’s no longer in the institution nor at home in that big, lonely mansion the Monroe’s call a familial home.

From what Rita told me; I will have access to all student files – including their dorm rooms just in case I’d need to intervene. Which tells me, that may as well be something necessary in the future. For now, I only have one person in mind.

Once in my office, I begin to take out and put-up things I brought with me from home and the things I left at Lorne Wood, I gave direct orders for them to be sent here immediately, which is another reason I needed the keys to my office. Those items will be here tomorrow morning by the time I finish my run. My plan is to learn every inch of this campus and the surrounding college town.

                              _______

Room 117.

Raven was perfectly distracted skinny dipping in a pond with a male student while I was on my run in the woods. I couldn’t help but be both satisfied that she was currently distracted and angry that she let someone she doesn’t know see her delicious curvy body absolutely naked. Her only saving factor was she didn’t let him near her.

My very good girl.

I ran back to the faculty dorms, grabbed my supplies, and kept my hood up and head down as I made my way to the dorms. From the blueprint of the building permits I found online, Room 117 is on the first floor, on the very corner of the dorms, where there is a very convenient, very old, and very large, oak tree that overshadows the entire corner of the building and up. The entire alumni must be afraid of a little rain because I haven’t seen anyone the entire time I’ve been here, and knowing Raven like I do, I know she’s left her window unlocked.

I’ll be punishing her for that later.

Eyeing my surroundings, grateful the tree most likely hides this view as it’s pointed out, not down. I push open her window, then sneak into her room, careful not to get anything dirty, I drop down onto the beige carpet I know she abhors. The scent of jasmine and berries and juniper has already taken over the room, which is spacious and like mine, it has a kitchenette. Her full-size poster bed to the side, her cello in a corner, her desk and laptop in another next to her bookshelf that already has so many books with cracked spines. Beside it? A hamper with already dirty laundry. On top? White, lace cheeky panties that I stuff into my available pocket before I have a chance to sniff them and get to work putting the small camera into the smoke detector.

I may be incorrigible, but I’m also here to make sure she doesn’t harm herself.  

I finish what I came here to do, leave the way I came, and go back to my apartment to make sure everything is working properly.

It is.

                           _______

Fucking. Magnificent.

Utterly magnificent.

My little bird is unraveling, chasing after what she wants and it’s so fucking beautiful. I had planned to make my presence at Rayne-Moore to her known, except when I followed her up to the third floor of the library and she began to act like a sleuth, I couldn’t help but hold back and watch, like I always do when it comes to her. When she disappeared behind the door disguised as a bookshelf, I chuckled to myself, gave her a two-minute head start and then followed her, entering the faux-shelf and descended the staircase, careful to match her steps.

When she landed, I waited another two minutes to go behind her, and watched as she traipsed around the book-laden labyrinth, eyes closed as if she heard a melody, head tipped back, until she came upon a book…

“And what, pray tell…” I watched, from the shadows as her body stiffened against him, how her mouth opened and closed as if she was trying to speak and my cock grew hard from just her trying.

They’d shuffled, she even fled a little before he caught her and when they fell to the floor and she out-maneuvered him, I for sure thought she was going to run away from him or incapacitate him in some way…

But then once again, my gorgeous little ghost surprised me. I grinned devilishly when she began grinding on him, and she seemed to almost preen under his degradation and his praise. I reached into my athletic shorts and tugged on my swelling cock, as much as I was jealous of the way he was kissing and licking what was mine, she was a sight, a silent goddess taking control of her desire, chasing the pinnacle of her pleasure, riding this… someone and when she shattered, I shattered with her, silently groaning as my cum shot to the carpeted floor.

I stayed in the shadows as she ran past me. I watched the man get up, taking off his sweater and groan as he looked down at the mess he and Raven had created on his pleated light-grey trousers. I allowed him to tie his sweater around his hips before I took a few steps back and let my footsteps thud against the soft carpet to make him aware of my presence. I’d need to distract him in order for Raven to get away. The look on his face was one of bewilderment, enchantment and absolutely no regrets.

Good.

Touching her is an absolute honor and if he thought otherwise, I’d simply report him to both the dean and the authorities.

“Oh, hello. I’m Doctor Damon Archer. I’m the new student counselor here.” I greeted, holding out my hand.

He cleared his throat, looking entirely too guilty and flustered and took my hand, our callouses rubbed against each other. Even though well put together, when he let go of my hand, he ran it through his hair. I bit back the laugh that wanted to burst out of my chest. “Yes, hello, you must be Dr. Brown's replacement. I’m Professor Maverick Harrington.”

Oh Raven, I grin, what have you done? “Oh, I didn’t see you in the dorms when I was bombarded with all brand-new faces.”

“No, I live off campus, about twenty minutes away.”

“Ah.” I turn to face the books and realize I’m in the psychology and philosophy section which works so well for me. I grab any book, skim the title and pages, almost giddy at the irony I’ve pulled the first edition of Good and Evil. I almost think of stealing it and leaving it on Raven’s bed. “Lucky you.”

“Yes, well, I've class starting soon and I - well, it was good meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see each other at the faculty functions.”

God, faculty functions. That sounds mind numbingly terrible.

Before he turns his back to me I give a curt nod then grace him with a smile that tells him I’m completely ignorant that he had a little rendezvous with a student before eight o'clock in the morning on the floor of the restricted section of the library. But then, for some reason, I want to instill a little fear in him. I also want to know what he knows about her. “Was that… Raven Monroe I saw dashing out of here?”

His steps freeze and he slowly turns back to me. “I believe it was.”

I quirk my eyebrows. At least he’s not a liar. “Incredible.”

His green eyes blaze. “What is?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t expect she’d come back here. Strange, isn’t it?”

He lifts a broad shoulder and lets it fall. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose. Given her surname is on this building and her family, along with the Andersons, the Prescott’s, Smiths, Moore’s, and the Cartwright’s seem to own this town… it’s not as strange.”

Ah. He’s done his research. I wonder what caused him to be so interested. I suppose it’s the little minx that just dry-humped him on the floor of this musty library section. I shrug. “I suppose you’re right.”

He nods again and makes a weird motion with his hands telling me he has to go and I turn back to the bookshelf, this time to leaf through another smelly old book. He leaves and before I take another step, I hear the faux-bookshelf open and close again.

I round the corner, staying out of sight, and watch as Raven, looking divinely just fucked with her hair disheveled, make her way to the shelf she was loitering around just before her run-in with Maverick, looks around, grabs a book, shoves it into her book bag and then leaves the way she came.

I wonder if this is the moment I should make my presence at Rayne-Moore known but decide against it.

Soon, Raven. Soon.

Once I’m back in the faculty building, I catch Rita right before she steps out and I make sure to stop her by getting in her way. “Excuse me, Doctor.”

Clutching a clipboard to her chest, she steps out of my way, her nose scrunching up when I make the same step she does and I initial an awkward dance between us until we both stop and laugh. She takes in my athletic gear and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. It would be cute… if I didn’t find every woman that wasn’t Raven abhorrent, utterly boring, and vapid. “I take it your office is up to par and you’re finding your way around campus?”

“Good morning, Rita, yes. I’ve been enjoying the scenery during my runs. Listen, there was something I was wanting to ask about and since you’re the only one I really trust here…”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems I caught the tail-end of a conversation a few students were having. Raven Monroe is on campus is she not?”

Her eyes widen just a bit. “Uh, yes, yes she is.”

I lower my voice and step closer to her, and don’t miss when she takes a not-so-obvious-but-obvious-to-me whiff of me and her eyes flutter for a brief second. I lean just a tad bit closer and tuck a runaway strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. “I was at the… institution when they brought her in. I think, it would be good for her if she continued seeing a therapist, one that already knows her history, wouldn’t you?” I begin to nod my head slowly until she mirrors me and then step away, which causes her to step forward.

I almost laugh at how easy she is.

“I- uhm, well, she doesn’t speak, Doctor Archer.” She lowers her voice as if she’s telling me a big secret. “From what I hear, she has selective mutism.”

I taper my anger. A gossip. Rita Overly is a fucking gossip. Instead I nod. “I see. Yes, I can see how being back here could possibly cause some triggers. I know my colleague, the one who was treating her, said he had made good headway with her. I’ll have him forward me her files. I know she was prone to… episodes. We wouldn’t want that here on campus, would we?” I shake my head until she’s shaking hers.

“No, no that… that wouldn’t be good for our… publicity. If… if she were to-"

“Oh, Rita, you’re incredible. I knew you were the one to go to for this. Have her come by my office, in next week or so?”

“Yes, I- I believe that’s a good idea. Thank you, Doctor Archer.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Overly.”

“Oh, it’s Miss.” Rita’s face flushes a pink that I (at some point in time Pre-Raven) probably would have found adorable. Except it’s not. It’s incredibly annoying and a bit sad how easy it was to manipulate her and I really wish she wasn’t so stupid.

“Miss Overly,” I wink and before she can say another word, I get the fuck out of her way and head to the common area so I can get to my room and fuck my fist to the memory of Raven riding that fucking professor until he creamed his pants like a fifteen-year-old kid. I mean seriously. Maverick? Who names their kid that?

Except, when I get to my room, I catch sight of movement on my laptop, the screen showing me that my little bird isn’t alone in her room. No, my girl is perched on a familiar boy's lap, and when he says, “I’m going to maim whoever did this to you baby,” she. Fucking. Kisses. Him. But then, almost unnoticeably, her shoulders slump.

I can almost hear her thoughts waging their internal war in her head through the screen. Guilt. Shame. All unnecessary.

See? She needs me to tell her it’s okay. She shouldn’t fight her body. What she’s feeling is normal because she’s been weaning herself off of her medication, the little minx, and the fog in her brain is lifting and she’s coming back to life and she is glorious.

                                          _______

I was right to worry. I was right to follow her here.

I sneak back into her room once she’s fast asleep, using the light of my phone to look around her room to see what had her so frazzled, in such a panic she chose to call me, not Axel, me. Albeit the immense sense of both pride and worry that had filled me was enough to have me finishing my run in a sprint to get back to her.

Her room is a fucking mess, papers everywhere, on the ground, on her desk, the printer. The only thing in pristine condition are her trashy romance novels on her bookshelf. I grin, memorizing titles so I can read them later. My smile fades when I spot the still-lit printer immediately sensing whatever caused her panic attack, this was the root of it. I go to it, open the lid to the scanner, grab the book perched upon it and with one fucking glance, I bite back my growl.

I gather all the papers strewn about and make my own copies, knowing the soft purr of the machine won’t wake her from the artificial slumber she’s in due to the medication. I was watching. She didn’t take halves or quarters like she’s been doing while she’s been out of my care. She took the entire thing.

Once they finish printing, I slip my shoes off and climb into bed with her, slipping off the heavy blanket, lying beside her on my side, I hold her against me, pulling all her softness against my hard ridges and she feels like exactly how I thought she would – perfect. The scent of Jasmine and berries and something like pomegranates waft from her silky hair, womanly and gentle, even though I know she isn’t as gentle as she looks. After everything she’s faced, she’s as tough as diamonds. I kiss her temple, above her scar. “You did so good, Raven. Such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

I let my fingers trail along the soft skin of her arm, down to her thigh and over the tattoo of the blossoming lotus, goosebumps rising in its wake. She doesn’t have to tell me what it means, nor the spider lilies growing on the vines from her ankle up her meaty thigh. Both flowers represent death, yet the lotus flowers signify strength, resilience, and most of all, they represent rebirth, being able to grow in the dirtiest and most stagnant bodies of water.

I savor this, her. The all that is Raven Olivia Monroe, as the violet of her nightlight against her porcelain skin captures the profile of her face. I commit it all to memory. All of it. I raise the hem of her oversized t-shirt, tugging it over her breasts, my breath hitching at the sight of her nipples, pink and taut, and lower my mouth to taste her the same way Harrington had the honor.

Except the only person that will be the first to enter and break her barrier will be me. I’m deplorable. Disgusting. They should take away my medical license. They could. But they won’t. My work with her will be groundbreaking. Except I wouldn’t exploit her in that way, ever. No, my work with her will be my – our – experiments and ours alone.

My lips travel from her nipples to her navel, turning her so she lies flat on her back. I bite back my groan at the black lace panties, tugging them all the way down, until they’re on an ankle and I spread her thighs. If I ever thought I was mad for Raven before, the feeling has fucking amplified. The most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen is now before my very eyes. I was once a man that believed all pussy was created equal… until this very moment. Puffy hairless lips, a trimmed triangle of hair on her mound, and a little bud tucked in, waiting for me to make it unfurl and pebble, to lick and kiss and please. Inhaling her musk until my eyes cross like a predator sniffing its prey before diving in, I then lick from the bottom of her slit and up to her clit, seeking her out, to come and let me play.

I lap her up, her thighs tremble and her hips buck, her nectar a complete ambrosia created by all the deities, made just for me; to soothe and nourish the ache I have for her is past carnal desires – it’s in my fucking soul. I dip my tongue inside, seeking out more of her cream, wiggling my tongue, deepening each kiss I place against her. Breaking her tonight is not on my agenda. No. I’ll be doing this slowly, so when she comes to me, all she’ll feel is pleasure, never pain. Not by me. Not by my hand will she ever experience pain… unless she wants it.

I’ll give it to her anyway she wants me. 

Her hand lazily lands on my head, her hips slowly bucking to grind against my face. “There you go, pretty girl, fuck my face.” I praise. “Take your pleasure from me, Raven. You’re being such a good girl for me.”

Her thighs close, squeezing around my head and with the most delectable gasp I’ve ever heard, she comes against my mouth, shaking for what feels like minutes until she falls limply against her pillows, satisfied with a small smile on her lips.

I could fucking scream with joy. Instead, I go to her drawers, pull them open until I find a pair almost identical to the ones she fell asleep in, put them on her, pocket the ones she was wearing, kiss her soft lips daintily, grab the stack of paper copies of the fucking ledger she stole, and leave the same way I came in, fighting the urge to stay, to hold her for a few more minutes.

But my job here isn’t done.

I need to know everything she knows.

Once I’m back in my room, and I can see better, I finally understand what had her so fucking distraught. I finally understand why she felt the need to wean herself from her medications, what brought her back to this creepy university, and search for answers.

Here, now, as the light above my head illuminates the words scrawled on the pages before me, anger coursing through me, rising like bile, I make the decision. I’ll be whatever the fuck she wants, whatever the fuck she needs me to be in her quest for retribution. Fuck a hero. I’ll happily help her become the villain she so desperately needs.

Truth be told, I hope she burns this whole motherfucking place down. I’ll be the matches, the gasoline, the kindling. I can’t wait to watch my Raven rise from the ashes she’ll leave at her feet like a fucking phoenix.

Because I find something on this piece of fucking paper I never thought I would.

1999 – Maddeline Bordeaux – T. Whitmore

My sister.

Chapter Seven

Jonas.

“Are you coming to the game on Friday?” Riordan asks and then takes a small sip of his Americano. “It’s our first game. We’re playing Turner Falls. Only forty minutes away. You can take the bus with us, probably. Unless you have friends you want to go with?”

I try really hard to stop myself, but I have no willpower whatsoever when it comes to her. I reach over and wiggle my finger into Raven’s fishnet stocking when she crosses her leg and leans her body toward me on Wednesday morning out on the quad before Harrington’s lecture. I fucking love when she wears these. They make the uniform look all nerdy-gothy-chic and it’s too fucking hot. Like she’s the girl mommy warned me about and she’d upset everyone if I took her home to meet the family.

I would absolutely, ten thousand percent let Raven Monroe wreck my fucking heart for one taste of her. If she stomped on it with those heeled biker boots she wears? Even better.

She’s wearing her hair down in waves and her bangs are pulled back, letting that silver streak in her hair show. I was looking at it earlier, and it seems to come from the roots, they don’t match the rest of the brown in her hair so I don’t think it’s dyed. I think it’s natural. She didn’t have it before. I want to touch it. I want to see if it’s as silky as it looks. Like spider-silk.

This time, I do stop myself from reaching out and touching. Not that touching her thigh and the tip of the vines of her Lotus and spider lilies tattoo is acceptable but she hasn’t stopped me. 

I can’t help but wonder if she puts her hair up in a messy bun when she studies. I want to know if she sleeps with her closet door open or closed like me. If she likes it colder than a witches tit when she sleeps. What does she sleep in, a t-shirt? Pajamas? A sexy little silk negligee? Naked?

I need to know the important things, like; does she highlight her favorite passages in her books or does she dog-ear them so she knows exactly where they are? What songs make her dance? Which ones make her sad days sadder? Does she watch movies with the subtitles on or off like a psychopath? I want to know it all and it kills me she won’t say anything; content to keep her secrets while I’m dying to tell her mine.

Practice was brutal this morning so we decided to get some caffeine from the Koffee Kart to get some energy so that’s exactly what we’re doing, sitting around, sipping coffee. Except her. Because she couldn’t order and I don’t know her order. But I plan on rectifying that by ordering everything on the menu and having her try them all, then putting them in order from least to favorite.

Her finger has been tracing the outline of the veins on my forearm since I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, sending little bolts of electricity shooting throughout my entire system. If she likes it, I like it more.

Her eyes flicker to me, as though she’s asking my permission or apologizing in advance. Her hand leaves my arm and settles on Riordan’s hand who looks super surprised at the gesture. Even Chase shoots me a glance. I almost growl but she scrunches her nose and gives Riordan a tiny squeeze like she’s politely saying, “No, thank you.” Then pulls her hand away, ducks her head back down, and continues to lazily trace my veins with her fingertip as if it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen and I’m practically preening.

Look at my enormous fucking feathers, boys.

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea. Large crowds aren’t great for her.” She stops her trailing and looks up at me, and when the sun hits her light brown eyes, my heart shudders at the way it looks as if bees themselves created this specific honey to drop in her eyes that are full of something akin to gratitude.

“What about the after party tomorrow? Win or lose. The party is on Greek row just outside of the campus. We can sneak you both back in.” Chase says, waggling his blonde eyebrows.

“Dude. What did you not understand about no large crowds?”

“Oh, fuck. Sorry. It just sucks you won’t be at the game. I’m sure lover boy here would just love to see you in his jersey, cheering him on.”

Her eyes go wide and her eyebrows furrow together in question and my heart rattles and stops and clangs and starts pumping backwards. I kiss where her jaw ends and she squirms. While the thought of her in my number makes me rock hard, I say “You don’t have to go, baby. The game will be live on the student athletic portal. I’ll actually be happier knowing you’re safe and in your dorm than out where something could happen to you and I can’t help you.”

She goes back to tracing my veins until an alarm on her phone alerts us it’s time to head inside. Chase and Riordan turn around in that weird twin synchronization and head to their lectures in the English department. I grab her bag along with mine, throw them both over my shoulder, then pull her to me by her waist, settling my hand on her curvy hip, loving the way it fills my palm and then we weave into the throngs of students heading to class.

“Faker.” “Lying bitch.” “Attention whore.” “Psycho.”

Her shoulders slump at the comments, head bowing and I hold her tighter to me and squeeze her hip. I lower my head to her ear as we get closer to Harrington’s lecture hall and see a small line formed. “They’re all entitled bastards, baby. You don’t owe them shit. Not a glance, not a thought, and especially not your voice. So, hold your head up high when you’re with me or anytime you set foot outside your dorm. I got you.”

She looks up at me beneath those long sooty lashes of hers and if I could melt down to the ground in a puddle of flesh, I would. I know she hasn’t full on kissed me yet, and right when I lower my lips to hers, someone clears their throat.

I could murder him.

She turns a bright shade of pink and I turn to look at Harrington’s smug as fuck face. I let out a low growl and squeeze her side. “To be continued.” I wink at him and kiss her temple as I see it’s our turn to… sign the fucking sign-in sheet.

Well fucking played, Harrington. He may think he’s slick, but I’ve seen the truth in his eyes. The way he looks at Raven like a starved animal.

She’s mine.

“Any day now, Mister Anderson, Miss Monroe.” He glares. But his eyes aren’t on me. They’re on Raven and they follow her the entire time we walk to our seats and then during the entire lecture, his eyes keep flicking from the other students back to her. Any sudden movement she makes, tucking that sexy stripe of silver hair behind her ear, crossing her legs, picking up her pen, he stares her down as if trying to somehow retrieve answers, telepathically daring her to look at him. But her eyes stay glued to her notebook, her textbook, and every now and then, when she does looks up, her knuckles turn white with how hard she grips her pen.

There’s a tension there, a tension that wasn’t there before other than when he humiliated her in front of the entire class and I can’t help but question it.

He dismisses us twenty minutes early and when I grab her backpack, the fuck says, “Miss Monroe, a word please?” His eyes dart back to me and he adds a quick “Alone.”

I swallow the rage bubbling in my throat and kiss her temple. “I’ll meet you in the dining hall for lunch. Right, baby?” I keep my eyes on Harrington making sure he heard that. He barely lifts a brow, but something in his green eyes flash that tells me it irks him and I let my lips tilt up in a smirk then settle my gaze back down to hers.

She blinks at me coolly and takes her backpack from my hand.

I walk out, and when the door closes behind me, I watch as he takes a few steps back and opens the door to his office. She walks in with her shoulders slumped.

Chapter Eight

Maverick.

She won’t look at me. She does everything but look at me. Not even a glance. The way she flushed pink when I interrupted her almost kiss with Jonas, she still didn’t look at me. Like I didn’t fucking exist and everything she did during my lecture on Ed Kemper was all too distracting. Every lip bite while taking notes, on paper, not her laptop, which was annoyingly endearing. And fuck me, when she crossed and then uncrossed her legs flashing her pale blue panties, I had to hide behind my podium, which I never do, to hide my thickening erection.

Yet she continued defying my presence like what happened between us was just a figment of my imagination.

That’s fine. I’ll make her look at me.

“Miss Monroe, a word please?” I narrowed my eyes on Jonas when he took her backpack. “Alone.”

He kisses her temple and I watch him watch us through the peep-window of the door so I decide to make this private conversation even more private by taking it into my office. When she rushes past me, I get a faint whiff of jasmine and berries from her perfume and the pomegranate of her shampoo. I close the solid door behind me and lock it.

My office is partially designed like Whitmore’s. A large antique mahogany desk, a large overly cushioned swivel chair behind it, and for those that are brave enough to sit in here, two very uncomfortable wooden chairs not meant to keep someone here for long, which she’s sitting in one. Legs crossed, arms folded over her chest as though she’s hiding them from me like I didn’t taste her succulent flesh against my tongue and sucked her hardened nipples into my mouth while she rode me only a mere twenty-seven hours ago.

Not that I’m counting.

No, she looks as though she’s embarrassed about it all. Like she regrets me.

“That’s the Harrington Curse, Mav. We’ll love a woman with our entire soul, give it to her and she’ll take it with her when she finally leaves because they know we just ain’t good enough for them to love back.”

I shake my father’s voice out of my head. I could never love a woman like Raven Monroe. Besides, a woman of her pedigree would never fall for a man without some absurd title like Duke or Prince. No, a woman like Raven Monroe absolutely belongs to a shit like Jonas Anderson.

While I round the desk then leaning against it before her, I decide to mirror her; ankles crossed, arms over my chest, scowl on my face. “This conversation will work a lot better if you look at me, Raven.”

She inhales quietly and then exhales in the same manner as if trying to take control of her emotions. I’m sure after what happened yesterday, she’s riddled with all kinds of them. They’re probably eating at her. Shame. The possible guilt of cheating on her… Jonas. I refuse to even think the word ‘boyfriend.’ The word itself feels cursed when it’s aimed at anyone else. Not that I should be her boyfriend. I’m more than an entire decade older than her.

Her eyes focus on me but she’s not giving me direct eye contact. She’s staring between my brows to give the illusion she’s giving me eye contact.

Smart girl. Most likely a tactic she learned at the asylum. I wonder what else she learned while being locked away and treated like a burden. I’m sure that’s how her family treats her.

“What happened yesterday morning can never happen again,” I begin and her eyes shift to the tip of my ear. “I spoke with Dean Whitmore,” her eyes dart to mine. Ahh… so threats work on her. “And given that you refuse to speak and since you made it to class today, I’m assuming you won’t be dropping my class?”

A blink and then she uncrosses her creamy thighs and tilts her feet, her toes inward, she bounces a knee, the only thing that tells me her defiance is waning and her anxiety is up.

Does my presence make her nervous? Does it irk her? Make her wet? Is she thinking about how she rode me on the carpeted floor of the library until her knees were red and raw? The very scent of her arousal is still trapped in my nostrils since I used her ripped thong while I jerked off this morning.

“Very well, Raven. You’ll be turning in your Nurture versus Nature debates on paper. Handwritten. On Thursdays before the debates on Fridays so you don’t have a chance to hear other arguments so I know you didn’t plagiarize your peers. When you hand them in, it will be to me and only me by the end of day on Thursdays. Seeing as you refuse to speak, your presence won’t be required on Fridays beginning next week. I’ll mark you down as present. If you do not hand in your assignments by the end of day, on time, I will fail you. Not mommy, not daddy, not even dear old grandpa can help you. You are not special just because you are defective, Miss Monroe. Do you understand me?”

Her eyes narrow, pure anger and disgust centered on me at the mention of Eugene Monroe. Yeah, Siren I did my fucking research. She stands, grabbing her pale purple designer backpack that probably cost more than my first car. Granted, I had purchased the thing at a junkyard and fixed it up myself, working for months on it to bring it back to life, but still.

Before she can storm past me I yank her by the arm and tug her warm, lush body to mine. “Do you understand, tongueless?”

She flinches at the word or probably the way a growl escaped me or even at our close proximity.

God, she smells fucking fantastic.

I run my nose along hers, over her cheek and into her hair, keeping my lips by her ear. “Tell me, does Jonas know you creamed all over my slacks, riding me like a bitch in heat?”

She closes her eyes, willing me away, inhaling, as though her little breathing technique will work here. It won’t. Her silence irks me, so I tug her closer and give her a little shake. I want to smell the fear in her pheromones rolling off her body like they did yesterday when I chased her in the library.

“I could touch you, here, now, again and you still wouldn’t scream for help, would you, little mute?”

I’ve gone mad. Delirious.

“You’d be a good girl for me wouldn’t you? All those years locked up in a padded room, touch starved. If I lift your skirt and reach into those pale blue panties you’ve been flashing me all goddamn morning, they’d be soaked through, wouldn’t they?”

I reach down, tracing her fishnet covered thigh as I inch her skirt up, listening to her breathing become more erratic, feeling the small rise and fall of her chest against me. I fucking love it. The way her pupils are dilating until only the edges of her irises are that warm honey.

I turn us, switching our positions so quickly her backpack falls and I hold in my smirk. I wrap my hand around, grabbing a handful of her delectable ass and assist her with sitting on my desk and step between her thick thighs that are begging me to kiss my way up to her warm center.

I stick my hand through a hole in her stockings and run my middle finger over her panties which I’m delighted to find are so tiny they’ve slipped between her warm, hairless pussy lips and the crotch of them are indeed, soaked. Filthy girl.

I let out a dark chuckle, poking at the lace where I feel a swollen little bud. With my other hand, I untie her combat boot and tug it off. “I knew it. You’re a needy little slut, aren’t you? Lift your ass, I need to peel these off so I can see just how ready you are.”

Eyes heavy and full of lust, in mere seconds I have her stockings and panties dangling off her ankle and she’s spread before me.

Swollen. Pink. Glistening. Creaming. A trimmed triangle of hair on her pubic mound. I almost growl like a beast. Too fucking perfect.

“Such a pretty little cunt on such a pretty little mute.” I growl. She flinches again, shaking her head as if she’s finally been broken by this trance we’re both in by the word mute like I’ve offended her and tries to close her thighs weakly but I hold them open. She wants this. Wants me to take control. I know because I see the muscles in her thighs. She could’ve closed them in a cinch to reject my advances. I place my open palm on her chest to hold her down and with my other hand I run my thumb over her swollen pretty clit, swiping down, rubbing her nectar over and over the little bud until she bucks.

God she’s fucking beautiful like this, splayed out before me like a wanton slut in her uniform, ready to take me. I have half a mind to tear her button up open again, hear the soft thuds of the buttons landing on the carpet and shove my dick inside of her until I hit the wall of her womb over and over again until I spill my entire load inside of her and she has to go back to her… Jonas with my cum leaking out of her.

Would they go to his or her dorm room later and he’d find me inside? Unknowingly lick me out of her? Would she shower beforehand and rinse me out like it never happened? Ignore me again?

That thought, the thought of her ignoring me sends me into another frenzy and I pop my thumb into her sweet little hole… only to be met with resistance. I pull my thumb out and step away from her completely. Impossible. She’s twenty-four years old. “Raven?”

Her eyes pop open.

“Are you… untouched?”

A blush so crimson creeps up her neck to her cheeks as she cups her sex and then closes her creamy thighs. Her reaction to mine reminds me exactly why we shouldn’t be doing this. She is my student. I am her professor.

Just like that, this spell she’s had me under is broken.

“Get dressed and get the fuck out.” I sneer. I won’t take a virgin. I don’t like virgins. I especially don’t want to have to clean up blood off my cock. I like them slutty. Willing and submissive. I don’t want to have to train her. Although… the thought of teaching her exactly how I like it, to ruin her for anyone besides me, makes the salivating beast inside of me want to unravel and cast aside all decency of the gentleman I’ve trained myself to be.

She slides off the desk and straightens to fix herself. We’re both avoiding the other’s gaze. When she bends over to tie her boot on, flashing me her pussy lips and round ass, it’s when that uncontrollable urge I have when she’s around me breaks, pulling me back in. I drop down to a knee behind her, hook my arms around her hips, rip the fucking stocking apart and lick the  nectar clinging on her panties like a fucking animal.

She tenses until my nose is pushing against her panty-covered asshole and I do my damnedest to suck her engorged bud into my mouth, inhaling all of her scent like a line of cocaine, going straight to my brain and my cock. The thought of knowing Jonas is probably going to take her virginity unsettles me in a way I can’t describe. “Are you going to fuck Jonas?” I ask against her clit.

No answer. Of fucking course. The answer is a probable yes.

I trace her puffy lips with my tongue, sucking them into my mouth. “Let him tear into you so I can fuck you properly, Siren.”

What the fuck am I even saying? Why have I given her a nickname and why does she taste so fucking divine? I lick up her pussy, to her ass, sucking on each globe like a tit, messily salivating all over them, reaching a hand over to pull them aside, with the other I spread her ass apart, then shove my tongue into her pink, virgin asshole, feeling her tense around my tongue. “Let him inside of this pretty little cunt, rip you open and then come back to me. I’ll fuck you with my fingers, my cock, my tongue. I’ll fuck every hole you have until you’re a dirty mess. Make you my darling little cumslut.”

I’m deranged and so fucking close to creaming in my slacks again I slide my hand down, unfastening my belt and pants and pull my cock out. I stand up, looking down at her tight asshole wet with my saliva and give it a spank, growling at the sight of my print against her alabaster skin.

I get closer and jerk my cock once, twice, five times and shoot my load directly on her delicious little anus I’ve been holding open until my vision turns a violent white.

When I’m done I see the tip of my cock is nestled inside her ass. Through the blur I must’ve made an executive decision with my basic self to not leave a mess because it truly is just the tip invading her. Not even the full of my crown.

More cum pumps out of me at just the sight of me inside of her and I’m so fucking tempted to shove the rest of me inside, using my cum as lube and keep fucking her until I feel her tighten around me.

I’m a madman. Vile.

I yank her back by the hair roughly, her back to my chest, angry at her, at myself, at her fucking virginity. So pure and innocent with those big doe eyes and long sooty lashes, seducing me with nothing. Not even a fucking word or a flirtatious smile. I’m a weak man in her presence and her presence alone. She’s gotten under my skin in a matter of eighty fucking hours.

Pathetic.

“Get on birth control. When I take you,” apparently I’ve blurred every fucking line I have ever had as a man and as a professional. “It will be raw. I want no barriers between us. I want to watch my cum leaking from every single one of your holes.” I growl.

She turns to face me, a scowl written so harshly on her face, amber eyes narrowed, she slaps me, breaking whatever spell she cast on me. She shoves me out of the way, strong little thing, and slams the door to my office shut after fixing herself.

I let myself drop into my chair, the squeak breaking the silence. I rub my cheek, the scent of her still on my lips, I open the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out the bottle of Macallan and the tumbler I keep for special circumstances. None such as these.

I should report myself. I should report her. Us.

But if she won’t speak, why should I? I’ve worked hard to be where I am. I didn’t have mommy or daddy’s money. I had me, myself, and I.

So if she doesn’t speak, why should I?

Because it’s wrong, Maverick. It’s so, so, so fucking wrong.

And yet, I can’t find not even one fuck to give.

Chapter Nine

Jonas.

“You don’t think this whole nonverbal thing is a way to trick you?”

I glare at Chase who’s chewing a mouthful of turkey, bacon, avocado and Swiss on toasted gluten-free low-carb rye in the noisy dining hall. “Trick me into what? What the fuck are you even saying?”

“Nothing. He’s being a dick.” Riordan quips.

“No, I’m being a good friend and watching out for him. The entire student body is saying she’s faking it. Melissa said she heard her talking to someone in her room the other night.”

I drop my pizza and stare at the gorgeous all-American identical frat boys sitting across from me. “What?”

Chase shrugs and Riordan looks down at his roasted chicken breast and broccoli. Since I’ve known them, Riordan is the freakish health-nut during on season, being the leaner twin. Chase just makes up his carb-loading by hitting the gym extra hard, being the more stacked, sturdy of the two. But they’re both incredibly good looking, like dirty blonde Henry Cavill's. One glance and the women here throw their panties at them.

Us.

Out of all the families that own this town, the Prescott’s are richer than sin. They're old money from England, but they own the oldest retail companies. All of them. Any large chain store you can think of, they own. Sure, people think they’re owned by separate companies but in the end, if you connect all the dots, the Prescott’s have funded any large retail chain and own over sixty percent of shares in every business.

Behind them are the Monroe's. Raven’s great-great grandfather owned bookstores along the entire east and west coast, in the nineties, it was online bookstores, rivaling Amazon. Then her stepdad with his techs and gadgets; the Monroe's are newish money. Only a few decades old.

Followed by my family; the fucking Andersons with their billion-dollar realty company that was established in 1952.

Fact of the matter is, we own this fucking school. Between our three families, by nothing but surnames and wealth – are the elite. The big bad fucking monsters, the legacies who're in the back of everyone’s minds and yet hushed when spoken about. Nobody else fucking matters. Not them, not their families, not even their barely-a-blip money. And they know it.

That’s why when I took a semester off and came back, nobody said shit to me. Yeah, they talked about me, sure. Never to my face. Besides, it was all just rumors. Nobody could prove a goddamn thing. Riordan and Chase have an inkling as to what happened - even had the balls to ask me about it once. I shot them a glare and topped off the bottle of the twenty-four-year-old bottle of Macallan.

Nobody will ever - can ever know. I’ll take this secret to my fucking grave.

Fuck I miss George right now. I gotta tell him all about Raven.

“Melissa is a fucking pathological liar and an attention whore. Didn’t she pretend to be pregnant last year? One of yours? For a whole four months?” I deflect.

Chase swallows. “We signed an NDA; we can’t talk about that.”

I roll my eyes as Riordan sighs. “We’re just worried about you man; we haven’t seen you like this with anyone since… you know.”

Images of a caramel blonde with wavy locks and piercing blue eyes infiltrates my brain and I could violently spew out my three slices of pizza right now. I stand up, grabbing my tray from the table. “Raven’s not her. If you’re being my fucking friends, then trust me when I tell you Raven’s not faking it and she’s… she’s not her. She'll never be her.”

“Okay, JoJo. Okay. Sit down. We trust your judgment. We’re just… you know, looking out for you is all.”

“I get it. I know I’m… I know I’m different now and it probably feels like last time but it’s not. There’s just something about her. She doesn’t make me feel crazy she makes me feel…” I take my seat, unwilling to look at them yet.

The truth is, Raven makes me feel fucking unhinged. I want her to talk to me. I want to know everything that’s going on in her mind. I want to hear her moans and whimpers and gasps when I finally make her come on my tongue. I want her to scream my fucking name when she lets me shove all of me between those thick, creamy thighs of hers at once. But I also just want to hear her talk about the fucking weather. Or read me her favorite passage in a book. Except… except I like her silence. I love her little gestures, the way she speaks without having to and these fuckers wouldn’t understand that. Riordan might. I mean, he’s at least had a girlfriend once or twice since I’ve known him in the last three years. But Chase? Chase fucks more girls than he changes his underwear. I’m not even sure he washes his dick in-between fucks. He’d never get it.

But they’re already tied down. The Prescott’s are traditional in more than one sense when it comes to the word. They’re both already betrothed with a bride arranged for them and set to marry when they turn twenty-six to women of pedigree and status. They won’t get to marry for love. They get to breed more Prescott heirs.

“Peace. I don’t know if it’s because she doesn’t have to fill up every single moment with incessant chattering or because when I look at her something happens inside me but she… it’s quiet around her. It’s quiet and I feel like I can breathe and I can think and I fucking love it. I want to put it all in a vial and carry it around and just have it with me all the time. This... silence. It’s fucking nice.”

“Is that why you haven’t disappeared to the bell tower?”

I snap my gaze to their ocean ones. “You know about that?”

Chase swallows the last of his sandwich. “We know you get moody and go somewhere. But there’s nowhere else on campus you could go other than the library and you aren’t exactly the studious type.”

“I study.” I lie.

“You open your textbook and use it as a pillow after five minutes.”

“And yet I maintain a 3.8 GPA. Besides, she does talk to me.”

Riordan’s cerulean gaze meets mine from across the table. “She talks to you?”

“Not with words, exactly. Little gestures. I mean, you experienced it this morning. When you asked if she was going to our game on Friday. When she squeezed your hand, even for a brief moment, what did it feel like she was saying?”

He cocks his head side to side as if thinking it over. “Like she said, ‘thanks but no thanks.’”

“So then you get it.”

Before he can reply, I watch Raven leaving the psych department like a bat out of hell only for some bitch with red hair to purposely trip her. She barely manages to catch herself with her hands before a brunette dumps her iced mocha-frappè-whatever all over Raven’s head.

“What the fuck?” Chase whispers as we watch the interaction. Raven throws her backpack down, getting up quickly, yanks the girl by the same wrist still holding the empty cup, twists her arm behind her back and has her on her knees before my fucking goddess, execution style.

My dick goes stone hard so fast I get dizzy and I have to readjust myself before I run out after her.

The closer I get to the scene, I see it’s fucking Addison Cleary, and she’s screaming obscenities and the more she screams, “I knew you’re a fucking psycho!” The more I’m sure my goddess is going to break Addison’s wrist. I want her to. I desperately want to hear the snap of Addison’s bones. I love the look of absolute hostile animosity on Raven. It’s so ferocious, even her features have turned sharper in her snarl. Her soft eyes are nearly black and she’s breathing so hard her chest is heaving.

“Baby?” At the sound of my voice her eyes snap up to find me in the crowd that’s gathered and I push my way forward. “Baby, c’mon. Let the horrible little thing go. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

She glances back down and pulls her hand away from Addison like she burned her, grabs her backpack, and runs away, hair flying behind her.

“Raven!” I call out but the twins hold me back.

“Still don’t believe she’s faking it? She may look innocent but that was definitely not a helpless little mouse.” Chase says and I swear it’s like his voice has duplicated, sending chills down my spine.

“No,” I reply, my eyes still following her. “That was the look of a wounded animal that was backed into a corner. That was the look of someone that had to learn how to defend herself and she did. Isn’t she fucking magnificent?”

“Magnificent?!” Addison screams. “Your psycho bitch of girlfriend nearly broke my wrist!”

Ooh. Girlfriend. I like that. I like that a lot.

My feathers are the biggest in all the land.

I roll my eyes and sneer down at Addison. “That’s probably carpal tunnel pain from those shitty blowjobs you gave half the football team during the toga party on Friday. I’m amazed you don’t have lockjaw. I saw you. All wrist, no muscle, couldn’t even deep throat Schwartz. Didn’t you scrape Chase’s dick with your big teeth?”

“Yeah she did.” He agrees and the crowd laughs.

“Seriously, Addison, you go from bad to worse. Mad because I won’t fuck you so you give the worst blowies to my friends to what? Make them suffer? Now, you’re jealous because Raven’s not just hotter than you, but she has everyone’s attention – my attention - so you thought you’d be petty and embarrass her by spilling coffee on her? And look where you are now; on your knees and I still won’t fucking touch you. You’re fucking pathetic like the rest of your family. Always were, always will be. The funniest part is that not one person here fucking likes you because you’re an insufferable bitch. You could die today and not one person will miss you. If you go to Dean Whitmore, no one will testify for you. Because everyone here saw you trip and fall on your pathetic scrawny ass.” I enunciate and stand to my full height and address the crowd. “What a bad tumble, wasn’t it?”

The murmurs come back to me, all in agreement.

“Listen here, listen now, Raven Monroe is mine. She’s off fucking limits. If any of you have a problem, come to me and I’ll happily rip out your throat because no, you fucking don’t.” I say calmly. “Now shoo like the vermin you are.”

I decide not to go after her this time. Even I know when someone needs space. Granted, I’ve never had coffee dumped over my head, (just a few alcoholic beverages by sorority girls I’ve slept with while their sister is sucking my cock) I’m pretty sure she needs alone time.

“I’m gonna take a nap and hit the gym.” Chase announces. “See you there?”

I nod. Yeah, I definitely need to blow off some steam later. Besides, I know her schedule like my own. I’ll find out all of her secrets. She’ll never be able to hide from me ever again.

Chapter Ten

Raven.

Monica Culbert, 17, dies in house fire - 1956.

Jordan Johnson, 21, dies in bizarre car accident – 1956.

Dean O’Malley, 18, body found in ravine – 1957.

Sasha Thompson, 16, dies in apparent suicide – 1957.

Samson De Luca, accidental -  Jonathan Thomas, body found – Ellory Santos, car accident – Savanah Lincoln, slaughtered.

I click through the images of all of these young adults over and over again. Going between the ledger and the News articles and obituaries online, then check the name on the ledger.

Monica Culbert – J. Remington - 1956

Jordan Johnson – S. Whitmore - 1956

I feel sick. Again. Every name in the ledger has been an accidental death, freak accident, suicide or murdered with no leads.

They’re getting away with it. These… these people, the members of the Syndicate, have been murdering people for over a century. Getting away with it all. They’re leaving the bodies to be found, none of them are missing peoples reports. No. They’re all accounted for.

But why?

After returning the ledger back where I found it this morning, (with no interruptions) I immediately came back and started working on researching the names. I skipped the rest of my classes yesterday after the whole coffee fiasco, and then skipped my classes today, staying in my room, not even leaving to eat. This was – is – too important.

I wish I could call Jonas, apologize for blowing him off yesterday and today. I wish I could call Damon. At least I knew he would never think I’m crazy even though I feel crazy.

I’ve only found a few whose names were crossed out and after researching, those are people that survived.

Jessica King – K. King

Jessica King, 19, Survives House Fire - 1965

Their own relative. Their own relative tried to kill them.

But then only a year later, Tremon Miller – K. King.

These aren’t just victims on the east coast, they’re fucking everywhere. All over the United States and some all over the UK, France, Germany. Ingrid Kreiger, 20, was a death in Germany. A lot of the victims were college or high school students, easily distracted. Easily peer pressured. Easily lured.

Younger girls considered underage here but consensual in other countries, also have freaky deaths.

If I’m reading this right, if the victim survives somehow, the Syndicate member still has to kill again. Or try.

But then… why leave the bodies?

I get up and go to my mini fridge stocked with my favorite strawberry-kiwi Snapple and continue down the gut-wrenching list. Women, men, they didn’t care. What ties did the victims have to the Syndicate? Did they have any? Were they random kills? Why were they murdered? Did they know something they shouldn’t?

Everything I’ve ever heard about the Syndicate was purely rumors when I was on campus years ago. A lifelong brotherhood that held super-duper secret meetings under the library or in the woods. It was hilarious… back then. Brina and I made jokes about this shit. Rayne-Moore was the safest place. Not even one rape allegation ever… never an attack so close to campus.

Until me.

So why me?

I sip at my juice then sit back on my bed, crossing my legs. I shake my head. The library is new. Sure, it’s shaped like a circle, and has a secret entrance to the restricted section…

“…the entrance from the third floor was closed off in the seventies because three students fell down all three flights of stairs and died. Not together, obviously, but over the entire decade.”

Did they find something they weren’t supposed to?

Head spinning, I run my fingers through my hair, letting it cascade around my shoulders and gnaw at my bottom lip. John said the library was new when Axel and I attended the tour of the campus. What if he meant new-ish? Not to us but to him? Or maybe he paid to add on to it? Fuck my head is starting to hurt.

I go back to my desk and look at the names beside the victims and look them up in the past alumni sections on the website but it only goes back a decade. Every man on the ledger was a sophomore when they committed their crimes.

I’m missing something. There has to be more to this. I lean back, silently groan and spin in my desk chair, letting my eyes stay glued to the ceiling to fight off dizziness. I’ve been at this since breakfast. I caught sight of Jonas this morning when I was leaving the dining hall and before he could come up to me, I turned and kept walking, obviously avoiding him.

I… am an asshole.

I put my hair up in a ponytail, throw on some black biker shorts, my oversized AC/DC tee, and grab my gym bag. I’ll hit the campus gym before it closes so I can hopefully sleep better tonight. Knowing the only place I’ll find answers is the exact place I’ve been avoiding – Monroe Student Library. I head to the gym, dreading having to face tomorrow. More like dreading who I’m going to face tomorrow. It’s the last day of my first week here, I have Maverick’s class, and a twinge of something makes my belly flip.

His brutality… I groan inwardly, grimacing. I hate myself for how much I liked it and then craved it even after he called me tongueless and mute but then… he called me a good girl and a slut and fuck me, it feels both horrible and so fucking good. The sweet burn of him nudging the tip of his dick in my ass and shooting his load in me… fuck! I’m so confused. It feels like he’s playing with my head. I really don’t know how I feel.

And then fuck. Jonas. I love it when Jonas calls me baby and when he touches me, it feels like a sweet caress. Warm. Familiar. It feels so good. Like I could melt.

But then those naughty dreams I keep having of Damon… they leave me breathless. They feel so real. When I dream about shoving his face in my pussy, it’s like I can really feel his dark hair between my fingers, guiding him where I need him and the way he praises me afterward feels so right.

I guess weaning from my meds slowly has its side effects. I’m becoming delusional. And overtly horny. Insatiable.

“I knew your girlfriend was psycho!”

Maybe I am and looking at all the news articles isn’t fucking helping. My anxiety is at an all-time high.

Feeling the asphalt under my shoes and the slight cool of the early September air on my face grounds me as I come upon the large athletic facility.

So I don’t think of Maverick, I shake my head, thinking of the classes I have tomorrow after criminal psychology. English, Music Theory, and then with everyone leaving campus for the game and the weekend, I’ll be able to look up more information in the library tomorrow night. It’ll be nice and empty.

I need answers, but right now, I need to punch a few bags into submission. I swipe my student ID and then open one of the glass double doors and make my way in, earbuds in blasting I Prevail’s Deceivers. Passing the very full of female students yoga studio, I go straight to the turf area to stretch out my muscles, to warm them up and get limber. It’s when I’m bent over, legs spread wide, folded in half, palms holding onto the back of my ankles that I open my eyes to see a pair of strong, sweaty athletic legs in black basketball shorts. The person crouches and an upside-down Chase’s smiling face is suddenly too close to my crotch.

Ew.

He says something and I get up to pull an earbud out. “I said ‘are you coming or going?’”

I trail a finger against his sweaty, warm arm and then use the same finger to point out the difference in our skin, to show him I just got here.

“Cool. I just got off the tready. Mind if I stretch with you while I wait for my brother and Casanova?”

I move aside and make space for him even though the gym isn’t packed and he could go literally anywhere but here. I pop my earbud back in and get into a downward dog pose. He mimics me, (annoyingly gracefully) and I see his lips moving again.

Motherfucker. I pull the bud out again.

He grins that too perfect grin I know must melt panties. But now, thanks to the ledger, I don’t know him as Chase Prescott, charming Yellow Jackets Quarterback. No. To me, he’s Chase Prescott, possible murderer. I haven’t seen his or Riordan’s name on the ledger yet, but then again, I’m only in the 1960s. He could be a member of the Syndicate; he could not be. The thought alone makes me want to tense up but I keep my composure, sliding up, moving into a forward lunge, bending at the waist to touch the ground with one hand and reaching toward the ceiling with the other.

Again, he copies me, groaning. “Damn, this feels fucking good. But I was just saying,” we switch legs and get back in position facing the other way, “You seem to really like our JoJo.”

JoJo. That’s cute. I stand straight and look at Chase and send him a chaste smile before sitting on my ass and laying back. I leave one leg flat on the ground, tucking my hands under my knee, bringing it toward my chest.

“Oh, I can help with that.” Before I can stop him, Chase is straddling my thigh, holding it hostage between his, putting his hands over mine and forcing the back of my other thigh down, when I feel it. Him. Thickening above my sex.

“Fuck, Raven,” He whispers, blue eyes piercing my brown ones in a heady stare. “No wonder he’s obsessed with you. I can feel how plush your pussy is even through the fabric. I bet you’re so fucking tight… unless you got fucked by crazies during your stay at Lorne Wood? I heard mentally unstable bitches fuck the best. Is that true? What’s the saying? ‘Grippy socks, grippy box?’”

I try to buck him off but he holds me down harder, grinning. I turn and try to catch anyone’s eye, to signal for help, somehow. I catch the eye of another football player, Landon, I think. I knew his older brother. But he tucks his chin to his chest and turns back. My hamstring burns under the weight and stretch of Chase as he grinds into me further, sneering.

“Maybe when you’re done with him, you let me get a taste of your fat little cunt. That’s what you’re doing, aren’t you? Playing him? Us? I bet you can talk. I bet they’re right. You’re faking it. Scream, Raven. Call for help.” He shoves my leg further into my chest, the stretch a dull ache before now burning. Throbbing.

I free a hand and slap him. He doesn’t even flinch but the glint in his eyes becomes blatantly murderous, terrifying and I feel my own fear and anger recoil from my body. I return one of my own, a melody forming in my mind, thoughts racing through me at the speed of light. Suddenly the only thing I can think about is seeing him above me, just like this, but bloodied. Mangled. Dead.

I manage to buck, one last time and he settles back on his haunches.

“What’s going on?” I snap my focus to Jonas’ questioning face and Riordan looks embarrassed. Whether it’s me, his brother, or the questionable position we’re in, I don’t know. I catch Chase adjusting himself discreetly but he’s not as slick as he thinks he is.

Chase pulls away and laughs like I didn’t just slap him or didn’t buck his big ass off me or that his dick isn’t hard. “Nothing, Loverboy. Helping each other stretch.” I hate the way he says that, with flirty undertones like I wanted him to touch me. He gets off me. “You’re here now, though. You should do her other leg. Really stretch those hammies out for later use.” He winks and tilts his head just a smidge while looking at his brother to indicate they should go over there. Riordan follows him to a set of machines and I get up, glaring after him.

I don’t think he realizes that out of the two of us, only one has cheated death. A shiver runs through me, that melody, so loud and clear as I stare at the back of his head, tilting back, laughing loudly at something one of his buddies says as though he didn’t just have his dick swelling against me, threatening me. I’m boiling on the inside, a plan, forming, twisting, rooting, growing. 

“Raven?”

I look back at Jonas, hazel eyes clouded with confusion. One eyebrow is arched and I hate that he looks as though I’ve hurt him. He hasn’t used my name in days. It’s been baby. I like it when he calls me baby. I grab my phone from the floor and pull up a picture of a punching bag and show it to him.

He looks down at it, surprise replaces the confusion in his eyes and he lets out a soft laugh. “The boxing stuff is all upstairs. Is that what you’re into?” He asks, his voice a soft purr that soothes me. I like his voice. I like his face. I love the way it feels when he’s touching me.

I could really fall for someone like Jonas Anderson.

“C’mon, I’ll show you how to get up there.” He grabs my gym bag from the turf and I follow him down the hall that leads to the locker rooms and points to the open stairwell. He hands me my bag as I get on the first step to go up. “I’ll… I’m gonna start my workout. Maybe I’ll catch you when you’re done.”

My heart tumbles in my chest and before he can turn away from me, I grab his hand and tug him to me. I wrap my arms around his waist and try my hardest, to somehow apologize for being short with him yesterday and then avoiding him today with a hug. He didn’t deserve it. I know he didn’t. But I don’t know how else to make it up to him.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

I could kiss him, but I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop. I won’t know how to stop. Maverick is right and I hate him for being so damn receptive. I’m so fucking touch starved I’d probably let Jonas pop my cherry against the wall of the open stairwell where anyone can walk by and see us. Why is that so hot to me?

When Jonas finally wraps his strong arms around me, I put my chin on his chest between his pecs and look up at him. He smells like teakwood, patchouli, a bit of sweat but it’s all man and I hope he can see or feel what I’m trying to say.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

He groans when he looks down at me, “Raven, you can’t look at me like that.”

I quirk an eyebrow in response.

“Like you could love me…”

I could.

“It makes me want to hurt Chase, my best friends other half, for touching you. It’s unreasonable, this feeling. Like jealousy even though it’s redundant. I hate that he touched you. But you’ve just been so hot and cold, Raven,” I wish he’d stop saying my name like that. “And I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know what you want. I wish you could talk to me, but even if you did, I don’t think you understand just how much sway you have over me and I think it would be dangerous letting you know exactly what you make me feel.”

I pull away, but only just enough to balance on my tip toes, and kiss under his jaw, right where his pulse is strong, beautiful, just like him. Suddenly, I can feel him hardening against my stomach and the warmth he makes me feel spreads down between my thighs.

“Fuck, baby…” I shiver at the way his hushed voice sends sparks fluttering through me. His hands firmly grab my hips. And there, against the wall of the gym stairwell, Jonas Anderson crashes his perfect, firm yet soft lips against mine. He tastes like mint and feels like lightning. With a growl, he licks the seam of my lips, I give him full access, our tongues touch and then his enters my mouth, dancing along the length of mine. Jonas Anderson does not kiss. Jonas Anderson devours.

He pulls away, both of us panting, chests heaving, pupils dilated, his dick throbbing against me, my pussy silently pleading for it. He touches his forehead to mine.

“Fuck.” Is all he says before diving in for my lips again, pecking, nibbling, kissing from my lips to my neck, licking tasting, teasing and back up to my lips.

It's everything I have ever wanted in a soul snatching kiss. It is all him and I want more.

“Jonas?”

“Goddammit.” He breathes against me, a noise between a whimper and a growl low in his chest emerges from him. He pulls away and we turn to see Riordan, eyeing us with a smirk on his handsome chiseled face. The one that looks like Chase’s but also doesn’t. I look at him curiously, waiting for the music to begin. Where Riordan has sun-kissed freckles along the bridge of his nose that gives him a boyish charm, Chase is void of them. Chase is void of a lot of things except hormones. When there’s no murderous symphony that plays in my mind when I look at Riordan, I let my arms around Jonas drop just a bit.

“Coach called for a uh, last-minute practice before tomorrow. We need to go.”

And just like that, with a last glance over his shoulder, I’m left in an empty stairwell with bruised lips, a needy pussy and my heart still pounding for a man with chestnut hair, brown-green hazel eyes with golden specks that kisses like his life depends on it.

I’m so fucked for Jonas Anderson and I don’t care.

         _____

Friday morning I’m woken up by a chill coming though my open window. I get up to close the it but looking at the clock, it would be best if I just started getting ready, head to the library and made headway on my research, both on Ed Kemper for Harrington’s class and the names on the ledger.

When I leave the dorms, I find Chase out by the Koffee Kart, which is more like a kiosk than a cart. I keep my head down, wanting nothing more than to never interact with him ever again. But then… but then the idea of seeing him bleeding all over me makes me stop and stand behind him, pull out my phone, and order from the little kiosk. He glances down at me over his shoulder and huffs out an annoyed sigh. “How are you supposed to order if you can’t talk?”

I show him the order I’m waiting for on my phone; a large vanilla macchiato with an extra shot, made with oat milk so it’s not overtly sweet with my frosted blueberry scone. I downloaded the app as soon as I learned there was one available.

“I suppose you’re wanting me to apologize for yesterday?”

I scrunch up my nose just as the woman behind the kiosk counter yells out, “Raven!”

Not really. The last thing I expect from Chase is a fucking apology for assaulting me in broad daylight in a fucking gym. I grab my order, and turn away, shaking my head to myself. How does one covertly seduce a man? Especially a man like Chase? I’m sure I could just flash him my pussy and he’d salivate. But he thinks I’m fucking with Jonas. Which I’m not. I doubt it would be that easy. Slowly seducing Chase could take weeks and I have nothing but time. I want Chase at my mercy. Which I won’t give.

When I’m heading to the library, I hear footsteps behind me. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand and I feel a chill. I pick up my pace, wishing I could’ve just waited for Jonas but this can’t wait.

“Relax, it’s just me, Spooks.” Chase says from behind me right before I start running. I let out my breath and turn to face him. “I’m not stalking you. I have a paper due Monday. I’m going to the same place you are. The student library?”

I don’t wait for him to open the door to the building. I open it myself and go straight up to the third floor, the philosophy and psychology section, then down to the biographies, grab the titles I need and go back down to the lobby where all the tables are, setting my stuff down at the first table by the large windows that shows off the ancient weeping willows by the quad. I hug the cup containing my macchiato and just stare, for a little, watching the sun rise behind the expansive tree line when I feel eyes on me.

I search around the empty building, finding no one and nothing but empty tables and chairs… until Chase decides my table works for him. And then he sits down in the chair across from me with a brow quirked and that stupid fucking permanent smirk on his face.

Okay. I’ll play his game.

I scoot my things over so he can set his things down by mine. I put in my ear buds and let Erik Satie's Gnossienne No. 1 settle over my brain like a gentle caress, smoothing out the grey wrinkles and open up the FBI agent that interviewed Ed Kemper's biography, pulling out my notebook with my notes from Harrington’s class and another to make more annotations as I go along.

I scrunch my nose reading about Kemper’s childhood, a piece of me, empathetic and sad at his sorry excuse of a mother. I shake my head when thoughts of my own start invading my mind. I close my eyes and let out a shaky sigh. I could almost hear Harrington’s snarky comments.

“Oh… poor little rich girl, daddy died… mommy didn’t hug you enough… you were tossed into a little locker and had your little leg broken. Is that why you’re a such a little slut for me? Hmm? Is that why you liked spreading yourself for your older professor on his desk? You’re no better than the rest of the slutty girls dying for a taste of my dick. Is that what you want? To taste your professors thick cock? You loved the thrill of feeling me shoot my cum in your ass, didn’t you? Because mommy doesn’t love you enough? All the money in the world and you still want to be fucked like a filthy, filthy bitch in heat.”

I groan inwardly when heat settles in my belly and down to my sex. Fuck me. Where did that come from? I’m sure Damon would have a field day if I told him about that.

Chase taps my shin with his shoe and I take out an earbud. “You okay? You look sick.”

I feel like I’m going to be. I want to say. I reach over and tap his hand twice with my fingers to let him know I’m okay.

He nods once and I keep writing my paper. If I turn it in to Harrington on Wednesday after class, I won’t have to see him Thursday. The less I see him, the better.

I just need to focus and forget the feeling of his strong fingers on me. Forget the feel of his callouses as they guided my panties down the soft skin of my outer thighs…

Focus, Ray.

Chapter Eleven

Raven.

I kept my head down when Jonas and I entered Professor Harrington’s class. We signed in, sat together, Jonas kept his arm on the back of my chair and he’d play with my hair, twirling the silver strand in his fingers, and he’d lightly pull sometimes, sending little prickles of pain on my scalp that both hurt and felt good. Everything this man does to me feels right.

I looked up at him once only to catch Maverick watching us during his lecture, green eyes piercing mine, a heat in them so hot I felt a blush crawl up my cheeks. The memory of what we did in his office was so fresh, still crisp like the leaves that were now beginning to turn and fall outside of the window I would peer out of every now and then. It was when Jonas leaned over and pressed a kiss against that particular spot under my jaw and I squirmed while we were reading over a specific paragraph in my textbook because he so conveniently “forgot” his, my shoulder went up, unable to control my smile I peered up at Jonas.

Maverick was in my periphery over his shoulder, watching us with a scowl. He cleared his throat and Jonas pulled away. I was able to see him clearly but Jonas pulled my focus back to him. “Will you be watching the game on the student portal?”

I blinked at him, smile still on my face. Like I’d miss it, I wanted to say. I took my pen he stole from me on Wednesday and wrote #19 on the back of my hand.

Jonas grinned from ear to ear, eyes sparkling. It was the first time I’d seen him smile so broadly, every tooth showing. I could tell he had dental work done, but his smile wasn’t freakishly perfect like the twins. His incisors were a little large and pointy, giving him a predator-like look. I decided then and there I love his smile and I’d do anything to make it happen again.

Even with his glares from the front of the class, Harrington didn’t bother us, even though I knew he had watched the entire exchange.

“We’re leaving at four. We have to be at Turner Falls’ stadium and in uniform by six. The game starts at seven. We’re going to stay there but we’ll be back on Saturday morning. Could I take you to brunch?”

I blink at him, smile still on my face. Of course. I slip my hand in his and squeeze. We hold hands for the rest of the lecture. We ignore the whispers behind us and I bask in the feeling of holding Joans’ large, warm hand in mine.

After my last class, I go to the library and check out a few old alumni yearbooks from the seventies then head back to my room to get ready.

                                               ______

Before he leaves for his game, he stops by my dorm room for a good luck kiss, the twins in tow and I surprise him by wearing a Yellow Jacket’s tee with his number I used a permanent marker to write with on the back, black biker shorts, twin braided pigtails, and #19 on my cheek I wrote with eye liner and added glitter. It’s what I used to do for Axel when I was a cheerleader, and it felt so right to do it for Jonas.

Jonas picked me up, I wrapped my legs around his torso and once again, like before, he devoured my lips, this time in front of his friends with abandon. When I open my eyes, I find Chase looking right at me with a scowl that rivals Professor Harrington’s. I reach out and give them each a half hug, lingering a bit on Riordan. Before they leave, I hold an imaginary football under my arm, put the other out like I’m bracing for a tackle, throw down the ball and do a little touchdown dance, swaying my hips.

Riordan and Jonas burst into fits of laughter, Chase’s eyebrow quirked up, and I can tell he’s fighting his own laughter with the way his eyes sparkle.

Jonas pulls out his phone and snaps a selfie of us, immediately putting it as his lockscreen wallpaper, sends it to me, and does the same on my phone.  

“She’s funny.” I hear Riordan tell Jonas behind my closed door when they leave.

“Isn’t she great?” Jonas replies.

“She’s defective. Of course she’s funny. She has to be. Ugly and/or fat chicks are funny and have a personality. They have to be to keep our attention somehow.” Chase replies.  I’m about to open the door and smack the living shit out of the brawnier Prescott twin but then I hear:

“She’s not fat or ugly, you idiot. She’s healthy and proportional. And fuck it. She could gain fifty pounds and she’d still be hotter, smarter, and funnier than the bitches you pull.” Jonas bites back. “She’s definitely way cooler than your bride to be.”

“You think Goth Metal Barbie back there is hotter than Priscilla? You’re fucking delusional.”

“Priscilla has the fucking personality of a wet paper towel. She’s pretty. But my girl?” I gasp inaudibly. My girl. “Fuck, natural curves for days, luscious hair, funny, smart, kind, and those eyes? Fuck me, those eyes… I’d do anything for her. I’d even let her peg me, bro. She can have all of me.”

“Fuck you. It doesn’t matter anyway. Priscilla has one job and one job only: to breed more Prescott heirs. We already came to the resolution that we’ll have a don’t ask, don’t tell open marriage as long as the kids are mine.”

“Guys, can we not have this conversation here?” Riordan whispers into the hallway.

“Fuck, Chase that sounds fucking miserable.” Jonas replies.

“Guys, seriously. You aren’t exactly being quiet. She can probably hear us.”

Chase must reply in a silent manner because I hear their footsteps go down the hallway.

What the fuck was that entire conversation even?

______

I have a bowl of popcorn in my lap, the game on, watching in absolute suspense as Chase throws the ball to Jonas, who I now know is a wide receiver, with only seven seconds left in the game. Jonas catches it and runs, faster than I’ve ever seen anyone run in my entire life, and when he makes it to the end zone just as the timer blares. The camera zooms in just as he throws down the ball and does the same end zone dance I did in my room. The crowd fucking roars so loud, the announcers are practically screaming over the noise.

The Yellow Jackets win their first game, 49 – 14.

The players all run onto the field, and grab Jonas, hoisting him up onto their shoulders, the camera zooms in again as they set him down, he pulls off his helmet, and he sends a kiss to the camera, knowing I’m watching him, his win. Even through the screen he’s beautiful. Forty miles away and Jonas Anderson has me blushing like a schoolgirl. I grab my phone, angle it where it shows his face and take a selfie, shooting it to him. If I’m his, then he’s mine too, right?

I put the bowl of popcorn on my coffee table, go to my bathroom to get ready for bed, turn on my sleep light, turn off the remaining lights and then open the window to let the cool night air in. I take a full pill and once I’m under the heavy blanket, I fall immediately to sleep.

                            ______

A loud crash of thunder wakes me from my slumber and throws me into a pit of darkness. My breath hitches in my throat, heart pounding, the howling wind from the open window sending me into a full panic. I leap out of bed to close it, and then back to the other side of the room to turn my night light back on. The lavender glows softly just as a dash of lightning hits and I hit the ground.

Something I can see – my lamp. Touch – my hair. Hear – the rain against my window. Smell – popcorn. Taste – my toothpaste.

I clamber back into bed like a child, sleep still weighing my eyelids heavily. I close my eyes, heart rate down, I touch the comforter, breathing as silently as possible, lulling myself back to sleep, fingers running over the blanket, grounding me.

The blanket turns so soft. Softer than ever. Like silky strands between my fingertips. My sex is so swollen, hot. The need to orgasm so intense. I pull Damon closer; this dance we’re doing nightly is perfect. His finger wiggles inside of me, not painful but the stretch around him is still enough to feel so good. In my dreams, I always want to ask for more, but before I can, his lips caress my clit, kissing my pussy, licking all around, sucking in my lips, praising me. I want more. Need more. And he knows just how much to give. I spread my thighs wider and reach for my nipples, only to find he’s already there, twisting and pinching.

We do it together, my inexperienced fingers over his expert ones and my hips rock against his strong, expert tongue.

“Take it, little bird,” he tells me. “Take your pleasure from me.”

My back arches and he laps at me, turning his finger to hit a spot deep inside. I love it when he does that. My orgasm rips through me, continuing, descending into another one, and he licks it all up, moaning through his praises.

In my dream he licks me until I’m a whimpering mess. It’s safe to make noises here, in my dreams. He climbs up my body, nudging the tip of his cock into me, but I always want more. I need more. “Not yet, little bird. I need to stretch you out more so you can take all of me, I’m not a small man.”

I reach between us and wrap my hand around his thick, rigid length, and pump in succession with his hips as his tip stays inside of me. He’s right. Even in my dreams I know it would hurt to feel all of him like this. But I want it. Want him. Closer. More.

His lips meet mine, the faint taste of me and the brutal force that is his tongue fucks into my mouth, taking every gasp, every moan and whimper, desire burning through me at the knowledge that in my dreams, I’m his and he is mine and it brings me so much closer to heaven than death ever did.

“Keep going, love. I’m so close. You’re so beautiful.” He dips his head and sucks one of nipples into his mouth, lavishing it, swirling, and biting. “Going to push a little more in but just a little okay? I won’t break you, and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. You’re mine to break. You’re still perfect to me. Fuck you’re so insanely sexy. I love you like this, a whimpering mess for my cock to fuck you, to ruin you. Just a little more, okay?”

I nod. Yes please, please, more.

There’s a small stretch; I feel a little fuller but it feels amazing.

“Fuck you’re so fucking tight.” He orgasms with a groan inside of me, I can feel him pulsating with each hitch of his breath in my ear. I love it. Love these imaginary moments where I’m with the man of my literal dreams. The man that cared for me and watched over me during my weakest moments.

My dreams are becoming more and more vivid, which I know is adding onto my delusions because it’s so real, too real and surreal. When he’s done, he cleans me up with facial tissues I keep on my nightstand. “Maybe I broke you a little. But not much. You’re only bleeding a little bit. But this belongs to me, you know that don’t you, Raven? Me and only me. Your virginity is mine.”

It’s the next part of my dreams that I adore, because after he cleans me up, he slides into bed with me, and he pulls me half on him, he always tucks the tip of his dick inside of me. I’m not as full of him as I wish to be, but I take what I can get as he pets my hair, praising me all over again in hushed tones. I inhale his scent of cedar and spice and cigar, letting it settle into my bones, my skin, my very essence.

As I fall deeper into sleep, Jonas’ smiling face pops into my head. A thrum of guilt eats at me as I let thoughts of him drift in and out, while I dream I’m sleeping completely naked in another man’s arms…

Chase is right. I should leave Jonas alone.

                              ______

I wake up close to noon, sans clothes, a throbbing between my legs. When I go to the bathroom to relieve myself, there’s a dull ache. When I wipe, there’s just a drop of blood along with what I think is discharge. But the scent is… different.

My brows knit together, and I gnaw on my bottom lip, feeling more confused than ever before. I throw on some panties, my favorite Yo-Yo Ma tee then sweep my room, looking for any discrepancies. Nothing is out of order or out of place. I go to the window, the one I had to latch shut during last night’s storm due to the howling wind... only to find it unlatched.

My blood runs cold, sweat now on my forehead, my hands go clammy as I run a hand through my hair.

How?

I think back to my dreams, think of how Doctor Archer has been in charge of my medication list for the better part of four years… how he himself, put me on birth control because he knew there were sometimes incidents in the institution. Incidents that sometimes ended up in unwanted and unplanned pregnancies. And since I wouldn’t speak, I probably wouldn’t tell anyone just like I never told the staff or nurses when I would be attacked by other patients.

They never noticed unless I was left bleeding… or they watched the cameras. And the days Archer was there, it seemed orderlies came a lot quicker than usual.

My eye in the sky…

He had me fitted for the arm implant he inserted himself so fucking tenderly, looking longingly into my eyes, numbing my arm, pressing down and rubbing it with his thumb to make the lidocaine spread under the muscle. “You’re doing so good, Raven. I know this is uncomfortable, but it’s for your own good. We won’t have to do this again for another three years.”

But this was impossible. Wasn’t it? He was back at Lorne Wood. I was almost a hundred miles away.

My eye in the sky… I look up at the smoke detector in my room. A shiver shoots through me.

Damon’s here. He has to be. I didn’t make myself bleed… but why hasn’t he shown his face?

Three loud knocks take me from thoughts, I blink rapidly.

Jonas.

Brunch.

Fuck.

I quickly open the door and he kisses me when he strides inside my room. “What’s wrong?”

How does he always know? What can I say? What can I do? How do I get out of going to brunch with him? I can’t go to brunch with him! I need to figure out what’s going on. I need to log into the student portal and see if he’s on campus.

Why would he follow me here?

Jonas looks around my room, now in disarray. “Oh, Baby, did you get your period?”

I deadpan and then blink up at him. He points to the bed. There. A very small drop of blood. My blood. WHAT THE FUCK! “Maybe I broke you a little bit. But not much. You’re only bleeding a little bit. But this belongs to me, you know that don’t you, Raven?”

I grimace at the giant football player in my room and he chuckles. “Baby, I play football. It’s gonna take more than a little blood to scare me away. Besides, it’s natural. You aren’t contagious or a zombie. Also, my sister and my mom would kill me if they found out I treated you like shit over something you have no power over. So, how’s this; go shower, get dressed, and I’ll change your sheets out and wash them? I’ll order some food, you look like a woman of culture so I’m thinking chicken Tandoori, some samosas, Tikka- mildly spicy - maybe some chocolate, and we can stay in? Do you have Netflix?”

I blink, watching him slightly unravel, my heart bursting, watching him trying to figure out what I would like. Little does he know; I like everything he’s just said. Including the mildly spicy.

I pull him to me, biting my lower lip at him.

“Have you ever watched Supernatural?”

I blink again and nod excitedly. Of course I have. It’s my favorite show. I’ve watched every episode at least six times.

“Alright. That settles it, then. I’m on the last season. We’re staying in and pigging out and taking a big, fat nap. Now, go shower. Do you have a heating pad? Never mind. Do your thing. I’ll go get mine. Just give me the key to your room so I can get back in if you’re still showering when I come back.”

Suddenly, finding out what’s going on doesn’t seem like a top priority. This, Jonas, feels like a top priority. I point to my key hook by the door.

He gives me that panty melting smile. “Perfect.” Is all he says before he starts pulling my sheets off the queen-size bed in the corner of the room and I go into my bathroom.

Hours later he pauses the show during one of Dean Winchester's epic smolders. The takeout boxes are almost empty, I've devoured half a chocolate bar, and there’s empty Snapple bottles on either side of us. “Can I ask you something?”

I face the gorgeous man beside me and blink.

“What is Harrington having you do for the debates?”

This is one of those things I have to show him. I lean over and grab my backpack from the floor, pulling out my notebook and the books on Kemper. I show him the rough draft of my argument.

“He’s having you turn it in?”

I blink.

“My older sister had him three years ago when she was a senior. She loved him. I was really excited to take his class. She told me he’s a hardass but that I’ll learn a lot. If you turn this in, handwritten, make sure you also type one up and put it in his inbox. He has a complex. Hates the rich or something. Don’t give him any reason to be a dick to you. He failed a lot of people and he doesn't bend. Okay?”

I nod.

“Can we makeout now?” He grins.

So that’s how I spend my second Saturday night back at Rayne-Moore University – entangled in Jonas' arms, my favorite show in the background, until we fall asleep.

It's the first night, since being here, that I don’t dream of Damon Archer.

Instead, I dream of my faceless shadow, the one that’s always near, watching me sleep from the dark corner of my dorm room. Glaring, not at me, but the man beside me.

Chapter Twelve

Maverick.

“… Therefore, when it comes to Ed Kemper, I believe the nature aspect, given he was submitted to an institution where he was able to learn from other’s crimes, and continue his own secret life of crime, is where everyone is subject to believe it was lack of nurture. It's a simple dissection of nurture BEFORE nature. The real nature, his nature, was said institution where he was able to learn how to nurture his tendencies. Is that where they, the judicial system, fucked up? To see a child, (Kemper was but fifteen) that needs to be rehabilitated and they believe in putting them behind bars instead of giving them the therapy they need to truly be rehabilitated? Can a killer be rehabilitated, or is the need for vengeance, satisfying that need, the rehabilitation in itself?”

Ahh… so she went philosophical and political on me. A debate where she not only needed to be able to sway her peers, but me. She failed swaying me, but she made good arguments. Nietzsche might possibly be proud… if he were the one grading this paper.

I sit back in my leather recliner in my home office, the light of my desk lamp the only thing on except for the dim glow of the fire I have going on behind me. I grab the tumbler of scotch, my third, ice clinking against the glass. I wasn’t going to grade it tonight… but I had to know how her thought process was. Seeing her Monday and this morning in her little skirt, ignoring me, watching Jonas paw on her, having his arm wrapped around her shoulders, playing with her dark hair, leaning over and whispering things in her ear that made the tops of her cheeks blush pink… had me on the verge of screaming out “STOP TOUCHING HER!”

As if my own permanently poor, grease-stained hands wouldn’t dirty up her perfect porcelain skin. But it wasn’t perfect, was it? There were scars on her soft body. Old fractures that would still show up on an x-ray. Brutally forced trauma that probably kept her from sleeping well at night. A patch of silver hair that revealed her stress. Her scars ran deeper than the ones on her flesh. Was that what made her perfect to me? All those beautiful, harsh imperfections that screamed, “I survived! I’m here!”

God, even that fucking tattoo of hers, intricately placed over the scar she was probably hated the most. Where she probably saw it as ugly I would have roved my tongue all over it to prove to her she was still beautiful.

There was something in Raven Monroe that screamed at my soul and no matter how much I wanted it to stop, my soul wanted all the depraved things she had to offer. I even tried going to a special nightclub, one where all of your dirty sexual fantasies could come to life for a certain hefty membership price on Saturday night and it had done nothing for me. Even the name of that club had angered me upon entering.

Inferno.

There was no name, just a neon red flame above a door, signaling the entryway. 

I watched the half-naked women dancing in their cages, others get fucked, others servicing their doms and their friends, being beautiful little sluts, and yet, the only one I wanted… couldn’t or wouldn’t even talk to me. When a gorgeous little blonde with big, natural, pretty tits and pillowy red lips came my way, sinking to the ground on her knees before me, I felt nothing.

Nothing but anger at my own lame dick unwilling to work until I started letting myself remember those moments in my office when Raven was bent over and I was spearing her ass with my tongue. I shot my load down the blonde’s throat thinking of what it would be like to feel Raven’s plush lips around me instead.

During my time in the FBI, I had helped profile and track down killers with stalking tendencies, their obsessions growing so extreme, wild and untamed like vines that have been left unattended and to their own devices.

Is this how they felt?

During the week I’d catch glimpses of her in the library. I’d found myself going there almost daily, hoping, almost praying I’d catch her down in the restricted section alone again, but no. She’d be on the main floor, one of the football twins, the bigger one, beside her, staring at her as she kept her nose in a book or staring out the window, as if completely unaware of the beast sitting beside her, a predator waiting to pounce. I saw the gleam in his eyes, as if he was trying to figure her out, same as me. When she would turn away from the window, he’d go back to his book or his laptop and continue whatever the fuck he was working on.

I supposed nothing at all. He was there to study her. He took notice of every move she made, sometimes peering at her paper, whatever she had written down. After the second day, he’d huff a slightly irritated annoyed huff, get up, and come back with a different book for her. A tactic, to gain her trust. She’d peer up at him behind those thick lashes and take it from him with a small gracious smile.  

She had stayed after class today as I took my seat in my office, looking down and avoiding my face, defiant little mouse, put her paper on my desk, turned, and then walked out. Not a fucking word. Not a fucking glance. Not even a goddamn knock on my door. I hadn’t even known she’d entered my office until the handwritten paper was before me, I looked up and she already had one foot out the door. 

Quieter than a fucking church mouse.

I throw her paper into the fire behind me and chuckle darkly.

Oops.    

Just as well, I need a reason for her to come into my office on Friday.

                                             _____

She’s not in my class on Friday.

I count her as absent. Which will hurt her GPA since attendance is ten percent of her grade. Oh well. She should’ve turned in her paper.

I keep the rules to the debates short. 1) No cursing. 2) Keep your wits about you. 3) No shouting.

None of their arguments, including Jonas’ come close to the arguments Raven wrote down. No philosophical jargon or thoughts. They state facts, wrong opinions, throw in circumstantial and hypotheticals, which I fail them on. It’s all so fucking boring. They’re spouting the same shit, just twisting words, and tweaking their sentences so they aren’t verbatim. If I’ve learned anything about the elite, is that they ever hardly think with their own lizard brains.

Those that believe they’re more intelligent than others is because they regurgitate things they’ve heard and make themselves believe they believe it, too. Not because they have their own thoughts. None impress. None invoke or awaken my own thoughts or opinions.

I sigh, relieved when they leave.

After my last class, I spot her leaving the music hall, carrying the large case I can only assume is her cello. She passes by me, taking her sweet scent with her and as per usual, ignores me. I almost reach out to stop her.

Off campus, the streets are buzzing, alive with students going to watch the game at the pubs and sports bars all across town.

I visit Inferno that evening.

My dick doesn’t work again.

I’m thirty-five years young, and my fucking dick will only work at the sight of a silent siren, a brown-haired vixen with caramel eyes in fishnet stockings and a tiny yellow-and-black plaid skirt.  I’ve been reduced to jerking off to memories of her like a teenager.

I’m pathetic.

                                         ________

Monday comes around, and she enters my class wearing thigh highs, not fishnet stockings. The beast inside of me wants to feel them wrapped around my waist. I glower at them.

I teach on a lesser-known alleged serial killer, Dennis Nilsen, as she practically sits in Anderson’s lap. She twists her torso toward him, her skirt riding up her creamy thighs when she crosses her legs, an asscheek hanging out and my own lizard brain almost short-circuits in front of my class when I let out a soft growl which captures her attention for a split second and does her best, to once again, ignore the fuck out of me.

That’s it, Siren. My beast calls to you and you hear him. You know him. Come to him.

I hide my growing, painful erection behind my podium until I can control it.

I can’t.

She leans closer to Jonas, sharing a textbook, and he wraps an arm around her, holding her closer. I pull my glasses off, put them on the podium, put my hands on my temples and groan. The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Class is dismissed. Miss Monroe, a word.”

Jonas’s sharp eyes snap to meet mine.

He kisses her goodbye, slowly, sweetly, as if it’s agonizing to part ways with her.

I roll my eyes, waiting for the jealousy to rise in me, to strike… but it doesn’t. He can be all the good things for her. The roses, the dates, meeting mommy and daddy in their far away castle. I am not a sweet man. I am not a nice man.

I am a man with sick, twisted, borderline sadistic tendencies, and all I want – need -  is for her to stop torturing me. To put an end to this… itch. This ache. This annoying pain in my side that feels as though I’ve broken a rib. All I need is one touch. One kiss. One lick. One taste. Just. One. Fuck. And that’s it. One   of each so I can put her back in her little perfect box and give her back to her golden boy.

Except what’s in the package may come back a little bruised… a little ruined… the thought sends ripples throughout my blackened soul. Awakening it.

She stays behind, and soon as she’s in my office, I shut the door with a force, grab her by the arms and shove her against the wall beside it. The back of her head thuds softly against the wall and those twin amber flames peer up at me in a wide and shocked expression. The same expression I imagine she’d have when I slide every fucking millimeter of myself into her. Her perfect plump lips part slightly in her surprise and I take the opportunity and lick her bottom lip, tugging it into my mouth.

Raven Monroe tastes of mint and macchiato, of strawberry flavored lip-gloss and smells of all the good things that blossom in the Spring with just enough spice, musk and amber that reminds me she is purely autumn on the cusp of winter. She is the embodiment of crisp cool nights, warmth of roaring bonfires, pink super moons, the silence of absent cicadas and critters, of death in its most beautiful and natural form. She is the promise of new beginnings and transitions that come with time and rage. Furious like a fire devouring a house until only its charred skeleton remains standing.

I am addicted to her smoke, inhaling it sadistically, letting it settle into my lungs like cancer. That’s what she is. An insidious tumor spreading in my brain, invading all of my thoughts.

I am almost too delighted when she tenses, only to relax against me, and her tongue fills my mouth, tangling with mine. It is an angry, primal kiss that ends with her biting my lower lip until a metallic flavor bursts on my taste buds, and I growl, pulling away to wipe at the blood coming from my lower lip. She slaps me, the crack loud in the deafening silence of my office, and all the blood in my body rushes to my groin. I go to kiss her again and she fucking. Spits. On. Me.

“Lick it up.” I growl, heart thumping wildly in my chest, dick begging to be released.

She turns her head away from me.

Oh no. That won’t do.

I tilt her head by the chin with my thumb and forefinger and turn her to face me. “If you want to act like a bitch, open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and lap up your mess like a good fucking girl.” 

I don’t miss the way she shivers against me. The pink, wet tip of her tongue slips out and I almost cum as she licks up her own spit from my face, taking extra special care when she gets to my lips. I open my mouth, let her lick the blood off my tongue and all that mint and macchiato and iron thrills me.

“Raven, you never turned in your paper to me by end of day Thursday.” I taunt.

She turns to me, a look of pure horror on her face.

I crowd her. “I said, for you to ‘turn it into me and only me.’ I didn’t say on my desk. I didn’t say in front of me. I said, ‘to me.’” I lick the seam of her lips - tinged red with my blood. The sight alone has me weak. “The next time you choose to disobey me, I’ll have to punish you. You already failed your first debate and skipped class on Friday. Don’t let it happen again, Siren, you won’t like the punishment,” I reach out to squeeze a pert nipple. I grab her wrist when it flies out to slap me again, I almost purr in her defiance. “Or maybe you will. Turn around, hands on the wall.”

When she doesn’t obey, I force her to turn, pull her hips so they jut out, bent slightly. I kick her feet to further open her legs and push her skirt up. I bite my fist to keep from moaning at the sight before me.

Those thigh high socks and matching black thong making me feral. I spank one cheek, and then the other, pleased when my handprints show up pink. If she wants to be a brat, I’ll punish her accordingly. I rub the thick globes of her ass, pulling her apart, then spank again and again and again until her skin is warm to the touch, only massaging until she pushes back.

I know what she wants, what she needs. Little brat thinks because she won’t speak to me that I won’t do as I please to her succulent little body, torture her the way she tortures me, she’s wrong. Dead fucking wrong. The slit on her panties is soaking when I brush my fingertips against her.

I turn her only to slam her back against the wall, hiking her leg over my hip, and grab her ass with both hands, splitting it open. “Tell me you’ve let him fuck you.”

Her eyes shine with defiance, rubbing her pussy against my slack-covered crotch and I groan against her. “I need inside of you, Raven, do not play coy with me. Tell me you let him rupture you so I can fuck you like a beast.”

She does her best to shove me off, bucking her hips, heightening her own pleasure. I reach between us to the hem of her thong and shove a finger inside, that fucking piece of internal skin, barring me. I drop her, but still unwilling to let her go fully.

“You have no idea how badly I’d fucking do it just to claim you but I won’t have your virginal blood on me. So fine, Raven,” I grab her by the hair and shove her to her knees. “Open your fucking mouth. I'm going to fuck your flawless face and you’re going to be a very good girl and swallow every last drop.” She claws at my thighs and I pull her hair a little more, tears welling into the corners of her eyes.

Perfect.

I unzip my trousers, pull out my cock and swell with pride when she sees what I’m working with. “Tongue out. Taste me.”

My siren obeys, and as soon as her tongue is out I gather my saliva and spit it on her waiting tongue, sneering as she scrunches up her nose and then I push the tip of my cock past those strawberry lips. Her mouth is a wet, velvet haven. “Relax your throat. Fuck, yes. There. So fucking good. Am I the first cock you’ve swallowed?”

Her eyes narrow a resounding yes in that one look and an animalistic pride surges through me. “Keep your eyes on me. Suck. Good fucking girl. This won’t take me long.” I pump my hips, guiding her head by her hair, watching as her cheeks hollow and I fill them back up again as I shove deeper and deeper with each thrust. “Swallow when you feel like gagging. Just like that. A little more. Yes, Siren, yes. Oh. Fuck!”

I cum like a man possessed, my orgasm builds into a searing white-hot pleasure that detonates throughout my body, causing constellations to form in the periphery of my vision as I unload into her warm throat, groaning heavily, thighs shaking, keeping my eyes on the sight of her drinking me like my cum is an elixir of youth.

I finally let her go, tucking myself back into my slacks and she scrambles up to her feet, just as angry as she was when we started but with eyes heavy and full of lust.

Before she opens the door with her back to me, I say, with a smirk, “Being my little secret slut looks so good on you, Siren.”

When she opens the door, she jumps back and I lean over to see the red-rimmed eyes of a young man whose heart has shattered into a thousand pieces, turned to dust, and kicked up by the wind. Jonas says nothing, just nods once, unwilling to look at either of us and leaves us.

I expect her to run after him, to speak his name, to forget the façade, and scream to apologize and tell him she was the victim, not a willing participant… she doesn’t. She throws me a glance full of hatred, tears spilling over, her jaw opens and closes in quick succession, trying so hard to scream after him. Her hand flies to her throat, like Ariel when Ursula takes her voice and my own siren flies after him.

The exchange bothers me, unsettling my bones.

To know she would scream for him if she could.

After one soul revitalizing kiss, I conclude that loving Raven Monroe in her entirety must be maddening, infuriating, all-encompassing and I’m not sure if I could withstand the storm that is she. And for some reason, I want to try.

It isn’t until Wednesday morning when Jonas doesn’t attend my class, she shows up, almost catatonic. A creepy little living phantasm. Her hair is unkempt and disheveled, as if she couldn’t bear the weight of holding a hairbrush up, eyes dark, bags underneath them, cheekbones hollowed out and protruding, her uniform sits wrong on her frame and all she does in my class is stare at the empty chair beside her longingly, Jonas' absence so much louder than it should be.

After my lecture, she comes to me, slowly, her gait lazy and unrefined as if her shoes are too big for her feet. She doesn’t meet my eyes just watches as my hands take the paper she offers to me.

“Raven, I-" I what? I’m sorry? I almost scoff at the thought. I’m not sorry I felt those perfect lips wrapped around my cock; not sorry my tip was enveloped by her velvety throat. I’m definitely not sorry that when I kissed her, something inside of me roared to life.

I am sorry, a tiny bit, that I seem to have broken her in a way I never intended to. But she doesn’t give me the chance to even try to apologize. She simply sighs silently, her entire chest depressing into itself, blinks, and leaves me to my thoughts.

She doesn’t come in on Friday morning.

I grade her paper. An effortless A.

I visit Inferno.

The following Monday morning Jonas appears, looking freshly ravaged and not at all brooding. Raven tenses at his presence when he walks by her to climb up the stairs to get to the seats high up and far away from her and then leaves midway through my lecture when she hears him laughing, talking loudly with other students.

She arrives Wednesday morning, looking even more pitiful, her clothes hanging off her body, no light in her eyes only to hand in her debate but does not stay for my lecture. I thank her as Jonas strides in, arm draped over a petite blonde's shoulder.

I grade her paper, messily scrawled in cursive as if the pen was too heavy. Another annoying effortless A.

Only Jonas shows up on Friday, sitting far away from the blonde, who casually throws him furious glances but he ignores her.

I don’t visit Inferno.

Instead, I find myself at Rayne-Moore Stadium and watch the first home game of the season. I get there in time to watch #19, Jonas Anderson, Yellow Jackets wide receiver, get benched for fighting with our own Quarterback, the charming Chase Prescott.

Yellow Jackets win 21-20 by the skin of their teeth.

                                        ________

The following week is more or less the same. Looking gaunt and too skinny, malnourished, like she hasn’t eaten in weeks, Monday morning she stays in my lecture long enough to get the name of the next idiot killer that got caught being foolish, and then she leaves.

Wednesday morning, she turns in her paper and leaves.

I’m left entirely unsatisfied. A total of forty minutes in the span of a week with her in my periphery is not long enough. I’m not a man of regrets. But seeing her like this, like she has no light, no fight left in her, and Jonas parading around like a fucking king, completely unaffected, makes me sick. He never deserved her. Couldn’t even fight for her. Didn’t even have the balls to report me to Whitmore.

Pathetic.

Saturday night I finally get around to grading her essay, two tumblers of Macallan deep.

                                          ________

Sunday evening, an alert from the school wakes my uninteresting cell phone sitting to the right of me on my end table beside the tumbler filled with three fingers of Macallan.

Rayne-Moore University Campus – All Classes Canceled.

Followed by a second alert from the local news station.

Body of RMU’s Yellow Jackets Star Quarterback, Chase Prescott, 22, Found Sunday Morning.

Chapter Thirteen

Raven.

I sprinted after him, pushing past the hordes of students, losing him between the throngs and my blurry vision. I wipe my eyes, trying to see past my tears and I hear a door to a stairwell slam. My instincts tell me it’s Jonas trying to get away from me. I can’t have that. I need to make this right. I push the door open, the scent of the cement and stone and mortar that’s held these walls for over two centuries fills my nostrils.

I finally catch up to him, pulling on his blazer to stop him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he shouts, voice breaking, cracking both of our hearts open. A tear spills over his eyelid and he puts his index finger over his lips, the muscle in his defined jaw clenches as he swallows down whatever emotion he’s feeling and when his eyes land on mine, it is pure, unadulterated hatred. “Don’t you dare ever fucking touch me again, Raven.”

I back away. I will the words to spill, my mouth opens and closes. “P-p-p” but then the words stop, caught in my throat and my trachea feels as though it’s crumbled into itself, like it’s worked overtime and decided to give up on its own. Tears spill faster than I can handle, and I grasp my throat, inhaling loudly, gasping, hyperventilating, my face numbing. My chest is dissolving. Please let me explain! I wanted to scream.

But how do I explain it? That while I love Jonas, I also love what Maverick makes me feel. That how Jonas makes me feel so fucking precious, Maverick makes me feel primal. Archer makes me feel high. My chest heaves as I realize my conclusion. 

I love Jonas.

But what I feel for Maverick is carnal and savage and wild and he seems to bring it out of me and he seems to love it, too. Maverick and I are destined in a way that Jonas and I are destined. It’s a passion, a fire I know will probably run out, but I pray it won’t. What I feel for Jonas is stronger, stranger. They’re two different feelings, separate from the other.

They both make me dizzy.

Jonas scoffs, “Now? Now you want to try to talk to me with his cum still on your fucking lips?” his tone malicious and I fucking deserve it. He crowds me just like Maverick did in his office but I welcome it. I will welcome whatever punishment he has for me. He grips my hair by the nape of my neck, bending me back so I can peer up into his shiny, wet eyes. “You make me fucking sick. Is that why you’ve been so fucking hot and cold with me?”

I shake my head too quickly. A lie. And he sees right through me. I try to touch him again and he slaps my hand away with a force and it hits the steel railing of the stairs so hard it dings and the pain reverberates up through my forearm to my elbow. I hold it to my chest between us, but I don’t dare look away from him. I’ll wrap it later, take a pill for swelling. Ice it. Whatever.

His grip tightens, my scalp prickling. Then, as though he’s through with me he lets go with a powerful yank and I hit the brick wall softly. My vision blurs a bit but I do my best to face him again. “My god. How long has this been going on?”

Since the beginning. But it’s you, it’s you. I swear, it’s you for me. He doesn’t matter he doesn’t matter he doesn’t matter. But that’s a lie. Between the three, they’ve all awakened something within me. I’d give up all three if I couldn’t have one or the others. I’d never choose and yet if I were forced… it would be none if I couldn’t have all.

He grimaces, “Since the first time he called you into his office, huh? That’s why you flew out of the psych department the day of the coffee incident.”

I look away and inhale. Longer than that.

He nods and laughs so wickedly it scares me. His eyes narrow into slits, his face transforming into something dangerous. Something made of nightmares. But he doesn’t scream, which scares me more. Jonas lowers his voice another octave, teeth gritted together and I tremble.

“I’m a fucking idiot. I claimed you. I fucking claimed you in front of the whole quad. Nobody has fucked with you because of me. Chase was right. You’ve been playing me. Toying with me. Was I just a game? A fucking front for you so you could continue having an affair with the fucking professor?”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I shake my head slowly, inhaling again. He pulls me toward him again, and I hate myself for how my body craves him even if it’s to accept his wrath. I’ll take whatever punishment I have to. I’ll drop Maverick’s class. I’d do it all. I’d do anything for him to call me baby again. To get rid of the hatred for me in his eyes.

It's sick. It’s toxic but I don’t care. I want his love, his wrath,  I want him in all the ways that matter. I shouldn’t. I hurt him, he hurt me, I should walk away and never think about him ever again…

His eyes burn a vicious green and his voice gets low. “We’re done. Stay the fuck out of my way. If you see me, turn away because no you fucking don’t. I won’t stop them from eating you alive, baby. The vultures at this school? You think spit wads in your hair were bad? You have no idea, but you’re about to know. You are utterly alone now. No friends. You no longer have my protection. We’re fucking done.” He rasps before dropping me again and turns to the door leading to the second floor.

It slams behind him and my knees buckle out from under me, my weight too heavy to withstand. My hair falls around me like a curtain, and I stay there until my eyes are so dry they burn, letting his words sink in.

“I claimed you.”

When it came to physical brutality and Rayne-Moore University, well, that didn’t matter. Short of death, I had already faced the worst Rayne-Moore has to offer.

“I claimed you.”

I take two full pills that evening and wake up midday on Tuesday. I work on my assignments, send them through the student portal and then work on my debate, putting bullshit words together. When I’m done, I take another two pills only to wake up on Wednesday. I put on a clean uniform, reminding myself to burn the one from Monday and drag my feet.

Jonas doesn’t show up to Harrington’s lecture. Why would he? We broke his heart. I stare at his empty desk beside mine, telepathically willing him to show up.

He doesn’t.

I turn in my assignment to Maverick, making sure it reaches his hands. “Raven, I-”

I don’t care. I want to say. Because I don’t. I go back to my room and take two more pills.

In my dreams I allow myself to cry in Dream-Damon’s arms. He shushes me, cradles me, and I feel so cherished and safe. The way Jonas makes me feel. Dream Damon doesn’t touch me. He only holds me like he knows exactly what I need.

And I feel safe.

                                           ______

Three loud knocks in succession on my door tell me it’s Axel. Yeah, I forgot about him. Which means it’s Friday afternoon. I must’ve slept through yesterday. I’ll have to catch up on my schoolwork. I open the door still wearing my uniform from Wednesday. His brilliant smile fades as soon as he sees me.  “Jesus, Ray what the fuck happened?”

I step away from the door and let him in. He pulls me in for a hug. “Ray, I love you, but you fucking stink. I don’t know what happened, but, c’mon. Let’s get you in the bath. One more day and the cooks here will ask you to squeeze your hair into the frying pans for grease.”

I let Axel wash my hair like when we were kids and I was sick and too tired to wash it. Bubbles come up to my chest in the large claw foot porcelain bathtub as I sit forward, pulling my knees to my chest and rest my chin on my forearm.

“Are you hungry? I brought snacks to refill your cabinet. But we could go out for some Thai or that coffee shop in town you use to love so much?”

I let my tired eyes close. I don’t want any of that. I just want to be alone. I shouldn’t have come back. I should’ve stayed at Lorne Wood, I mean, either way I’d still be dead and empty inside… broken.

“Raven, you have to give me something here, I… I don’t know how to help you. Please. You have to let me help you.”

There’s no way to heal me. I’m broken beyond repair, little brother.

It reminds me of this line from one of our favorite movies when we were kids, Corpse Bride, when the villain asks, “Can a heart break, once it’s stopped beating?”

The short answer is no. But somehow, it can still crack and chunks can split off until it’s completely broken. That’s what I am now. A few more cracks and chunks with no tape or super glue around to fix it. And I did it all to myself.

Once my hair has been conditioned and brushed, he brings a large, fluffy towel, panties, and my oversized My Chemical Romance Tee. He leaves so I can dry off and get dressed. When I get out of the bathroom he’s sitting on the loveseat with my phone in his hand. The selfie of me and Jonas, the day of his game, my lock screen.

“I grabbed it to charge it for you. Is this what’s wrong? Did Jonas do something to you?”

I quirk an eyebrow. How does he know Jonas?

“Candace's adopted brother, right? Once he turned eighteen he came to a few of mom and dad’s parties while you were… away.”

I blink. Of fucking course they knew each other. Our social circles ran small even if the Syndicate was stretched far and wide. No fucking wonder. But I shake my head. Nope. This pain? It was me, my little brother. I did this to myself… and I deserve it.

I sit on my couch and turn the TV on, putting it on the college Friday night lights to watch the Yellow Jackets play against Black Thorne. Jonas' face pops up on the screen with his stats and number that only a week ago I was given the privilege of hyping him up before his game. They’re an hour away this time, so I know they’re probably just staying in Black Thorne until tomorrow.

Partying. Meeting girls. Hooking up with them… my heart breaks all over again because I can’t be that for him. God, I can’t even drink with my stupid fucking meds. I can’t stand large crowds so I can’t even go to a party to support his wins. I can’t… I can’t be anything for him.

God, I’m so stupid to even think I could be anything other than… whatever we were. It hurts. It hurts everywhere to realize and know that I would be utterly useless as a partner.

I don’t know tears are streaming down my face until Axel grabs the remote from my hand and turns off the game. “Alright, okay, that’s enough of that. What if… we go to… Casa de Cuervos? Just us? I kept it staffed for you.”

I deadpan.

Casa de Cuervos or House of Ravens is my lake house. A small, four-bedroom, five- bathroom home, that's about twenty-five minutes away from here, on an acre in a secluded, heavily wooded area. The trees were so old it was illegal to cut them down. I didn’t want to. They were huge and spooky and all the things that were beautiful in the world. The lake house was my first realty purchase when I turned eighteen. The renovations took forever and I had never gotten a chance to use it except for when I purchased all the furniture and necessities inside.

My main focus in the home was the basement. Half of it was a soundproof room so I could play and record myself. The other half was what could only be described as my personal retro-styled library. I’d had it renovated, painted a sage green, lined with shelves from top to bottom painted gold, oversized comfy couches, a small fireplace, a coffee and tea bar, a hanging reading chair and lamp. It was utter perfection when it was completed.

It was going to be my home away from here on the weekends to play as loudly as I wanted. Except then, thanks to Lex, the custodian that found me, I found the pond. I’d take my cello out there and play until my fingers hurt and my arms ached. There was something so peaceful about playing in an open field with open air and no one around, my only audience were fishes and crickets.

I nod at my little brother. Fifteen minutes later, we’re on the road in Axel's new matte charcoal grey Range Rover headed to the outskirts of town.

We arrive, and I put the code to the old iron gate in. The house was lit on the inside, and on the outside, it was even more perfect than I remembered. Vines grew up the sides of the log-style home to make it look like an ostentatious gothic cabin. Black roof, black shutters, dark wine-colored door, a cobblestone path lit by solar pathway lights leading up to the front of the wrap around porch. She was perfect then, and even more so now. A haven.

Again, to unlock the front door, I type in a code, and as soon as we’re inside, I set the alarm and we tour the place as if it’s our first time inside. Not one thing is out of place.

I go to the living area and turn on the game. I won’t miss it. No matter how angry Jonas is with me, I can still do this. As much as it hurts, I can still watch him play.

“Maria left us chicken enchiladas if you’re hungry.”

I’m not.

“Sis, please. You have to eat. If you eat I’ll give you your surprise.”

I eat one.

The surprise is the Range Rover.

I vomit the enchilada later, take a pill and when the storm rolls in, thanks to hurricane season, I climb into bed with Axel. He turns on his bathroom light, and I slowly drift off while facing him, his hand on the dip of my waist, as he tells me about all of his adventures in Connecticut, interrupting himself once to tell me we should put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceilings like we had when we were kids.

I am so lucky. So lucky to have Axel in my life.

In the morning, I order thousands of glow-in-the-dark stars and leave a note for Maria, who comes on Mondays and Fridays, to pull them inside, and that I’ll be back on Friday evening to put them all up.

I drive him home to Hartford on Sunday morning and he introduces me to his friends. All men of caliber and futures planned out for them. Like Chase. I’ve never been so unattracted to a group of men in my life.

“Before you go,” Axel opens the door to the driver’s side of the Range Rover. “I tried to make an appointment for you with Doc.”

My eyes widen.

He puts his hand up. “I said I tried. He’s no longer at Lorne Wood. And there’s no forwarding number or address to the practice he told them he’d be at. They said Boston. But I can’t find him.”

Of course not, he’s at Rayne-Moore. I want to say.

“Just please promise me, that you’ll eat and drink water. You… you look so sick, Cookie. I don’t know what to do and if I’m worried about you, I won’t be able to concentrate here.”

I give him a kiss on the cheek and he pulls me in for a fierce hug that feels better than anything I could ever want. It’s full of love and tenderness… it’s more than I deserve and tears prick my eyes but I don’t let them fall.

By the time I’m pulling up to town outside of campus, I’m feeling somewhat better. Until I’m at a red light and see the trio stumbling out of a pub with girls under their arms. Chase immediately recognizes me as I recognize the blonde from Harrington’s class right before Jonas pushes her against the window of the pub and kisses her like he did me. 

Chase grins wickedly my way.

                                          _______

Monday morning I’m in my usual seat in the library, going over my notes for Music Theory when Chase slumps into the chair beside me, not across from me. “Have a good weekend, Spooks?”

I start packing my things and he grips my hand, the one Jonas threw back, and since the swelling hasn’t gone down, I’m sure it’s broken. The pain radiates but I show no signs of weakness.

“We had a great weekend. We won Friday. Partied on Saturday and then we fucked Cecilia Wells on Sunday. Together after we did a few rails off her ass.”

My heart sinks. That pain is harder to hide.

Chase makes a pouty face. “Awww, don’t worry Spooks. I left them in bed together this morning after I fucked her ass, she started blowing him while he was still sleeping. He’s had blue balls for such a long time. You know… since he said you wouldn’t give it up.” He chuckles. “I have to know, what makes your pussy so special? Is it gilded? Nah, I felt it against me. Soft and tender. He wasn’t good enough for you, was he?”

On the contrary. Jonas deserves better than me and he knows it. He deserves someone that doesn’t shut down. Someone that can talk to him, tell him about her day, fuck him, love him openly, moan and scream his name, everything I can’t.

I try to pull my hand away, looking away from his usual cool blues that are an icy-clear like aquamarine. Anger flashing, he tightens his grip, pulling me down to him and I roll my lips inward. That music is beginning to play in my mind again, like a soft hum. Flashes of him bloated and face down in black water playing along like a movie montage. 

“What the fuck did you do to him? I haven’t seen him like this since-” he closes his mouth and shakes his head, blonde hair falling forward over into his eyes. He flashes those freaky straight white teeth in an eerie smile and chuckles, finally letting go of my hand. “Never mind. You’re fucking trash now. Unclaimed. Good luck out there, Spooks. You’re fair fucking game now.” He jerks his chin to the doors.

I sit in my seat in Harrington’s class when Jonas comes in looking freshly fucked. He pauses for a second beside me and I tense up… but he goes up the stairs, away from me. I ignore Maverick’s stare. I know Jonas is sitting beside her, I can hear his laughter from where I’m sitting. Every word he whispers to her is a bullet in my heart – every laugh sends a dagger into my stomach.

This is what he deserves. To be around others that he can speak with freely. Laugh. Everything he can’t do with me. I mean I tried… for the first time in years I tried to speak and my throat closed down as if I were allergic to my voice.

My tears rain down, the pain so deep I feel it in the marrow of my bones because I can’t give him that and Jonas deserves the best. I keep my head down while I scratch at my wrist, wanting to feel anything other than the tears that want to spill, my thoughts spiraling.

I will never be what Jonas Anderson deserves and I know that now.

After Harrington gives the name of the new serial killer we’re to debate about, I get up and leave without a word, Jonas’ low chuckles echoing in my brain and shattering my heart.

                                          _______

Wednesday morning, I don’t sign in. I merely turn in my handwritten paper on Amelia Dyer, not making eye contact with Maverick. I hear Jonas’ voice in the hallway close yet so far from me and look up to see Cecilia still under his arm. My gut wrenches. They make a cute couple. She’s so petite compared to me. A natural, beautiful blonde with blue eyes and a radiant smile. She’d make a perfect trophy wife. I send a silent prayer that she makes him happy. That she gives him the best world-breaking orgasms. That she never breaks his heart like I did.

I look down at my shoes like they’re the coolest things I’ve ever seen. I push past them, and Jonas grabs my arm, looking down at my injured hand that Chase squeezed to inhuman proportions on Monday. I’m sure if it wasn’t broken, Chase had finished breaking it. I should get it checked out. It’s gnarly and swollen and purple but the pain of it reminds me that I have survived yet another thing - a broken heart. 

I lock eyes with Jonas, eyes that remind me of a forest, with drops of the sun. The look on his face reminds me of the day he pulled me into his lap.

“I’m going to maim whoever did this to you, baby.”

Us, Jonas. We did this to me. I did this to me. And then sickeningly, I think, at least it was my left hand. I don’t need it much. The thought almost makes me laugh. I’m a hazard to myself.

I pull my hand to my chest and cradle it with the other then back away slowly, jutting my chin to the door of Harrington’s lecture class, telling him he should go, I’m no longer his to worry about. I gather whatever strength I have and turn around, walking away from the love of my life.   

That night, when I’m in my room, ear buds in, on my loveseat, huddled over my laptop looking up more names from the ledger in the eighties, the little hairs all over my body stand on end at once. A chill rolls into my room and all the lights, except my sleep light turn off. A shadow moves about before I’m hurled into a world of darkness.

I wake up in my bed with the worst hangover I’ve ever experienced. My stomach rolls and I crash into my bathroom before I vomit bile into the porcelain sink, heaving until there’s nothing left. My stomach is empty. Completely empty. I haven’t eaten since… I can’t remember. I brush my teeth, sinking onto the tiled flooring of the bathroom. I crawl back into bed since I can see through my window that it’s still dark outside. I haven’t checked my phone in days. It’s as useless as I am. My neck hurts, my hand is pulsating, my head is pounding, my stomach is cramping and all I can think of… is Damon.

I need him, his guidance now more than ever.

I lift my hand to grab my phone… but I’m so tired. I close my eyes and let the sandman take me away again… let the darkness consume me.

                          _______

Thursday afternoon I’m sitting in the quad beneath a willow on a blanket after my Art and Music History class, far away from the dining hall where I know the trio are eating. My injured hand is palm up on the ground beside me, not as purple as yesterday, greener today, telling me it’s just very badly bruised. I hope. I have my head down, neck sore and stiff, reading about Ludwig and other artists that lived in his time when a shadow takes away what little sun I had. Chase kneels beside me.

Blue eyes glower at me from beneath brown lashes. He grabs my wrist and tugs it toward him. This time I don’t hide the pain on my face.

“Relax, Spooks. Jesus you’re fucking jumpy.” He has a bruise on his cheekbone, red and angry.

It pleases me.

I arch a brow in question, a motion that tells him to hurry up and leave me alone.

He pulls out a bottle of water from his backpack and then   a wrapped… something from it as well and sets them both in front of me. “When was the last time you drank water? Your lips are so chapped you look like you’re possessed. I know you heard me call you fat… but now you’re just bones and you look fucking sickly. If you’re on a diet then pass it over. Otherwise, you gotta eat. Unless you actually are possessed? Regan? Regan’s demon? Is that you?”

I blink at his attempt at humor. Which sucks because I love horror films and The Exorcist is a classic. If it had been Brina or even Axel saying any of this to me, I would have cackled. He unwraps the… well it’s a fucking wrap. Gourmet. It smells delicious. It makes my stomach cramp. He holds it out to me. I scrunch my nose at it and go back to my textbook.

“For god’s sakes it’s not poisoned.”

I didn’t think it was. I just don’t want anything he has to offer. I just want to be left alone. I’m staying in my lane.

“Look,” he takes a large bite out of the wrap with his freakishly perfect teeth I now suspect are fake, almost half of it gone, opens the bottle of water and swallows both down simultaneously then holds them out to me. I take them both and set them on the blanket. Truth is, I wish I could eat. But after last night, everything is nauseating. I’m pretty sure I was drugged. But by whom? “I’m not allowed to leave until you eat it.”

Pardon me?

Chase tilts his head a fraction and I see Jonas sitting at the table closest to me, watching this interaction. Great. Now I can’t even sit under my favorite tree. I lock eyes with the love of my life, now Cecilia’s love, (because only an idiot wouldn’t fall for Jonas Anderson) and raise the wrap and bite into the chicken. Chew. Swallow. I bring the bottle of water to my lips; the water is so cool I can feel it when it coats my esophagus and settles into the traitorous pit that is my stomach. I do this over and over again until the entire thing has disappeared. My stomach hurts and I keel over, vomiting the entire thing up, until I fall over, face first beside the puddle of my own sickness and the entire world turns black.

I wake up what feels like seconds later, to someone shaking me awake, and I scramble, as quickly as I can, which I’m sure is in absolute slow motion, and it’s so fucking embarrassing. Who the fuck faints? A freak. That’s who. 

I recognize my surroundings too quickly when I feel the plush firmness under my spine. I’m in my bed. In my dorm. I’m okay.

Except, Jonas sits on the edge of my bed. The twins are leaning against the wall.

“Can you look into the light, Raven?”

I freeze. I close my eyes. It’s a dream it’s a dream this isn’t real. Something I can hear-

“Raven?”

Something I can feel - I reach out to touch him. See - look into his silver eyes. Smell – I inhale that familiar scent of his, except he doesn’t smell like a sterile environment. He smells of rainwater and wet cedar and books. Taste – my vomit from earlier.

I put my hand over my mouth because if I can taste it, then he can smell it.

“I think the lady would like some water and mouth wash.” Damon chuckles when he sees I did everything he taught me to do before and during an episode, pride shining in his eyes. He always looks at me like that. Like he adores me. Like I’m… everything to him. Tears want to escape but I don’t let them. Riordan comes back with both and hands me the waste bin so I can spit it out.  

It takes everything in me not to climb into Damon’s lap, like I once did with Jonas. My uninjured hand hurts and I see the IV line connected to me.

Damon takes my other hand. “You gave us quite a scare, Raven. I had to run an IV. You’re extremely dehydrated. Can you tell me who did that to you?” he asks, pointing to my injured hand. Both Jonas and Chase stiffen behind him. I look at them from over Damon’s broad shoulder then back at my Damon.  

No. I blink.

“Boys, I think I should like to be with my patient alone. She obviously doesn’t feel comfortable with you in the room and won’t be speaking-”

My face drops. We’re back to that. I’m his patient. 

“-She doesn’t talk. At all. I should be here. I can decipher her looks sometimes.” Jonas says abruptly.

I shake my head and Jonas’ face contorts as though I’ve betrayed him. Except he’s no longer mine to betray. Just like I’m no longer his to protect. Unclaimed. I want him to go. Need him to go because I want to be alone with Damon. Need to be alone with him. I have so much to tell him, so many questions to ask.

“Looks as though she’s communicating just fine without you, Mister Anderson. I’ll see you on Tuesday.” Damon replies, not looking over his shoulder, gunmetal eyes piercing through me. They all leave, and Damon gets up to lock the door behind them and I get a good look at him. Even though he’s not in his lab coat, he is still as sexy as ever.

Black hair, silver on the sides that make his eyes pop. Lavender button up, sleeves tight on his biceps, accentuating the other muscles. Even his charcoal slacks are tighter around his quads, a slim black belt holds them up. He runs his fingers through his hair as he walks back to me, every stride is unhurried and even then, he eats up the space between us so quickly, I barely have time to sit up properly before he’s sitting on the edge of my bed.

I hold my arms out and pulls me onto his arms and into his lap. “I’ve been wanting to make my presence known for so long.” He whispers, lips kissing my hair. He stands and we’re in my bathroom. He juggles me and the IV pole the entire time he’s turning on the faucet to my bathtub, moving about the bathroom, grabbing everything he needs, as if he knows exactly where everything is, and it’s because he does.

My dreams haven’t been dreams. I’ve been making vocal noises, whimpering, moaning, gasping when he’s been inside of me, his fingers, his tongue, parts of his cock.

He undresses me tenderly and I don’t shy away. Why should I? This man knows me, all of me. The good, the bad, the ugly and has never batted an eyelash or told me how ugly me or my scars are, how horrendous I’ve been during my violent episodes, some even toward him. He’s treated me with kindness, a kindness that was so rare to me, it made me love him as more than just my doctor.

“I’m so angry with you, little bird. How dare you not take care of yourself? You’re hurting what is mine, and I won’t abide by that. I’ve had to watch you for days. Starving yourself, Raven? That is so childish. Why are you punishing yourself?” His tone is harsh but his touch is so gentle and loving.

When I’m nude, he has me in the rising warm water, directing me so he can wash all of me, expertly, I might add. His soapy fingers trail over my nipples, teasing, pinching, pulling until my thighs are shaking. He goes down to my navel, fingering it clean, and then down to the apex of my sex, cleaning me in and out, never going deeper than a knuckle. I’m a quivering, needy mess by the time he’s finished. When my hair is washed and conditioned, he grabs my hairbrush and begins brushing out the tangles.

I tap on my neck, where this weird bump is underneath the skin.

He massages circles into it with his strong thumb and then he kisses the little scar. A new scar he gave me. The only one I will ever like.

“You disappeared on me, Raven. I won’t abide by that, either. I did what I had to do. You are allowed to fly, little bird. You can go anywhere in the world, you are no longer in my cage, but I need to know you’re safe. I need to be there in the blink of an eye if anything ever goes wrong. Do you understand me?”

I lean into his touch, hot tears slipping free. This should scare me. I should be disgusted. I should scratch out his eyeballs. But the thought that he was scared, worried about not being able to find me, my god, it makes my demons come alive. He’s been as crazy for me as I’ve been for him this whole time? I can’t handle it. When he pulls away from me, I tug him back, pulling him close.

He stands, and I almost cry out in anger at the rejection, but he comes back with a towel, careful with my IV, he lifts me in bridal style, directs me to grab the IV pole and then sits me on the bathroom counter, dries my hair and then brushes my teeth for me. After he inspects my tongue, his thumb lingering on my bottom lip, he picks me up again, sets me down on my bed, I pull him close to kiss him.

My want, my need for Damon, has been planted, rooted, and twisted so deeply inside of me, that when he leans into my kiss, and his lips trap mine, it is everything and more. Damon Archer tastes like cinnamon and kissing him feels like every atom of your being is imploding and my heart caves and constricts in my chest. I inaudibly moan into his mouth, gasping, needing more and he gives it, teeth, tongue, lips, it’s raw and all-consuming and if he asked for my soul, I’d give it so willingly, because he already has my heart and my mind. I can feel him thickening underneath me when he pulls me closer into his arms, my towel loosens and drops around us.

I don’t care. I want this. Him. Now. Forever.

He tugs his lips away from me and I almost whine at the loss of him. “Raven, little bird. Wait.”

I look into his silver hooded eyes, pupils blown out with lust.

“I won’t take you like this. As much as I want to, you’re weak and I’ll hurt you.”

I shake my head, pulling his lips back to me. Desperate.

“Raven, Raven, listen, please, Amourette.” Little love. He pulls my arms off of him from the crease in my elbows and I tug the towel back up around me, and get off of his lap, to which he hisses when he sees my pussy. “You have no idea how badly I want to take you, Raven. I want to fuck you every way to Sunday and back again… twice. I want to fuck you so hard you forget your name and I forget how to breathe. But your body… you’ve been mistreating yourself. Come here, look.”

He tugs at me, pulling the IV pole along as he makes me stand in front of the full-length mirror hanging in my closet and points to my face. My chapped lips, my cheekbones, down to ribcage, his fingers falling to my hip bones and last he turns me sideways and counts the vertebras that are protruding. Not in a healthy way. In a sickly way that proves I’ve been starving myself, eating my sleeping pills instead of food so I don’t have to feel anything.

My punishment to myself for hurting Jonas.

“You were doing so good, Raven. What happened?”

I look away from the mirror, from his gaze, ashamed. He kisses my temple and guides me back to my bed.

“I’m going to order you some soup, okay? You need to eat. You need to take care of yourself, because quite frankly, pretty girl, I know what you’re planning.”

My eyes snap to his. I don’t want to eat. I deserve to waste away into nothing. I am nothing.

“You’re going to need your strength for what you’re about to do. Do you hear me?”

I turn my head away but he turns my head by the chin with his thumb before I can.

“I’ve been doing research of my own. The Prescott’s and other members of the Syndicate? They only gather all together during big family events. Christenings, weddings… funerals. If you want to get to Tyler Prescott, keep your little show of hurting for just a little while longer but do not starve yourself. Do you hear me? You will no longer neglect yourself. Shave your pussy, don’t shave your pussy, gain all your weight back or don’t. But you will not let this,” he points to my weakened body and then taps my temple, “ever happen again.” He bends and kisses my lips, “Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Good girl. I have to go now. As much as I don’t want to leave you, they all saw me come in. If I never leave, they’ll ask questions and think me an inappropriate doctor.”

I almost snort, my smile brushes against his lips. My first smile in over a week. Maybe longer. I can’t remember. My days have fused together in my self-punishment.

“That’s my girl. Eat the soup, only take half of the pill because you’ll have to wean yourself off of them all over again. Yes, I know about that, too, and get some rest. Fuck your classes tomorrow, I’ll send your teachers an excuse of absence. Remember, I’m always watching. I’ll know if you disobey. So be my good girl or you won’t like the consequences.”

His timbre and his words remind me so much of Maverick    I almost feel guilty. After watching me dress in an old RMU sweatshirt and white cotton panties. “I love these, by the way.” He says, poking at my slit. Damon kisses me one last time, removing the needle to the empty IV bag carefully, and then walks out of my room, taking the pole with him.

                          _______

Half an hour later, a slight knock comes at my door and before I can pull on some pants to answer the delivery person with my soup, none other than motherfucking Chase strides in, kicking his expensive sneakers off, wearing black sweatpants and a too tight Henley showcasing his muscles. Damon must’ve left the door unlocked. I tense and go to my drawer for some sweatpants.

“Don’t bother, Spooks. Just get in bed and eat the fucking soup.” His voice is thick as I bend to climb into my bed I hear him inhale. He hands me the container of soup and instead of leaving me be, he slides into bed with me, over the comforter and grabs the remote to turn on the TV. When I look over at him he flashes me one of those creepy perfect smiles and clicks on some documentary about a football player.

“Doctors orders.”

I arch an eyebrow as I open the container and a burst of the most delicious chicken noodle soup I’ve ever smelled hits my nostrils. My mouth waters instantly. But I hesitate. I don’t want to puke again.

“It’s not fucking poisoned, Spooks, goddammit, look.” He shoves the spoon into the soup and then into his mouth aggressively swallowing it down. He hands me the spoon but I look at it. He rolls his eyes. “I don’t eat pussy unless I really like the girl, and it’s been a really long time that I’ve actually liked someone. So, it’s safe. There’s no herpes on it, I promise.”

I scrunch up my nose. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I throw the spoon across the room. Wash it, bitch.

He blinks at me. “You’re fucking infuriating. I can’t believe I got put on babysitting duty. I could be upstairs getting laid right now. Cecilia is always hot and willing and readily available for me to sink my cock into her. Any hole me or Jonas want.”

I point at the spoon, not letting him get to me. Besides, I’m happy for Jonas. Cecilia is a good match for him. She’s not planning murder or nefarious things, I think. Chase gets up with a sigh, grabs the spoon and goes to my bathroom to wash it, coming back to me with an annoyed look on his face and hands it to me, settling back in my bed. I smile the most sarcastic smile I can muster at him as a thanks.

“You’re welcome.” He grumbles.

The soup is delicious and so warm, it reminds me of when the snow would fall so heavily Axel and I would be trapped inside the mansion for days and Galvina, our head chef, would make us stew to eat after playing outside in the snow. I get six bites in when  I hear, “Give me some.”

I cover the soup and pull it toward me.

“Quit being a fat hog-“ I scoot away from him. He clears his throat and looks down. Is Chase Prescott sorry? “Can I please have some more of your soup?”

I shake my head.

“Please?”

I shake my head again, covering it with the lid and jump out of bed when he tries to reach for it and he follows me. I fake holding it up over my head and when he reaches for it, because he’s a six-foot-four All American Quarterback much like Axel, and that would be stupid, I put it behind my back without thinking. He bends to grab it, a smile on both our faces and suddenly he’s all too close, his face in mine, hands around my hips to grab the soup.

My chest is heaving when he pulls me close by my hips, and the room is too small when he stands to his full height, his own chest heaving, blue eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes. There’s an intensity crackling between us, filling the room and for a moment, I can see how he could be charming… if he weren’t an asshole. I thrust the soup at him and walk to the door, opening it.

Angrily, he sets the soup down on my end table, slips his shoes on and walks out of my door. I slam it shut and lock it behind him as Damon’s voice rings in my ears.

“The Prescott’s and other members of the Syndicate… only gather for big events… christenings, weddings… funerals…”

I know Damon is right. I have to get my energy back up. I need to be able to get through everything I’m about to go through. Mentally… physically… I have to be strong. I’m not getting the answers I need here.

I’m going to have to find them with nothing but brute strength and cunning plans.

Chapter Fourteen

Chase Prescott.

I don’t trust Raven Monroe. Not even a little bit. As soon as rumors buzzed that she was on campus, I texted my cousin Tyler. Being a brother in the Syndicate, Riordan and I were privy to certain failings inside the brotherhood. We were eighteen when it happened, her face being plastered all over every news station.

The elite are never to be a hit but once a hit is called, it’s called. Except she had survived the hit, she couldn’t be touched again. It’s always a risk going after the same hit twice.

The cops were too close to the scene, too close to Syndicate properties, anyhow. When she was thrown into an asylum, and her case grew cold, we watched Tyler breathe easier. At first, we thought it was because she was his friend. We didn’t learn the truth until after our own initiation.

She still belonged to my uncle. It was a crime to go against a brother in the Syndicate, but because the person that tried to murder her was a legacy, they turned their heads at his indiscretion. Except my uncle is not a very forgiving nor a forgetful person.

I knew she was here seeking answers. I was to make sure she didn’t get close to finding any. My plan was that I was going to charm her, win her loyalty and get her to my uncle. But then Jonas had to go falling head over heels for her. I tried to put the doubts in his mind about her, but nothing worked. Nothing. Even Riordan liked her for him. The fucking traitor. He knew what was at stake. Getting her alone was proving to be a difficult task. Even when she was alone, she made sure to be in the public eye.

And then, I had my in with her at the gym. All alone. Bending her delicious fat, natural ass over, I had to do something. Except when I was shoving her luscious thigh up and my dick landed on her fat pussy, I was a fucking goner. I tried to hurt her, I actually knew I was hurting her, except she kept bucking and my dick got so hard. I saw the allure of Raven underneath me, unable to scream out for help, it did something to me. Something… not good. It made my chest feel… weird.

Before she bucked me off, I saw Jonas and Riordan coming in, I needed him to catch us like this. I needed to plant that seed in his head that she wasn’t all good, innocent…

The less people she had around her, the better.

Except Riordan caught them kissing like two horny teenagers. I’d rolled my eyes, not hiding my disgust. Then the next day after standing in line at the Koffee Kart with her… she was so close, waiting for her order to be called out. Then I turned to see she was headed in the same direction I was, the empty library. She grabbed whatever books she needed then sat at a table close to the window. Her brows were drawn together, her lips pursed, tapping her pen against her bottom lip, occasionally biting the tip of it. She was so fucking cute.

And unsuspecting.

Perfect.

Except the books she had for the serial killer she was researching, were wrong. She wouldn’t find what she needed with those things. I brought her some back and she took them humbly with a half frown, half smile on her delicate, beautiful face.

Bitch.

I wanted her to push the books away so I could make her take them. I wanted her to rebel against me. Be angry with me, to show some kind of… I don’t know, emotion toward me. But she didn’t. she took the goddamn books I offered with her nose scrunched and a half-smile and those cinnamon-whiskey eyes squinting at me and then treated me as if my presence didn’t affect her whatsoever. Like I was invisible.

Infuriating.

I hated her.

Then she had to go and get all gorgeous for Jonas, wearing his number, made my brother and him laugh with her adorable little antics and this uncontrollable jealousy ripped inside of me. She was under Jonas’ spell as much as he was under hers and it fucking hurt to watch. We whooped the Turner Falls’ Blue Jays that night, and when Jonas got drunk  at the bar while we were celebrating, and all the RMU girls were hot and willing, Jonas went back to his hotel room.

I asked him later if he planned on sharing Raven with us, and it was the first time, in a long time, Jonas punched me in the gut.

He spent the entire weekend with her, ignoring me. Riordan reminds me I’m the one that fucked up.  

But then the following Monday, the day she wore those sexy thigh highs… fuck I wish I had known what had happened. Jonas spends the week moping around, not telling me a goddamn thing… and her? She looks like the embodiment of anorexia.

I bring Cecilia around after the game on Friday, have her suck him while he’s in a drunk stupor, and wrap up so I can take her from behind. Jonas spends the entire weekend with his dick in Cece. Like it used to be.

Sunday, he’s still drunk, and Cecilia is still hanging on his arm when we leave The Cheeky Irishman Pub, and I spot her, in a brand-new fucking Range Rover, I can’t help the sinister grin that spreads on my face. Yeah bitch, look at him. He doesn’t need you.

She speeds away.

I tag the Range Rover with a tracker later that evening while everyone’s distracted. 

By Monday, JoJo seems to be doing a hell of a lot better. Hungover, but better.

Raven? Her lips are chapped. Hair brittle. She walks the halls and the quad like a fucking dirty ghost, haunting the library, avoiding everyone and everything. Her clothes don’t fit her right, and they hang off her body loosely like she ordered them two sizes too big. She’s definitely hasn’t been eating with us. I doubt she’s been eating at all.

Good. I hope she dies of starvation. Less mess for me to clean up.

I decide to fuck with her just a little bit when I spot her in the library before my Advanced Computer Science class, going over her notes for Music Theory. Yes, Jonas told me her entire schedule. “Have a good weekend, Spooks?”

She starts packing up her shit and I grip her hand to stop her, squeezing until I’m sure I’ve crushed a bone or two, but she doesn’t make a face. Not one sound. I want her to fucking scream. I want her to hurt because whatever she did to him… hurt him. I want her to fucking squirm for me, so I decide to tell her all about how our weekend went, and how much we fucked Cecilia senseless and I can see the fresh heartbreak on written all over her face.

It feels so fucking good.

“What the fuck did you do to him? I haven’t seen him like this since-“ Paris, I stop myself from saying. I let Raven know exactly what I think of her. That she’s trash, unclaimed, and fair fucking game. 

Except on Wednesday after first hour, Jonas finds me and corners me by the English department into one of the little gardens RMU has all over the place. “What the fuck did you do to her? Did you break her fucking hand?” He throws a heavy-handed punch, and it lands right on my beautiful face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I gaslight, grabbing my handsome, award-winning face.

“Don’t act fucking innocent with me, Chase, I know your work. Do you honestly think I haven’t seen you following her around the entire fucking campus?”

“No idea what you’re saying to me.” I lie. I’ve only looked at the tracker once or twice. The car never moves from the place she parked it and so what if we just so happened to be at the same place, same time? I’d say it was kismet if Jonas wasn’t right about me following her.

To-may-to, to-mah-to.

“Her hand is fucking purple!”

“How is that my fucking fault?”

“Oh my god, Chase just fucking admit it.” he groans out an irritated huff. “I already know it was you. The more you deny the more I’m likely to just call this entire friendship off.”

“You said you no longer claim her. She’s allowed to be fucked with.”

“I didn’t think you’d go and break her fucking hand!” He covers his mouth, then wipes his lips and shakes his head, his hands landing on his uniformed hips.

“Fuck with her or don’t fuck with her, Jonas? You’ve been balls deep in Cecilia since last weekend, flaunting her in front of your fucking specter. Are you seriously telling me I’m not allowed to fuck with her? You said psychological warfare.”

“Psychological you fucking dick. Not physical.”

I shrug my heavy shoulders. “I knew this was another Paris situation. For months we told you-“

“DON’T you dare fucking talk to me about Paris, you fucking bastard. This is nothing like Paris and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask.

“I don’t know!” Jonas shakes his head, brown hair falling forward. He looks as unhinged as he did when I found him crying last Monday. “I don’t know because I have no fucking proof. I heard what I heard but I don’t think I heard the situation right. I don’t fucking know anything. I don’t know everything and it’s fucking killing me.” A tear leaves his eye and he quickly wipes it away.

I grab him by the nape of the neck in a comforting way, my hand sliding down to his shoulder so I give it a squeeze.

“She walks around like she’s dying from the inside out. Whatever happened broke her more than it broke me. She tried to talk, for Christ’s sake.”

I fucking knew it. “What?”

He shakes his head. “She tried to talk; one fucking syllable flew out of her mouth and then it sounded like her throat closed in and it looked like it fucking hurt her. I was so fucking angry I ended up… I shoved her against the wall, and I’m pretty sure I concussed her.” More tears fall and his voice breaks.

Pride surges through me at his admission. That’s my boy. I love it when he lets the darkness take over.

“I fucking hurt her and then I left her there when every fiber of my being told me to go back to her. You don’t know what this feels like. To find the other piece of your soul, to hold them and kiss them, and have them look at you like you’re their whole world and you can just feel it. You know you are, there’s no second thought that they love you; they don’t even have to say it.”

He’s right. I have no fucking idea what that feels like.

“And she tried to say her piece, Chase. She tried. Whatever happened was probably not what it sounded like and if I’m honest, it sounded forced. But I was so fucking mad. Also- I fucking hate Cecilia. I’ve been having to shove my cock in her mouth because the bitch doesn’t shut the fuck up. If she actually had something interesting to say, it’d be a different story. But goddamn it, all she does is fucking yap. Even when we fuck all she does is talk. You’re a horrible friend for pushing me to fuck her. I can’t get her to take a fucking clue and leave me the fuck alone.”

I laugh at that. Yeah, Cece can talk for hours. I’ve had to gag her a few times.

“So you fucking owe me for that. I may have unclaimed her, but you’re going to find a way to fucking apologize or make her eat something because I don’t think I can continue watching her waste away. I haven’t seen her eat in over a week it’s fucking with me and if you don’t make it right, I’m going to end up talking to her again and I can’t handle that right now. One more look into her eyes and I’ll fucking flop. She’s mine. She’ll always be mine. I know it. I can’t explain it. But me and her? Our souls have met. Whether it’s today or tomorrow, or even a decade from now, we belong together.”

“Make her eat something.” I repeat. “That’s it?”

He blows out a long breath. “That’s it. Oh, and get Cecilia off my dick. I’m over it.”

Trying to feed Raven turns into a fucking fiasco. She faints beside a puddle of her own puke, and when I grab her, she weighs nothing. Jonas takes her from my arms and lightly taps her face.

We’re drawing a crowd and thankfully, Doctor Archer saw the whole thing happening. He gets another student to go get his medical kit from his office and gets us to take her to her room instead of the infirmary because he knows she’s prone to episodes and waking up in an unfamiliar place will set her off. Something about her prior trauma but he doesn’t give us more than that.

That makes the alarms blare in my head.

Does he know her?

Jonas, the creep, unlocks her room with her room key he copied the weekend they spent together. Doctor Archer doesn’t question it. He immediately sets her up with an IV from his kit.

“This is the girl you’re dating?” Doctor Archer asks.

Jonas shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

Doc nods his head. He’s a handsome fucker. All brawn and brains. Eyes the color of steel. Chiseled face, sharp jawline, tall as fuck. Yeah, the man probably gets pussy easy. I wonder if it’s too late to change majors. Doctors get so much snatch. Especially hot ones, I’m sure of it. He grabs his stethoscope and one of those arm things to check her blood pressure. “She’s severely dehydrated. Her heart rate and blood pressure are extremely low. Has she eaten?”

“She threw up what she ate.” I reply. Then, “Shouldn’t we take her to the ER?” I ask, “Since her heart rate is low or whatever?”

He shakes his head. “I’m going to see if her vitals go up. Could just be the lack of nourishment. If she doesn’t get better after this bag of fluids, then yes, I’ll take her to the ER myself.”

Jonas looks angry and grumbles something I don’t exactly hear.

Then we wait… For two whole fucking hours until she fully wakes up. I’ve missed two classes.

Doc flashes his flashlight pen in her eyes. And she goes rigid when she looks at him, it’s like she’s seen her long lost… something. She reaches out to touch him for a minute, there’s a tension between the two of them. Then her hand flies up to her mouth and the next minute, Riordan is getting her water and mouth wash and holding a waste basket so she can spew it out.

“Can you tell me who did that to you?” he asks, pointing to her injured hand. She tenses, looking behind Archer over at us, but then Spooks surprises me. She has every right to tattle on us to a person of authority that’s sitting right before her. Her sweet caramel eyes that are rimmed red and bloodshot, heavily bagged, and I’ll just say it. The girl looks and smells fucking awful and we did that to her. As a collective. And she could tattle… has every right to… but she doesn’t.

“Boys, I think I should like to be with my patient alone. She obviously doesn’t feel comfortable with you in the room and won’t be speaking-“

“She doesn’t talk. Like, at all. I should be here. I can decipher her looks sometimes.” Jonas says like a good fucking puppy but Raven shakes her head.

“Looks as though she’s communicating just fine without you, Mister Anderson.” I don’t miss the way Jonas flinches when he says that, like Raven has never wanted or needed him and Jonas turns to me, dread and sadness clouding his eyes.

I hate her.

When we leave the room, we hear the lock click into place and Jonas hangs back, he looks so out of place and fucking helpless. “I’m going to wait around. I’ll catch up to you later.”

I scoff. “Seriously? You said you wouldn’t be able to handle talking to her. I’ll hang back. I’ll let you know what happens.”

Forty minutes later, Doc Archer is on his phone, holding the IV pole. He looks up at me and smiles. “Ah, good. One of her friends are still here. I just ordered her some soup from Southern Style. Could you please pick it up and have her eat it? At least half.”

“You want me to fucking babysit her?”

He arches a dark eyebrow. “No. I’m asking you to be a good friend to your very sick friend.”

Well, when he puts it like that… “She’s not my friend. She’s the girl my best friend was fucking.”

“Ah, and you’re jealous you didn’t get to, is that right, Mister Prescott?”

“Absolutely not.” I half-lie.

“Get her the fucking soup. Be the gentleman of caliber your parents raised you to be and help her out without trying to rape her.”

I make a disgusted face. “I wouldn’t touch Raven Monroe with a ten-foot-pole.”

“No, but you’d get close enough to try and break her hand, wouldn’t you?”

All the blood drains from my face. “She’s a fucking liar.” I rasp.

“She didn’t tell me anything, Chase. Your demeanor did. I watched the way you tensed up when I asked her in the room who did it to her, through the mirror on her vanity and then heard when you sighed a breath of relief. I’m a psychiatrist, Prescott. My entire career is spent analyzing behaviors in humans. Get her the goddamn soup. And had she told me you were the one who did it, make no mistake, I would have called the authorities myself.” He walks away shaking his head.

Twenty-five minutes later, I knock on her door but then, fuck that. I’m striding into her room, goddamn soup in hand.

I hold my breath when I see her in nothing but her RMU sweatshirt and panties, looking for pants. I tell her not to bother, to get into bed so she can eat the fucking soup. She bends over and crawls back in bed, those white panties clawing themselves into my spank bank.

She looks better. Not the best… but better with the IV juice. I sit on her bed, back against her headboard and turn her TV on. If I’m going to have to babysit, I’m at least going to enjoy it.

I hand her the container but she looks sick just looking at it when she opens it.

I prove I didn’t poison her food for the second time in one day, (the soup is fucking delicious) and when I hand her back the spoon, letting her know it wouldn’t have herpes because I don’t eat pussy unless I’m really into someone, she chucks it across the room like a fucking toddler. Anger bubbles up my chest and I blink at her.

“You’re fucking infuriating. I can’t believe I got put on babysitting duty.” Again, I leave out. But just to fuck with her, because psychological warfare or whatever, I end up saying, “I could be upstairs getting laid right now. Cecilia is always hot and willing and readily available for me to sink my cock into her. Any hole me or Jonas want.”

Damn, whatever the head doctor said to her was good. She doesn’t even flinch. I grab the spoon, wash it, and then watch her eat from my periphery, the first spoonful that goes into her mouth, I can almost hear her moan, her eyes shut and her head tilts back, letting the flavors settle over tongue. I know the soup is delicious… but she makes it look like it’s the best thing she’s ever eaten. Like she’s been transported back in time when her life was good. Before she was almost murdered by the Syndicate and she could talk. She does it with each bite and soon my cock is hard watching this creature eat and my stomach grumbles.

I try to take it away from her but then she leaps out of bed, and I follow. When she puts it above her head, it’s almost too easy. She’s five-foot-nothing compared to me. But then she swipes it and puts it behind her and my football trained, eyes-always-on-the prize hands follow. And soon, I’m so close to her. I’m too close to her and she smells divine and her beautiful little face is a hair away from mine and I feel this… static spark between us and suddenly the TV is too loud and too quiet and her perfect lips are so close, her hips are in my hands and her warm cinnamon eyes are wide and her chest is heaving against mine and it feels like a sin to be away from her.

It's suddenly too much to not touch her, to not feel her skin underneath the pads of my fingertips. She thrusts the soup at me and kicks me out of her room.

I fly past her, angry at her, angry at me, and mostly angry at Jonas for making me feed her not once, but twice.

Christ, when she passed out earlier today after upchucking the wrap, the only thing I could think was, ‘what a waste of fucking food,’ and now I almost just kissed her.

My brain has to be glitching.

I pass by Jonas who’s sitting in the common area waiting for me. “Did she eat?”

“Yup.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you going, what happened?”

“Nothing, I have to go. It’s a long walk home.”

“I can take you.” He offers.

“No thanks.”

When I get to the Sigma Delta Chi house, or SDC, the Syndicate fraternity house, I bypass all of my brothers and head straight up to my room, only to find an annoying tiny blonde that never shuts the fuck up naked and in my bed. Fuck, I love Jonas for rejecting her. True to my word, as soon as I slip on the condom, her thighs fall open. Except she doesn’t smell right and her hair is all wrong and as soon as she opens her mouth and starts moaning, my hand flies up to her throat, “Shut the fuck up, Cecilia.”

It’s not her fault. I close my eyes and fuck her to thoughts of Raven bending over in those sweet little white cotton panties that aren’t even sexy until I cum deep inside the condom, groaning so loud it echoes. I get off of Cecilia. “Get the fuck out.”

                                          _______

I can’t sleep. I have class in five hours and I can’t fucking sleep. My door opens and Riordan slips into bed with me and turns to face me on his side. “What’s wrong little bother?”

“I can’t sleep. But it’s worse when you can’t either,” he replies.

Blame it on the twin telepathy, but he always knows. “She has to die.”

“I thought we were just taking her back to Uncle?”

“I, Ri. I was going to take her back to Uncle. Not we. I don’t want you doing any of this.”

He stays quiet for a few moments and I can feel his thoughts before he says them out loud. “I like her. She’s good for Jonas.”

Of course he likes her. He likes all things that are quiet. Riordan is on the spectrum. Fortunately for our parents, he’s high functioning so he comes off as particular and quiet. But his ethics and morals get in the way of a lot of things, which is why I had to take care of his initiation. It was fine, ‘two birds, one stone’ type shit. Plus, nobody else, other than Jonas, and our parents knows he’s neurodivergent. I’ve taken care of all the things pertaining to Riordan since childhood. I even get him laid – never with Cecilia, for sure. 

“What’s your plan?” he asks.

“To seduce her.”

“I think she hates you.” He says with a yawn.

I laugh and mirror the yawn, my eyes finally growing heavy with my brother, my safety net, the calm in my storm beside me. “I hate her too, Ri.”

But then he says something that makes me lose sleep all over again. “I don’t think you get it, though. You have to kill her with kindness, big brother. Draw her out that way. If you keep being an asshole to her… she’ll never trust you… she’ll kill you before you kill her…” he mumbles. “Ravens are opportunistic predators and they’ll strike when provoked or feel threatened.”

                    ________

Friday morning, I bust into her room again with Jonas’ key to check on her like I promised Jonas I would, because I’m a good fucking friend, but find her gone. She’s not at the library. Not on the quad. Not in the dining hall. I even go to Prof. Harrington’s class and peek through the window but she’s not there.

Fuck this, we have our first home game tonight and I am not going to be distracted. I pull up my phone and check the tracker I tagged her Range Rover with for the first time in a week.

She’s twenty-five minutes away by the lake that separates our town from Salem. What the fuck is she doing there? Against my better judgement, I go back to the Sigma house, grab my own Range Rover keys, and put her location in on my GPS.

I park outside of the gated gothic lake house that says Casa de Cuervos above the Iron gate. I scoff and roll my eyes heavily. House of Ravens. Really inconspicuous, Raven. My phone chimes as I sit outside.

Twin: Did you find her?

Me: Yeah, just outside of Salem. You still friends with that one hacker guy?

Twin: He’s an “overrider.”

I roll my eyes again.

Me: Fine. Are you still friends with that “overrider” guy?

Twin: He’ll contact you.

I’m watching movement come from the upstairs bedroom window when my phone chimes twelve minutes later.

Unknown: Whatever you want will cost you $10K.

I groan loudly. I send a text out to Tyler and he wires me the money. I’d use my own but I don’t have access to my trust fund for another four years and I’m not explaining this to Father.

Me: Send me your info. I’ll send $5K now and $5K when you get me gate access to this address and access to the security system.

Unknown: deal. I’ll have the info by midnight.

I drive off and speed back to campus.

                    ________

Fourteen minutes after half-time and we’re fucking losing. Not on my fucking watch. But it’s Jonas. Jonas is playing like fucking shit and he’s pissing me off. His head isn’t in the game. It’s on that goddamn ghost of his. I can see it. I can feel it. He hasn’t seen her at all today. He’s worried and it’s causing him to slip. We’re heading back in formation after a break from the huddle.

I spit out my mouth guard connected to my helmet. “Get your fucking head in the game or get the fuck off my field, you’re playing like shit.”

“Fuck you.”

“I swear to God, JoJo if you’re playing like this because of that lying slut-“

He lunges and tackles me to the ground; my helmet slips off, stadium lights blinding me and he strikes. I barely have the time to move my head out of the way when his fist lands beside my head. “Don’t ever fucking call her that again!” His punch lands on my nose and I feel my blood rush out and into my ears when I strike back.

“But she is! Do you know what she was doing today? She was off campus at some lake house with someone. She’s already over you. She doesn’t love you!” I roar as he’s pulled off me.

“Fuck you! We’re done.”

I wipe the blood from my face with my sweaty forearm watching the small shiner I gave him already turning a dark pink. “We’re done?” I scream and lunge at him and the noise surrounding me is all chaos as the crowd goes fucking wild. “We’re done when I have her coming around my cock, miming my name.” I laugh.

The glare he returns is murderous, when he gets a second wind and lunges at me, catching me by the collar of my jersey, snarling in my face but his voice is so low, it comes out a growl, sending a chill down my spine. “Touch her and I will fucking maim you, Chase. I won’t kill you. I’ll find a way to fuck you up so bad you’ll live the rest of your life a useless meat sack stuck in your own mind, listening to your family say they wish you had just died instead. You’ll be nothing but a living, breathing, decomposing bed sore - unable to talk, walk, or even feed yourself.” He sneers.

And I know he means it. I know he could do it. Because after all, we’re legacies. Made for this shit. My stomach churns but I don’t let him see the effect his words have on me, standing toe-to-toe with him. Him. Jonas. My best friend.

“Hey!” Fuck. Coach is on the field when they manage to break us apart again, Jonas’ eyes never waver from mine. “You big fucking bastards! I don’t know what this is about but Jonas go sit the fuck down. Tanner! Sub in! Chase, are you good?”

I spit the blood that poured into my mouth out, glaring at Jonas as I shove my helmet back on my head. “I’m fucking good, coach. Never better.”

We barely win.

                     _______

Unknown: RAVEN - 94732

I park a quarter mile from the entrance as I wire the rest of the money.

The sound of the TV in her bedroom is low, but it’s on the college football channel. She watched the game. Most likely saw the fight. I’m fucking exhausted. My face hurts, every muscle in body is sore, I’m sleepy and so fucking hungry. The soft glow of the station is dimly lighting her form on the bed. I take a seat on the purple accent chair in the corner and lean my head back. There’s fucking glow-in-the-dark stars forming constellations all over the ceiling.

I stare at her form on the oversized bed. She looks so small on it. The rope in my hand feels heavier by the second. I could do it right now… strangle her.

But she starts thrashing. Fighting invisible demons, probably. Her hands ball up into fists, head moving side-to-side wildly. Even in her sleep, in the throes of the war raging inside her mind, she’s silent.

I get up and kneel by the bed next to her face. “They fucked you up good, huh, Spooks?”

At the sound of my voice, all her thrashing stops. Her mouth opens in agony, parted in a silent scream. My heart slows to a stop. Her fear is beautiful. I run my fingers through her silky hair and shush her.

It would be so easy to kill her right now. I’m so close to her and yet, the heaviness of this… of everything is exhausting. I’m exhausted. I know I’m an idiot for not handling this right now. I’m an idiot when I take off my clothes. I’m an idiot when I pull back the lilac and black comforter and bring her to my chest and she clings to me and I love the feel of her against me. I’m an idiot when I pull my phone out and take a selfie of us just like this and send it to Jonas with the caption, ‘Just keeping my promise. She’s good, buddy.’ And then turn off my phone.

Or maybe I’m selfish.

She belongs to the Prescott’s. Not the Andersons.

When I wake up hours later, she’s straddling me, with nothing but a little flimsy camisole and matching pale pink panties, a kitchen knife to my throat, and my hands are horribly tied with the worst knots I’ve ever seen above my head to her headboard.

I grin lazily, loosening my wrists from the very rope I brought to tie her up in. “You know that scene on Goodfellas where Henry wakes up and Karen is pointing a gun straight to his face?”

She tilts her head to the side, brown hair falling over her shoulder, arches a brow in question, those caramel eyes of hers glitter in the morning light that’s peeking through the blinds.

“That scene always got me so fucking hard, Spooks.” I bring my arms down, swipe the knife, pull her to me and wrestle her under me, I hold her hands over her head with one hand. When I see her tits have popped out of her shirt and as she struggles, my dick, hard because it’s morning but also now because she keeps rubbing against me, I growl. “Quit moving or I’m going to slip my dick into you.”

She stops.

“Don’t want me to fuck you?”

She shakes her head.

I dip my head down and tug one of her nipples into my mouth, sucking hard. Her thighs spread farther apart and her back arches, shoving her tit deeper into my mouth. I glower up at her, her face contorted in a mixture of agony and lust. I chuckle darkly. She hates that it’s me making her feel good. “You like that, don’t you?”

She bites her lip and I reach down, playing with the side hem of her panties, “Fuck, Spooks. You’re fucking soaking.” I pull the waistband of her panties up, her puffy little naked pussy lips trapping the material between them in the sexiest camel toe I’ve ever seen. I pull them aside and hiss. “God you look… tiny.” My lizard brain sends signals to the beast in me. “Are you a virgin, Raven?”

She nods, lips curled in, eyes closed.

Excitement spreads throughout my entire body. No wonder Jonas was so fucked up over her. The glee I feel is like a child’s. He never fucked her. Nobody has. I pull my cock out, rubbing the length of me over her slit, the head of my cock against her clit, hearing her breath hitching, watching the gentle bounce of her breasts with each breath. All of this combined with the feel of her clit rubbing against me, watching her pussy get creamy… fuck it’s too much.

Except when I look at her face, tears are spilling over I lose my boner – quick. I tuck myself back in and  release her hands and she immediately slaps me, then with her foot she shoves me off the bed. I fall to the floor and start tugging my clothes back on. “I may be a son of a bitch but I’m not a fucking rapist. Tears don’t do it for me. When and if I take you…” I tug her me and kiss her plump lips. “You’ll be begging for it.”

I let her shove me off and I walk out of the room, blowing her a kiss. “I’ll be back tonight, honey. Wait up or don’t.”

Later, after I get a bite to eat and I open the front door, I'm hit with Nerf gun bullets in the face. All weekend long she’s a fucking nightmare… Until I find a mask in her brother’s room and his Nerf gun and it’s game fucking on. I live with twelve other frat guys. This is nothing.

If I’m left unsuspecting? She finds a way to slap me with deli meat or cheese or a soggy tortilla. When I shower, she turns off the boiler. Which is fine. I need an ice-cold shower for my muscles but when I step out of the shower with my balls and cock shriveled... she takes a fucking picture. I had to chase her around the house, cock out and ass naked until I finally caught her and deleted the thing.

At one point, the little prankster trips me by putting clear saran wrap at the bottom of the door leading into her room. She then makes me face plant right into more saran wrap by putting it at eye-level and I fall on my ass. Guess what else she does with the fucking saran wrap? Puts it under the toilet seat so my piss goes all over the place. Including my eleven-hundred-dollar Crystal Mesh Gucci shoes.

I spend the rest of my stay at Casa de Cuervos pissing in her little gothic garden filled with dahlias, black dragon roses and Votaniki Nightrider Lilies.

The only time she isn’t annoying the shit out of me is when she’s exhausted herself and she naps (I pull her in my lap) or she’s eating (my doing) or she’s reading.

Sunday morning I wake up, there’s a knife to my throat, and her rope tying skills are a lot better. Then a day of pranks and annoying me proceeds.

It's… it’s the most fun I’ve had in my life.

                       _______

She avoids me. All week.

So does Jonas.

Except late at night, when I can’t sleep, I sneak out of SDC, onto campus and into her dorm room and play with her palm-filling tits and then cuddle her. Which is fucking ridiculous. Chase Prescott does not cuddle. Chase Prescott fucks and discards… but lately the only way I can sleep more than two hours at a time is by… holding her at night. By Thursday night, she was already waiting for me. She pulls the blanket back when I kick off my shoes and climb into bed.

I push her tits together, thumbing her hard pink nipples trying to get both in my mouth, nipping, sucking, laving my tongue from one to the other. I’m making a mess, loving the way they glitter with my spit.  “Come to the game on Friday, baby.” She tenses at the word. “Come to the game. Wear my jersey. Put my number on your face. Please?”

She moves her shoulder in a shrug.

“Let me claim you at the party. Let them know you’re mine. This isn’t about Jonas, anymore.” I admit. I don’t know when this turned into her being stuck in my head at all times. The need to be with her at all times. “I don’t want to hide this anymore. I want them all to know you belong to me. That I’m the one that gets to suck on these perfect fucking tits.” I move my head further down, licking to her navel. “That I get to kiss this pussy.” And I do. I kiss her slit over her panties and she wiggles her hips. “I know, I know.” She’s not ready. I’ve fucked my fist so much this week my wrist hurts.

I have to figure out how to get out of marrying Priscilla. If Raven belongs to the Prescott’s then she’ll belong to me. It’s all I can fucking think about when she's sleeping soundly next to me… even when she's thrashing… I like that I can soothe her with just the sound of my voice.

She doesn’t come to the game Friday night, in which we annihilated Black Thorne.

SDC house hosts the biggest fucking party. People are puking in the front lawn, some down by the side in the bushes and there are people fucking on the back lawn. It’s chaos. I’m thriving and drunk but I… fuck, I think I miss her. I make my way through the woods, fully planning on sneaking back onto campus and into her dorm the same way I’ve been for the last four nights.

Then I catch movement out of my periphery. In the trees. A little spooky ghost waves at me. Her hair is down, my number is on her cheek, she’s wearing my fucking jersey and in her hands? Two bottles of beer. She hands me one and then tips it so we can clink our bottles and chug them together.

I put my arm over her shoulders and we walk through the woods using a different path than the one I usually take. It’s kinda creepy but she seems to know where she’s going so I let her lead us out to a field where there’s a pond. She walks to the dock and. She. Gets. Naked.

Then dives in.

Oh fuck yeah.

She swims to the deepest part, ripples of water kissing her face, everything but her nose is under the black abyss, peering at me. I lose my clothes quick, diving right in, uncaring about the temperature and yank her to me. Her body is cool compared to mine but that’s okay, I have enough warmth for the both of us.     Her naked chest is clashed against mine, nipples hard and my  cock is so close to her perfect fat pussy, if I moved just right, I  could easily slip in. But I don’t want to take her virginity in a pond.

I pull away, only to glance down into her dark eyes, and the words bubble out of me before I can stop them. “You’re so beautiful, Raven.”

She smiles, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and runs her fingertips through the soft hair on the nape of my neck, sending chills down my spine. Fuck, it feels so good. When she pulls, I groan and when she tilts her head back, she surprises me, going in for a kiss. I feel heavy, like I’m floating, relaxed with her in my arms.

So relaxed…

“Fuck, Raven,” I mumble against her lips, “Let’s go back to your dorm room. I don’t want to do this in a pond. We can shower, get warm…”

But fuck, she licks into my mouth and my tongue follows, my dick harder now than before and I fucking devour her. Her taste, her spit, I want it all and she meets me with her own searing kiss. That’s the thing about virgins, get them in the right mood and they’re so fucking eager to please.

Jonas is a dumbass.

Except she freezes in arms and when I open my eyes, hers are already open, looking behind me. “What is it?”

She blinks at me and shakes her head, unwrapping her legs from around my torso and I’m so sleepy I’m just glad she’s swimming back to the dock, hoisting herself up like a natural mermaid. When she turns, her thighs spread, a beacon in the night.

I swim after her, my limbs exhausted but then hiss at the sight of her pussy and my mouth fucking waters. I put my hands on her inner thighs and spread her farther apart. “Raven…” I groan when I see the pinkest part of her. “Can I kiss your sweet little pussy? I’ve been dying to taste you. All of you. I want to eat your cunt and then spin you around and shove my tongue in your ass. I want to taste all you.”

Her breath hitches but she scoots down, her pussy at eye level to me, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on the dock, only to flatten my tongue up her slick cunt, and the way she throws her head back I can almost hear her moan. I suck her clit into my mouth and her thighs quiver, caramel eyes peering down at me. She looks wild, untamed, beautiful. I chuckle, “Do you like that?”

She uses her hand to guide my head back to her and I feast, making her writhe, bucking her hips to meet my tongue. But then something fucking embarrassing happens. Not only am I losing my boner but I fucking yawn into her pussy. I pull away, she’s kinda fuzzy now.

Her brows scrunch up and she looks depleted, like I’ve kicked her puppy. I shake my head. “I’m sorry Spooks. I’m usually more alert while doing this. I’m just really exhausted…”

She looks so sad and starts closing her legs.

"It's just exhaustion. S’not you. We totally nanialated… nalialated… Black Thorm.” Fuck my tongue feels fat. “Can we just go back to your dorm? I really wanna… finish what we started. Maybe a shower and a nap and I’ll lick you from pussy to ass till you cream my face when I wake up.” I yawn again.

She smiles down at me then taps her lips twice with her fingers, spreads her thighs for me again and then taps her pussy with those same fingers, spreading her pussy lips, flashing that cute little clit at me.

I huff out a laugh. “One more kiss?”

Her smile, although fuzzy, is radiant.

“How could I deny you?” I lean down again. Licking, putting her entire pussy in my mouth, kissing and when her head tilts back again, I notice she’s swaying, like she can hear music playing in her mind.

She bucks her hips, her hand in my hair, guiding me where she needs me and then pushes off the dock, a little too hard, squeezing her thighs around my head. I grip the tops of her thighs, my stomach recoiling when I realize I’m in the water and she’s shoving me down. I’m trying to push up, kick my legs under the water but they’re not working right.

Cold pond water fills my mouth, alarms blaring in my brain to wake up, to go, to move but my heart, my muscles, they’re too slow.

It burns.

The agony, the water filling my lungs as I try to break free from her hold, it’s all so fucking heavy. Riordan…

Oh my god, I’m going to die here and Riordan will be left alone with my parents. Panic sets in but in my last struggle, submerged, I take in one last gulp instead of a breath and I feel when my heart stops.

There’s nothing there.

No light.

No sound.

Just the cold, black water, a void, accepting me as its own.

I told you, I never trusted Raven Monroe.

Chapter Fifteen

Raven.

He's an athlete. I thought he would have better lungs, more of a fight but I suppose all that fentanyl that I slipped into his beer has something to with how quickly he accepted his fate.

That fucking melody builds to a beautiful crescendo as though I’m sitting in the middle of the front row at an orchestra right as he goes limp, body no longer twitching.

I slowly release him and pull myself up back on the dock, throw my clothes back on, and sit there, until his body floats toward me. I kick it away with a toe.

I sneak back into my dorm, avoiding all of the cameras by staying in the shadows, showering off the pond water. Sure enough, there are small finger-size bruises on my hips and thighs. I touch and then press into them, reliving the moment he stopped struggling and then his hands let go of me, of when his mouth went slack against my sex and my thighs released him.

Even with the adrenaline, this wasn’t like those Professor Harrington teaches. I had no sexual motive. It didn’t get me off.

I rinse off, dry myself, shove my dirty wet clothes into my washer, and then grab my oversized Def Leppard T-shirt, slip a thong over my thighs, and settle it onto my hips.

I go to the mirror, part my lips and practice making a face of horror, one with wide eyes and a silent, echoless shriek. I practice panting as though I’m hyperventilating and lastly, before finally letting myself fall into a restful night of sleep, I practice willing tears into my eyes. The big fat ones. The ones that say, “I’m just as sad and torn apart about this shocking death like the rest of the alumni. Here. At Rayne-Moore University. So tragic. He was so young. Such a bright future. I’m so… so… sad.”

I’m about to give the performance of my lifetime.

                                           _____

I’m running back to campus, legs pumping, muscles burning, I go to the place I know I’ll find him. I fling open the doors to the dorms, run up the stairs, find room 627 and pound on the door. Hard.

Jonas opens the door wearing nothing but boxers, rubbing his eyes and I grab his hand, tugging him out into the hallway. “Fuck, Raven, hold on. What’s wrong? I gotta put some pants on. Give me a second.” He tugs on some jeans and a shirt off the floor.

I make a motion for him to bring his phone by holding my fingers to my ear.              

“My phone’s in my pants.” He replies in an annoyed huff.

I’ve never been inside of his dorm room and as much as I want to get to know his space, this isn’t the right time. Once his shoes are on, I’m tugging him outside, frantically. We’re out of the dorms in record time. Being that it’s Saturday morning now, all the students are either off campus or sleeping off a hangover after last night’s party. I take off running.

“Raven, wait! Fuck, it’s too early for this.” I can hear his footsteps after me as I sprint into the woods. I halt at the edge of the dock, where my cello and a fold-up chair wait, all part of the set up. Just a girl, coming to the pond to play her cello. I point at the floating body, tears streaming down my face, chest heaving.

“Oh, my fucking god, CHASE!”

Chase is lying face up, blue eyes greyed over staring at the grey sky, bloated, dead.

Jonas screams and then bends over, vomit spewing out of his mouth, agonizing screams in between. Tears spill over his eyes; he grabs at his chestnut hair and then he wipes at his mouth. “Chase.” He breathes.

I make the same motion for him to use his phone to call the police.

He dials. “I’d like to report a drowning. Yeah, it’s… Rayne-Moore University Campus… At the pond… no, he’s not breathing… I’m not putting my mouth on him; I’m telling you he’s dead! Yeah… Chase Prescott. P-R-E-S-C-O-T-T.” he spells out. “Yeah, I’ll be here… Oh my god… Chase… What the fuck?”

When Jonas hangs up, he reaches for me and pulls me close. The faint smell of puke in the air and on his breath but I don’t care. He’s touching me. The warmth of him against me feels so good. It feels perfect. He pulls away, putting his hands on either side of my face. He looks into my eyes, and it feels as though everything is perfect even if there’s a corpse floating beside us.

“Raven… Raven, fuck. Fuck I’m so sorry you had to find him like this.”

I will more tears out of my eyes and I shake my head, pulling him back to me. I need him. I need him so much. I love him. I’m out of my mind. I’m sick. Purely mad. He rests his chin on the top of my head, his chest caving with each shuddering breath.

                                 _______

“She doesn’t talk.”

RMPD and Dean Whitmore showed up twenty minutes ago and Jonas has been answering all the questions they’ve asked, which neither of us know the answer to. I’m sitting on the grass, watching as they pull Chase’s body out of the water and onto the shore with a sickening wet, heavy SPLAT that makes me want to hurl. I did that. I let myself shed more tears and I feel Jonas crouch down and he rubs my back.  

I tear my eyes away from the scene as they zip up the body and put it on a stretcher. They didn’t have an ambulance come out. They called the coroner.

I look up at Sheriff O’Hannigan. He’s a robust man, well-built, a little older but still has an athletic build. His uniform looks good on him. He wears aviator shades like a cliché cop, chewing gum, his strawberry blonde hair is littered with white hairs, giving away his age. That he’s tenured. That he deserves his position on the force.

Do you sign? O’Hannigan asks with his hands.

I blink at him and shake my head once.

“She does this sometimes. Comes out to swim or plays the cello out here. She ran back to get me.”

“She’s your girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Jonas lies. But it feels so good. Me. Unworthy of him, especially now, his girlfriend. I could fly.

“And where were you last night?”

“I was with my parents after the game. We had dinner at Sebastian’s and we were there until closing time,” his eyes flick to me and his ears turn slightly pink, “then I went to her dorm room. She was already in bed. I fell asleep next to her.” Oh? “I went back up to my room to change before she left to come here. You can check the cameras.”

I snuck into my room through the window a little after eleven-thirty. I won’t be on the cameras.

“You didn’t go to the party together?”

Jonas shakes his head. “She doesn’t go to parties because she has panic attacks around large crowds and I went out to celebrate the win with my parents.”

“She didn’t go with you?”

Jonas shakes his head. “We aren’t there yet,” he puts his hand on my waist. “It’s still new. But you can call my parents and ask them.”

“I will.” O’Hannigan replies. 

“CHASE!” I turn back and through the trees, Riordan comes flying out, like a vengeful ghost. I don’t have to step behind Jonas, he pulls me behind him, protecting me even though I’m not his to protect. “Oh god no! Please, please, please, no!” his agonized screams echo thought out the field, causing birds to fly out of the tree line.

His blue eyes pierce through me. “You!” he gags. “Oh my god, Chase. What did you do?” Whether the question is directed at me or his dead brother- I have no idea. He lets out a visceral scream, and lunges at Jonas, trying to get to me. He still smells of tequila and sweat. His nails scratch at my sweatshirt and he yanks me, but my face just hits Jonas’ strong, muscular back. Both Dean Whitmore and the sheriff pull him off.

“Not my brother.” He moans, and tears fall, pure agony on his face. “Not my brother, please.” He chokes out between sobs. “He’s all I have.”

Jonas reaches out and tugs him in his chest, crying alongside with him. I hear what he whispers to him, “She was with me last night, Riordan. All night. She didn’t do this. This is… horrible. But it was an accident. Weren’t you with him?”

“We were both so wasted last night. I didn’t… I fell asleep in the basement where it was quiet… oh god… Jonas it hurts!” he cries, clutching at his chest.

“I know, brother. I know. I’m here. I’m still here. I got you.” Jonas shushes.

“You’re Riordan Prescott?” O’Hannigan asks. Riordan turns and faces the sheriff and simply nods. “We’re going to need you to come down to the coroner’s office and… identify the body. I believe your parents are already on their way to the station.”

Riordan pukes sour tequila and bile. O’Hannigan looks like he’s about to be sick himself. The stench that comes off of Riordan  is vile. “I have to… my parents… I need to change and shower. I… they can’t see me like this.”

O’Hannigan nods, seeming to understand that the elite… well, they’re just not supposed to show emotion. We’re to be well composed at all times. Statues. Living, breathing statues made out of marble slabs that looks like skin. “Go home, kid. Change. Meet me and your parents down at the station. We’ll wait for you to get there.”

Riordan nods.

“Ri, don’t… don’t go back to the SDC house. I’ll go and get you some clothes. Go to my dorm. Shower. You can stay there if you want, until you’re ready to go back. I’ll stay with Raven, okay? You don’t have to… don’t go back there. Okay?”

Riordan nods again, in a catatonic trance.

                                          _______

As soon as I’m back in my room, I head to the bathroom and brush my teeth.

Not even thirty minutes later, I’m sitting on my couch, my door flies open and Jonas steps through, looking even more distraught than before. His forest eyes land on me and when I get up and step away from him, his arms open up to accept me immediately. I go to him, my arms around his waist and he grabs my hair, yanking it back so hard my scalp burns.

His eyes narrow into slits and the muscles in his jaw tic. The emotions I can feel rolling off him are massively construed of anger, hope, resentment, desire and… his other hand goes up to my throat, squeezing.

I gasp, tears in my eyes.

“Oh, Raven… fuck, I missed you, baby.”  My name on his lips breathes life into back into me and I melt against him. “What the fuck did you do, baby, huh?” He nips at my lips, his teeth also freshly brushed and minty. “Open your fucking mouth. Let me in.”

I do and he spits directly onto my tongue. I close my mouth and swallow, gladly.

“Can you taste my lies, baby?” he pulls my hair tighter into his grip, my scalp prickling. I shiver at the tone of his voice, hoarse and angry.

Heat, like molten lava surges through me, settling between my thighs and I run my fingernails down his back. He takes little steps forward and I follow backward, then he licks my lips with his entire tongue like a starved animal and I open my mouth once again to let him in. He consumes everything I am, licking, tasting, moaning into my mouth, growing hard against my belly.

“Why, baby? Why did I lie for you, hmm?” His lips are bruising mine, nipping along my jawline, teeth scraping. His thumb runs up and down the column of my throat, every sensation causing delirium. As murderous as his gaze is, as much as it scares me, I want more. His voice lowers even further to a whisper as he continues kissing me. My nipples are hard, rubbing against my camisole.

I want this, his wrath. I need it.

He bites my earlobe, his voice now a soft purr. “Riordan told me Chase planned on killing you, baby. He sat on the edge of my bed in a fucking towel and told me how Chase planned on seducing you. Did he? Did he fuck what belongs to me? Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head, the back of my legs finally hit the edge of my bed.

“No, he didn’t. I knew he was fucking with me. So, tell me, baby. Tell me all your dirty little secrets and never keep them from me again.  Show me exactly why I lied to the fucking cops for you. Show me why I went back and erased anything that has to do with you from his phone, cleaned my fingerprints off and then threw it in a fucking bush out of his window. You’re so lucky he didn’t have his phone on him.”

He’s so angry. Violence darkens his eyes. He grabs the hem of my camisole and my arms go up and he pulls it off, inspecting me. “I really was in here last night, you know. I came in, and you were knocked out cold. Even in your sleep you looked exhausted. I climbed into bed with you but not before I saw… oh, that’s right.” He crouches down and pulls down my sweatpants along with my panties.

“These.” He growls and licks along the bruises my victim left behind.

With trembling hands I grab onto his head when his nose gets to my trimmed curls, he inhales deeply and he grabs me by my hips. His eyes open, peering up at me as he shoves me back and I topple over, my spine hitting the firm mattress. He spreads my thighs open, strong hands on the back of my thighs and I balance myself on my elbows to look at the handsome man between my legs the one I want. The one I need to breathe.  “Did he kiss you here?”

I bite my bottom lip, afraid of answering.

“Answer me, baby. Did he kiss your pretty little cunt? Did he tongue-fuck what’s mine?”

I nod, a tear, a real tear, leaks out of my eye.

The look in his eyes is crazed. His tone jealous as he growls, “Did you like it? Did he make you cum? Did you scream his name?”

I shake my head.

“No, of course not.” He chuckles and then licks from the bottom of my entrance to the tip of my clit and sucks me into his mouth. My head falls back, eyes crossing at the way he slurps up my cream, the obscene noises he makes. “You taste so fucking good. I’ve been imagining this from the day I saw you pull up from the bell tower.”

His admission warms me, words vibrating against me, lips teasing as he talks, “I need you to forget him ever being between your thighs. Do you understand me?”

I nod eagerly.

“Good. Keep your eyes on me, baby. Just like that.”

He tongues my pussy, flicking, caressing. His lips close over me, hands shoving my thighs down, pulling them farther apart and he sucks me into his mouth, following when I buck against him. I watch as his strong tongues flattens and curls and swirls all over my clit, bringing me so fucking close to the edge. He sucks two of his fingers and tries to shove them into me, but only gets so far. His eyes widen and instead of stopping or even commenting, something like sheer joy spreads across his face. He wiggles his fingers against me, spreads my lips farther and shoves his tongue in and out, penetrating, stretching, playing, tasting, devouring.

It only takes a few more flicks of his tongue on my clit for me shatter in his mouth, bucking, fucking his face.

He pulls me by the tops of my thighs and pulls me to a sitting position. His jeans are down to his ankles, stepping out of them and my eyes widen at the girth of him, a pearly drop at the tip. “Now show me what Harrington taught you, baby. Make me forget, too.”

When I grimace, he leans down to kiss me, my hair once again in his hands.

“Get on your fucking knees, and let me fuck your face, Raven. I’m not asking.” He growls.

Oh, fuck. I lick my lips and open my mouth as wide as I can because as big as Maverick is, it has nothing on Jonas’ girth. I wiggle and swirl my tongue over the crown, wetting him enough that he glides in, inch by inch. I wiggle my tongue to make more room for him, earning me a hiss.

“Fuck, baby, keep going. Swallow my dick.” I inhale, and then suck, hollowing my cheeks when he pulls out only to go back in. He grins devilishly. “Halfway, baby. You’re doing so fucking good. Your mouth looks so pretty wrapped around me.”

He guides my head to and from over and over again. His eyes are heavy on mine, and his eyebrow quirks. “Suck if he forced it, baby. You’re not in trouble, I promise.”

I suck. Because it was forced. But I loved how Maverick controlled me. just like Jonas is taking control now. Goodbye feminism.

“Wiggle your tongue if you liked it.”

I wiggle my tongue and swallow when I feel like gagging. He shoves his cock a little deeper. “Fuck baby. Do it again if it was your first time sucking a dick.”

I swallow again.

“Do it again if you have feelings for him.”

I swallow again.

“Fuck…” Anger crosses his face but he only picks up the pace, still gentle even when he hurts me. “Grip the base of my dick and jerk me if you loved me.”

I do so, wrapping my fingers around his girth, sucking harder, faster. The moans coming out of his mouth, the praise, it’s all so much. My slobber is coating him, my hand, dripping down to his balls, and I decide to cup them with my other hand. His thighs shake, as I take him further, swallowing more frequently. “Keep that up and I’m gonna fucking lose it, baby. You’re too fucking good at this. Did you suck Chase’s dick?”

I shake my head. He could never ruin us.

“Good fucking girl.” He praises. “Fuck, baby, fuck. I’m going to cum. Don’t stop, please.” He moans.

I don’t, and he does, holding my head by my temples, roaring out loud, hips stuttering, as his salty seed coats my tongue and I swallow every drop.

He looks down at me, eyes wild, he helps me up, crushing me to his chest. “Did I fuck this up? Did I ruin us?”

I shake my head at him.

“Do you still love me?”

I wrap my arms over his neck and pull him down to kiss him. When we finally break apart, I make a motion with my hand, my pointer finger up, and plant a chaste kiss on his once more. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he smirks. “So orgasms get you talking, huh?

I scrunch my nose at him.

“What does that mean?”

I bite my lip. I take his hand, with my finger, I write ‘ALWAYS’ on his forearm.

His grin widens into the most radiant thing I have ever seen in my life.

                           ______

He’s on my loveseat waiting for me, shirtless, in just his black boxer briefs, Indian takeout boxes on the coffee table, relaxed as I bring over the binder and my notebook holding all of my findings. I don’t know if I can trust him with this, but there’s only one way to find out. He asked me to show him, so this is me, literally showing him. If he decides to turn me in… I can’t and won’t stop him.

“What’s this?” he asks as I sit beside him, the muscles in his forearms twitch and turn as he takes it from me. I point to it, and when he flips it open to the first page, he closes it immediately, sitting straight up. “Where did you get this?”

Now that, I won’t divulge. 

“Raven, what you found is fucking dangerous. If they know you have this-“

I furrow my brows in anger when he calls me ‘Raven’ and not ‘baby.’ Instead of throwing a tantrum like I want to, I point to the binder again, tapping it rapidly. I need to find a way to tell him to never call me Raven ever again. That it’s banned behind closed doors and I won’t answer to anything else.

Oh. What a great idea.

“I know what this is. Is this why you came back?”

I nod and grab his arm again and write MEMORIES along his forearm.

“Does anyone know you remember?”

I shake my head, brows knitting together and pull the binder out of his hands, and slowly scoot away from him, a weird feeling settling in the pit of my stomach and I highly doubt it’s the samosas we just scarfed down.

“Hold on, baby. Give me a second to process this. You’re safe with me, I promise. It’s just…. I haven’t seen that ledger in a long fucking time, okay?”

I tilt my head and he stands up and paces the large, spacious room. He pushes his brown hair back from his face, brown-green hazel eyes roam around until they settle on me through my vanity. He turns, slowly, to face me again and my mouth fills with saliva like a Pavlovian response.

In just his boxer briefs, it’s the first time I can really see and appreciate all of the muscles in his back, the muscles along his ribcage, only a scar in the shape of the Syndicate sigil, raised and silverish pink, that tells me he was branded a while ago. Underneath his scar, those muscles also rip along and his abs, that delicious V cut along his Adonis belt that reminds me I just had him in my throat that move with every stride. His quads flex with every step, heavy and godlike and it reminds me how much stronger he is than me, how masculine he is in all his glory that no matter how strong I become, he will always outweigh me, outrun me, and overpower me… Jonas Anderson is a demigod walking amongst mortals and I was made to worship him.

“It’s no secret that I’m adopted. I’m not an Anderson by blood. I’m only two years younger than you. The year after your incident, I was to be initiated. I couldn’t do it… do you know what initiation includes?”

I give a slight shrug. Because no, not really.

“You have to get away with murder. You put a hit on someone, and you have to plan it out, draw it out, and leave absolutely no trail behind.”

I quirk an eyebrow for him to continue.

“Secret societies all across the US… they make people disappear. Usually kids, sex workers or people that probably won’t ever be missed. The Syndicate… the Syndicate doesn’t. They murder people that will be missed and leave the bodies to be found. It’s a way to prove that you’re not just capable, that you’re… ingenious. That you know how to cover your tracks. That whatever you do, or your brothers do, you can get away with it all. Together or alone.

Some members of the Syndicate are legacies. Literally grandfathered into it. They’re the rich. The elite. Like Axel. Like Tyler. Chase. Riordan. Other members… others like me aren’t. Yes, they make a name for themselves as doctors or lawyers or whatever other high-paying jobs are out there, but you know what they really are? Undercover hit men. Hit men that could more than get away with taking out the legacies if that’s ever needed. We’re talking presidents, politicians, celebrities, athletes, world renowned scientists and more.”

My eyes widen.

“That’s why they can’t be sloppy. We can’t be sloppy. It all has to be methodical. Every kill. Every strike. Leave the body behind as proof that it was done if it ever needs to be done. Just leave no witnesses. The only time you have a witness is during your initiation. Your brothers not only have to witness your kill… they have to be able to be quiet about it. Do you understand? The brotherhood isn’t just about slaying together. It’s about the bond you create with your brothers while slaying.”

I open the binder and open it to the page with my name and then point to the first name.

T. Prescott

He looks at it and then those forest-hazel eyes of his close and he tilts his head back as if releasing the tension from his shoulders and scrubs his hand down his face.

“That’s why you went after Chase, isn't it? It’ll bring the Prescott’s all together. You need to get to Tyler.”

I gnaw on my lip.

“So, what, is this your kill list?” he asks in a tone that feels like he’s mocking me.

My cheeks heat and I shrug again. Yeah, I mean, maybe.

He points to a name. “Simon Hoover lives in D.C.” He points to another name. “You won’t have to worry about this one. J. Cartwright.”

I tilt my head at him as he sits beside me, the loveseat groaning under his weight.

“You won’t have to worry about him… because I killed him. I killed Jacob Cartwright. A legacy… and got away with it. Raven, baby, I was initiated into the Syndicate. Not exactly by choice, by accident.”

“Jesus, J, you were only supposed to be the lookout.”

“She’s always been a stuck-up bitch. I needed to get one in.” 

The memory rings loud in my mind. The voices echoing, still clear as day.

“Baby? Where’d you go?”

I grab his large hand and put it under my camisole, letting him feel the scar where Jacob stabbed me.

Jonas snarls. “Jacob did that to you?”

I nod.

“Then I’m glad I killed him.”

I write on his forearm, HOW?  

Chapter Sixteen

Jonas.

I adjust her to sit on my lap to straddle me because I need to look into her eyes while I tell her this. I need to see if she judges me or not. I don’t think I can handle it if she does. This is the secret I was going to take to my grave. Because as bad as it is… it’s worse.

“Almost five years ago, I was introduced to Paris Rothman at a Christmas party when I was seventeen. My father wanted me to pursue her and back then, I would’ve done anything, baby, and I mean anything to have his approval. To make him proud of me.

“When we started dating, everything was great. I mean our families even vacationed together. She was a little shy at first but she was so nice and kind, well-mannered, passionate about things I didn’t care about and she was even kind of funny. After a year, we still hadn’t had sex, and I was okay with that. Because I thought, ‘It’s gonna be worth it. She’s worth it.’ I fell so hard for her demeanor and her wit that I didn’t mind waiting. I mean, I had blue balls, of course, what eighteen-year-old guy wouldn’t? But everything was going great… until it wasn’t.”

“Two years after your incident, was the year we enrolled here, together. Paris started changing slowly, pulling away. She was constantly on edge. If I asked what was wrong, she’d blow up at me. Then she didn’t want to hang out, only went to every other football game and then none at all. She’d tell me she was studying or had to do some project or finish a paper. Then the arguments happened. Small ones, then big ones. She’d tell me I was suffocating her. She’d come over to the Sigma house, and we’d work it out, telling me how much she loved me and needed me and how she was so sorry. But then, a week later, it was the same, over and over again.

“She'd create these imaginary scenarios, accuse me of cheating, tell me I was nothing but a junkie or a drunk if there was a party at the Sigma house. I could be asleep and she’d burst into my room, accusing me of shit I didn’t do. She even hit me a few times in front of the twins, saying that she hated me and that I didn’t understand how much pressure she was under. That all I ever did was make it worse. But I thought I loved her, I thought, ‘We’ll fix things. I’ll fix things. I’ll be better. I’ll be the man she needs me to be. After we get married, it’ll be okay. She’ll change. It won’t be like this forever.’”

Raven cups my face in her hands, eyebrows furrowed with concern and my heart stops. I clear my throat and continue.

“Last year, on the day before my last final, my parents had flown to Scotland and I was meeting them there when I was done. I had my luggage packed and ready to go. She came over when she knew I was home alone. She practically attacked me, telling me how badly she wanted me to fuck her, that she was ready to give me her virginity and she wanted to do it before I left since she and her family were going to spend the summer in South America. Or so she said.

“I should’ve been ecstatic but alarms blared in my head and I pushed her off, telling her I didn’t mind waiting, I loved her for her, not her body. She got so angry, told me I wasn’t a man if I didn’t fuck her, and she was going to tell everyone I’m gay and was using her as a beard. It’s embarrassing to say she almost raped me.

“Luckily, one of the housemaids came to tell me that the driver was ready to take me to the airport. The first day I’m in Edinburgh, Riordan calls me to tell me Paris was at a party with bruises, telling everyone I had roughed her up because she wouldn’t give up her virginity before I left for the summer to Scotland. They said she was acting erratic and was all over the place.”

Raven inhales sharply.

“None of it made fucking sense, baby. Why would she do all of that? We were fucking perfect together. Then I started thinking about how towards the end, she compared me to her stepbrother a lot. In an unhealthy amount. ‘Jacob would never treat me like this.’ And ‘Jacob just understands me better.’ It was always about fucking Jacob. It always came back to how great Jacob was. It was fucking weird. Other brothers in the frat even picked up and commented on it. It was so fucking embarrassing, you know?

“I hired a PI to have her followed. And follow she did. By day five I was back on the plane. Paris wasn’t just fucking her stepbrother. She was pregnant. The PI had followed her to a clinic and then had her hacker buddy hack into their system. Sure enough, between the pictures from their windows of them fucking, and with proof from the clinic, she was almost three months along. I loved her enough to say I’d raise the baby like my own. I’d adopt it like my parents adopted me and it would be loved. I would have loved it unconditionally. I wouldn’t even tell her that I knew the child wasn’t mine. Or I’d simply just tell her it didn’t matter. We’d tell everyone it was mine.”

Raven and I both exhale.

“But I was still so mad, I saw red, baby. I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I just did. I borrowed a car, switched the license plates then I snuck onto their estate, bypassed all the security cameras, because I knew how to get around the property after sneaking in and out so much to be with her… I loosened all the lug nuts from Jacob’s tires, not a lot but enough. I just wanted to hurt him. To scare him. You know? I was waiting outside of the estate, waiting for him to get out and leave the garage. When he did, I followed him and I kept swerving, making him speed up. His wheels ended up popping off when we hit seventy on the back roads. I didn’t know. I didn’t know they were both going to be riding together. I didn’t know they were on their way to elope. He braked before taking a curve and he couldn’t stop.”

I let the tears fall but as soon as they do, she’s wiping them away for me.

“They went over the guardrail. They went over the guardrail and died on impact, with all the fluids and gas leaking from the car, it caught fire. Jacob. Paris. Their unborn child. The destruction was so bad, they were only able to pull their charred remains from the wreckage… they had to be identified by dental records.”

I sniff. “I sat, in that SUV and watched from afar as they used the jaws of life to open up the car and pull their bodies out and strap onto a stretcher… and then I went back to Scotland like nothing happened in the private jet. When the cops came, they couldn’t prove anything. Only that there was an SUV like the one I’d rented at the scene of the crime. But I’d used a fake name. They asked questions for months. Yet, there was no proof of me ever being there at the time. Tabloids came out with all of the rumors, incestuous reports, stating it had been going on for a really long time. Jacob and Paris, I mean. Then they were calling out for the Syndicate. But nobody knew who was in it or how to find them.”

“I killed an innocent child,” I pause, “and my father was finally proud of me.” I add bitterly. “He signed as my witness.”

Raven pulls me into her, clutching me to her chest. I inhale that scent I’m all too familiar with, the scent of jasmine and berries and cinnamon, breathing it in deeply, letting it nourish my soul. She pulls away and kisses me and it wrecks every fiber of my being. She kisses me so deeply; I can almost feel everything she’s not saying. You didn’t know. You didn’t know. It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me. You don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore. I’m here I’m here I’m here.

Her kiss is too much and not enough and I want more and none of it at all but I need more of it. Of her. This frenzy, this chaos, this peace and quiet. It’s maddening. It’s everything. It’s like an all-consuming drug and it’s in my lungs, my veins, my brain, and I have no idea how to stop it because I don’t want it to.

I want to crash.

Crash.

CRASH.

Here.

With her.

    Forever.

There are no images of wavy blonde hair or soulless blue eyes - it’s just Raven and me and nothing else matters and nothing else in the entire cosmos exists except us and I’m burning, aching, needing, silently pleading with every crash of our tongues and every clash of our lips for this to be real, for her to love me, to please, please fucking love me because I’m dying and she’s the antidote to the poison I’ve become, like I am Erebus, the god of darkness and she is Selene, the goddess of the moon, personified, lighting my way.

With every word unspoken, each action is louder and I want it all. All her gestures, her smirks, her facial expressions, her tears. I’ll take every day of her silence over the screaming noise of my thoughts. She never has to speak a word to me. And I’ll show her, the girl with no voice, every day, how much I want it, want her, even if it means I’ll help her kill every fucking person on that goddamn ledger.

“I love you,” I breathe against her lips, the words hoarse, low, but true. “My soul has seen yours and I know yours has seen mine and there’s no going back for me, baby. We were meant to collide; nobody can tell me otherwise.”

Her kiss becomes brutal, frantic, her soul searching for mine. My hands go to lift her camisole and we part for the moment it takes to tug it off her, the silk of her hair is a delightful contrast against the soft of her skin and every inch of it against mine makes me erupt in chills that burn and make my muscles contract. She rubs against me, the heat of her hands when she tugs at the waistband of my briefs is done in an inexperienced urgency that makes me grin. I lift my hips so they slide down just as I pull her thong to the side, and she slides her slick, warm sex over mine, rubbing, teasing.

She drapes her arms over my shoulders, using me to balance herself as I grab her hips. Her head tilts back, pert nipples on my lips, I stick out my tongue to catch one as she clumsily finds her rhythm. Virgin, inexperienced or experienced, I’d take whatever Raven has to offer. But I know what I felt down in her sex. I was a fuck boy, popping cherries left and right before and after Paris.

But knowing I could be Raven’s first… fuck. There’s no urgency for me to split her in half. I’ll let her go as far as she wants to and feeling her like this, so needy, my cock under her weight, coated in her arousal, sliding between her puffy lips, nipple on my tongue, her head tilted back, lips parted, eye closed and face contorted in total ecstasy; it’s something I never thought I would be into, but because it’s her, I want it. I want it all.

“Look at me, baby. I want to look in your eyes when you come for me.”

Those sweet honey-drop eyes open, dilated, hungry, full of lust for me. She licks the underside of her top lip, over her teeth and I grip her hips tighter, knowing I’ll be leaving bruises over the ones Chase left behind.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it. Keep going, you’re so hot… so wet… fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” Her breath hitches, eyebrows knit together in concentration like when she’s reading and trying to make sense of what’s written. The blush that creeps from her chest up her cheeks tells me she’s close to detonating for me and I want to detonate with her. “Right there, baby, keep doing that.” I rasp when her clit runs over my frenulum, the most sensitive part of me. I swear I go cross-eyed for a moment when she does it again. Beneath her weight and her gliding, using me to seek her pleasure, I’m so ready to let go for her.

I suck her nipple into my mouth, biting the pearled thick flesh, the pressure in my balls building, winding throughout my spine. I take one hand and lick my middle finger then reach back to tease her asshole, pushing my knuckle past the tight ring of muscle and her eyes widen, going harder, pushing my finger further into her. I bite my lip. Oh yeah, my girl is gonna love anal. There will be no hole left unclaimed by me. It’s the most erotic thought I’ve ever had, pushing me further into bliss.

“That’s right baby. Come for me. I’m right there with you.”

Her orgasm ripples through her, causing her to go stiff just as my cock spurts, unloading between us, that delicious musky scent of sweat and sex and pheromones clings to us. She falls over me, panting, her forehead in the crooked of my neck and I hold her tighter.

I’m so fucked for Raven Monroe and I officially don’t give a fuck.

Chapter Seventeen

Damon.

It’s been a day of... “tears.”

I was forced to host group grief counseling sessions all day. At first, it was the football team and the Sigma Delta Chi frat brothers talking about what a great quarterback he was, hosting the sickest parties, how he could drink and never puke, and remember that one time that he snorted a fat rail off a strippers ass at Inferno?

When I asked about Inferno, having seen the red neon sign with the Syndicate logo burned into the brick wall above it whilst walking around town the other evening before my little bird offed the Quarterback, I was all too happy they were answering my questions about how lit this place was and how I could get a membership without having to be part of the…

That’s where they stopped talking and went back to sharing memories about Chase Motherfucking Prescott.

The remaining three group sessions was made up of all of his old conquests squabbling and crying, talking about how Chase Prescott made them feel like they were “the one.” I almost didn’t hold in the eye roll for those sessions. 

I haven’t been able to visit my little bird because Jonas has been staying with her due to Riordan staying in Jonas’ dorm room. Although watching them almost fuck all over her dorm room has been fun, I know she’s holding out for me.

Which is why I’m excited for tomorrow. Raven made an online appointment to see me, alone.

Jonas made one for the hour before her.

It will be interesting, to say the least.

Tonight, I’m going to Inferno. I need a good Old Fashioned (or four) anyway, and make sure my ten-thousand-dollar-quarterly fee is money well spent.

I’m still in my tailored charcoal suit when I enter the club. It smells of rich incense, cigars, expensive perfumes, and even more pretentious colognes. Like a speakeasy, Inferno is romantically lit with sconces and heavy velvet curtains against the walls, the music – some type of slow and reverbed song - isn’t overtly loud so patrons can carry a conversation without having to yell across the table. Looking about the room, I’m noticing a lot of suits and ties. Yeah, it looks like a lot of business deals go down here.

There’s a bar in every corner of the first floor, booths along the brick walls that give it a rustic feel, and in the center are oversized red couches with low black tables centered between them all to place your drinks. All-in-all, it’s chic and sexy and I’m sure pheromones are pumped through the vents.

I make my way to the second floor that has the same layout as the first floor but there’s added cages where young co-ed dancers are doing their best to keep your attention, wearing disguises and most, if not all of them wear masks. This floor has more of a burlesque feel.

I immediately understand the club. It’s a way to take you back to the time when sexuality was repressed and forbidden making all of this tabooer. Sexy. I like it.

A brunette with pale blue wings a matching mask and lingerie, sets her sights on me. While probably beautiful under the mask, the shape of her body is wrong, her ass doesn’t match her thighs, most likely cosmetically enhanced, and her lips are also wrong. Her eyes are also blue, not brown. In other words, she’s just not the woman I want. I send her a smirk and continue on to the bar where I spot a familiar face sitting on a barstool, amber drink in hand.

The bartender, a young ice-blonde guy with blue eyes lined with eyeliner, a silver hoop in his nose, wearing a bowlers hat, and a black waistcoat over his white button-up is drying a glass tumbler, eyeing me. “You’re new here.”

“Only to the area,” I admit with a shrug. “I’m Aros.” I lie.

“Jamie. What’ll it be?”

“Old fashioned.”

A smile creeps along his face. “Would’ve taken you for a Tom Collins kind of man,” he flirts.

I smirk, “Once in my late teens. Turns out it’s always been whiskey for me.”

He nods once in understanding and proceeds to make me the best fucking Old Fashioned I’ve ever had. I tip him well and turn to face the dancers beside the dark-haired professor.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, taking a sip from his Rusty Nail.

“You ever host group therapy for women thinking one dead quarterback was the love of their lives?”

He chuckles over the rim of his glass, framed green eyes meeting my silver ones. “Can’t say I’ve ever been tortured in such a way.”

“I pray you never have to,” I grumble, taking a sip.

“What a fucking month it’s been.”

“It’s only been three days.”

Harrington shakes his head looking over at the brunette that hasn’t taken her eyes off of us. “Have you ever been so taken with someone… that even when someone with a body like that does nothing for you?”

I know what he means. She’s not Raven. “Well, given that she looks as though she’s been to a few different surgeons and parts of her face look asymmetrical and protrude in the wrong areas, I can’t see how someone that looks like that would actually do something for you. Call me old fashioned, but I like my women to be more natural than they pay to look.”

He chuckles again, this time in a frustrated manner. I make a motion for Jamie to make us another drink as I take the whiskey infused cherry and eat it. “You have until the last drop of my drink to get a free psych session.” I offer. 

Harrington scoffs, tilting his head back, finishing off his drink as Jamie rolls new ones our way. I hand Maverick his and take a sip from mine. He peers down at the new drink in his hand and the clenches the muscle in his jaw. “She irritates me. Won’t speak to me. Ignores me… I think I broke her.” And then he tells me his biggest secret. “She’s a student.”

“Oh?”

“It’s completely inappropriate. She’s a virgin and eleven years younger than me,” he drinks. “Her boyfriend and her broke up because of me and she’s wasting away.”

I rage internally. “And you… feel guilty?”

“If I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever felt guilty of anything in my life. I graduated high school in a small Texas town at sixteen and left my aging father behind. I never visited, never went back to that fucking hellhole, until he was in hospice due to colon cancer. I left again when he was on the ground. I’ve had to do questionable, unethical things to track and put motherfuckers in jail and slept just fine… but seeing her so… void of life… it makes me feel things I have no idea how to handle and with campus being closed, I haven’t seen her since last Wednesday but for a moment.”

Raven can’t be broken. She’ll bend. She may even tear… but break? Never. Knowing Harrington feels like shit? I love it. “Have you tried… being nice to her?”

He laughs, tipping his glass back, the ice clinking together. “I don’t do nice. I see what I want and I take it. I will admit I fought it. I fought the urge to take her, yet I couldn’t resist her siren’s call. I plunged us both into the abyss of the black watered ocean. Her boyfriend heard us. Which is what caused the break-up.”

And that’s why she and Jonas were so equivocally catching up on lost time. Young love is beautiful. I decide to let up the farce. We’re two grown men. There’s no reason to dance around this. “Miss Monroe reacts better to kindness, Maverick.” His eyes snap up to mine, fury, and concern in his eyes. I make a motion with my empty hand. “She needs discipline, but she flourishes and blossoms under praise more than degradation. Although, I believe she likes a mixture of both, if my experiments have taught me anything. She’s a woman that was starved of love and nurture as a child, compared to her stepbrother, at all times, only given attention when she was rude or misbehaved, and then she had a traumatic event that made her shut down into her own mind.

“What happened with you and Jonas... let’s just say she most likely thought since there were no orderlies to punish her, no doctors to plunge in a tranquilizer, she punished and tried to tranquilize herself. Being out here, in the real world is not like the gilded cage I had tailor-made for my little bird.”

His green eyes go wide.

“She was my patient, Harrington. I believe under my care, and in the real world, I will have her talking in no time. But I do need help out here.”

“You want me to help you?”

“Not me. Her. Between me, you, and Jonas? She’ll be back to her former self soon. She needs guidance, discipline, praise, all of it. If you feel for her, even a fraction of what I feel for her, you’ll help. No matter what may come. We just need to get Jonas to agree.”

“Sounds ominous.” He sips.

“I very much assure you it will be.”      

“She’s a virgin. That’s a reason I’ve held back.”

I finish off my drink, lick my lips and shrug. “Not for much longer. But make no mistake, Harrington, if you’re ever the cause for her progress to be delayed ever again, or for her prognosis to worsen, just know, I saw your little tryst on the floor of the library… with your little confession and your prejudices against the wealthy, I doubt it would take much for me to convince the board to let you go. I’ve heard parents hate you.”

“Are you threatening my job, Doctor?”

I look at him with a smirk on my face. “’Threaten' is such a strong word, Professor. I prefer the term ‘warning.’ I’m warning you, do not fuck this up.”

Harrington grins, absurdly wickedly at me, green eyes shining like dark emeralds. “Jesus, you’re as fucked over her as I am.”

I chuckle. “Oh, friend. I am so much worse.”

I shoot a text to my little bird asking her to show up thirty minutes earlier than scheduled. I need to have the young loves caught off guard for my plan and any other plans Raven has to work.

        _______

He clenches his fist above his jean-clad knee, muscles in his jaw tensing as he swallows. He stands, finally as if he can't stand the grey velvet of the sofa he was just sitting on. The salvia hue of the room is meant to have tranquilizing effects. He heads to the window overlooking the quad.

The entire purpose of the lilac color of the paint I chose for my office was for her and only her. I have freer rein here, unlike the institution where if the walls weren't a blinding white, they were bright, primary colors meant to remind you of a simpler time; where you used those particular primary colors on your fingerpaint stick figures of mommy and daddy and your dog in kindergarten.

"Do you... hypothetically," Jonas begins and I keep my face neutral. "If someone were to commit murder... if the victim were a shit... and you hypothetically, probably knew the person that murdered them... and you didn't feel bad for the victim, their brother, perhaps because you know how close they were," he rambles and it takes so much in me to not outwardly sigh with a groan and roll my eyes. "Would that make you a bad person?"

Instead, I inhale through my mouth, watching his profile and looking out the third-story window where my office is located. I let my brows furrow together in question. "You're asking me if you not feeling bad about someone's death makes you a bad person?"

Jonas turns to me slowly. "Hypothetically," He replies with a one-shouldered shrug.

"The person that died... wasn't a very good person, but the brother is?"

He gives a slight nod and tips on his toes, giving me an awkward, nervous glance.

"But hypothetically, you believe you know the person that may or may not have..." I look about the room and give a twirl of my wrist, trying to find the right word. "Purged the world of a not-very-good person and you don't feel bad about it?"

"Yeah."

Good. "Do you plan on telling the authorities?"

Jonas licks his lips, lips that have tasted the same addicting ambrosia as I have. "No," Before I can reply he then asks, "hypothetically," again, I keep in my eye roll. "If you knew the... avenger, planned on killing more, a hit list of some sort, and you planned on helping, however you could, would that make you a bad person? Evil?"

I want to smile. I knew I liked him for her. "Well, you've switched your wording, Jonas.  Did you notice? At first, it was murder but now you're saying they're avenging. Did this person have a lapse in their mental stability?"

"No."

I nod, doing my best to not look as proud as I feel. I clear my throat and motion for him to sit back down, which he does. Only then do I open my mouth and flap philosophical jargon. The last thing I need, that Raven will need, is for him to get a conscience midway through this and then I have to take care of him.

"If a car were to drive down a barren road, without trees, guardrails or shrubbery and with a broken speedometer, who's to say it was going too fast? Can we tell it's going too fast without having the distance between trees to time it?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" He asks.

"Who is to say what truly is good and evil? Too fast or too slow? Wrong or right? If you grew up in a dystopian civilization and murdered or even resorted to cannibalism, without punishment, you'd think you were just doing what you needed to just to get by. But if a celestial or otherworldly being came and told you what you were doing was evil or barbaric and taught you a better way to live and eat, then you'd know the difference. But to you, what you were doing still wasn't evil, per se, you were just surviving. Does that make sense?"

"More than I'd like it to." He nods.

"There are things we do sometimes that test our ethics and our morals and more often those are tied to our loyalties. Where are your loyalties, Jonas?"

"Not laying on a slab in a fucking morgue," He grumbles in a decibel not meant for me to hear.

"One of my very first patients was a difficult case. She was brought to me due to being prone to fits of violence after a very life-altering ordeal. Or so they said. After a year of therapy,"

"Let me guess, she changed? She was all better?"

"On the contrary, it seemed as though she worsened." I chuckle, recalling memories of Raven flinging her food at orderlies and other patients that called her a fake, a liar or psycho. "She withdrew completely into herself and became even more violent. My colleagues told me she was a lost cause. That she was never going to rehabilitate and that I should just medicate her more. Besides, her parents had given up on her, I should do the same... But after a few more years of studying her and realizing her coping mechanisms were different than my other patients and even patients I'd seen during my residency, I saw how well she did with positive praise, less medication, more time with family, particularly her brother.

“I grew to understand that due to her own restrictions, the fact was, she was lonely. The world was still turning after her accident and she felt as if she'd been left behind. But she had been lonelier for far longer than just the time she’d been in my care. Giving her small freedoms gave her back some semblance of control. Soon, she had less fits, sleepwalked less, was staying part-time with family, and part-time under my care. Afterward, she enrolled in college, got something of a boyfriend, and even made a friend or two."

"You're saying this is something this hypothetical person of mine... needs in order to take control of their life?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying Raven needs, Jonas," I reply as there's a knock on the door to my office and Raven strides in, in her very short, little black skater skirt, thigh highs, heeled combat boots, black thermal, and weathered black leather jacket. Her hair is down, dark waves cascading around her shoulders only stopping when she spots Jonas sitting on my couch.

Both of their jaws slack open at the sight of the other. "Ah, little bird, you made it." I stand and go to her, only to lock the door behind her, take her jacket, hang it by the door, and go to my chair behind my desk. "Come, Raven. Make yourself comfortable."

My little bird obeys and turns, very slowly, to greet us and takes a seat beside Jonas.

"Raven was your patient?"

I ignore him. "I didn't tell you to sit with him, Raven. Come. Here." She does so automatically. I push out my chair away from my desk and have her stand in front of me. "Take off your skirt. I need to inspect you."

"Raven, don't."

"I'm her doctor, Jonas. It will bode well for both of you if she listens to me. I need to see the damage Chase caused, if any."

"You know." It's a statement, not a question, so again I disregard him.

Immediately, Raven unfastens the button on the side of her skirt, pulling the zipper down and it pools by her ankles. She steps out of it, still in her ankle boots. I grab the hem of her shirt. "Up." Her arms go up and both Jonas and I groan when we see she's not wearing a bra.

A vision wearing nothing but a black, satin thong that sits high on her hips and under the soft swell of her stomach, her thigh highs and those little boots. My cock thickens in my slacks immediately, a response that only seems to happen in her presence. I reach out to trail my fingertips from the sides of her knees, creamy skin soft and lovely. She shivers under my scrutiny, and when I touch the first series of yellowing bruises on the outside of her thighs, she gasps, her inaudible moan settling deep in her chest in a breathy sigh that makes my blood boil and my bones rattle with it.

I hook my index fingers on the waistband of her thong and slide them down.

"Doctor-"

"Sit, Raven." I command through gritted teeth, jutting my chin to my desk to which she obeys. Then, "Jonas, come. Let her lean on you. Some of this may be uncomfortable for her."

He stands at the other side of the desk, unsure and Raven leans against him, making her the sexiest paperweight I've ever had perched upon my desk. I spread her legs, setting each heel on either side of me. I make a show of inspecting each and every bruise, letting the pads of my fingers skim over the silky skin, getting closer and closer to her wet, needy sex. Her clit is unsheltered, waiting to be licked and nibbled on, her ambrosia, her sweet, sweet nectar already collecting at the base of her entrance and awaiting my tongue to clean her up.

"I think that's good enough of an inspection." Jonas growls.

"I was told, Mister Anderson, the last time you overheard something happening behind a closed door, you jumped to conclusions and caused Raven to somewhat self-destruct. A lapse in her progress. One I did not take kindly."

Unaware that his hands have mindlessly traveled to her torso, cupping under her breasts, surely to drag her away from me if necessary or... "Where did you hear that?"

"Unimportant." I reply when my thumbs open Raven's slit, making her blossom for me. She stares incredulously down at me. "My question is, would you rather this be behind your back, or not only to happen with you present but be able to partake?"

"Did you plan this?"

"No. Call it an impromptu decision where I, as a man that is also under Raven's spell, and have loved her far longer than you have, and would rather share her than lose her. She and her progression are extremely important to me." I lean forward and lick up from the bottom of her entrance to her budding clit. "Just two weeks ago weren't you sharing a woman with your best friend's brother?"

Jonas tenses, pinching Raven's nipples between his index and middle fingers but Raven throws her head back in pleasure at the pressure his fingers and my tongue cause. "It wasn't the same."

I almost laugh. "And you've been in threesomes multiple times?"

"With nobody I genuinely cared for." He answers, licking his lips.

I swipe my tongue over and then into her, her thighs quiver but I hold them open. "Would you deny her then? The chance, that feeling to be worshipped and loved completely by the men that adore her? You, me, and a third? The way each of us want and love her differently, imagine how much more she'd flourish... underneath us."

Raven bucks into my mouth, seeking the vibrations of my words.

"Harrington? You're both crazy if you think-" he feels it just as I do when Raven stills at the word 'crazy' and tries to close her thighs.

Holding them open is no easy feat.

"Shhh, little bird. He didn't mean it. He loves you. Kiss her, Jonas. Fuck her mouth with your tongue while I tongue fuck her delectable little pussy."

“Is this what you want, baby?” he asks, eyes red rimmed, the only sign of the war raging in his mind but I know what it feels like to lose Raven. He’s done it once; he won’t do it again.

“This will happen with or without you, Jonas. But Raven is somewhat of a flight risk. She’s been alone for far too long. She’s comfortable in her silence. We need her to not be. We need her to awaken, to grow strong. Be fierce. I am man enough to admit that I cannot give her all the things she’ll need. I can protect and provide, sure. But there are things you can give her, that Harrington can give her that I cannot.”

“I don’t know if I can…” he admits.

“Then make her choose. Right now. Between the three of us.” I growl.

Raven sits up immediately, trying to close her strong thighs still pried open by my hands and shakes her head almost violently, breasts gently swaying in Jonas' tight grip, tears rolling down her cheeks, the mere thought of having to break any of our hearts too much to bear, my sweet girl. I know she’d rather stay away from all of us than to continue on. She’d rather break her own heart and become a recluse, fighting and slaying her demons alone than decide between us.

Jonas rubs his thumbs over her nipples, shushing her and I continue to lick slow, languid laps around her juicy cunt that reminds me of a fuzz-less peach.

“You trust him baby?” he breathes against her temple, the pain etched across before, lessened into pure concern, eyebrows drawn up.

She nods, turning her head to look at him beneath those sooty wet lashes. I know the look she’s giving him. It’s the same one that warped my mind. The one I love. The one that can and has made me commit atrocities as her doctor and later on as a man obsessed. The one that has made as psychotic and sick as the other patients that deserve to be at Lorne Wood.

I am nothing more than a demented mastermind fit to be judged as criminally insane.

“There you go, little bird. Relax. Let me warm you up. Let us take care of you.” Her thighs relax more, falling as open as the can, giving my tongue and fingers permission to breach her entrance, coaxing me in a little further, wiggling her hips, finding her rhythm so she can orgasm like she has plenty of times half-asleep. She’s almost there, but this time sober and a willing, ready, needy participant.

She’s perfect. For me. Him. Harrington. Mostly me.

“You love him, baby?” Jonas asks, his voice cracking.

She nods apologetically.

“Do you love me?”

She nods enthusiastically, hips rolling against my mouth. His resolve wanes completely and he plunges his tongue into her mouth, holding her by the throat.

Under the desk I kick off my shoes and socks, unfasten my belt and slacks, pulling out my cock, stroking the precum that’s been leaking out since I tugged off her shirt and stand.

“She’s a virgin.”

“I’m very well aware,” I reply. “Raven, lay down. There you are, pretty girl. So beautiful.” I rasp, stroking myself from root to tip. I look at Jonas, the tent in his jeans obvious. “Can you take him in your mouth?” I know she can. I’ve watched her do so.

“Fuck, baby. Do you really want this?”

Instead of answering, Raven, whose head is hanging off my desk, reaches over, unbuttons his jeans, and tugs out his girthy length as he pulls off his own shirt. She wets her lips before swirling her tongue over the tip and down the length to his sac. It rivals against mine but barely. Lucky girl. It’ll be fun trying to have her take us all in each hole at once. We’ll have to work our way up to that, but first, I run the tip of my cock along her slit, groaning at how wet she is before I’ve even entered her.

I notch my tip at her entrance, almost exploding at the sight of the bulge in her throat created by her lover and the knowledge that I am getting exactly what I’ve always wanted. What I’ve been waiting for, for a very long time. I pump my hips, hitting the barrier I’ve loosened over and over again nightly, this shouldn’t hurt her at all, not since I pretty much broke her hymen a week or so ago with my fingers. But she’s had time to heal. So the most she should feel is an intense pressure from being stretched farther than she’s been stretched before.

Jonas surprises me, sliding a hand from her breast, down to her clit, rubbing little circles over the bundle of nerves. She spreads her thighs wider, accommodating me. 

“Just a pinch, little bird.” I say through gritted teeth, grabbing the tops of her thighs and in one thrust I penetrate her completely. Heaven. I have died and heaven is the warmth that is Raven. Tight. Wet. And so fucking hot. She gasps audibly around Jonas’ cock, stiffening for a moment before relaxing.

“Such a good girl, Amourette. You look phenomenal taking me. I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now.” I moan.

“Does it hurt baby? Is Doctor Archer’s dick too big for your little pussy?” Jonas asks, his fingers now playing with, pinching, and pulling on her clit the way we both know she loves. Her hips roll, reminding me I need to move.

Shit.

I pull out until only the crown of my head is inside of her, a small, light line of blood on my cock as I plunge back in, gripping her inner thighs, pushing them further apart. The feral groan that leaves her reminds me of a needy mewl of a grown cat. “Fuck, little bird. This is so much better than I ever imagined.” I admit, not letting my eyes close to the vision that gods have bestowed before me.

There’s a soft recoil, a jiggle to meet my every thrust. Her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, gently bounce back to me, the sight so alluring as if her body is asking for more, to never disconnect from mine. One of her hands snake down to her lonely breast, nipple hard, tweaking it and the other joins Jonas' at her clit, rubbing her slick, which is coating the base of my shaft and her inner thighs, all around.

Her moans are snuffed out but they’re there. If the sight is killing me, I know it’s killing him.

“Oh, God, baby I’m gonna fucking cum. Don’t stop. Please. Archer, fuck her harder, she’s almost there.”

I grunt in response to his plea and pull out to the head, searching for that swollen part inside of her so my cock can tease it. Short and slow hard thrusts so I can feel right when her inner walls begin to contract and flutter around me, milking me in tight, deliciously agonizing squeezes. I give in to the pressure I’ve been holding back since entering her as it becomes almost painful and I let go, letting my seed fill her over and over again as Jonas dislodges himself from her throat and paints her chest in his, marking her, claiming her the same way I did.

The erotic sight of my seed leaking out of her imprints on my mind like a tattoo, creating a core memory.

She sits up on an elbow and gathers as much of his cum as she can with one hand and lets it travel downward, scooping me up as well, rubbing us all over her clit with two fingers and thrusts them back into her abused little cunt, her hips bucking.

“You need more baby?” His voice is tender, as if he’s in awe of her, eyes wide.

Her head tilts back as she finds Jonas and nods.

He rounds my desk, looking every bit a predator as his muscles ripple with anticipation, dick hard again. I have no idea when he discarded his shoes, jeans, or underwear. Ah, to be young and have the refractory period equivalent to a monkey during mating season.  “You’re not hurting?”

She nods.

His eyes narrow, hungry, and animalistic, dick thickening even more now. “But you still want it? You need my cum?”

She moans, almost looking ashamed. “You like the pain, don’t you? You’re so fucking sick, baby.” He notches the tip of his mushroom head in her and thrusts to the hilt, the muscles in his ass clenching. She cries out and he groans. “You’re so fucking…” He reaches forward, yanking her up to him by the hair on back of her head. “Sick, baby. You need so much cum in you?”

Her thighs pull up to her chest, making room for him, her pussy makes the wettest sounds.

“Open up, stick out your tongue.”

She obeys him so easily, that trust they’ve built together is so incredibly tangible. Jonas opens his mouth and licks her tongue, thrusting wildly into her cunt. I can’t help but tug on my own dick. The pleasured “Augh!” that leaves her sounds pained and desperate, as though it’s coming from the deepest parts of her.

“That’s right. God, hearing your voice… Keep your tongue out. Fuck what a sight.” I agree. Her own drool mixed with his drips down to her already cum-coated tits.

He pulls her head back and spits but she doesn’t swallow. Instead, he licks along her jaw, to the shell of her ear and then stares deep into her eyes. “You need all of me to fill you up, don’t you, baby. Your tummy. Your pussy. Such a needy little slut. One load of cum wasn’t enough, was it? No, Raven baby, don’t look away. You’re not in trouble. Answer me.”

In his grip, Raven shakes her head. He shakes his head with her, never tearing his eyes away from hers. “Soon I’m going to fuck your delicious ass, too. I’m – we’re-  going to own every delicious inch of your body. Would you like that? Archer in your hot little cunt, me in your fat, tight ass, and Harrington in your perfect throat? Could you take it baby? All that pain of being stretched out and used like the sick little slut you are?”

Her tongue wiggles, tears falling, thighs trembling.

“Uh-uh, baby.” He adds more spit and then shoves two fingers into her mouth, finger-fucking it, the rhythm the same as his thrusts. “It’s what you want isn’t it? My cum? You need it, don’t you baby?

Her eyelids flutter but never close. “Mmhmm.”

“Such a good girl. Swallow.”

Her lips close around his fingers and her throat bobs.

“Are you ready for my cum?

She nods again.

“I need you to come with me, baby. Play with yourself and kiss me. I got you. Rub this sweet little pussy for me.”

She does, her fingers disappear between their bodies just as his tongue delves into her mouth. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, his grunts and her soft moans fill the air just like their pheromones and I can’t look away from the act of their souls attaching.

“That’s it. Give it to me baby. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!” Jonas roars as his entire body goes still, Raven’s shakes, her lips parted in a silent scream and I unload in my hand and on the floor, my knees buckle and I slap my hand against my desk to hold myself up.

He leans over her, spine curved and then we hear the sound of sniffling. He pulls away from her once his dick has softened, our cum leaks out of her and onto my desk, probably ruining the antique wood but I don’t give a fuck.

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” I ask.

Her mouth opens but then, her hands move and her fingers touch her chin and back down. They group, fingertips from both hands touch and she makes little movements. I begin to chuckle and bend to kiss her lips, smoothing down her hair and then wipe her tears away with the pads of my thumbs.

“You sneaky little vixen. I knew you paid attention during your ASL lessons.” I answer. But I had, too. While I didn’t sign, I made sure to learn in case she ever wanted to speak to me, I’m so fucking glad I did.

“What?”

“She said it was too good. Her soul left her body.” 

Jonas grins and bites his bottom lip and then leans in to kiss her. “Mine too, baby.”

                                        ________

We dress her slowly after cleaning her, even though she fought us when we tried to wipe her up. Her hands signing quickly that she wanted to feel us dripping out of her for the remainder of the day. While it was hot to me, I reminded her she was wearing a skirt, and that if she walked around campus with blood and cum running down her leg, things would not look good for Jonas. To which he fist-bumped me and she dramatically signed that we were breaking her heart. 

“Make sure she voids her bladder when you get back to her dorm.” I order Jonas.

“I should probably get some Plan-B, huh?”

I arch a brow. “Whatever for? That’s a hormone bomb.”

“We… came inside of her?” Jonas looks at me as though I’m either stupid or ridiculous.

I chuckle. “I’ve had her on birth-control for the last four years. There are incidents that happen at Lorne Wood between patients, that sometimes lead to wanted or unwanted pregnancies. I just inserted the other one before she left Lorne Wood.”

He looks me up and down. He’s about three inches or so taller than me. “You’ve really been taking care of her all this time, huh?”

I nod. “More than you know, Jonas. Come back and see me, okay? We have a lot to talk about.”

“Concerning her?”

“Concerning everything.” I reply honestly. “I know you have a lot of thoughts about what’s to happen. Her, her list, the Syndicate, Harrington.”

Jonas shakes his head. “Harrington can’t know. Not yet. He’s former FBI. You asked where my loyalties lie? With her. Fuck the Syndicate. I never wanted to join their stupid brotherhood. I don’t care about wealth or power. I’m grateful to my parents, I am. But if I would have known what came along with being a part of the elite, I would’ve begged to stay in the system.”

“I’m glad you agree that Harrington must be kept in the dark about this until the appropriate time. It won’t be a secret we can keep for long, but we’ll have to find out where his loyalties lie. He absolutely abhors the wealthy and that may be something we can work to our advantage.”

“I know who’s next on her list, Damon.”

I look at him questioningly.

“Tyler Prescott.”

I nod, reaching over and playing with one of Raven’s nipples. Her eyes close, and Jonas lifts up her shirt, displaying her for us. I lean down, tugging her in my mouth.

“Raven?” Jonas speaks her name like a prayer.

“Hmm?”

“When you were at Lorne Wood, did you know Tyler Prescott was forced to come out?”

I pop up my head just as her brown eyes widen and she shakes her head.

“So then, you don’t know he was forced to come out because he was caught getting fucked by your brother, Axel, at the annual Homecoming Masquerade Ball.”

Raven goes into a state of shock with the news and she begins to shake her head wildly, then her hands come up in a frenzy, signing, and I interpret for her.

But Axel isn’t gay. He’s always had girlfriends.

Jonas shakes his head. “The pictures that came out didn’t show his face. Axel protected himself by wearing one of those old doctor masks from the bubonic plague.”

Her face becomes angry. Well then how do you know it was Axel?

Jonas sighs. “Because he was dating my sister, Cadence, when it happened. She saw him without the mask before they arrived at the ball, when he put it on before he disappeared and then saw when he threw it in the trash before getting back to her. Once those pictures came out, she confronted him about them, he denied it, gaslit her for months about it until she broke up with him.”

So, what then, Axel is gay?

Jonas shakes his head. “I think he knew Tyler had something to do with your accident and tried to hurt him the only way he knew how. You know how the Prescott’s are. Tyler was betrothed… I don’t know to who, but his marriage was already set up by his parents. Rumor was, it was some duchess in England. But once those pictures came out, it was called off.”

Raven pulls the hem of her shirt down and stands. I have a lot to think about. The funeral is in two days. He and his family will be here tomorrow. I… I won’t be able to seduce Tyler, will I?

“Do you have a membership at Inferno?” I ask Jonas.

“Yeah, of course.” He answers, not looking away from Raven.

“I could probably seduce him. If you can get him there.” I reply.

“Getting him there won’t be a problem,” He shakes his head, brown hair falling forward. “The issue is the Prescott’s are entirely too untrusting. It… it would have to be me.” He swallows.

Take me with you.

“No, baby.”

Take me with you. I’ll wear a disguise. The women that go there wear disguises all the time, don’t they? Convince him I want to watch.

“Tyler stays at a penthouse in De Novo. His parent’s stay at their house in Salem when they come to town.”

Perfect. We’ll get a room there. You lure him back. I’ll take care of the rest.  Raven signs almost too quickly.

I shake my head. “I think… I think it would be more convincing if…”

Together, we devise a plan. A sick, twisted, plan that makes Jonas’ face scrunch up at me. But every time Raven touches him, he leans into her, letting her touch be the calm in his storm. In the end, he doesn’t look disgusted or in pain. He looks determined, sure of himself, and even more in love with our dirty little bird.   

We fuck Raven once more before they leave my office, he takes her from behind and I finally get to feel the soft velvety slickness of her warm, wet, wanton mouth. I almost want to thank Harrington for being such a thorough professor. 

Chapter Eighteen

Jonas.

The night before the funeral, a vigil is held by the student body president, Edith Mayes, a beautiful golden dark woman with a relaxed perm that falls around her shoulders. Her entire demeanor says she’ll most likely be the first female president or die trying her hardest to be her. I’d vote for her. She’s great. She gives a heartwarming speech into a small microphone behind a podium that barely sounds rehearsed. Beside her, is a blown-up action picture of Chase in his football uniform, mid-run to which she hardly glances at.

Chase broke Edith’s heart our freshman year after taking her virginity. The soft female sobs around us reminds me… well, that’s just what Chase did.

We stand on the practice football field, over four hundred white candles have been lit, at the base of the goal post, there are thousands of flowers, notes, pictures of Chase, stuffed animals, footballs, tequila shots and bottles of tequila nestled in. It’s… fucking sad. If this were anything else, it would be beautiful.

Chase Prescott, dead at twenty-three.

When Paris… when that whole thing happened, Chase was there. He and Riordan, well, mostly Riordan who let me vent and cry on his shoulder. Riordan who’s cerulean eyes are currently staring daggers at my arm draped over Raven’s shoulders. 

It’s like looking at a ghost.

                                         ________

The funeral is, well, a funeral.

Except, it’s not raining like it does in the movies. I remember reading once… or maybe I heard it in a movie. That when it rains during a funeral, even God cries. Except God isn’t crying today. In fact - nobody is. The students are gone. There are no co-eds or football buddies or rivals remembering Chase Motherfucking Prescott. No. This is a private, Syndicate matter. Raven is not here beside me. Axel isn’t either, but it’s probably because he’s a whole state away since he transferred to Hartford after Raven’s accident to be closer to her.

I stand by Riordan, taking his hand in mine, and he shirks it off but not before tensing up. Public displays of any kind of affection or support are not exactly appropriate.

I didn’t cry at Paris’ funeral. I was to maintain stoicism. But she had been my betrothed. She had cheated on me with her own stepbrother. I remained stoic because I had wanted to puke having to face everyone. I kept having to swallow down bile.

Riordan is burying his twin brother. His other half. His protector…

Riordan and any and all Prescott’s, his mother included, are to express stoicism and gratitude for everyone’s kind words. It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m sure his mother had no issues. Riordan and Chase were mostly raised by nannies until Chase was caught fucking one at fifteen. She had been thirty-seven.

I asked Chase later on why he decided to fuck her, to ruin her life, to send her to prison.

His answer?

“It was either me or Riordan.”

Granted, it wasn’t until one drunken night, at the Sigma house, after a bad joke that Riordan told me the whole story. See, there were good things about Chase. There were bad things about Chase. Mostly any good thing that he did were because of or for Riordan. Even then, sometimes those ‘good’ things, weren’t great. No matter what the intention was behind them, Chase did awful things for those he loved even if it meant damning his own soul.

In a sick way, I know he’d understand me. This. What I’m about to do. I mean, it won’t be me doing it, but still.

I do feel a little queasy as we head back to the Prescott estate back in Salem. The entire Prescott clan is riding in a limo ahead. I’m riding back to Salem in one with my father and mother. It’s quiet. Eerie. Nobody speaks and the silence is louder than Raven’s death glare. As we cross over the body of water via bridge that connects Rayne-Moore to Salem. My thoughts are on Tyler. On Riordan. On how Riordan never returned to my dorm after that first night. On how I’m to seduce Tyler.

I’ve never kissed a man before.

My thoughts flit to Raven and Damon, probably making really good use of that luxury hotel room they’re getting right now. Raven had gotten a scarlet wig, a black dress that covered her tattoo and was to overdo her makeup. I can still smell the perfume she spritzed on me before leaving to confuse him, she signed before spritzing me with my own cologne. 

The plan is for Damon to get a room close to one of the penthouses. By the time Tyler and I should be getting to Inferno, Damon will be leading Raven up to the room as one of the high-end escorts that work there. When you drop over fifteen grand on a room at De Novo, people tend to look the other way at your extra-curriculars.

Now to lay on the Anderson charm from here back to Rayne-Moore.

“Son?”

My father, Henry Anderson’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Father?”

I let my eyes glide over to my adoptive father. Getting on with age, he was still handsome as ever. Big, strong, tall. All-American. A deadly silver-fox with brown-green hazel eyes. He’s grown out his mustache which he still gets professionally dyed so he looks early-fifties instead of sixty. The fact that I look like him was the reason my parents adopted me. “I asked if you were going to be staying with your mother and I?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. With classes having been pushed back a week, I’m doing two weeks’ worth of homework for next week. It’s better if I just head back to the dorms and get started on that this weekend. They’re finally opening up campus so the library will be open as well.”

My father nods. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, I was told you were the one to find Chase.”

I shake my head. “I was simply the one alerted. I was the one that called the RMPD.”

Father puts his leathery hand on my knee. “Still, I’m sorry you had to see Chase in that state. He was a fine young man. I’m sorry for your loss.” Before I can reply he adds, “There were a lot of drugs in his system.”

I nod.

“You aren’t…” he clears his throat, “polluting yourself, are you? Still going to your therapist?”

“I’ve been seeing the campus therapist for weeks now. Every Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on my schedule. I’m fine.”

“Good, good. You’ll let us know… if it gets bad again?”

“Yes, father. I told you I would at the beginning of the semester.” The car thankfully comes to a halt outside of the Prescott’s estate and our driver opens the door and I climb out in a hurry, waiting on Mother so I can help her out.

Red-haired, petite, and green-eyed, Elena Anderson, my mother, is the epitome of sophistication in her classic, Armani sweetheart neckline black funeral dress. Once she’s out of the car, I hold out my arm and her dainty little hand holds on to the crease of my elbow, her hand landing on my bicep. “Thank you, darling. I know you want to run off and speak to your friends, check up on them, but your father and I just want to make sure that you aren’t spiraling. The loss of a friend…”

“Mother, I promise you. I’m fine,” Chase touched what was mine and was planning on doing so much worse. He deserved what he got. I don’t say. “But you are right about me wanting to speak to Riordan.”

“My good boy. Go, darling. Avoid the other Prescott’s.”

That sends a chill down my spine. “Why avoid the other Prescott’s?”

“Something about the coroner’s report. We’ll let you know more when we find out more ourselves, alright?”

I was right. This is absolutely Syndicate business. I nod and lean down to kiss her cheek. “Okay, mother.” I bend to give her a hug. “Don’t leave me in the dark. Tell me everything you know.”

She gives a curt nod and kisses my cheek again before releasing me. “Always, darling.”

                                      ________

An hour into Chase’s repast, I find Tyler.

I keep him in my periphery, watching when he’s politely ignored by the brotherhood, he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat on a black accent chair in the corner of the large drawing room. Not that he isn’t a member of the Syndicate. He passed his initiation twice over and it would’ve been three if Raven had died. It’s just… legacies that can’t provide heirs, naturally, aren’t at the top of the list. My parents had a son, Johnathan, then Cadence, who they almost lost during childbirth. They lost Johnathan when he was ten to childhood leukemia. They adopted me as a way to still keep their place in the Syndicate, to carry on their last name since Cadence would one day marry and change her last name. That part didn’t matter.

There are no women in the Syndicate. Only wives.   

Tyler has barely changed. The famous prominent blonde hair, ocean eyes, resilient scowl, high cheekbones, and chiseled jawlines of the Prescott men is definitely strongest in Tyler. If I ever thought Chase and Riordan looked like dirty-blonde Henry Cavill’s, Tyler looks like if a young Brad Pitt and a young Leonardo DiCaprio stepped into a DNA generator and shit him out. It’s no wonder his father almost had a heart attack finding out he was gay. The genes in this man are incredible.

I find myself pouring him a neat scotch and walking over to him. I feel my cheeks flushing as I hand the glass tumbler to him. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Thanks.” He takes it from me, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, takes a sip and I watch the muscles in his jaw clench as he breathes out slowly, letting the flavors of the old scotch settle on his tongue. Christ, no wonder Axel could fuck this guy. He just oozes sex appeal and that infuriating cocky confidence that all the Prescott men seem to inherit at birth. 

I stand by the window to stare at the garden of the estate, watching as the wind blows the fallen leaves of the old Hemlock trees across the gardens. I watch them tumble, over and over again, lost in the natural way of the world. Gone to decay elsewhere.

“Are you not drinking?” he asks, his voice smoother than fucking butter.

I don’t turn to look at him but I do look down at his reflection in the window. I shake my head. “No, I’ll be driving back to Rayne-Moore in a bit.”

He nods, taking another sip, the gold of his cufflinks glitter in the last of the rays of the sun setting behind the trees. I watch him check me out in the reflection over the edge of the tumbler, eyes perusing from my knees and up until they catch my eye in our reflection. His eyes seem to darken and then he swallows. A tilt of his lips, a ghost of a smirk. He runs his tongue along the seam of his lips, flicking them over a drop of scotch.

Holy shit. Is Tyler Prescott… trying to seduce me? Have the turns tabled?

I almost fucking giggle. Instead, I hike up a brow and turn to face him ever so slowly and then look at him up and down. “I should actually… get going. I’m meeting a uh, friend at Inferno before I get back to campus.” I lie.

“What a coincidence. I’m staying a De Novo.”

I rise my eyebrows again. “Yeah? Small world.”

“I could use a ride.” He says, setting the tumbler atop a wooden coaster on the glass coffee table. He looks about the room, seemingly knowing his presence won’t be missed. Much like mine.

                                        _________

I keep conversation light, asking about his firm in Boston and his stint in London to which I reply I won’t be following in my father’s footsteps into realty, that I have goals and aspirations to be a criminal defense lawyer in New York, hopefully. To which he says he admires, that he wishes he would’ve had the balls to do the same, but after already disappointing his father once… he couldn’t imagine doing it again.

“I respect you. You worked hard to get where you are now. It’s admirable. It’s hard for men like us - Legacies, I mean.” I reply when we pull in front of De Novo’s doors. He picks up on the insinuation but I don’t lead further. I let it sit in his mind.

“Yeah, right. Legacies.” He mimics.

I gift him a side-eyed glance before the valet opens the door and he gets out of the sleek Benz I rented, and flash him a smirk. “I’ll see you around,” I wink.

Give him enough. Put the possibility in his mind…

“Would you like to come up?”

I shake my head and jerk my chin to the Inferno only half a block away. “Nah, I’m going to see a friend at Inferno for a quick-“ I let my lying lips roll inward. “Maybe I’ll see you there later?”

He nods, blue eyes dilated. “Yeah, maybe.”

I open the glove compartment, grabbing my half-face mask and holding it up so he can see the designs on it. “Legacy-type shit, right?”

“Something like that.” He closes the door and steps away onto the curb.

                                         ______

I’m sitting on an oversized brown leather chair, the one arm I have draped over the armchair holds a lit cigar, the other on my knee holds a scotch on the rocks with three small drops of GHB. I took a sip to let myself loosen up. Not enough to not pull this off. I just needed a bit of liquid courage. I left my tie and jacket in the Benz; top three buttons of my Oxford button-down unfastened, my mask sits lazily on my face, waiting.

Friday nights after ten at Inferno are always a little crazier. Without the mask, I’d be completely recognizable. But I’m thankful for its privacy. If you want to be known, go for it. If you want to do be a dirty secret, you’re also allowed.

Just pay your dues, leave your phone at home and all your fantasies can come true.

It’s utter chaos around me, everyone is either too enthralled with themselves, their partners, snorting, dancing, or drinking. A throuple to my left are entangled, someone I recognize from the track team is snorting blow with a hundred-dollar bill off a blonde waitress’s tit while sliding another few bills into the waistband of her garter belt. The lights are flashing above, dancers in costumes are in their cages, lowered at half-mast, the music is thrumming through me but I don’t hear any of it as I see a half-masked Tyler, now in black slacks and a red button-down step up on the last stair.

He could never mask that blonde hair, icy blue eyes, jawline, or those lean shoulders.

I watch as he searches for me, a frown on his Hollywood face and when our eyes crash, I send him a smirk, taking a drag from the cigar, blowing out the smoke. I watch his chest rise and fall, his bottom lip quivers as he inhales a sharp breath. He takes a thumb and neatly glides it over that same bottom lip. Do I make Tyler Prescott nervous? Or is the thought of him meeting a man in public after his scandal making him nervous? The music changes, I know this because the vibrations reverberating throughout my body has changed. I still can’t hear any of it.

I stand when he reaches me. “There you are.”  

Eyes like chilled aquamarines go to my lips and then meet mine.

“Here I am,” He smirks as I hand him the drink – the third I’ve ordered and spiked waiting for him. 

He looks around me. “Your friend?”

I lift my shoulder and let it drop. “Never showed.”

“Lucky me,” he says, taking a small sip.

“Lucky you.” I repeat, moving to a more secluded corner, where there’s somewhat less debauchery. I hold my finger up to the corseted waitress who comes back heartbeats later with my drink. We hold our drinks between us, and I let my eyes roam over his face, letting his face transform into my little goddess’s.

He steps a little closer, leaning so close I can smell his cologne, my stomach recoils. But he smells all wrong. There’s no jasmine or berries or pomegranate shampoo. It’s all bergamot, cardamom, and scotch. His breath is on the shell of my ear, warm. I want to push him off me so badly. I have to fight my instincts.

“I never thought you swung for the other team.”

I clench the tumbler in my hand, fist shaking, then smirk when he leans away and before taking a sip I say, “I bat for one and occasionally bat for the other,” as casually as I can.

He takes an almost too-large sip of his drink, unblinking while licking his lips and slowly shakes his head. He places his glass on a table beside us. I almost grin when I realize it’s empty. His empty hand comes up to my face, his thumb rolls over the bottom of my lower lip, the other comes up to my waist and I feel myself tremble. Thoughts of Raven’s scars, the pictures of how badly she was beaten probably by this hand, the one touching me, makes the bile rise in my throat. “Prove it.”

My hand trembles as I place my glass beside his, the condensation of mine leaving a ring around it, conjoining with his. The urge to strangle him in front of all these people, ricochets in my brain, all of my thoughts merge, seeing him at my mercy, choking, gasping under my grasp, begging for his life like my goddess probably begged for hers is too strong. There would be no mercy.

I lift my hands letting them crawl over his forearms and settle them on his biceps, swallowing the bile down that I want to spew across his face like acid, when a pair of strong hands go around my torso pulling me away from Tyler and my back hits a strong chest. Lips go to the shell of my ear and chills run down my spine.

“There you are baby. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I thought you decided not to come.”

Confused, angry, hurt he didn’t trust me enough to pull this off, I turn my head to face Damon who’s using an exceptionally good French accent and when I do, his lips crush against mine. I fight the need to push him off, but let myself sink into his firm, warm kiss, but not before I see that his eyes are open. Silver eyes like a sharp butcher’s knife stare not at me, but over at Tyler. My eyes close, letting myself relax into Damon’s animalistic kiss. It’s all tongue, and lips. It’s primal and unrelenting. I realize he’s claiming me in front of Tyler. Selling this particular public display of affection to the one I’m supposed to prove it to so that I don’t exactly have to.

I can see why she loves him.

To take control in this situation, where I was ready to say ‘fuck the rules, fuck the plans, murder him in cold blood. In public. Let them watch me fuck him up. Let them take me away. He deserves it…’

Damon Archer is giving me an out. And I am… grateful.

I turn to face him completely and wrap my arms around his shoulders. His hands fall to my hips all too easily as if we’ve done this a million times, as if we’re lovers, not two men with a sick agenda, two men that are willing to say, “fuck it” and burn the world for the same woman.

“What are you doing here, amour?” I ask in a gruff voice.

“I see you’re making friends without me.” He replies with a sly grin that French accent thick and believable. “Did you tell him about our petit déesse?”

Tyler’s eyebrows hike up to his forehead, baby blues bouncing between Archer and I when a blush crawls and settles atop my cheeks. I shake my head. “Hadn’t gotten there yet,” I reply a little annoyed.

“Your little goddess?” Tyler asks.

I clear my throat. “I bat for the other team as long as our girlfriend can watch.”

“Your girlfriend? Both of yours?”

We nod together but Damon replies crassly with, “I fuck her, and she likes to watch him get fucked while getting fucked. It’s… very… comment dit-on… amusant?” How do you say ‘fun?’

I hold in the eye roll. Yes, of course. Le Pepe fucking Le Pew makes me the bottom. Wait. Do I give bottom energy? I’ll have to ask later if I remember.

“Fun.” Tyler rasps, seeing the tent in his slacks grow.

Damon chuckles his dark little chuckle, that also sounds French. I hold in the eyeroll. I can throat-punch him later. His hand settles on my hip and Tyler watches as his fingers untuck a bit of my shirt and he traces his fingers along the V above my belt. Oh, he’s fucking good at this. “Oui. Fun.”

“Is she here?” Tyler asks in French.

Damon shakes his head and takes a step closer to Tyler, tugging at his silk black tie. “Non. She had work and went straight to Hotel De Novo to shower.”

Cerulean eyes, heavy with lust look over at me curiously. “Is that why you said you’d see me around later?” He asks and I nod. Tyler swallows, lids growing heavier, his attention no longer on me but on the silver-eyed, dark haired, scruffy, fake Frenchman that looks like he absolutely fucks like a madman. And he does. “Do you touch?”

Damon smirks, “Oui, ami.” Yes, friend. “I touch.”

I watch as Tyler physically swoons. That’s all Damon says. That’s all it fucking takes for Tyler to agree to come back with us, unknowingly sealing his fate to be kissed by the angel of death.

Karma’s a beautiful bitch, and her name is Raven Monroe.

Chapter Nineteen

Tyler Prescott.

Six Weeks Prior…

Chase: Monroe’s on campus.

I choke on my coffee mid-swallow. Out of all the fucking things for my cousin to text me, this was not what I was expecting.

Me: Which one?

Chase: Raven.

Me: What is she doing there?

Chase: No idea. Axel dropped her off.

Me: Well, fucking find out.

I slide my chair out from under my desk, Myles or Michael or… was it Milo? moving with me. “Sorry, love. I received some bad news. I’m going to fuck your throat now. Don’t take it personally and definitely don’t flatter yourself thinking you made me cum this quickly. Your head game is a six at best. But when I do cum, I need you to get the fuck out of my house. Do you understand? Don’t cling. Don’t hang around. Get the fuck out.”

He nods, and I tangle my fingers in his inky curls, sinking the entirety of my cock into his mouth. When I hit the back of his throat, I tug on the back of his head, slamming him down, over and over again, while images of Raven, of Axel Monroe, that fucking backstabber, fucking me from behind in the coat closet of the Annual Homecoming Masquerade Ball take over. It’s these images that I love and hate, these burning memories that get me to orgasm so fast, I’ve embarrassed myself too many times thinking about him but it gets the job done every time.

Axel with those gorgeous green eyes, those lush, perfect pink lips, curly hair. I fuck Myles-Michael-Milo’s face to the memory of Axel’s fingers diving between my cheeks, spitting and squeezing lube onto me. His fingers prepping my needy asshole that misses him entirely too much. That night had been exactly what I had needed from him after everything. My body still misses him, will always miss him. The memory of the sound of a condom wrapper tearing, then his big fucking hands spreading my ass open, and how good it felt when he forced his way into my ass, one hand on my shoulder, the other covering my mouth to shut up my grunts, sweat coating my body, all those fake fucking promises whispered between the sound of our hips meeting over and over again.

“I promise, I’ll get us out of this, Ty. No one will know. I love you, Ty. I love you.”

I cum hard, thighs shaking as I unload into Myles’s waiting mouth. “This was fine. We won’t be doing it again. Get out.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” He scrambles out from under my desk, tears in his eyes, cum on his lips.

“And I had to think of someone else in order to cum. So, you know, don’t flatter yourself.” I smirk in satisfaction. No, if I were truly satisfied, I’d be grinning like a madman.

I’d be happy like I once was.

Chase: She’s enrolled.

Angry, I get on Instagram and go to the profile I used to stalk every thirty minutes. There. The first picture he posted fifteen minutes ago is a selfie of him and Ray in her dorm room. She looks… different. Fuller? Not fat, exactly. More defined. Womanly. He looks fucking fantastic and it irks me. They look fucking great together. It always confused me how he was so tentative toward her. It always felt like they were more than just stepsiblings.

They always had that weird synchronicity almost like the twins. Except she was more Edgar Allen Poe meet Cher from Clueless and he was always so Jonathon Taylor Thomas.

I grunt at the memory of how they were always together. How it felt like I had to tear him away for practice. He was always following her. To the library, the dining hall, the gym, the everywhere.

My eye twitches at the happiness he’s exuding in their picture. But something is in his eyes. Worry? Fear?

I roll my eyes at the caption: ‘Just like old times. *heart-eye emoji* Go RMU!’

I go to her profile since he tagged her in the one he posted.

Nothing has been posted for years. The last picture she posted is an action-shot of Axel in his uniform. ‘Go Yellow Jackets!’

It’s of the night we fucked her up.

I darken my phone screen and throw it on my desk, my fingers raking through my hair in frustration.

I unfollowed Axel years ago, crying, alone in my room after my father had beaten me within an inch of my life. How he could hurt me so easily when I was his only son, his only child, never made sense to me. He thought I was bi. But for him to find out I was gay, not just bi but fully, I-suck-cocks-and-take-them-in-my-ass-and-can’t-get-hard-for-women gay? I was disowned. The scandal reached Seraphina, a duchess, my betrothed. It was her family that called off the wedding.

And Axel? Axel unenrolled and then transferred to Hartford to be closer to Raven. Fucking Raven. I had to unfollow him because my world had come crashing down all around me. And his? Axel Monroe had fucking thrived at Hartford. Thrived so much more than he ever did at RMU.

Axel Monroe, the only man I had ever loved, left me behind, posting pictures of his new friends, new adventures, new favorite food places, girlfriends… after what I’d done…

I grip my phone harder.

It was his turn to feel this kind of pain. This agony that never went away.

Me: What’s your plan?

Chase: Seduce her. Get her back to ur dad.

Me: Perfect.

Two Weeks Prior

Chase: I need $10K. I found out where R is staying when she’s off-campus. I have a hacker that can get me in.

Me: Sent. What’s the plan?

Chase: *knife emoji* *rope emoji*

Me: *OK emoji*

One Week Prior

Father: Chase is dead. Police believe he overdosed. He drowned in the pond at RMU by SDC house.

I don’t respond.

Axel: I just heard the news. I’m so sorry. I know you don’t care to hear from me. I’m so sorry.

Me: Can I see you? Please?

Axel: I’m sorry. I don’t think that’s a very good idea right now.

Me: Axel…

Axel: I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll see you at the funeral.

Me: Don’t bother.

Me: You’re fucking dead to me. 

Two Days Prior

Father: Autopsy report came through. Hyoid broken. Cops are calling it homicide. No leads.

Me: Security Cameras?

Father: Nothing captured.

Father: Act appropriate at funeral. DO NOT bring any fucking twinks.

Father: We cannot manage another embarrassment or another scandal.

Father: We must appear united.

Me: Yes sir.

Present Day

“I don’t want them at the funeral!”

“The Anderson’s have been good friends to us during this entire ordeal, Riordan.” My aunt whispers.

“Ordeal?” Riordan screams.

“Lower your voice, son. It’s unbecoming.” My Uncle, Jaxon Prescott, condescends. 

“My brother fucking died, now they’re thinking he was murdered, and you’re telling me Chase, my only brother, my best friend is going to be buried, rot alone,” his voice breaks. “And you want me to calm down because it’s unbecoming? He was your CHILD and he’s DEAD!” My uncle mutters something about the Syndicate, and Riordan storms out of the kitchen screaming, “UN-FUCKING-BELIEVEABLE!”

I follow Riordan up to his room at the family estate. An old, brownstone manor built on the outskirts of Salem before the Civil War, it’s been in our family for generations. I have a love-hate relationship with this home. Memories of when Axel used to climb up the terrace like Romeo and…

Riordan’s in his closet, tearing it apart, throwing a tantrum the size of Texas, sobbing. When he’s done flinging everything around, he crumples to the ground and hugs his knees to his chest.

I sit near him, not touching, not watching just looking straight ahead at the other wall. “I’m sorry.”

He sniffs. “Yeah, me too.”

“Who didn’t you want at the funeral?”

“Jonas.”

“Oh.” I reply.

“I’m pretty sure his girlfriend killed Chase.”

“Who’s his girlfriend?”

“Raven Monroe.”

My heart stops. “You got proof?”

Riordan shakes his head. “None at all. School security cameras show she was in her room. Never left until seven AM with her cello.”

I nod. “Yeah, she used to love playing out by the pond. I used to find her and Axel out there jamming out with his guitar. Quite the duo.”

What I don’t tell Ri, is that I used to sneak and watch them from the tree line like a creep, not wanting to disrupt them. Him. Axel.

Riordan puts his head down, resting his forehead on his knees. “I just don’t want Jonas here.”

“I get it, cousin.”

                                         ______

Jonas hands me a drink, turning to stare out the window. He certainly fucking grew the fuck up. Gone are the freckles and that boyish charm. He looks all man. Even with the suit on, I can see the definition of the muscles in his arms. Square jawline, green-brown eyes, chestnut hair that long in the front gives way to curls. Fuck, I’m a sucker for men with curly hair.

I meant to ask him about Raven on the drive back, but the conversation stays on me. I tell him about London, Boston, and he tells me he admires me. He’s the only member of the Syndicate that has ever seen past the scandal. “It’s hard for men like us…” he says, catching me off-guard with that sexy dimpled smirk. “Legacies, I mean…”

Fuck. Something is definitely getting hard. But the way he says ‘legacies…’ it makes me feel… seen. Like he understands what it’s like. I’m out as a gay man, but my proclivities are still shushed, swept under the rug, almost non-existent. As if I never came out in the first place. I’m a fly on the wall at most Syndicate meetings or simply excluded from them entirely. Like he was, which was odd. I heard he had a mental breakdown after his initiation, but I don’t really know. Like I said, I’m considered furniture these days.

When he drops me off at De Novo, telling me I can find him at Inferno, and then shows me his mask. It barely takes me an hour and a half to go up to my room, shower, shave certain areas, change, and order a car to take me there.

He’s not on the first or second floor which means he’s probably on the fourth floor. The VIP floor. Where everyone from the bouncers to the wait staff look the other way.

When I step onto the third floor, the most cliché thing happens to me. I’m looking around, trying to find that mask and when I do, dark hazel eyes find me over the throngs of sweaty, dancing bodies. Time slows, my heart beats wildly in my chest as he takes a puff from his cigar and tilts his head back, the smoke rising with the steam coming from the dancefloor, adding to the smokey atmosphere that smells of drugs, sex, and sweet, delicious sin.

Fuck.

He lifts a brow, that sexy fucking smirk on his face. I inhale, trying to get a sense of what I’m feeling as he stands to greet me.

“There you are.” His voice is lower than it was in the car.

God, those fucking lips.

“Here I am.”

He hands me a drink, a little watered down but that’s fine.

“Your friend?” I ask when I realize he’s alone. Has he been waiting for me?

“Never showed,” he replies with a shrug, taking a sip from his drink.      

It takes everything in me not to grin as wide as I want to. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky you,” he repeats and he steps back into a darker, more secluded area, ordering himself another drink. I step a little closer to him. He smells absolutely divine with undertones of… a female perfume. Except, when I get a little too close, he tenses.

“I never thought you swung for the other team.” Which is the truth. Then again, he’s probably just better at keeping secrets than others. Like myself. 

He smirks and leans away from me, taking that delicious scent with him. “I bat for one and occasionally bat for the other when the need strikes.”

Occasionally? I ponder that over the last of my drink. I set the drink down, running my finger over that plump bottom lip of his, I bet it tastes like watermelon. If I bite into it, would it burst all over my tongue? Fuck I wanna watch him bite into it while I have him on his back, rutting into him. “Prove it.” I challenge. I want this man to kiss me. I want to forget about being ignored. I want to forget about burying my cousin only hours ago. I want this man to devour me, my cock. I want to watch mine disappear into his muscular ass…

Except when I ask him to prove it, an older man, wearing a mask that matches his comes up behind him. “There you are baby. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I thought you decided not to show up.”

Jonas looks stunned. He turns his head, and the older, greying Frenchman grabs his throat from behind in the most possessive hold I’ve ever seen. Jonas opens his mouth in surprise and the older man attacks his mouth, a peek at his strong tongue dives into his mouth, raw. Primal. Claiming. Jonas relaxes into his hold while silver eyes that remind me of melting glaciers hold my gaze.

When he finally releases Jonas, they both seem in a daze. “What are you doing here, amour?” Love. That’s his love. Jonas has a boyfriend. A hot, older boyfriend. Not a Raven. Is she a front?

“I see you’re making friends without me. Did you tell him about our petit déesse?”

Our?

Jonas blushes the most adorable shade of pink. “I hadn’t gotten there yet.”

“Your girlfriend? Both of yours?” Shit that’s fucking hot. Jonas is just full of surprises. Wait, do they share Raven? Could I fuck Jonas and kidnap her while they slept? Take her back to Father, where she belongs. Sure, I’d probably have to knock her out and she’d wake up disoriented…

“Oui. I fuck her and she watches while he’s getting fucked.” He says so fucking casually like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I don’t care to fuck Raven but… Jonas? Does he ever fuck Jonas while Jonas fucks Raven? “It’s very… comment dit-on… amusant?”

“Fun.” I rasp, my cock thickening in my slacks. The Frenchman’s hand goes from around Jonas’ waist down to his waistband and untucks his shirt in a movement so smooth, it looks so natural, so normal between them.

“Oui. Fun.” The Frenchman agrees with a chuckle that sends chills down my spine and straight to my balls.

Suddenly I’m curious. “Is she here?”

He shakes his head, taking a closer step to me and tugs on my tie. Fuck he smells even better than Jonas. “Non. She had to work and went straight to Hotel De Novo.”

I look over Jonas, “Is that why you said you’d see me around later?”

Jonas nods.

I look back at the Frenchman that looks like he fucks with precision. Like he’d know just how to make me cum in less than five minutes and then laugh at how fast he made me orgasm. Fuck I need that. To cum and without thoughts of Axel plaguing me.

“Do you touch?” I ask in French, a heavy, relaxed feeling settling over me.

Frenchie gets so close to me I can smell the whiskey in his breath. “Oui, ami. I touch.”

Fuck I’m a goner.

                                           ______

I’m in the back of Jonas’ car, feeling up on Frenchie, the muscles under his shirt are tense. Or maybe I’m just drunk. No, that’s impossible. I only had five drinks this evening. Three of them at the repast and two at Inferno. Oh god, I need to throw up. I make them aware, and Jonas pulls over. Frenchie holds me.

We’re at De Novo. “Just a little too much to drink.” One of them says.

I’m floating. Up… Up… Upside-down. I grab whoever’s tight ass is in my face. Fuck yeah, this is gonna be fun.

“Check his wallet. Front pocket.”

“That’s my dick.” I laugh.

There’s a beep and I’m being set gently down on my bed; the back of my head hits my headboard and I’m sitting up. The room spins for a moment. Another drink is pushed into my face. Water. It goes black.

I’m… I’m swimming. No, I’m not swimming. I’m in the tub. The faucet is still going.

I open my eyes; a blurry vision of a ghost is sitting at the edge of the tub. Long, dark hair, red lips, winged brown eyes…

“Raven?” I mumble.

She scoots further up, closer to me. Her head tilts to the side. I try to sit up but it’s all so heavy. She grabs my hand, a mercy. Forgiveness, maybe? Does she know? Does she know what I did?

Something hurts. Something… it’s not right. My arm burns. I look down at the deep laceration running from the middle of my forearm down. “No…” I whisper. I look up at Raven, the light behind her casting an eerie glow around her head like a halo.

She leans down, hovering over my ear. “Why?” The whisper is barely a rasp, like it pains her to talk. Tears fill her eyes, spilling over them as she gets up and walks to the other side of the tub. I look around but we’re utterly alone. I try to flex my arm so I can get out but I… I can’t.

“Please.” I choke out.

The razor digs deep into my other arm, but she goes so achingly slow, I feel the deep burn of my muscles being shredded. “T, break h-h-her f-f-f—fu-fucking leg so she’ll fit.”

“Raven wait, please!”

“Sh-sh-she’ll s-s-stink up the place by M-M-Monday, S. We should t-t-take her to the Ravine…” She rasps, stuttering when she never had before. Chills breakout throughout me despite the warmth of the water surrounding me. Her voice is weak and so hoarse it breaks my heart. I did that to her... We did. “Let the w-w-water take her f-f-far away…”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “No, Raven, please. Please. It wasn’t… like  that.”

Oh no. oh no. Nausea fills me and I vomit into the water now up to my chest. The razor finally digs into my artery. Her tears fall into the soiled water along with mine. And she only mutters one more choppy, hoarse word; “Why?”

I sink into the tub. Flashes of Axel fill my mind as the water rises at my nose. I’m too tired to breathe. To fight. So… so sleepy. I watch as Raven lets the straight razor fall into the water to wipe her DNA and then moves my arm so it all looks self-inflicted. Things I’ve done for my own clients. Something I did for my own initiation into the Syndicate.

My thoughts float back to Axel. To his laugh. His kisses. His initiation. What I did for him… a nightmare come full circle.

Water fills my lungs, a delicious burn as I reminisce in thoughts of the only man I ever loved… who somehow ended up killing me twice.

Green eyes and curly hair, a faint smile and his laughter, his touch, his love… as the world turns black and I’m taken, taken to depths deeper than this bloody water.

Chapter Twenty

Damon.

“What was with the French accent, Le Douche?”

I throw my head back and laugh at Jonas. “I am French, Jonas. Well, half. My mother is from Butte-sux-Cailles. My father is English, born and raised in East Horsely Surrey. They met in Paris while my father was working and studying there as a surgeon. Came to the United States before I was born and raised in Westport. I went to school at Harvard and graduated with honors at twenty-one. Then, I went to medical school in Oxford and did my internal medicine and psychiatry residency which took almost five years in New York. Accepted a job straight out of residency at Lorne Wood.”

“Where you met Raven.”

“Where I met little bird.”

“Wait, so how old are you?”

“A decade or so older than our girl.”

“That’s it?” He eyes me curiously.

I grin. “That’s it.”

“How old is Maverick?”

I look down at my watch from the screen that shows the security cameras. Raven should be back by now. “I think a year older than me.”

“I researched him. One of the brightest minds the FBI ever had. Do you know he was on that Ackles Farm case in Wyoming? He refused interviews with podcasts and media outlets and publishing houses were offering him beaucoup amounts of money for him to write about it. He refused all of them. Quit literally the same day. Handed in his gun, his badge and walked off the farm. He walked ten miles to the Goshen County police department. Covered in mud and pig shit.”

I nod. I do know. That broke international headlines. What happened on that farm was told by his former partner, Tasha Williams, later on. They interviewed her, instead. Although she was there at the farm, she hadn’t been the one to find what was left of the victims. She was the one that barged into farmhouse with the police department to find the murderer running at her with a kitchen knife. It was suicide by cop. By the time she had gotten to Maverick, she'd found him on his ass in the pig pen holding one of the victim’s bodies while the pigs were still devouring them.

Those pigs were blue-ribbon winning pigs. Pigs that sold for a thousand dollars each when they went to market. William’s memoir kept Harrington out of it.

A mercy, I’m sure.

Through the screen, I spot Raven coming down the hallway, that scarlet wig on, oversized black hoodie, black sweatpants, and shoes two sizes too big. A limp in her gait tells me she’s over-exhausted herself.

Oh no, whatever she did can’t be good. I knew I should’ve stayed behind. I check the other cameras to find them still on a loop for the next twenty seconds.

Our extracurricular activities only took us about thirty minutes, so I’ve been continuously re-looping the same five minutes over and over again. Any longer than thirty minutes of an empty hallway of a busy hotel would alert security that their system had been breached.

“Open the door. Open the door. Jonas. She’s coming. Quick there’s only twelve seconds left on the loop.”

Jonas quickly gets up and runs to the door. I watch the timer as Raven steps inside, and the loop turns off. I breathe out a sigh of relief. He brings her inside but her makeup is ruined and her eyes are bloodshot and there are tears and snot that she wipes on her sleeves. I start the fire in the fireplace as Jonas gets her naked and we destroy all the evidence, including the wig and the shoes.

She’s trembling, standing on her non-tattooed leg, favoring the other. Fuck. After dropping Tyler off at his room and hijacking the security system so Raven could go into the penthouse suits, Jonas and I went back downstairs, changed in his car, put our clothes in bags to be burned later, and came back up separately.

Jonas picks her up and takes her straight to the shower.

“Doc I need help,” Jonas calls. I run to them. Raven is a mess, leaning against the tiled wall in the glass shower, and she’s signing.

We need to leave. I want to go home.

“Back to the dorms?”

No! I want to go home. Please. I want my cello. I need my books. I want my bed I don’t want to be here. Please.

“Your parent’s estate?”

She flings soap at us which we both dodge. That’s an obvious no.

“Little bird, you’re going to have to give me a little more, okay? I’m not in here,” I tap at my temple. “But I’m here,” I gesture between us.

“Where’s home, Raven baby? Hmm? Do you want me to call Axel? Will he tell us?”

More tears spill over her eyelids and my little bird looks too tired to fly. I make a snap decision. “Call Axel before she retreats into her mind. She’s too wound up. I’ll finish up.”

“On it,” Jonas replies and leaves to call her stepbrother.

She nods and holds her arms out to me, and it reminds me of the first time she came back from her parent’s mansion when they left her all alone for her entire stay and back then, when she tried to climb into my lap, I had to tell her why it was inappropriate for her, as my patient, to be in my lap when all I wanted to do was hold her. All I did, could do, was pat her on the back and let her cry in silence.

Back then, her sobs would wrack her whole body and she would cry until she’d made herself sick, followed by refusing to eat for days. She’d lie on the floor and draw imaginary things with her fingers on the tile.

I zoomed in once. A family of stick figures.

I called her mother immediately the next time she went home and they were going to be out. I begged her to not treat Raven like a broken little doll.

Even then I saw how fierce she was and could be.

They went to Versailles without her. Even Axel, who usually would stay behind during his summer and spring breaks, left her.

When she came back, I gave her charcoal and a sketchpad.

She drew (very good) broken dolls… and then she was attacked by a patient who thought she was doing sexual favors for preferential treatment and I began sending her gifts from me as gifts from her family through packages to the mail room.

I will never make the mistake of not holding her ever again. I get naked, sit on the tiled floor below and pull her to my lap. “Fuck, doll, you’re freezing.” But the water is warm. I stand us up, lather her hair up quickly and do the same with the conditioner and then soap up her and then myself. It doesn’t smell like her and I hate it.

“She just keeps saying she wants to go home? Not her dorm, not the mansion. Home. Where her books and her cello are.” Jonas comes back into the bathroom as we towel up.

“Wait. She’s talking?” Axel's voice echoes throughout the bathroom since Jonas has him on speakerphone.

“No. She signed for home.”

“She – she’s signing? Oh my god.” Axel’s voice breaks and I can hear him sniffling. “Can you FaceTime me? Please? I want to see her.”

“She’s in the shower. I don’t know. I came back from the funeral and she looked kind of drunk,” he lies, “and then kept signing for home, cello and books.”

Axel heaves a shuddering breath as I kiss Raven’s shoulders. “She owns a lake house. Casa de Cuervos. I’ll send you the address. Can you have her call me when you get there?”

Raven shakes her head and Jonas kisses her nose.

“Yeah, man. I can tell her to call you but you know her. She does what she wants.”

Axel laughs through his tears. “Yeah, yeah. I do. Get her home, Jonas. I don’t know what you’re doing… but, just… don’t stop doing it, okay? I want my sister back.”

Raven’s eyes fill up with tears as Jonas hangs up.

“You were never gone, were you baby?” Jonas asks in that tender voice he only reserves for her. She looks up at us, those big doe eyes that drive me insane, and shakes her head.

“Fuck, I love you,” Jonas whispers, kissing her forehead.

“Love… you.” Her voice is raspy, like she hasn’t drank water in years.

Jonas’ eyes widen, and I can almost feel his heart exploding from where I’m standing. I know he’s trying so hard not to freak out. I’ve told him before that when she begins to open up, he’d need to be careful – she’s a flight risk. He tampers down his excitement for her.

I should feel jealous… but how could I ever take her away from something so precious such as this? She shuffles on her feet and I break us apart. I dip and bring her up bridal style. She kisses my cheek softly and she whispers, “Love… you, too.”

I run my nose along her jaw and kiss beneath her ear. “I promise you, little bird, you will never love me more than I love you.”

She grins and throws her head back in a silent laugh as I set her on the four-poster king-size antique bed. She touches the scar on her neck that has her bio-tracker and then, unwraps her towel, opens her legs, and spreads her pussy lips with two fingers. I know exactly what she’s telling me. But still, her hands come up.

You’re psycho like me, Doctor. Your love is crazy like mine. I have allowed everything you’ve done to me because you’re mine as much as I’m yours. You own me as much as I own you.

I arch an eyebrow. “Keep flashing me your pussy like that, and I’ll show you crazy. I’ll show you who exactly owns whom, belle oiseau.” Pretty bird.

Her eyes flash, defiance burning bright as she leans back in her elbows and she spreads her thighs all over again.

“Well, well, well.” Jonas chuckles. “What do we have here?”

“It seems our girl is feeling… rebellious.”

Raven’s eyes widen.

“Oh, yes, Raven. Remember what I said the day in your dorm room?”

She almost pouts. Her hands fly up. I didn’t disobey. There are no consequences.

“But you did. Was flashing me your pussy after I warned you being a good girl and obeying me?”

Her eyebrows knit together, crossing her arms.

“Raven?”

That’s not my name.

“That is your name.”

No. My name is baby or Raven baby or doll or little bird or pretty bird or- her hands stop moving.

“Or?”

She blushes and turns away.

“Baby? What’s your name? Hmm?” Jonas asks. He crawls on the bed beside her and starts kissing up her leg and up her thigh. “Teach me how to sign your name, baby. What is it? Show me.” He spreads her thighs open and her resolve falters when he licks her bare pussy lips. “Spread them further baby, let me see you.”

She obeys him and I roll my eyes.

“Fuck, I could eat you all day. C’mon baby. Show me your name.”

She shakes her head.

Jonas pulls her down to him, shoving her legs farther apart. She makes the sign for a kiss. He winks at her, “I know that one. How’s this, you tell the good doctor every letter of your name… and I’ll spell it in cursive with my tongue?”

And so we begin the game.

S-I-C-K

I grow harder with each letter, unwrapping the towel from my body and letting it fall to the ground. 

L-I-T-T-L-E

Her legs tremble, and Jonas flips her around, pulling her up on all fours aggressively, spreads her cheeks apart and dives in. She keeps one hand up to continue signing.

S-L-U-T

“Fuck yes you are my sick little slut.” He rims her ass with a finger, pushing it until the last knuckle, spitting on it and adding another finger. “Damon, get over here.”

I do and lay on the bed. He maneuvers her over me. I angle my cock to her entrance and she sinks down on me. I tilt my head back at the tight pressure around my cock. Fucking heaven.

“Sit on his dick baby. I wanted to be so patient with you. I tried. I really did… I wanted to warm you up but I think I’m as sick as you are.”

I can feel his fingers through that very thin wall separating us. He pushes her forward so her breasts resting on my chest. He disappears behind her and then pops back up, entirely nude. I hear the click of a bottle and she hisses. “I know, baby. Let me in, okay? Keep riding him and I want you to push when you feel me back here.”

Jonas straddles my legs and I feel Raven tense around me, gasping, eyes widening. I take her lips with mine, shoving my tongue deep in her mouth. Her hips move, rocking with me, fucking us both back.

“Fuuuuuucccckkkk Raven baby. Fuck you’re so goddamn perfect. Jesus Christ.”

The pressure gets almost painfully tighter, feeling his mushroom tip of his cock glide back and forth against mine through her wall. Every sensation zapping throughout my body like currents of electricity, shocking me back to life.

“You’re doing so good, Amourette.” I praise. She pushes up, her breasts swaying in my face and I tug one and then the other. “Je t’adore.” I whisper, flicking my tongue from one nipple to the other.

He gathers her wet hair out of her face. “Just a little more baby. Fuck, I’m not gonna last. It’s too good.”

“Jonas-“ I growl when I feel her begin to pulsate around me and my balls draw up.

“You’re gonna cum the first time you’re getting fucked in the ass, baby?”

“Jonas!” She rasps, nails clawing into my chest. “Damon!”

“Christ!” I growl, when she says my name I push up with my heels, shoving all of me inside of her, spilling into her so roughly I can barely feel her milking me. My vision blurs until she’s only an outline with each spurt.

“You really are a sick little slut. Fuck I can feel you. Right there baby. Let it go. Come for us. Yes.” The laugh that leaves Jonas is like a  soul liberated from its confines. “Don’t fucking stop. Right there. Fuck. Raven!” He roars, his entire body shaking just as mine stops.

Jonas goes limp, and let’s his body roll over beside me, taking her with him. She gasps when she and I dislodge, Jonas staying inside of her. She’s panting, I’m panting. Jonas is… staring at her in awe, like he always does after sex. She grins at me lazily and signs. Can we go home now?

“How’s your leg?”

“Hurts.” She whispers.

“I’ll help it better tomorrow morning. We can’t have you limping around campus.”

“I’ll carry her.” Jonas moans sleepily.  “She can be my backpack.”

I kiss my little love, pull her hand up to mine and kiss every single one of her murderous fingers. “Are you okay? Mentally?”

When I was… about to… strangle him, on the bed, I changed my mind at the last minute.

“Oh?”

“Fuck I gotta learn to sign.”

“She’s saying she changed her mind about the location of his death at the last minute.”

“Oh?” Jonas gets up on an elbow and looks at her, still with awe.

I had a memory. I think he was the one that broke my leg. They had suggested to just throw me off into the ravine and have me float down… but he said that I would be dead by Monday morning. So I pulled him all the way to the bathtub.

I translate for Jonas and then say, “Oh, little bird.”

“Raven baby, he’s… his stats in college were six-foot-four and like, two-fifty. You carried him all the way to the bathroom? That’s impressive.”

She nods and points to her leg.

“Hurts. Yeah, c’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up and go so I can get you better. Besides, we don’t want to be here when they find the body,” Jonas say, getting up and we follow.

                             ________

We return the car, grab a taxi back to campus and then load up into Raven’s Rover, surprised to find the address already in the navigation system along with Hartford and RMU. The ride to the lake house is pleasant at close to four AM. She stares out the window as we drive over the bridge, staring out into the inky black water. I can tell she’s exhausted but she has severe FOMO. She’s tense and I wish I could read her mind.

I punch in the gate code, the garage immediately accepting us by opening its door. We set our things down at the entry and she grabs us by the hands, leading us upstairs. I go to her medicine cabinet and pull out an oxy, giving her only one for pain. She takes it but refuses the sleep medication.

We all climb into her large bed big enough for five. When I ask her why it’s so big, she says she always wanted a dog or two and she wanted them to be able to sleep with her comfortably.

When she finally drifts off to sleep, I hear a restless Jonas toss and turn.  “What is it?”

“Are you still sure about Maverick?”

I inhale deeply and rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger.  “No. I’m not,” I answer honestly. “But I know men like Harrington. If this were the animal kingdom, Maverick would be an apex predator. He’s caught her scent and had a taste of her. He wants her. Badly. I think, with enough reason, and maybe a few threats and possibly blackmail, and just Raven being herself, there’s a chance he won’t betray her or us.”

“But you think she needs him?”

I sigh and look up at the glowing constellations on her ceiling. “I think, a part of her needs what we can’t offer. You and I cater to her. She has us wrapped around her pussy and her little finger-“

“And now her ass.”

I scoff. “Yeah, that too. He can fully discipline her and have no qualms about it. We see one of her tears and we break for her. He sees them and gets hard.”

“That’s so fucked up.” He replies.

“You have no idea how fucked up a man like Harrington truly is.” I reply, tucking Raven in closer to me, letting myself relish in the fact that I’m finally, finally laying in a bed next to my little bird, cage free. The way it was always meant to be… even if the dog she wanted came in the form of a wide receiver that snores.

We wake up to a loud banging sound just a few short hours later… Raven’s gone.

Chapter Twenty-One

Maverick.

There’s something quite infuriating about unwanted depression establishing itself in the marrow of your bones like a bitter cold. It’s been ten days of this. Of this… misery I can’t shake. It’s maddening to wake up and thoughts of Raven are on my mind. It’s aggravating to go to sleep with images of her flitting in my brain. I can’t shake her. It’s pure unbridled torment.

Did Jonas finally sink into her? Did Damon?

I’ve gone on the University’s student portal and looked up her picture and her phone number, plugging it into my phone against my better judgement and right when I’m about to text I erase the entire thing. What can I even say?

Hey, it's your professor? What about, I’m dreaming of cumming in your tight little ass so much I wake up humping my mattress and then have to jerk off to your picture on the student portal like a horny pre-teen? Because instead of taking you the way I want, I resort to fucking my fist because you’re my student and this is entirely inappropriate.

I groan, dropping my head and then shaking it.

“She blossoms with kindness.” Damon said. I will always reiterate; I am not a kind man. I do not care about her delicate little feelings. I just want to rid myself of this need to have her submit to me and be at my disposal, waiting for me on her knees, to worship me and then pound into her from all angles.

Would she cry out for me? For God? I’d be merciless like He was in the first testament. Unrelenting and decimating. Fuck.

Ten fucking days of these type of conceptions and effigies. Plans on how to ruin her curvaceous body. To bite her, palm her, spank her, devour her, mark her, claim and ruin her… I’m in a constant mental headspace of losing touch with who I am and finding my inner beast - becoming one and the same a day at a time. Encroaching on depraved and yet still self-aware enough to realize I’m simply going mad.

Why? What is it about her? Why? Why? Why do I want her?

Those thighs, the warmth between them, her nectar, silky hair, smooth skin, perfect tits, her scent, those lips, those fucking eyes made of molasses and honey, like Aztec gold and brass. A treasure one would get lost searching for…

A siren singing of treasure below the sea, alluring and dangerous and exciting.

Is that what it is? She excites me?

No. She enrages me.

Her silent insolence. Defiant. Too proud to admit when she’s needy.

Ten. Days. Of. This.

I suppose the only good thing that’s come of campus being closed, is that my morning jogs have elongated into trekking through the trails of the wooded area of the lake that surrounds my house. I wake up Sunday morning and begin my routine by making my bed, brushing my teeth, drinking an entire bottle of water, stretching with yoga poses, and then throwing on my joggers and an RMU sweatshirt. I go downstairs and turn the timer on my Keurig so when I get back from my run, I have a mug waiting for me.

Routine. Discipline.

I step into my shoes, tighten them, and step out into the brisk late-September morning. The sky is still dark, the misty overcast covering where hues of magenta are usually already be brightening  where the sky meets land. Even the heavens are melancholy.

I push play on an audible, listening to a dark romance book, (a guilty pleasure of mine) and descend my front porch steps, hitting the pavement of the dark, two-lane road. Half a mile into my run, the mist begins to get denser, turning into a fog at my feet. I turn right, heading into the first trail that will take me to the outskirts of the lake and lead me to the old lighthouse the locals say is haunted, that only works on days like today.

My nose is cold, my sweatshirt clinging to me both from the sweat and the mist that’s now a light drizzle. It’s uncomfortable, yet still bearable. However, between the characters in my book, the cold, and the feeling of being uncomfortable, it usually keeps my mind off of Raven. Except right now, in this weather, I think of how much she would love it. My spooky little Siren, wrapped in the tentacles hidden in this fog that laps at my feet like cloudy water, playing her cello, summoning sailors to their deaths with her song. In the density of this haze I suffocate with this unrelenting need for her. I don’t understand it. I don’t want it. I know if I fuck her once, just once, this hunger for her will finally be satiated and I’ll be able to go about my day.

I’ll be normal again, hunting for women my age or older that only seek companionship for the evening. That’s why Inferno had been so perfect before I met her. I had a routine. Find a woman that needed minimal aftercare, take her up to the VIP rooms, fuck her, leave her, go home, sleep. Now I can’t even get hard without thinking about her first.

It's Incredible.

Infuriating.

It’s incredibly infuriating.

I reach the trail that leads me to the rocky shoreline, passing the yellow !WARNING! TREACHEROUS ROCKS BELOW! NO DIVING! Sign. It’s the same sign I’ve passed a hundred times over since moving here. Angry that my thoughts have led me to lose my place and I have no idea what’s happened in the book I’m listening to, the trail turns into gravel and goes up to the lighthouse when I spot… someone in the distance. The closer I get the more it feels like a mirage. The closer I get, the more I hope this is just an illusion.

Dark hair clings to her face, her body, wet from the cold drizzle. She stands by the edge, arms outstretched, wearing nothing but a flimsy camisole and lacy black cheeky panties that also cling to her body like a second skin. But I would know the shape of that body, I would know that strip of silver spider silk hair, I would know the shape of her face and the length of those lashes even in darkness.

I kick up faster, muscles burning, stomach churning as the drizzle turns to rain. “Raven!” I scream. It all feels like a horrible, horrible nightmare happening in slow motion as she takes a slow step backward, a smile on her face, as if she’s unaware that with six or seven more uneven steps, she’d walk off the short cliff and onto the jagged rocks below.

!WARNING! TREACHEROUS ROCKS BELOW! NO DIVING!

“Raven! Siren! Raven!”

Her eyes are open but she doesn’t recognize me. The blank stare in her eyes, I can tell her mind is elsewhere – a shell of nothing but sinister memories plaguing her. My heart is pounding, lungs blazing, gulping in air as I finally reach her. Her mouth opens and closes but no noise comes out, she’s speaking, trying to speak. But she’s lost, lost in whatever is in her mind. A dream, a nightmare, a trance. There’s a whisper in the wind that feels like it’s carrying me to her, sending fleeting goosebumps all over my body, the hair on the back of my neck stands on its own and every fiber of my being is roaring for me to just please get there in time.

“Raven, STOP!” I bellow.

As she takes her final step back, I catch her forearm, slippery and cold, and tug her to me, yanking as hard as I can. Her skin is glacier cold, wet and she still makes no sound as we tumble to the ground. "Oh my god. Oh my god, Raven!” I slap her lightly, still covering her body with mine.

A flash of lightning and a roll of angry thunder crash above us. Her caramel eyes surrounded by wet lashes connect with mine as I lay atop her. She shivers and her eyes widen, taking in her surroundings, me, the cold, the lighthouse. She begins to struggle, completely unaware I just saved her. If I had been just two seconds slower…

"Siren. What. The. Fuck!” She pushes me off, teeth chattering and gets up. She runs, barefoot, wet, shivering and down through the woods. I chase after her like a predator hunting its prey. ”Siren!”

A sick thought floats through my mind with every footfall as I watch her thigh and ass jiggle and I feel the beast in me wanting to come out to play. To catch. To feast. To torment and rut.

But it’s cold and she’s wet and it’s not a time for that.

Her strong stride becomes a limping half-run, half-walk until she falls. She grabs at her tatted leg, massaging it. When I reach her, I keep in the hiss that wants to escape me. Her feet are bloody from the rocks and twigs and thorns she ran through, legs bruised, and it looks as though her ankle is swollen.

I take off my sweatshirt, tug it over her, kneel down, scoop her into my arms and when she tries to shove me off again, I clutch her closer. “I’m just trying to help, siren. You can’t walk. Your feet look like they’ve been shredded.”

She hangs her head and leans into my chest, shivering. “Where to?”

She points to the massive black cabin that I’ve always admired… three fucking doors down from my house.

                         ________

At the back gate, which was left opened, I follow the little cobblestone path and up the stairs to the back porch. I kick open the door that’s left a jar. It bangs on the wall and Siren scowls at me. “Where am I putting you?”

She points to a hallway and I hear footsteps rumbling down the stairs.

“Jesus Christ!” is followed by, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Of course. Naturally Archer and Jonas are here.

I perch Raven on the grey and black marble granite countertop. They bustle through, shirtless, in thermal pajama bottoms that almost match. “I think she was sleepwalking. I was running this morning and I found her at the lighthouse… preparing to cliff dive onto the rocks.”

Damon’s eyes widen. “Jonas. Bring a towel and some clothes. Start a fire. I’ll get some hot chocolate going. We need to get her warm and dry.”

“On it, Doc.” Jonas disappears as Damon scrounges around the kitchen as though he’s looking for everything. I guess it’s his first time here. He finally finds a pot after his fourth attempt, gets to the fridge that’s barely stocked except for a few essentials. He gets to the pantry and finds a few packets of Swiss Miss.

“Jonas!”

“Yeah?”

“Look in Axel’s room, see if you can find anything for Maverick.”

“Oh, I’m good. I don’t need –“

“You saved her life, Maverick. The least we can do is get you into some dry clothes and get you warm. Please, as a doctor, let me.”

I nod. How can I argue with that?

Raven still hasn’t looked up, she’s pale and her lips are almost back to their natural pink. When Jonas comes back in less than three minutes, he throws a towel at me but begins to dry her with gentleness that’s almost concerning. “Hey, baby. Did you have a bad dream?”

Raven nods as he peels off the sweatshirt from her body. We all see the bruise my grasp left on her forearm from when I yanked her to me but her gaze stays down. “You want to tell me what happened?”

She shakes her head. My eyes stay glued on her, them. The way Damon watches as Jonas peels off the camisole, putting the towel around her, hiding her body from my sight as he reaches and pulls her panties down and off, carefully avoiding her feet. He grabs a clean pair and again, avoiding her feet, he slides one up to the ankle then the other. “Lean on me, baby. Mmhmm. You’re doing so good.”

The white cotton panties glide up her thighs, and they disappear under the towel.

Catch. Feast. Torment. Rut.

I adjust my growing erection that hasn’t been hard in ten fucking days.

“Good girl.” Jonas turns his muscular back to me to face Damon. “I’ll stir the chocolate. Take a look at her feet. Other than clean them, I don’t think I’m good for much.”

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Damon asks and Raven points upstairs. He nods then looks to me. “You should come with me. I’ll show you where you can change.”

I follow him up, he points me to the first bedroom on the left where I dress into a loose-fitting Yellow Jackets tee, sweatpants, and clean socks. I wander out into the hallway, noticing how void it is of anything. There are no pictures hanging on the wall, no items of sentimental value, as though the cabin was purchased as is and was never lived in. The walls are painted a light lilac, a frequent, little thing that pops up around her.

Purples. All shades. Lilac, plum, lavender, magentas.

Even the lotus flower tattoo on her thigh is shaded in with various purples.

Easily her favorite color.

At the end of the hallway, where the only other door is open, in big shimmering gold letters is Casa de Cuervos, est. 2018. So I was right; the home was purchased and never lived in… until now. I hear voices downstairs, but I can’t help myself. I step just outside the threshold and peer inside. Against the middle of the back wall between two windows is a giant black four-poster bed, the purple comforter is ruffled up. Two duffle bags are by a door that’s either an en-suite bathroom or a walk-in closet.

I turn and go back the way I came, standing at the base of the stairs, and watch as Damon cleans and disinfects her feet, her adorable  face scrunched up in a wince. Her hands come up and make motions.

“I don’t care if you don’t like it, little bird, I have to clean and wrap your feet so they don’t get infected. You were already supposed to be resting your leg after last night. I knew you should’ve taken your Ambien.”

Her hands come up and then she spreads her legs, there, perched on the counter.

“Stop trying to distract me. If you think I won’t devour your sweet little cunt on this very counter because your feet are hurt, you’re very wrong. I’m eating your cunt. Not your feet.”

Jonas chokes on his hot chocolate. “Christ, we created a monster.” He laughs.

Raven sighs, annoyed.

Jonas leans over and kisses her cheek and then winks, “I love my little monster.”

Well, that answers my question. 

Damon slathers an ointment on her feet, puts gauze on them and then wraps her feet and her hurt ankle. “No stitches needed, free of debris, just a few deep scratches but nothing rest won’t heal. Looks like she’ll be your backpack all weekend after all.” Damon smirks.

Jonas laughs. “As soon as the weather gets better and it’s not so cold out, I’ll have her on the back of my bike so she can really be my backpack. But I’m sure with some great super padded riding gear, we could push through some of the chilly days. Would you like that, baby?”

Raven nods enthusiastically and points to her tattoos.

“More?”

Raven nods once again and from the smile that spreads across both Damon and Jonas, I’m guessing she’s smiling too. She moves her hand over her arm and down.

“A whole sleeve, huh?”

Damon grabs the arm she was showcasing and he slides the sleeve of the shirt she wears up and sighs, inspecting my artwork. “This will stay bruised for a while. Maverick grabbed on pretty tight.”

“Good thing we have to wear a blazer with our uniform. If she walks around with that, they’d think I did it.”

“The good thing is it was done for good reason.”

Jonas smirks. “I left bruises on her and you didn’t mind them.”

Damon side-eyes Jonas. “I believe those were made with good intentions as well.”

Jonas laughs and gets closer to Raven, cupping her face in his palms, his eyes darken and the bulge in his pajamas growing. “Oh you’re right about that. And as soon as she can walk again, I’ll make sure to leave more. Then again, if her legs are on my shoulders…”

He’s incorrigible… a bit like me.

I clear my throat to make my presence known. The last thing they need to think is that I’m upstairs going through their things. Which I would’ve if there was anything to go through.

“Maverick, glad you could join us.” Damon hands me a mug and the warmth of the chocolate when I sip at it makes me feel warm everywhere. It’s delicious and I want it so bad to not be.

I nod. “Thank you for the clothes… and the chocolate.”

Damon grins. “Thank you, for… bringing her home.”

Home.

“Is she okay?” I ask like I didn’t hear them earlier.

“Scratches weren’t too deep. She’s bruised and favoring one leg over the other due to exhaustion but other than that, she’s perfect.” He smiles, looking at her. She blushes and looks down at her mug of chocolate that tastes divine.

“Do you all live together? Here, I mean.”

Jonas shakes his head. “No, we’ll be back on campus tomorrow evening. We just came by because Raven wanted to come here last night. Something about her cello and her books.”

Raven almost bounces off the counter in excitement.

“Okay, baby, okay. C’mon. Show us your spooky little lair.”

Raven wraps her legs around Jonas’ torso her crotch resting just inches above his and her arms over his shoulder. She just goes to him so easily. As if they never broke up. As if he never overheard her swallowing my load. He grabs her by the bottom and she leads us, pointing to which hallway to go through, every wall naked. We reach a final door and she taps in her code, and down we go.

It’s like walking into an entirely separate world. It’s not spooky at all. It’s… It’s perfect. The walls are painted a light green sage, the shelves on the walls are lines with the same shimmering gold paint from above. Sofas, a reading nook, a circular hanging chair, a coffee and tea bar, and then she points to a door in the corner of the room and when Jonas opens it, there, in the center is a singular music stand, a chair, a very expensive cello, a keyboard, a guitar and recording equipment.

“She was a music major… plans to transfer to Julliard.”

“Play for me?” Jonas asks with a kiss. I lean against the doorframe, crossing one ankle over the other, and then cross my arms. Damon mirrors me.

She makes a motion with her hands as if to say, piano?

“No, I want to see you in your element. All classy and shit, playing your cello. It’s so fucking sexy.”

Raven blushes. It’s obvious no one has ever told her that her raw gift for playing the cello is exceptionally sexy. Because yes, I had done my research thoroughly and watched her playing on the school’s YouTube channel, and yes, it’s erection inducing. She nods up at him and he sets her down on the chair and grabs her cello for her, settling it between her knees, he takes a seat on the floor and leans his back against the cushioned wall. She leans to pull the bow from where it’s tucked. 

In the smoothest of motions, Raven pulls her half-dry hair to the opposite side and over her shoulder, straightens her back and when she places her hands over the strings, she closes her eyes, and softly inhales. On the exhalation, her bow touches the strings and she transforms.

Her eyebrows knit together, the scar on her temple disappears under the lighting, her lips pout as Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters begins to ricochet off the walls. With each pluck, each glide of the bow, the cello a mere extension of her soul; she’s lost, lost to the music she is creating as sweat forms on her brow, the music a gathering crescendo, and she’s gone, gone, gone. And I’m gone with her. Her hands move in a frenzy, muscles in her forearms flexing, her head tilts and her eyes roll back and forth behind her eyelids, as if she’s reading the music notes behind them.

I’m not sure if my heart has stopped beating, but by the time she’s done playing, I finally remember how to breathe. The same effect seems to have taken ahold of Damon as he silently blinks, his chest visibly rises and falls, his handsome face poised in total fascination. She opens her eyes, twin amber flames settling on mine, setting me ablaze.

We’re all quiet. Not a sound comes from any of us because we’re stunned.

“Holy shit.” Jonas whispers as if afraid to break whatever spell she’s cast over us. Holy shit indeed. 

Damon pushes away from the wall and takes her chin in his hand. “Let’s make you some breakfast.” Raven begins to shake her head but he tightens his hold on her. “Yes, ma charmante violincellist. You just took your medication. You need food in your belly and sleep. You remember what happens when you disobey.”

My ears perk up. She avoids my gaze, that same pink atop her cheeks from earlier and puts the cello back quickly. Jonas turns and squats down so she can piggyback him. She slides onto his back and they go up the stairs. Her shirt rides up and her gorgeous ass is in my face and I’m so torn between being mad and happy since I’m behind them.

Feast. Torment. Rut.

Memories of her taste explodes on my tongue as if I’m tasting her all over again and I inaudibly groan. At the top step I shuffle into the hallway behind them. “I should probably go.”

Raven finally looks at me, brows knitted together, big brown eyes wide in confusion, a little pout on her lips and she shakes her head.

“Nonsense. There’s enough eggs and vegetables in the fridge. I’ll make toast, omelets and coffee.” Archer says, stepping around me and headed back toward the kitchen. “Go into the living area. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

His kindness makes me feel… unsure about everything. I find my way to the living room where there’s a large charcoal sectional and I sit in the unused chaise part of it. Even if the home is empty, there are parts of this home that feel like Raven. Above the fireplace is a large flat screen, on either side of it are more recessed bookshelves, lined with unread books and a few knickknacks. She truly tried to make this house into a home before her accident.

“Here,” Jonas deposits Raven into my lap and when we bounce and she almost topples over, I grab her by the waist with inhuman reflexes. “I need to find the remote.”

Raven points to a location over by the side of the couch. She sits up and tries to leave my side but Jonas catches her movement. “No baby. You have to rest your leg. And your feet. What do you want? I’ll get it for you.”

She points to the bookshelf on the right and Jonas goes, like a good puppy and starts pointing at the books. “Which one?”

She shrugs.

“Any of them, huh?”

She must grin because Jonas' fingers roam over the titles and he picks one and brings it back. Queen of Wrath and Vengeance. She opens the book and immediately flips the pages and sticks her nose in the crease and sniffs, settling back into the sofa beside me. I was right. They’re unread. She must have hundreds of books that have simply just been waiting to be read by her.

She tries to cross her legs but goes against it and when she puts her heels against the couch to put her knees up, she winces. I grab one of the throw pillows and put them under her legs. She blinks at me, a slight tilt to her lips and snuggles against the back  of the couch. Before she gets too comfortable, Jonas throws a blanket over her and she sighs.

A book, a fire, an oversized sectional and a blanket.

These are the things that make Raven Monroe, a born billionaire, a practical heiress… happy.

I lean closer to read over her shoulder and she moves so I can see better. Her scent once again infiltrating my nostrils, and it takes everything in me not to grab her by the silky strands, pull her back to me, thrust my tongue between her lips to tongue-fuck her mouth.

Taste. Rut. Rut. Feast.

Twenty minutes later we’re on chapter two after a very fucked up prologue when Damon brings in trays full of food and mugs full of coffee and reusable bottles of orange juice and water. He hands a specific one to Raven. “Decaf.”

She hands it back and tries to take a different one. Jonas and I chuckle when it happens twice more and her brows furrow in anger. She’s adorable and the exchange is mildly entertaining.

“Little bird,” Damon’s tone is stern. “You need to be able to sleep. So if you drink this coffee, it’ll be for the flavor. Not the stimulation.”

She swipes the coffee for a water bottle with a huff. I’m with her. Decaf is merely a placebo.

Jonas has the college football station on, watching the highlights and reruns RMU missed out on due to the campus being closed and the game being canceled in memoriam.

We’re all digging into the best omelets I’ve ever fucking tasted when a News Bulletin comes up showing a former RMU Quarterback and Chase’s picture beside him. For a second, I almost think it’s Riordan. The pair look almost identical.

“… Quarterback was found this morning, dead in a bathtub at the luxurious De Novo Hotel. A tragedy, Prescott, 27, had just buried his cousin, also a Quarterback for the RMU Yellow Jackets Friday evening. Sources are currently calling it an alleged suicide. The family wishes to be left alone. We have no further information at this time.”

Raven tenses beside me and her eyes close. When she opens them, they all share a look.

“Shit.” Jonas mumbles. He puts his plate on the coffee table and hangs his head, shaking it slowly. Raven puts her plate beside his and climbs into his lap. He puts his arms around her waist and inhales her scent.

A lover comforting her lover.

Where jealousy should spike, it merely ebbs and quickly disappears. “Friend of yours?” I ask.

Jonas nods. “I just saw him yesterday at the funeral. It’s wild.” He looks at Raven and offers a soft smile. “I’m okay baby, I promise. I wasn’t close with him like I was Chase.”

I look over at Damon, whose plate is also now on the tray, his ankle is propped on his knee, and his thumb is rubbing against the length of his middle finger. Silver eyes take in the lovers, not an ounce of jealousy scribed on his face. He watches them with a burning intensity and even shirtless and in his pajama bottoms, he looks every bit like the psychiatric doctor he is, analyzing their behavior like two animals caged in a zoo.

His zoo.

But there is no malicious intent behind his usual cold, calculating stare. There’s a warmth, a softness for them. He catches me watching him and a smirk forms. “Little bird, how about you take Jonas upstairs for a nap? I’ll join you shortly.”

There. There is when a sting of heat, an unfamiliar emotion twists in my chest, as I watch the young man get up, holding Raven in his arms, and trudge up the stairs that I can place that unfamiliar spark of emotion between desire and envy.

Catch. Feast. Rut. Claim.

My lizard brain, the most Neolithic, primal part of my brain, wants so much to be buried inside this woman. This beautiful fucking mute and I don't understand it.

Why?

She wouldn’t be able to moan, to gasp, to sigh a breathy little sigh, cry out my name – none of the things that would satiate the beast inside and yet… to feel her thighs tremble around me, her pussy throb while I shoot my cum deep inside of her, the thought of her face contorted in conquered ecstasy, hair spread around a pillow like a halo has me hard.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I believe my thoughts are a bit more expensive.”

Damon laughs. “Well, can’t say I didn’t try to shut them up for you. Maybe another trip to Inferno for you tonight, then?”

“Shut up.” I reply in an annoyed huff.

Damon stands and heads to the back door just when I begin to hear the unmistakable sound of a man praising his lover. As I step through the door and out onto the covered porch. “Oh, Harrington?” I turn, the handsome prick grinning like a starved wolf that just caught a bird.

“I want to thank you for being such a great professor and thoroughly teaching your student how to… swallow.” He slams the door in my face.

Like I said, PRICK.

That spark in me rises, that disturbing jealousy flaring. The victors are cashing in on my spoils.

I walk the trail back to my own back yard through the rain that’s now a steady drizzle, grumbling, imagining all types of scenarios in my head. Scenarios that all contain the various positions I’d imagined putting her in and they morph into something far more disturbing that include Jonas and Archer. I shake them off.  When I take her, and I will, it will be alone.

I don’t know when and I don’t know where or how or even why, but all I know is Raven deserves to be punished. She’s been a good girl, I’m sure, for them… but for me, she’s always fucking bad. The intolerable short skirts. The fishnets or thigh highs. Flashing her panties. Being in the goddamn restricted section of the library. Nibbling on the tip of her pen while I’m teaching, biting her lower lip when she doesn’t understand something. Her defiance. Spitting on me, fighting me…

It's only a matter of time before she acts up again. She can’t help it. It’s instilled in her to fight and I can instill it into her to crave discipline. My form of discipline.

By the time I reach my back gate I’m so fucking hard I could punch a nail into the wall. I enter the threshold of my home. Other than the low hum of the refrigerator, silence greets me. There is no warmth to my home. It’s dark because all the blinds, save one, are closed. When I step into my kitchen, a cold cup of coffee waits for me.

There’s no arguing over it.

There’s no television on.

No smells of someone making breakfast.

No sound of a book’s page turning.

No music.

Just dead silence.

It unsettles me. It never has before I’ve always preferred the quietness but now… now it’s just too loud. I hear the soft rumble of an engine as it slows to a stop. From where I’m standing I watch a black jeep with illegally tinted windows park on the side of the road between a few trees, hidden and out of sight.

I go on about my day, clean my already clean house, go down to the basement that isn’t a library or a soundproof room, it’s a home gym. I work out, then go back up to shower, make myself a sandwich, order the trashy novel Raven and I were reading on her couch so I can read it myself.

The Jeep is there when I go to sleep.

It’s there when I wake up on Sunday morning.

It’s gone when I go to the market for groceries.

It’s back when I climb into bed Sunday evening.

My thoughts drift to Raven, like usual, then back to the blacked-out Jeep nestled in the trees.

A knowledge from my own experiences makes alarms go off in my head. All the signs are there.

It’s a stake out.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Raven.

My shadow is back.

I don’t know how to explain it. But I can feel it. Except this time, there’s no sense of dread. When I told Damon about it yesterday, he said seeing it as a child could have been my own way of trying to still have a connection with my dead father. As a protector because why didn’t it come for me when I was dying, cooped up in that fucking locker for days?

When I told him I saw it at the pond, while I was drowning Chase, he asked why didn’t I see it while slicing Tyler’s veins open?

When I finally told him about my dream, the one that lead me to sleepwalk, that I was being chased by shadows, he said I could be associating my guilt with my kills and that I was manifesting them in my dreams.

But I don’t feel guilty and I definitely don’t feel remorse.

He said I probably do subconsciously.

I don’t.

But I can feel eyes on me even when I’m back at Rayne-Moore. Jonas’ practice runs over in the morning while I’m at the gym on campus. I take shower in the locker room, get dressed and then use the app for the Koffee Kart to order myself and Jonas light roast Americanos. I want to try everything on the menu. I have my head down when I feel a pair of hands wrap around my waist and lips on my temple. My eyes immediately close shut and I let myself relax against him, let his scent invade my senses like he did all weekend.

“Fuck I missed you baby.”

I want to ask why? We slept together in my dorm last night when we got back to campus. We were a tangle of limbs until he had to leave for practice. But I get it. I missed him, too. I turn and get on the tips of my toes to kiss him. It feels so good to kiss him again. I want to kiss him always.

I never thought I’d be the type to swoon for a man, but Jonas Anderson is absolutely swoon-worthy.

“You look beautiful.”

Swoon.

“Meet me in the library later, encyclopedia section so I can eat your pussy. I’m dying to taste you.”

My heart stops.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll do it right now. Re-claim you in front of everyone so they all know you’re mine again.”

“Well, don’t you two look cozy.”

My back stiffens and I feel Jonas tense up. We both turn to face him slowly. His hair is unkempt, eyes rimmed red, he looks haggard, as if he hasn’t slept in days, deep circles under his eyes.

“Thought you were done with her. Unclaimed her.”

“We were never over, Ri.”

“That’s not what my brother said… and you know what’s weird?” His eyes go wild. “Tyler,” we keep our composure, “Two men were seen dropping him off at De Novo.”

Jonas nods. “He got shitfaced at Inferno and I drove him and left as soon as I dropped him off in his room. I’m sure the cameras show me entering and leaving his room within three minutes.”

“Who was with you?”

“A friend.” Jonas replies in a low voice. “You know what was weird to me, Ri? How Tyler started talking about Raven… why  would he do that? Hmm? He seemed so interested in her.”

“You… fucker.” Riordan’s voice cracks. “I know she had something to do with it.”

“She didn’t.”

“Don’t fucking gaslight me, Jonas.” He steps closer to us and Jonas puts me behind him, blocking me with his body. “I can feel it.” Tears roll down his cheeks and his eyes are so blue they send chills down my spine.

“Riordan,”

“Don’t say my name. Don’t you ever say my fucking name ever again.”

“What Tyler chose to do was sad. What happened to Ch- your brother was a tragedy. We all told him to quit mixing his shit.”

“He wouldn’t… leave me behind.” He croaks, unshed tears shimmering.

“No, he wouldn’t.” Jonas agrees. “Not on purpose. It was an accident.”

“He can’t… he just can’t be gone.” He seems to finally be coming to terms with Chase’s death being an accident until his eyes find mine. They narrow and his face turns spiteful. “Tyler may have been gay, but he wasn’t a fucking coward. He would’ve never taken the easy way out. No matter if a ghost came back to haunt him.” He steps closer to me again and Jonas raises his hands. “That’s what you are… Spooks. A living, breathing ghost.”

Chills erupt everywhere but I don’t move a muscle. A crowd has gathered and I watch students in uniform, blurs of yellow and plaid and black watching. Waiting with bated breath.

“C’mon, Riordan. That’s enough.”

“Raven!” Mindlessly, I spin to grab our order but I feel hands yank my ponytail and tug me down. My ass hits the ground as Riordan drags me. The pain is sharp and my scalp burns, but I claw at him, his eyes, his cheeks. He straddles me and when I gather the strength to flip us over, his fight is stronger, Jonas’ arms go around his chest but Riordan grabs my wrists and twists, yanking me to him.

“I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll finish what they started.” He whispers harshly in my ear and then licks me. And still, no music. There’s no melody playing. No beginnings of a beautiful symphony for me to compose.

“Christ! Riordan! Let go!” Jonas tugs him off and throws a punch, landing on Riordan’s nose with a resounding crunch and blood gushes out, flooding over his lips, chin and down to his shirt. Multiple hands grab from all different directions, pulling them apart.

“Mister Prescott, Mister Anderson, Miss Monroe,” Dean Whitmore states our names in a low growl. Behind him, Maverick has Jonas by the waist and campus police have Riordan in the same hold. “In my office, now.”

                            ______

“Raven…” The campus police are here to take my statement. I don’t give one. We’re in the Dean’s office. Me, Officer Truitt and Maverick because the other officers are getting Jonas and Riordan’s statements separately. “Do you want to press charges?”

I shake my head. In a way, I deserved it. I killed his brother to get to Tyler. I didn’t want Riordan in the crossfire. I really didn’t. He’s brokenhearted, rightly so, and I’ve been there before. I didn’t kill the love of his life, but I did take away his brother.

“Raven-“ Maverick’s voice rings out loud and clear in the office. “May I have a word with her, please? Alone?”

Officer Truitt, a woman in her early forties with sandy blonde hair and too-red lipstick leaves.

Maverick sits on the edge of Whitmore’s desk, wearing sage button-down and charcoal trousers. I love sage on him. It brings out his eyes. “Siren, look at me.”

I do.

“You were just assaulted. You should press charges. He told the Officer in the other room he thinks you killed Chase.”

I look at him, horrified. My hands fly up, and I’m about to sign but then I remember he doesn’t know ASL and so this is futile. Pointless to try to rest my case, I put my hands back on my thighs.

“I know you didn’t. Chase had cocaine, fentanyl and a highly illegal limit of alcohol in his system. It’s incredible how he was even able to walk from the frat house to the pond.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“I have a friend that works at the station.” He offers. “Raven… think about this. If he really believes you did this, he could be seeking retribution.”

I shake my head again.

“You could be in danger.”

I throw my head back and laugh silently. I laugh until my side hurts and tears come out. He looks at me like I’m unhinged. But he seems to understand what I’m saying. They already tried to kill me once… and they failed.

“You’re really not going to press charges?”

There’s a commotion outside of the office and then-

“Where is she?” Damon barges through the door, it slams shut behind him, giving us privacy. He kneels beside me and checks me once over and then my tender scalp.

“Christ, Little bird, I let you out of my sight for one morning and a wolf attacks.”

I shoo him off me.

He stands up and glares at Maverick. “What happened?”

Maverick recounts everything from watching Jonas arrive at the Koffee Kart, to the confrontation to the altercation and how I won’t press charges.

“Give us privacy.”

“No.”

“She won’t talk if you’re here. She doesn’t trust you. I’m her doctor. Get the fuck out, Harrington this isn’t up for discussion.”

“She talks to you?”

“I know all of her mannerisms. I’ve been with her throughout this entire time.”

“Mannerisms aren’t the same.”

“Fuck off you beast, you know just as well as I do body language speaks louder than actual words. You’re just too high up on your horse to actually look at her and learn her. Now get the fuck out.”

Maverick leaves with a huff.

I make a slight nod at the camera in the corner of the room.

Damon moves, blocking me from it, casually leaning against Whitmore’s desk. I keep my hands low and out of sight.

I don’t want to press charges because I don’t want to leave a paper trail or be questioned. If he gets suspended that’s fine. I don’t want to ruin his life more than I already have. Pressing charges and getting him expelled? That will give him more time to follow me.

“You think he’s following you?”

Someone is!

“Raven-“

I cross my arms over my chest. He knows not to call me that. He moves his hands forward, hiding them. His ASL is a little rocky but I get the gist of what he’s trying to tell me.

That the shadow is a manifestation of my mind.

My jaw drops.

Motherfucker.

I stand up abruptly and swing the door open, throwing him a middle finger, leaving them as they call out after me. “She won’t be pressing charges.” Damon sighs.

“Who are you?” Officer Truitt asks.

“Her doctor.”

Oh fuck that.

I turn back around, stomping right up to him and shove my middle finger straight to his disgustingly handsome face, then leave the office.

“Jesus, what did you say to her?” Maverick asks.

“I was her doctor. I’m now the student counselor here, but I was one of the doctors on her treatment regime.” He corrects himself.

Yeah, prick. You were my doctor. Now you’re just a doctor.  A gorgeous doctor that eats my pussy and melts when my lips are wrapped around your cock.

I don’t stick around to hear the rest of his explanation. I know I’ve probably just implicated him. I go straight to my dorm room, push my chair over to the smoke alarm, pull out the camera he installed because I always had my suspicions and he thinks  he’s so fucking smart and inconspicuous. But I know him better than I know my damn self.

Funny how I’m labeled the psycho but he’s the one that put a tracker in me.

We’re both psychos, I suppose. For the other. Fuck, this is getting so out of hand.

I pack up all of my uniforms and textbooks, when Jonas comes in, I’m in a deep frenzy. I’m chaos. I’m mad. I don’t want to be in this stupid fucking dorm. I want to go home. My home. The one catered to me. The one I tailor-made for me. Me. Not Damon. Not Jonas. Me. Me and Axel. My safe space. Mine.

If Damon doesn’t want to believe me about my shadow, fine. But I know what I feel. I won’t be gaslit. I’m not crazy. I’m not psycho. I’m not. But I am. Shit. I just implicated Archer in front of the police. Campus police with no real jurisdiction, but still. I’m only glad the other officers and Dean Whitmore were with Jonas and Riordan in separate rooms.

“Baby, baby. Stop. Stop. Hold on.”

I groan inaudibly when his large hands come about my shoulders. My fight isn’t with him. It’s with Damon. Besides, he has that tracker in me. He knows where I’ll be. Unless he installed cameras there, too, when I wasn’t paying attention. Besides, I love it when Jonas touches me. I relax against him immediately.

“Where are we going?”

I point to myself.

“I go where you go.”

Home.

“Why?”

Damon thinks I’m crazy.

“How, baby? Wait, slow down. Slow down. Can you write it down? You’re going too fast. Besides, the only real words I learned are ‘kiss’ and ‘my’ and ‘pussy.’ Oh, and ‘more.’” He smirks.

I blush tremendously. He’s a fast learner. We go to my desk where I pull out an empty notebook and a pen. I write it all down. The shadow. When it started. How I can feel and sometimes see it. What Damon said about it all while I’m sitting in Jonas’ lap and he's rubbing the tops of my thighs and kissing my head. He's hard beneath me but we both ignore it.

“Not that I don’t believe you, but if you feel your shadow, don’t you think we should stay on campus? There’s more people around might not attack if there are a thousand students around.”

I turn to look at him from over my shoulder and roll my eyes.

“Riordan is suspended for two weeks. Today was a fluke. I didn’t protect you. I didn’t see his arm coming out to grab you. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t his fault. Riordan was a man on a mission. Besides, he didn’t hurt me the way he really wanted to hurt me. I’ve stared death in the face and then embodied her, letting her possess me for my own sick needs. Riordan had that look.

Neither of us saw the attack coming. I had my back turned and he caught the end strands of my ponytail. It was a cheap shot and he took his opening. I write only to take Jonas’ bruised fist from my lap in my hand, then turn to straddle him and kiss it, then hold it up to my cheek.

“Fuck, baby.” He taps his forehead to mind. “I love you; you know that?”

I nod. I whisper that I love him, too and then twirl my finger in the air.

“Always.” He whispers against my lips. “Why does it feel like it means more when you do little things like that?”

I shrug my shoulders only for Jonas to claim my lips with his. Kissing Jonas is always an assault to my senses. The way he touches me, large hands roaming, groping, and teasing electrifies and burns me all at once, altering and re-altering every fiber of my being, destroying and reconstructing my brain chemistry. Any chemical imbalance I have, he balances it with just one touch, one kiss and when it’s both, every atom that is me buzzes with an intensity so fierce, I always feel like I want to explode.

I wonder if this is what it’s like when new galaxies form?

And then he says that thing I love against my lips. “Fuck, baby.” It’s a moan, a plea, a whisper, all in one and it sets me on fucking fire. I want to replicate it. I want him to feel the way I do when I hear him call me baby in that way. That special little way that’s just for me.

“Jonas…”

“Goddammit baby, I’m trying to be gentle but you make me so fucking crazy. I can feel how hot your little pussy is through your panties.” He slips off my blazer, unbuttons my shirt and they both fall to the floor in a soft ‘thud.’ In nothing but my skirt and thigh highs, he shoves his hand between us and pushes my panties to the side. I moan into his mouth, tasting him when his fingers brush against my entrance. “You didn’t have enough of me this morning?”

“No…” I whisper, riding his fingers, chasing my high. Jonas is my favorite drug. Now. Forever. Always. He pulls them out and salaciously sucks them into his mouth. I imprint the image into my memory.

“Get up. I want to try something.” He loses his clothes as we stand in front of the full-length mirror by my desk. “You don’t want me to be nice, do you baby?” He asks, bending me over before him, bunching my skirt up and over my hips, he pulls my panties down to my ankles giving me a teasing lick, from my clit to my anus. He doesn't let me step out of my panties. He stands and I let out a soft gasp as he notches the head of his dick into my entrance, unmoving, one hand on the nape of my neck, the other on my hip. I grasp the edge of my desk. “Always so wet and ready for me. Eyes on me baby.”

My eyes that were roaming over the lewd sight of him, a towering demigod, sun-kissed muscles, snap up to meet his in our reflection.

“Good girl.” He growls, then thrusts into me in one go, and my entire body gloriously glitches, jaw unhinging at the sharp pain of the stretch that is accepting his thick, delicious length. My eyes close but the hard spank he delivers has me staring back at him, taking in the obscene view of this demigod going crazy over me. His hands wander, touching everywhere like he can’t get enough of the feel of my skin under his calloused touch. His eyes are dark, jaw clenched, every muscle seems to ripple as my pussy pulsates around him, needing him deeper. In my soul.

He smirks. "You like what you see, baby?”

I nod.

“Good, cause I love what I see.” He pulls out and slides back in, each thrust more powerful than the last. My gasps and his moans are a savory cacophony. My breasts jiggle and sway with each stab of his hips meeting mine. “Look at you baby, fuck, such a sick little slut, you love this, don’t you? You’re so creamy already.” He doesn’t let up when he reaches over and takes my breasts in his hands, pinching and tugging on my nipples he pulls me back, my spine against his chest. “Play with that gorgeous little pussy, baby.”

I do. I reach down, mesmerized on the sight of us, and play, teasing my clit. He shoves my hand away and replaces it with his own. “I got it,” he growls. “If anyone is going to make this pussy come, it’s me.”

He bends and licks my nape of my neck, unrelenting in his stare, the short, hard ongoing thrusts, driving me wild. He’s so good. It’s so good. The delicious sensations he causes are always an overload to my senses but I don’t ever want it to stop.

“Jonas…” I manage to croak out when that delicious white-hot heat makes me gush.

“I know baby. I wanna come so bad but I love watching the way you take me. It’s my favorite thing. I want to crawl into your skin and stay inside all day, every day. Beautiful, beautiful Raven. Mine,” thrust “mine,” thrust “mine.” Thrust.

The tentative ministrations have me so high, the absolute pinnacle of pleasure but I can’t help but imagine Damon’s tongue replacing his fingers and I come, come, come for my demigod, milking and squeezing him while he groans “fuck!’ his release painting my inner walls with his seed.

We stay together. Panting. My panties are still around my ankles, one thigh high at my knee.

He pulls out, not cleaning me up, he tugs my panties up  and then helps me redress into my usual large T-shirt which is one of his.

“Keep me inside. I want to come and fuck my cum back  into you.” He says, tucking me into bed.

I sit up, eyebrows knitted together in question.

“I’m going to get us food.” He replies while he puts on his clothes and kisses my forehead. “Take a nap. I’ll be right back.” He slips out of the room and my phone buzzes.

Damon: That wasn’t very nice, Raven.

Damon: I have more cameras.

Damon: I’ll just place them where they won’t be as easy to find.

I roll my eyes and exit out of his thread and open another.

Unknown: You are not exempt because of today. Charles Cullen. Hand in your debate to me and only me by EOD Thursday.

Unknown: and the next time you feel like going for a stroll in the woods, let me know.

Maverick: Wouldn’t want you to decide to go cliff diving again.

That bastard.

I freeze, wondering how Maverick got my number as I save it. My eyes narrow at Damon’s name when I see Axel’s pop up. My thumb hesitates over the answer button. I know what this call is about, and I really thought he’d call sooner. I’ve been dreading it all weekend. I decide to answer.

“Hey sis.” He greets me sadly and I smile at him. His hair is longer, a darker shade, browner than blonde, and looks as though he’s been running his fingers through it all day. From what I can see, he’s in his own lake house just outside of Hartford, in his home office. “I’m sure you’ve heard Tyler Prescott was found dead Saturday morning in his hotel suite?”

I prop my phone up and nod.

“His funeral is Wednesday but his wake is tomorrow and I really need you to come with us.”

I bring my hand up and point from one shoulder to the other. Us?

I hear my door open and Jonas comes bearing a large quantity of food that he places on my coffee table. “Hey baby, I’m back. I thought I told you to be in bed. You need your rest.”

I most certainly do not. As a matter of fact, I’m ready for more. Something about fucking the cum that’s been leaking out into my panties back into me. I can’t help biting my lip. 

He saunters over, “I missed you,” he says and kisses my temple then sees Axel’s face. “Oh hey.”

“Hey, Jonas. I was telling Raven she needs to come with us to Tyler’s wake tomorrow.”

Jonas’ smile drops into a frown. “Wow. That fast?”

“Our parents are flying in from the Maldives to attend and Raven needs to be there.”

Oh. So that’s where they’ve been. Not that I get updates or anything anymore.

“She absolutely does not need to be there.” Jonas replies, eyes narrowed and dark at the screen. At my brother.

“Jonas…”

The sudden change in Jonas has me staring at him. “Riordan attacked Raven today on the fucking quad while we were in line getting our coffee.” He goes into a tangent, telling him everything that happened, including Riordan being suspended but leaving out Damon.

“Christ.”

“He has it in his mind that Raven had something to do with Chase’s death.”

Axel’s stare bounces between me and Jonas and for some reason, this feeling, deep down inside me makes me feel as  though Jonas should not have told him that. My brother. My best friend. My rock. “That’s fucking impossible.”

“Raven went down there to play her cello and found him belly up in the pond like a bloated fish. She ran to me, from the pond all the way to my dorm, dragged me out of bed and had me call 911. He’d already been dead for a while. His eyes…" Jonas shakes his head.

Riordan thinks I had something to do with Chase because Chase was stalking me and I think Riordan knows he was.

I’m glad Axel doesn’t react to my signing an entire sentence but reacts to what I told him. “What the fuck, Raven? Why didn’t you go to the cops? Do you have proof?”

“I really have to get better with my ASL.” Jonas groans.

I nod at them, both answering Axel’s question and telling Jonas he absolutely should learn ASL.

Plus, the school should have footage of him sneaking into my dorm room while I was sleeping.

“Ray… no… please don’t tell me he…”

He didn’t get that far, I sign quickly. I’d wake up to find him sitting on my desk chair staring at me or he’d be in bed with me… touching me.

“He touched you?”

“HE DID WHAT?” Jonas growls. His breath sharpens and he looks like he was punched in the gut. “Please fucking interpret or I’m going to hire a full-time interpreter and none of these conversations are going to be private.”

“Ray, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Who was I going to tell, little brother? Everyone here thinks I’m faking this, even my professor bullies me.

“Why didn’t you tell Jonas?”

We were broken up. I thought he wouldn’t have cared. And if I told you, you’d tell mom and dad and they’d make me drop out.

“That’s why you were sick wasn’t it? You broke up and had an… episode?”

I’m ashamed of it but yeah. Plus, toward the end, Chase kept mumbling really weird things while he was touching me. Sometimes he was touching me in his sleep, so I don’t think he was fully conscious the entire time. I was able to push him off me when he would.

“But you said you have proof. What do you mean by that?”

I don’t why I don’t tell Axel about the security cameras outside of the lake house, I just sign, The school’s cameras would show him coming in my room. I just don’t know how he got in here. He was using a key.

Jonas groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s… that’s my fault. I made a few copies of her room key while we were together. I don’t know how he got one.”

He what? Christ he’s as bad as Damon.

“Jonas…” Axel says his name like he’s thinking Jonas is a sick son of a bitch and I should be wary.

I gave him the key. I lie.

“Sis, regardless of everything, I… I need you to be there with me. I… Tyler and I were close. You don’t have to go to the funeral. Just the wake. I need you there for me. Okay? I don’t think I can…”

My heart hurts for him but it leaves me feeling even more confused. Back then, Tyler was just his football captain. We were sophomores. Tyler was a senior. Always hazing him during his initiation to Sigma Delta Chi our entire freshman year. Is Axel gay? Bi? Were they in a secret relationship? Did they love each other or did he know about Tyler and seduced him to ruin him and exact revenge for me?  Now that I know the initiation from the Syndicate is completely different from the SDC fraternity, did Axel ever complete his initiation to enter the Syndicate?

I nod at my brother while Jonas is texting furiously beside me. I’ll go. For you. But only to the wake.

“Thank you. I’ll pick you up. Jonas, do you want to ride with us?”

Jonas nods. “Yeah.”

Damon’s name pops up on my screen. I have to go, Dr. Archer is calling me. By the way, I like your hair like that.

Axel grins that wolfish grin but then says, “I’ve been trying to make an appointment with that man for weeks.”

I lift a shoulder and let it drop, hanging up on him and answering Damon’s call while Jonas goes to the boxes of food he brought and brings me one that has a gourmet burger and sweet potato fries.

“Put the camera back, little bird.”

“Camera?” Jonas asks and I almost laugh at the surprise on his face. “Did you watch us fuck in here?”

“No comment,” Damon grunts.

I shake my head, making the best unbothered face that I can. I don’t have the energy to tell them that they’re equally deranged. I grab a knife and fork from my desk and cut the burger into fours.

“Oh baby, that’s smart. Less mess.” He says and my heart somehow melts even more for my demigod. Since my attack, after being gagged, I developed a sensory issue to feeling anything on the corners of my mouth for longer than a few seconds. (Except dick, apparently.) Cutting up food into smaller portions helps a lot with that. Damon was the one that helped me get through a lot of the aversions I developed. I can even handle slight touches to my wrists now.

“What’s this about Jonas saying Axel needs you at Tyler’s wake?”

I tell him everything to which he gets Jonas’ attention. “Will you be going?”

“I have to. My father already called me. There’s a… a legacy has died. Which means a more thorough autopsy. There is always a meeting after the burial to discuss findings and determine whether or not it was a hit.” 

“Axel is part of the Syndicate?”

Jonas exhales. “Tyler… I think Tyler paid Axel’s initiate fee. Tyler was Axel’s witness.”

I’m suddenly not hungry whatsoever anymore. It feels like the closer I get to finding out who the group of people were that attacked me for their initiation are, it’s like starting at square one all over again. I keep taking a step forward and thrown four steps back.

This is exhausting.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Raven.

Tuesday afternoon after my last class, I head to the library to get a book on Charles Cullen.

Jonas is outside, getting us our espressos since we’re going to need the caffeine to go to the wake later. I’m in the biography section when two very familiar toned arms wrap around my waist, then lower onto my hips. His nose rubs along the shell of my ear, his breath is warm and it sends shivers everywhere. “Is this where you hide?”

I turn to face him, my tormentor, whose peridot gaze lingers on my lips before meeting my eyes. Fuck he smells so fucking good. I take a step backward and my spine hits the shelves. His hands drop to my thighs, reaching lower to the hem of my skirt, pulling it up as though we’re not in public. Warmth pools between my thighs at the thought of being caught with my professor’s hands under my skirt.

“I… ordered that book we were reading at your lake house. It’s… interesting to say the least.”

I nod once. Of course it is, it’s about a five-hundred-year-old vampire queen that finally gives in to fate and fucks all of her mates. 

He kisses just below my ear, we’re so close, the low thrum of students walking and studying just two stories below… fuck, if he moved his fingers just a little higher… “I worried about you.” He sighs, “I’ve never worried for someone before, Siren… what are you doing to me? Hmm?”

He licks, nipping at my skin, his fingertips tracing small circles on my outer thighs - I hear footsteps coming so I shake my head at him to shut him up and push him a little. Even through the fabric of his button-down his skin is hot. It’s so hot and I want to touch him without it. But not here. Not now. 

Kinsley MacNamara runs past us, all golden hair, and rays of sunshine. Her skirt is hiked up and the top three buttons of her shirt are unbuttoned. “Oh! Professor Harrington, you’re still here, good. I had a few questions about the debate?” She flirts with a high-pitched voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

Ugh.

“It’s a debate Kinsley.” He answers in a sharp, annoyed tone.

Her eyes find mine and she smiles wickedly. “What are you doing here, mute? God, go be creepy somewhere else.” So much for being a ray of fucking sunshine. “Oh, unless this is where you haunt?”

“Kinsley! Do not speak to her like that.”

She giggles, ignoring him. “My mother said your own mother said you’re just like a creepy little broken doll. Always staring. You freak your own family out so much Sofia doesn’t even want to be seen with you in public.”

I know. I take a step toward her, extending my arm and… grab the book I was looking for from behind her.

“Raven, I-"

“She’s a lost cause, professor. Even her brother thinks so. Anyway-"

I leave them behind and find Jonas waiting for me downstairs. “You okay, baby?”

I peek up at the third floor to see Maverick glaring down at me. I fix my focus back to Jonas, nod, smile, tip on my toes and give him a simple kiss.

“Sofia doesn’t even want to be seen with you in public.”

I let the comment slide off my shoulders. I don’t have time to dwell on things I already know. 

After I check out the biography I need, we go to our separate dorms, which he then comes into mine, fucks me in the shower, and we get ready for the wake together, only for him to try to fuck me in my little black romper with long lace sleeves and a deep V neckline. I purchased it a long time ago because it had secret pockets sown in.

“I’m going to burn this thing. I hate it. It’s a goddamn cockblock.” I smile and get on my knees for him instead. “Fuck, I love you.”

He finishes just in time as Axel knocks on my door when I’m refreshing my lipstick. I grab my double-breasted cloak overcoat that hides my hands. While Jonas is greeting Axel, I put a balaclava in my pocket. Kinsley’s comment had given me an idea.

“Creepy little doll… Ghost… Spooks… Specter… Mute.”

The driver opens the door to the Lincoln Limousine and I almost fall on my ass when I see John and Sofia Monroe waiting for us. She’s as beautiful as ever, my mother. Stark green eyes and flawless skin. Looking at her breaks my heart because when she looks at me… her eyes don’t shine like they used to. Now she looks at me with an indifference like I am a ghost.

But I’m your ghost, mama. I’m your muñequita, mama. Your doll. Remember? Remember when I’d dress up in your closet and prance around in your shoes that were too big for me and you would do my makeup so we could hide from papa a little longer? Mama, por favor! I want to scream.

“Baby you okay?”

She looks behind me as I take my seat by the window. “Jonas, how lovely to see you. Our children never mentioned you’d be joining us.”

“Well, as if Raven would have, Sofia.” John retorts with a cool smile that doesn’t meet his own green eyes. Out of the two of us, Axel looks more like their child than I do.

I shift in my seat uncomfortably and clench my hand into a fist under my overcoat and Jonas scoots closer to me.

“It’s alright, mi amor, I’m sure this was all last-minute details.” She says with a pinched smile. “I’m glad you covered those thighs of yours, mija.”

I look at the window and let the scenery pass me by, letting the forced conversation flow around me like it always does. A ghost. A specter. A doll with perfect hair, a few chinks in the porcelain and glass eyes forgotten in the corner of the room.

                            ______

The wake is at Grimm & Sons.

I love it.

Repulsive, I know, but something about this place gives Dracula vibes with the heavy black velvet curtains, retro sconces on the walls, the black and red paisley patterned carpet, the deep red chairs, the casket sits on a dais, with white and deep blood-red roses and actual candles with flames dancing placed around it.

It looks ritualistic.

I’m on Jonas' arm, my hand curled around his bicep, happy I decided to go with ballet flats instead of my stilettos. I was expecting to see a lot of familiar faces but I wasn’t expecting hers.

Sabrina is by the bar in a dark berry power suit and sharp black heels and she almost runs to me. I clutch Jonas' arm so tightly I could probably tear through his jacket.

“Oh my god it’s really you.” Her slight English accent still sounds exactly the same. She forces me into a hug and my entire body goes rigid. Jonas lightly pushes her off me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, Raven, is that really you?”

My vision blurs. That voice.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you.” Ashleigh says, her own hand tight on Thadd's bicep.

“You aren’t getting out of here alive, bitch.”

Music begins to play, but nobody takes their seats. I look around, seemingly nobody else hears it. The melody it’s…

“Are you okay, Ray?” Ashleigh asks.

Louder. It’s getting, so loud.

“C'mon, Ash, let’s go take our seats. Jonas. Raven.” Thadd says and my brains feels itchy. “Brina, your father is over by Mr. Hamilton. We should say hello.”

“I don’t need your money, I need you to die.”

“Yeah… erm… okay. Raven it was… lovely to see you.” She answers but it’s all muffled. The fucking music. I stare after Ashleigh who's peeking over her shoulder at me.

“Baby? You okay?” The music stops, zapping me back to life.

No, my brain is on fire, I want to say but nod instead.

“Oh, let’s go say hi to my parents.”

And then I meet Jonas' parents. A very kind couple that look at Jonas as if he’s hung the moon. Elena Anderson, lovely as can be with red hair and green eyes, pulls me in immediately. “Oh, darling! We’ve heard so much about you! Oh, I love your overcoat. Where did you get this? I must have one!”

I can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of my lips. I keep my hands low and sign to Jonas. But Elena surprises me. “Oh yes! I saw this in their catalog! We must go shopping, darling you have impeccable taste. I should know, you’re dating my son.” She winks with a giggle and her laugh fills me up. It feels like… a mug of hot chocolate after you’ve been playing in the snow all day. “Henry!”

“Yes dear?”

“Look at how beautiful she is!”

“Yes dear, I have eyes. Good job, son.” Jonas laughs at his father, pride shining in his eyes. He bites his lower lip and waggles his eyebrows at me. It’s incredible how similar they look.

“Oh, and this overcoat, Henry!”

“Yes, dear. It sounds like another shopping trip in Paris is in our immediate future… again.”

Elena winks at me like we’re sharing an inside joke. “You must go with us! Oh, we have a penthouse overlooking the Sienne. You’d love it!”

It sounds lovely. I sign and she squeezes my arm. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone. I’d love it if you’d have me.

“Oh, darling, of course we’d have you. Our homes are so lonely these days, with Jonas being at university.”

“Mom.”

He calls her mom.

This time, the music really does begin to play. “Oh, darling, don’t be a stranger, please. I’d love to have you and Jonas over for dinner. What’s your favorite food?”

“Mom.”

“Yes, darling, yes.” Elena kisses my cheek and for some reason, I hope she left a lipstick stain on there the way Sofia used to. Proof I was loved once.

God, my mommy issues are so fucked.

Jonas delivers me to Axel while bending to murmur “As soon as I told her you were signing, she took an ASL course.”

My heart melts, not allowing myself to think that Sofia never showed up to mine. It was only Axel.

Axel guides me by the elbow to sit between him and John and Axel drapes his arm around my shoulder. People go up, one by one, telling stories of Tyler, unsurprisingly all of them took place before his scandal. It’s when Riordan gets up on the podium that I keep my head down, slinking a little further down in my seat. “Tyler… wasn’t perfect. He had flaws and…”

“Fucking hell he gave this speech at Chase’s wake.” Axel leans toward me and whispers. Stunned, I look over at him. “Could you blame him? Nobody here really cares. It’s a fucking mockery. Just another reason for the elite to network and rub elbows with the other elite.” He scoffs.

But I knew what he wasn’t saying. I always knew what he wasn’t saying. ‘Nobody knew him like I did’. He didn’t ask me to be here because he needed someone to entertain him, he had plenty of “friends” around. No, he needed me to be here because someone he loved was dead.

Because Axel Monroe was to bury his heart. OR he’s just as annoyed as I am with this whole charade. I don’t know anymore. I can’t tell the difference. I’m so confused all the time and being here makes me feel so itchy inside.

At the end of the wake, I see Ashleigh and Thadd head to the near-empty hallway toward the bathrooms. I make a motion to Axel to let him know I'm headed to the powder room and slink, softly on the plush carpet from the other side of the room, toward the other exit. I keep my spine along the black wall, pulling on the balaclava that only has one eye hole and try my best to camouflage myself into the background.

I can barely hear their hushed arguing over the goddamn music in my head.

“Do you think she remembers?”

He grabs her roughly by the elbow, “I swear to fuck, Ashleigh. Shut the fuck up!”

I can see he’s still the fucking dick he always was.

“Thadd she looked like she remembered.”

“She didn’t see anything, you idiot. We all wore masks.” He reassures his wife.

Lucky girl, this one. She did always chase after him even after she caught him cheating oh… twelve times. I know this because after the fifth time she threw up in one of my Birkin bags (even though she had her own) I stopped listening to her drown her sorrows at the expense of her liver. It was always so sad and it stopped being fun being her friend when she drank. The less I enabled, the meaner her little indirect comments were. At first, they were about my body. Then it was about my intelligence. My taste in music. My taste in movies. My taste in men. Even asked if I preferred to lick pussy, and if I did, to stay away from hers. As if I’d even want hers. I bet it was as rotten as she was- is.

“Two Prescott’s dead after she shows up? Honey, please tell me you aren’t that stupid.” She scoffs.

“She still can’t talk. Her parents say she refuses to sign.”

“It doesn’t mean she can’t murder people!”

“Let’s just go home. I’ll know more after the funeral and the meeting tomorrow. If there’s any real proof Tyler was murdered-"

“What, Thadd? What will we do?”

Thadd looks around and shrugs. “We’ll leave the country until it all dies down.”

Oh I want to laugh and dance to this beautiful fucking melody in my head. I want to write it out and compose it and have every ballet and symphony Orchestra play it across the globe.

“Hear anything interesting, baby?”

I jolt upwards and almost pee myself. I tear off the balaclava and shove Jonas who chuckles and fixes my hair.

“You should wear that later. You look like a sexy little burglar.” Then he makes a face, “On second thought, I like watching you come. Maybe I’ll wear it.”

My eyes widen and my pussy tingles. He pushes me against the wall roughly, one hand braced on the wall, the other yanking me to him so I can’t escape.

“Fuck baby, you like that?”

I almost mew.

“God you’re such a sick…” Oh my “Little…” God. “Slut.” He licks my bottom lip with his entire tongue. “If you weren’t wearing this cockblock of a romper I’d be on my knees eating your sweet little pussy like a fucking madman ‘til you come all over my face.” He rasps.

Holy fuck.

“Jonas?” We look over and Ashleigh and Thadd are staring at us.

Jonas flashes that devilish grin, lowers his hand from the wall but not my waist, holding me even closer as we face them and unashamedly readjusts himself. Ashleigh blushes at the sight. “Excuse us, we were just leaving.”

“Kind of weird for you to get hard when there’s a dead body in the other room.” Thadd comments with a smirk. “Do tongueless living dead girls do it for you, Anderson?”

Jonas tilts his head side-to-side as if contemplating his words. “Wasn’t it you that said Ashleigh’s a corpse in bed last year at Inferno? I mean, it looks like you’re in the right place for a hard-on. Me? I’m just celebrating life the way Tyler would have – by going home and getting my dick sucked and then having my girl bounce that sweet, delicious ass of hers on me while she rides me backwards. Might go for anal, too. You know, in memoriam for Ty.” He winks.

I blush past all the shades of pink and go straight to crimson.

Thadd’s eyes go to me, brows hiking up to his hairline. “You motherfucker.” Thadd replies, fist clenched.

“Anyway, good seeing you again, Whitmore’s. But… I really need to take care of my girl. Have a good night with your corpse… oops,” he chuckles darkly “I mean, wife. That’s my bad.” Jonas yanks me out of the hallway and back into the room with everyone, pushing past the crowds to find Axel, who’s with Sofia and John. “I’m calling a car, we’re leaving.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, let them go, Corazón.” Sofia says. “This was no place for her.”

Jonas brow arches so as not to draw attention, he keeps his voice lowered at a decibel only the four of us can hear. “With all due respect Mrs. Monroe, I was so excited to meet you again. I really was. This time as your only daughter’s boyfriend. I was even a teensy bit nervous to finally meet the great John Weston Monroe. But after the way you spoke to your only daughter and then the way ignored your only daughter the entire time, I have to say, fuck you entirely,” he says with a fake grin on his chiseled face.

“Son, bite your tongue.” John says.

“First of all, I’m not your son. I may be adopted but I am so glad you aren’t my father because how can you let your wife treat her only daughter like this? I’m adopted and my parents treat me with more love and respect. I can’t believe I was wanting to make a good impression. My parents loved her, by the way. They can’t wait to have us over for dinner so they can get to know her better. Mom even wants to take her shopping in Paris. Christ, it’s mind-blowing with the way you all treat her she didn’t kill herself.

“The only reason she even came and faced her anxieties is because her brother asked her to. She wanted to be here for him because she is loyal to her only brother.”

Axel looks straight at me, eyes shining bright with unshed tears as Jonas continues.

“Raven took hours to get ready, picked things out and changed a hundred times and then did her hair and make-up perfectly and what did you say to her? What did the old, washed-out supermodel say to her only daughter? Oh, that’s right, I think it went along the lines of, ‘I’m glad you covered those thighs of yours’ not one hello to her.”

Jonas scoffs. “Just to let you know, you don’t have to worry about her anymore. I got her. She’s mine. Don’t call. Don’t text. Oh wait, you already don’t. You just left your only daughter behind and forgot about her. She’s still alive, you know? She is alive and she is breathing and she smiles and she’s so fucking funny and smart and she is here. After she faced something so fucking horrendous and if she had just been shown grace… just a little morsel of kindness… Fuck it. I’m not going there. You know she signs now? To me. Only me. Oh, and my mom now, apparently. So, fuck you and your pathetic excuse for a family. She’s mine.”

Sofia looks at me but I drop my gaze to the ground. I’m just as surprised as them. “Is that true? You’re signing?”

“Don’t answer her, baby. She doesn’t deserve your time, your voice, nor your words. She’s not a mother. We can share mine. Axel, are you coming or staying?”

I finally bring my gaze back up to meet his. His eyes are bouncing between each pair, contemplating between sticking up for me and with me… or standing by our parents. His trust fund. The future they hold in their hands.

“Yes, Axel, are you staying or going with them?” John asks.

Axel’s mouth opens and closes, no sounds coming out. Jonas scoffs once again, and he kisses my temple, the only reassurance he gives me as we step out of the circle we created and out into the cool night air.

We don’t wait very long for a car. Jonas opens the door for me and we hear Axel calling after us. But Jonas shakes his head at him, denying him entry to the car. “It was an easy decision, Axel. It was the easiest decision of your life.”

“Jonas, you don’t understand.” 

“You’re right. I probably don’t. But if I’m honest, I don’t care for your explanation right now. She might. And after you grovel and rest your case with her, I may forgive you. But I won’t forget that you chose them over her. Now, your sister and I are going to go back to her dorm because we have school tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to the funeral tomorrow?”

“Of course I am. It’s business.”

“We’ll talk then?”

“I really don’t want you to talk to me.” Jonas replies coolly and closes the door.

I grab Jonas’ hand and climb into his lap, kissing the absolute fuck out of him.

“Where to?” the driver asks.

I pull away but before Jonas can answer, I lean into his ear and whisper, “home.”

Jonas gives the driver the address to the lake house where Jonas fucks me on every flat surface available until every hole of mine is sore, wearing the balaclava, never noticing the black Jeep that sat outside across the street.

Never noticing the black hooded shadow watching us through the blinds.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jonas.

Being back in my dorm room after being at Casa de Cuervos so much lately feels wrong. I don’t know how to explain it other than it smells stale and a little like dirty socks. Not like jasmine and berries. I walk around, looking at it all, and I can’t help but imagine all of my stuff not just in Raven’s dorm room, but at her lake house. I wonder if she’ll freak at the mention of us living together? To say, “Fuck it. Let’s live out there and commute. Daily. Back and forth.”

But that would be smothering her, probably and my heart sinks a little. I want to go at her pace but I feel like my pace is a rocket and hers is a minivan. Not even a luxury one.

I sigh, going to my walk-in and collecting the things I need for the funeral. I crouch low and pull the box from under my dresser that contains my red cloak and my white matte cracked-face half-mask.

Specially made to fit my face!

Like that’s a valid selling point to join the Syndicate. I roll my eyes as I head out to the parking lot.

I walked Raven to class, essentially just dropped her off at the door with a kiss then texted Damon I was leaving her with Maverick and I was leaving to Salem.

Dr. Douche: I really wish you would’ve taken her with you

Me: She said she’s going home after Harrington’s class. I think. She signed home. Besides, her Music Theory and English Lit classes are hybrid classes.

Dr. Douche: My last appointment is at two. I’ll be home by three.

Me: You think she’ll let us move in with her?

Dr. Douche: The promise of orgasms, homemade meals, and an in-house doctor with unmatched bedside manner?

Me: We can always throw in a puppy if she says no. I looked at her Pinterest, she likes Dobermans.

Dr. Douche: Diabolical. I like it. See you at home.

I grin, darken my screen, shoving it into my backpack, zip up my riding jacket, put on my helmet and hop on my BMW M 1000 RR and speed out of RMUs parking lot. I can’t wait to teach Raven how to ride and get her licensed so we can have matching bikes. I’ll get her a sparkly purple one and one of those helmets with cat ears. Great. Now I’m thinking about watching Raven’s ass bounce on motorcycle.

I’m hopeless, really.

I posted a black and white picture of us last night on Instagram. It didn’t show her face. Just us, cuddling after sex. I tagged her in it. The caption?

Baby *black heart emoji*

It had over eleven thousand likes and her following count skyrocketed by the time I woke up three hours later for practice. The like that stood out was from TheRealAxelMonroe. The comment that stood out was from BrinaTheLawWitch- Loving this so much! 

Am I exhausted after fucking my girl all over the lake house and then only sleeping three hours? Yes. Will waking up at four-thirty every morning to make it to practice by five-thirty every morning for school be exhausting? Probably. Do I care? Not even a little bit. Was she mad about Instagram post? Nope.

Instead she grabbed her phone, took a selfie of us where I’m kissing her jaw and she’s squirming, a huge smile on her face and posted it, in color with the same caption and tagged me in it. Her first post in over four years… was us. The first person to like it? ElenaMAnderson – my mother. Her comment? Impeccable taste, darling *heart emoji*

By the time I reach Salem, I find the funeral procession in progress and cut some elite d-bag to get it line, following the hearse to bury Tyler in the Prescott’s family plot alongside Chase.

I hold my helmet as Tyler is lowered, throw the dirt on him, check my phone. Ignore all the notifications and start looking up animal shelters in the area.

“Are you wanting a pet, son?”

I almost drop my phone. “Ah, shit. Sorry, dad. I’m thinking of getting Raven a puppy.”

He eyes me up and down and smiles. “You’re quite taken with her?”

“Dad I’m… I love her. I thought I loved before but dad, this is different. It’s good. Really good.”

His eyes sparkle and he chuckles. “Yes, she’s quite beautiful, your Raven.” My Raven. “Your mother likes her, as well…. I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

I stay silent. I know he means since before Paris went batshit. We walk over by a willow as the other mourners throw dirt on Tyler and the vicar finishes his speech about finding everlasting paradise.

“There are… forces at play behind the scenes, son. Try not to get too attached to her.”

My eyes widen and my stomach drops. “I’m going to marry her, dad. What are you not telling me?”

A large crowd of elites come our way, bypassing us to get to their vehicles to meet up at the Prescott estate.

“We’ll talk later, son.” Before I can say anything else, he’s gone.

    ______

“The autopsy report has concluded it was a suicide through and through.”

We’re all wearing our red cloaks and the cracked face masks, looking at Stephen Prescott as he conducts our meeting. Other than a few strands of silver in his hair, and the flecks of green in his eyes, it’s like looking at an older version of Tyler. The Prescott genes are remarkably strong.

“Anderson, Jonas.” He calls.

I step forward, keeping my head bowed. “Sir?”

“You were seen entering the hotel with my boy.”

“Sir.” I nod.

“The cameras show you enter the elevator with him on your shoulder, you entering his room, and you leaving his room not three minutes later.”

“Yes sir.”

“Why?”

I keep my voice steady. “We were at the Inferno establishment, sir. He became quite inebriated and began to talk about Syndicate matters. I had seen him drinking before, at Chase’s funeral and saw him drink a few more glasses at Inferno and when he almost collapsed while trying to walk, I decided to help him.”

“Who was the masked one you were with?”

“I…” shit.

“Jonas?”

“I ran into my therapist and my school counselor there and he helped. We arranged Tyler sideways, on the bed, in case he was sick in his sleep so he wouldn’t choke on his vomit.”

“Did you return to Inferno?”

“I did not.”

“Afterward?”

“I went to my girlfriend’s lake house.”

“Where you proceeded to…”

I look up at Stephen then to his right at my father and then lock eyes with John and I have to stop the grin from spreading on my face. “Have sex over and over again through the night and well into the morning.” I answer his pause.

There’s chuckles scattered throughout the room. Which does not amuse John nor Stephen.

“I see. Thank you, Jonas.”

I step back into my place between the cloaks.

Stephen turns and some initiates pull down a screen, a projector turns on and what looks like security camera feed from De Novo plays. “Seven guests checked in at De Novo at the time of my sons death. Two of which were in a penthouse suite on Tyler’s floor. The cameras show the couple getting into the elevator and then nothing. Not one person getting in or out of the elevator, not one person in the hall.”

For thirty whole minutes, we stand, watching. Stephen speeds it up until the last two seconds.

There. For two seconds, a shape, like a shadow in a hoodie that’s up with a small limp, walks the hall, and then the cameras loop again for five minutes, afterwards, showing a regular busy hallway of guests pouring in drunk, from wherever they were. He fast-forwards it again, and the camera loops all over again for seven minutes. The time it took us to escape without being seen.

My hands grow clammy. I didn’t get her in the door in time.

“De Novo believes their cameras were hacked and were so kind as to hand this over to me and not the local authorities.” I hold my entire breath until my lungs burn and let it out slowly. “My nephew, Riordan, who cannot be here due to his current… mental and emotional state, was convinced Tyler did not commit suicide but he was murdered.”

I breathe in for five, exhale for five.

“There is not enough evidence to support his claims on who the culprit is.” Inhale for five… “The hooded figure seems to wear a size ten in men’s shoes,” exhale for five… “stands at about five-foot-nine and has a small limp.”

I have never been prouder of knowing my girl put in double inserts into the men’s shoes she purchased to make her look taller just in case.

I’m going to fucking marry that girl.

                                         _______

When the meeting is adjourned an hour later and we’re released, I head to the bathroom down the hall, put my mask and cloak back in my backpack, relieve myself, wash my hands, grab my helmet and head out to the living area where there’s a buffet. I see Stephen and John in the back of the hallway where it looks like they’re having a heated discussion. When I come close they stop talking and Stephen faces me, extending his hand.

“Ah, Jonas.”

“Sir,” I reply, shaking his hand.

“I wanted to thank you, for trying to help my son.”

I shrug. “I hope he would’ve done the same for me.”

He thrusts a drink at me but I shake my head and hold up my helmet. “I don’t drink and ride, sir.”

“Just a good boy all around, aren’t you?” John says. “Out ravaging daughters and riding a motorcycle, living in their house for free.”

I squint at John and grin maliciously. “You forgot to list my football career and my near-perfect GPA, Mr. Monroe.”

“Jonas.” My father barks.

“Hold on, dad.” I face John. “I won’t be made to feel bad for making your only stepdaughter happy after you and her mother locked her up in an asylum, ignored her and then treated her terribly for years, Mr. Monroe. If I were in your shoes, I would be happy a man loved my daughter as much I love yours. That did everything he could to figure her out. It’s not that she can’t talk, Mr. Monroe. It’s that she won’t. Not to you, anyway.

“I know you like to think she’s broken, but she’s more like… splintered. I mean, do you even know your own daughter? Sure, some days are harder than others and I have to force her to eat or drink. But I know she loves the rain but hates lightning. She loves purple - all shades of it. She likes coffee at the beginning of her book, tea in the middle of it, and watered down juice at the end, which is weird and kind of disgusting, but I don’t mind. She doesn’t cry when humans die in a movie, but she will if the dog does. She likes her yolk to be a little runny or not at all. She’s adorable when she’s mad, and she’s infuriatingly stubborn. But when she laughs my god, even though it’s silent, it’s the most beautiful fuckin thing I’ve ever seen, and I hope one day I get to hear it.

“So yeah, some days, it’s hard but I get to make it better. So, I don’t know, Sir, but if I were you, I’d be happy my daughter found someone like me, that shows her kindness even when her mind is a mess and she feels chaotic on the inside, unlike you or your wife that tried to discard her as soon as you found out she had a flaw and was no longer your perfect little doll.” I clear my throat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it will benefit us all if I take my leave. I believe your only daughter, the one that’s mine now, and no longer yours to care for, is waiting for me.”

I turn to my dad, who’s stunned into silence like the rest of them, including Axel, who has tears in his eyes. I nod at him and head out. Fuck whatever it was he needed to tell me.

I’m halfway down the steps outside the brownstone when I hear Axel’s voice. “It’s incredible.”

“Huh?” I ask, putting on my helmet and then swinging my leg over the bike.

“Her laugh.” And suddenly, Axel looks devastated. “I used to think it was the most annoying thing I’d ever heard,” his voice gets thick and he swallows. “She’d throw her head back and it was, so loud and like it came from deep inside. She would laugh so hard it would echo throughout the mansion. Sometimes, she would topple over and hold her sides from how hard she laughed and God, I hated it…” Tears spill from his eyes and something like guilt or regret passes over his face. “Until I missed it. God, please. Jonas, can we please just talk?”

I jerk my chin to the bitch seat.

“Really?”

I shrug. “It’s this or nothing.”

I drive us about a mile down the road, where I know there’s no possibility of us being heard. It’s almost dark out, thanks to the length of the meeting. We both climb off and I take off my helmet. “Well?”

“I… I’m the one that outed Tyler.”

I roll my eyes. “I know. You treated my sister like shit over it. Not to mention you cheated on her.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Look, I found out what Tyler did to Raven, and if I thought you were just fucking around with her I wouldn’t have come clean to you.”

I nod. I’m about to tell him that we know it was more than just Tyler that attacked Raven when my phone rings.

Dr. Douche pops up and I answer. “Yeah?”

“Where are you?” His voice sounds panicked.

“I just got done at the funeral. What’s wrong?”

“You’re in Salem?”

“Yeah.”

“You see that big cloud of smoke over the lake?”

My heart drops. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be there soon. Where are you?”

“I just pulled up. She’s with Maverick.”

We hang up and I shove my phone in my jacket pocket, push my head through my helmet and slide onto the seat. “Sorry I have to go. Can you walk back?”

“Yeah, are you okay?”

Without answering, because I don’t owe him anything, I kick on the engine, and fly out, watching the smoke billowing over the trees into the night sky, racing to get to my girl. Swerving like an asshole, cutting people off, I watch as I get closer to the lake house.

It's like a scene from a movie. Sirens are going, firemen are calling orders out, the entire neighborhood is standing outside, along with Raven, who’s in Harrington’s arms, her arms crossed over her chest, and we watch our safe haven turn to ash before our very eyes.

“Baby?”

She turns to me and those big, beautiful eyes of hers burst like a dam breaking. She sobs so hard, big, soundless gasps rocking her, as she falls to her knees and I go down with her. I look up at Maverick. “What happened?”

He shakes his head, eyes still on the scene before him.  “We went for a run. We went for a run and when we came back, we… were… in the downstairs guest room and all of a sudden there was fire. Everywhere. It spread so fast. We grabbed our clothes, I had to break the window open and we jumped out.”

“Repeat that for me.” Damon says, no longer looking at Raven but staring hard at Maverick.

“I had to break the window so we could jump out.”

“Why did you have to break the window?”

“It was screwed shut. From the outside. I thought maybe you did this to keep her from finding a way to get out during a sleepwalking episode.” Maverick looks between us, then down at Raven who’s pulling her phone out.

Damon shakes his head. “Never.”

They continue talking softly.

I look down at Raven’s phone as she pulls up an app that I recognize as her security camera app. She plays back the footage from today and pauses it over and over again, using her fingers to zoom in over the screen from all angles.

Her and Maverick making out like teenagers at the front door, she turns to type in her code, slipping inside, and Maverick kicks the door fully behind them.

“About fucking time.” I murmur. Raven ignores me as I huddle in closer as we see a hooded figure carrying a gas can, punch in her code that I don’t even know yet and sneaks in ten minutes after them. He leaves not even five minutes later, the camera captures his face for a total of three seconds, leaving too quickly to forget about the camera.

Unmistakable blonde hair and haunted blue eyes stare back at us.

The anger that flashes across her face, leaving her phone in my hands, she flies out of my arms and onto her feet and shoves at an unsuspecting Damon.

He's thwarted backwards into Maverick. “Hey, little bird, what the fuck!”

I told you! I told you there was someone following me and you told me I was crazy!

“I never said you were crazy.”

Fuck you! You said I was manifesting a shadow due to my subconscious and you made me feel crazy!

Damon looks at me and I shake her phone at him. “Someone came in ten minutes after them.”

Tears are flowing out of Raven but not from sadness. From frustration and anger. You made me feel crazy, Damon.

I’ve never seen a speechless Damon. He looks at me and I hand him her phone, rewinding it. “Raven,”

Do you know how shitty this feels?

“No.”

Do you know how much I hoped you were right?

“Amourette-“

I can’t even say I want to go home, anymore. She points to the smoldering wreckage. I have no home anymore. Where do I go? What am I supposed to do?

At her agony even Maverick’s mask of cool indifference fades, his brows bunching together as she sinks back down to the ground, turning to face the fire, left over embers glowing in the dark, plumes of white smoke faintly rising, the serene black lake in the background. Raven begins to rock herself back and forth, her arms around her torso, the hand on her back rubbing up and down, soothing herself.

Damon gets down to his knees beside her, facing her. “Amourette, I am so sorry. I should have believed you. You’re right.  I have… I’ve been a complete asshole in disregarding your feelings.”

She stops rocking for a moment, not daring to look at him.  It doesn’t matter at all anymore, does it? It’s gone.

“She… can come home with me.” Maverick speaks up and we turn to face him.

“Absolutely not.” Damon growls.

“You all can.”

Before we can answer, the fire chief comes waddling to us, his uniform drenched, heavy, boots thudding in the wet, sticky mud and he looks completely exhausted. “The owner of the home?”

We all stand up.

His face scrunches up.

“She doesn’t talk. I’m her boyfriend, I can translate.” I say.

“Wrong. I’m her boyfriend. I can translate.”

“I thought she was in there with you?” He says, pointing at Maverick.

Maverick rolls his eyes. “I’m also her boyfriend, and I can also translate… somewhat.” He says in monotone.

Raven’s jaw drops. My jaw drops. Damon cackles.

“Listen, I lived in California for five years and then lived in New York for ten. I do not care. What I do care about is letting you know that the way the fire spread, it seems there was an accelerant. We usually see fires that spread this quickly, kerosene is involved. Plus, the smell is usually an indicator.”

“Okay?” I ask.

“Unfortunately the ruins to your home are now a crime scene.”

Raven flinches when he says ruins. She eyes me and I lift an eyebrow. With one short nod, she gives me permission. “We know who did it and we have proof via camera footage.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Maverick.

It's a beautiful chilly morning on Monday when I'm making my way through the quad and I spot Raven waiting for her order by the Koffee Kart in the crowd of students heading to their first hours. I'm about forty feet away when Jonas joins her and she willingly goes to him, leaning against the wide receiver.

So openly.

So loving...

So fucking kind.

My eye twitches. She's never alone these days. It's so fucking irritating. I'm about to just go to the psychology department when I spot a mirage. Not a mirage. It's the live twin, headed straight for the couple.  My hackles rise immediately sensing something. The way his eyes are crazed and his hair is wild, not in his uniform, as if he's just been waiting for a moment   to strike.

Like myself.

But my reasons for striking are entirely different. Mine are to devour, to rut, and to claim. His are... to hurt. I'm not even  twenty feet away I watch as Raven turns her pretty little head to grab her order and when the end of her ponytail swishes in the air, Riordan catches the tresses and pulls, she lands on her ass but... oh my Siren is a fighter. And she fights dirty. My cock wants to swell along with my pride at watching her overpower the twin. The beast in me wants to feel her struggle against us again, to feel that fight and simply overwhelm and claim her.

"Harrington!" I hear my name being called in the crowd and see Whitmore speed-walking with campus police in the same direction just as Jonas clocks Riordan in the face and blood spurts. Pride surges through me as I descend quickly, pulling Jonas to my chest.

                            ______

"She's my patient."

The way her skirt twirls up and she speed walks quickly back to Damon and shoves her middle finger in his face makes me want to laugh. So fucking stubborn my girl.

My girl?

"I was her doctor," Archer begins but she's already on her way to the exit. "I found out she was a student after I began working here. We've still been holding infrequent sessions, mostly when she needs guidance." He lies. Or is he lying? Does she visit him in his office? Does he fuck her against the desk or the sofa? On it?

It fucks with me. I hate it.

Officer Truitt rolls her eyes, unbothered. "So not pressing charges?"

Damon shakes his head.

"If you'll excuse me I have a lot of paperwork to fill out." She replies and turns to wait for her colleagues to finish their reports with the brawlers.

I turn to him who's still looking after the direction Raven went. "So just like that? One little twirl of her finger and you go against doing the right thing?"

Damon eyes me up and down, the muscle in his jaw tics. "She has the proper reasoning for not pressing charges."

"And they are?"

He shakes his head at me and licks his lower lip.

"How do you even know what she wants?" I ask, even though I know she uses sign language with him... probably Jonas. Everyone but me and the rest of us outside of their precious little bubble.

He scoffs at me, and I can see his tongue rubbing along the back of his lower teeth. "I made a mistake in thinking you could be with her, to help her in this. You live in a world of black and white, a world where people like her balance in the various shades of greys and silvers. You saved her life, yes, and you helped Jonas, which I appreciate. We thanked you and I'll thank you again. But seeing the way she looks at you, weary, untrusting... she would never tell you anything. I would never tell you anything that’s hers to tell. Both as her doctor and as her partner. You're too deep in the black and too deep in the white, Professor. You live in a world where the police actually help instead of harm. This is far deeper than you could imagine. The grey she lives in isn't even grey anymore, it's..." he looks around trying to find the word.

"Purples." I finish for him.

He stands a little taller and gives me a curt nod. "It's purples and if you aren't prepared to live in a world of color, leave her alone, Maverick. Let her go."

As if I haven’t been trying to. I just can't. I am deep, whether the shade is lilac, dark plum, or even the most violent of violet. I want in. In her mind, her world, her body. I want to claim her soul. Even if it's just once. I’ll take whatever crumb she gives me.

God, I’m pathetic.

Jonas leaves the room he was in, the other officer behind him. He walks over to us slowly.

"I need you to go talk to her."

"What did you do?" Jonas questions. I want to laugh. Is he that in sync with her? To already know it was Damon's fuck up?

"Go to her. I have a feeling she's going to do something drastic just to spite me."

I perk up. "Like what?"

Damon's eyes sparkle mischievously, appealing to my raw nature. "Like something she'll need to be punished for."

I loathe him.

But at least now, I have a reason to text her. So I do, and when I'm back in my classroom, preparing for my second hour's lecture, I decide to... sign up for an ASL course online and begin, learning between each lecture, only to go home, pass her empty house and proceed with my courses before grading papers.

I really need a TA.

                            ______

Tuesday afternoon, after my last lecture of the day, I spot Jonas at the Koffee Kart, and where there's Jonas... I spy a silver-streaked siren kiss him and make her way to her family's library. I sneak past him and keep a safe distance behind her, silently stalking. I look up the stairs that fucking little skirt of hers hit against the back of her thighs with each step, giving me access to look up so easily, spotting lavender cheeky panties. She glides to the third floor, likely to get a book for my class.

I stare from the side as her fingers trail along the spine, as though she's feeling the power within the pages. Her hair is down and it's grown longer, hitting the middle of her back in dark mahogany waves, like tresses of chocolate.

She turns to face the shelf, head tilted to one side as she looks up. So damn beautiful.

I go to her, that damn song of hers commanding me. I'm merely a foot away when my hands reach out and suddenly they're around her waist, loving the feel of her against my front. The top of her head reaches the middle of my chest and I can smell the faint shampoo in her hair. I close my eyes and take a selfish moment for myself to relish being so damn close to her. My hands find purchase on those shapely hips of hers, made for childbearing and I almost growl as I lower my nose to the shell of her ear and simply ask, "Is this where you hide?"

I feel her tense up, obviously not expecting me and I both hate that she wasn't and love that she's fearful. She turns to me, lips parted, ready for my kiss, those warm brown eyes like dark honey. She takes a step back, and her spine hits the shelves but I move with her, my hands dropping with that fucking little skirt, unable to stop myself because I need it up. I need to pull her panties to the side and shove myself into her.

No one would know.

"If you aren't prepared to live in a world of color, leave her alone, Maverick. Let her go."

I fucking can't.

But I can be nice.

“I… ordered that book we were reading at your lake house. It’s… interesting to say the least.”

She looks hungry, and confused, those dark eyebrows of hers come together and her eyes meet mine for once and my heart pounds wildly in my chest, a small victory but mine, nonetheless. Then she simply nods once as if bored with me.

I almost growl.

Okay... shades of purple. Lilac. Indigo. Lavender...

“I worried about you. I’ve never worried for someone before, Siren… what are you doing to me? Hmm?” I lower my head and let my tongue taste, my teeth bite, and my fingers linger, tracing loose circles closer to her-

I don’t hear the student approaching but she does. Raven shoves me away and takes a step to the side, probably just saved my career in the process. She could have let me be seen, had every reason after what's transpired between us, and yet how dare we be interrupted?

“Oh! Professor Harrington, you’re still here, good. I had a few questions about the debate?”

“It’s a debate, Kinsley.” I growl. Stupid, vapid girl.

Kinsley's eyes bounce between me and Raven, and something like disgust mars her face, spouting vicious shit that shows her true colors. Disgusting.

Raven takes a step toward her, extending her arm as though she's going rip Kinsley’s hair. I decide I won’t stop her. Kinsley’s eyes widen, and instead of ripping her hair out like I want her to, Raven grabs a book from behind her and simply leaves, with a smirk on that gorgeous face. Just like that, she moves with a grace so fine, as though nothing bothers her… but she liked instilling the fear in Kinsley. I felt it.

I want to follow. I want to go where she’s going. I want to give her my own notes on her assignment, even though she doesn’t need them, with her irritating effortless A's. I call after her. “Raven, I-"

“She’s a lost cause, professor. Even her brother thinks so. Anyway, about this Charles character-"

"He's a convicted murderer."

"Right." She steps into my line of sight but I cross over to the railing in time to watch Raven get on her tiptoes to kiss the golden boy with a smile on her face. I realize now just how easily we could have been caught. Had we not been between the shelves, or even just a few steps more to the left, anyone could have seen my hands hiking her skirt up, lost in a trance.

"Kinsley, for fucks sake. Just do your goddamn research and leave me alone I'm not interested. I haven't been for the last three semesters, put your tits away, pull your skirt down and quit embarrassing yourself. You're not my type. You've never been my type and your pathetic attempts to seduce me are just that. Pathetic. It's old. Stop. Have some dignity."

It's true. If she hadn’t taken my class for three semesters in a row, she would have just been another face in the sea of students. Bland and incapable of standing out. Another blank Barbie lost to a sea of plastic and silicone; molded to perfection for her perfect future husband and breed more elites like a prized mare.

Yet I want my Barbie. The one discarded and left for dead with scars. The doll that’s been drawn on and has eyes that have seen too much, a brain that knows too much, a soul that bleeds too much and a heart that just. Kept. Beating. When it should have stopped.

Kinsley’s cheeks turn pink. "First of all-"

I walk away.

When I get home, I change into something more comfortable, ignore the homework turned in to resume my courses in ASL, and then, before the sun sets, go on a run. I ignore the lighthouse, the eeriness of the lake shrouded in darkness only to see Raven's house lit up on the lower level on the way back. I run up to the back gate, turning away when I see her on the kitchen counter, breasts out, her head thrown back and Jonas pops up from between her thighs, kissing her before slipping into her.

I turn away and head home.

An hour later, I hear the sound of an engine, then footsteps along the loose gravel. When I get to the window to see if I can spot anyone, they're already gone. I shrug. I guess they live around here.

                                         ______

I dream of the scent of berries and cinnamon, of pomegranates, chocolate tresses, eyes like caramel, soft skin and silky, pillowy thighs, parted lips, silent gasps, faint breathy sighs and a mind-altering kiss that tastes like strawberries, mint and coffee.

Memories. I cling to nothing but memories.

It’s maddening.

I wake up to my alarm blaring, telling me, a grown man in his mid-thirties, that I’m late for school. Well, not late, late. I just don’t have time for my morning run and it sours my mood.

Routine. Discipline.

Silent gasps, faint breathy sighs.

I NEED TO HEAR HER CRY OUT MY NAME.

Once I’m done with my bathroom routine, I dress in a simple amethystine button down, navy slacks, a slim black belt, and my navy sports coat, adding on a scarf now that the late September air is brisker. I start my car waiting for me in the garage with just a press of my key fob. My coffee is in a travel mug, still warm and I bring it with me, get into my vehicle and prepare for the trek ahead.

When I leave the house, there’s still fog along the asphalt of the two-lane road until I’m finally in the city limits. Apparently, the fog was much thicker because an accident occurred on the bridge to Rayne-Moore and my mood only drops.

I get to RMU with only seven minutes to spare. Jonas leaves Raven at the door of my class with a kiss so full of love it makes me broil. She walks past me to her usual seat at the end of the aisle in the corner of the room. She’s wearing knee highs today with her heeled boots. A scarf. A little black beanie. Those dark waves cascading around her shoulders. Cheeks pink from the walk here.

She partially undresses slowly – the scarf, the beanie, her sweater… then as if putting on a show, she sits, sideways, and crosses her legs. A glimpse of a heavy cheek and sage cheeky panties with lace trim, one meaty thigh over the other, that defined line of muscle and yet a bit of cellulite, and my mouth salivates like a Pavlovian response.

Feast. Rut. Claim.

A snarl rises in my chest but the bell rings and she pulls out her earbuds. She stays sideways, facing me for the first time, but never looking at me. Then, as I talk about atrocities, as I roam about the room, eyeing my students, out of my periphery, I watch as she mindlessly traces the outline of her tattoo, up, down, one finger trailing so expertly, knowing the lines on her body, memorized. I clear my throat, and walk to the light switch, turn it off and turn on the projector. I stand behind my podium and play the short clip of the interview with Charles Cullen, the alleged Angel of Death, a nurse, who claimed to kill over forty people. My mood completely plummets.

My students watch the forty-minute video, I watch Raven, one hand on hand her thigh, the other on her notebook scribbling notes, the way she faces forward, eyes up on the screen past me but it feels as though she’s watching me as well. So slowly, she uncrosses her legs and  slinks down, her thighs spreading, that same finger pulls on the hem of her little skirt, and I bite down my groan.

We’re in a bubble, she and I. The noise quiets momentarily, the light from the overhead projector is no longer a nuisance, the room grows hot, as she shoves her hand between her thighs. My chest aches, my lungs on fire as her lips part, the tip of her tongue wetting them only to go back in, her lower lip is tucked under her top teeth and a faint smirk when she knows she has my full attention.

“Professor?”

Her hand is back on her thigh and she brings them up to her lips in a sneaky move, licking away her ambrosia.

Feast. Claim. Mine.

I pause the video, the new one that’s started while I was in a trance. I clear my throat. “Yes, Miss Dara?”

“Could you… tell us about your time in the FBI?”

My mood is completely depleted. “No. Class dismissed.”

“The hour isn’t over.”

“Get out.”

They all leave grumbling. I go into my office to try to get control of my emotions, the ones unraveling, I forget about what just transpired between Raven and I and when I exit my office to see if she’s waiting for me with her essay, the lecture hall is empty, ruining my mood all over again.

                                           ______

During my lunch hour I sit in my office, nursing two fingers of Macallan when there’s a faint knock at my door. “Who is it?” No  one answers there’s just another faint knock, this time slower.  “Enter.” I swivel in my chair to face the door, one elbow on the cushioned arm of the chair, my chin on my fist, the other holding my tumbler of whiskey. My eyes peruse her as she enters, paper in hand. “Lock it behind you, Siren.”

She does, holding out the paper to me, a slight tremor in  her wrist. I motion with my eyes, for her to set it on the edge of my desk.

“Come here.”

She obeys so timidly it perks my beast up.

“Wait.” She stops. “Hang up your blazer, take off your panties and put them in my drawer.”

She hesitates momentarily and I can see the internal argument she’s having with herself. But she does as she’s told, first with the blazer then steps out of her panties. As soon as the silk and lace material pools at her ankles. She lifts up the ankle they’re hanging off and peels them off, folding them neatly, at an unhurried pace, surely just to antagonize me.

It works.

I slide out further from behind my desk while taking a sip and nod for her to sit on my desk. “Slide further down.” I can smell her musk from here as she does, my cock swelling from her obedience. “Good. Unbutton your blouse and pull your breasts out. I’ve had a tiring day and I want to admire you. Good. Now put your feet on the edges, mmhmm and spread your legs.”

The view is magnificent and so very, very pink.

I dip my index finger into my whiskey, lick it off and when my eyes find hers I arch a brow. I touch from her glistening entrance and then around, touching everywhere but that cute little bundle of nerves waiting to be caressed by my tongue. “You were very bad in class today, Siren. You could’ve gotten caught trying to seduce your professor.”

Her thighs tremble when I dip, barely a knuckle deep into her sex to dampen my finger. “You’re so wet…” I pull my finger out and lick up her essence, her taste exploding on my tongue, “and so fucking delicious,” I growl. “Turn around, get on all fours. I’m famished. I've missed my lunch, and it seems you’ll have to do.” I slap her inner thigh when she takes a second too long to do as I said. “Now, Raven. I’m done waiting.” I scold.

She flips over.

“Spread your thighs and sink as low as you can, I don’t want to have to move or crane my neck. I want to eat my meal in peace. Do you understand? Do not move, do not slip, do not interrupt me whatsoever.”

She turns her head to look over her shoulder at me, her knees sliding across the length of my desk, until her pink, glistening sex is at my eye level and then she sinks forward, her hands finding purchase on the edge of my desk, gripping tightly.

I move forward, swallowing the rest of my whiskey and putting the tumbler back in the bottom drawer. Usually, I have better etiquette, but this meal is meant to be had with my elbows on the table. I lean forward, hooking my arms beneath her thighs, my hands coming around to spread the globes of her ass and I inhale deeply. My eyes cross her scent. Still clean. It's missing the saltiness of her sweat.

I lick from her clit to her hole, using my tongue to open her and lick out what she feeds me. Her gasp. Ohhhh her fucking gasp is better than my dreams. My balls are so fucking heavy, ready to burst and all I’ve done is taste her. I make a mess of my face, going over and over again, letting my nose enter her as my tongue swirls around that swollen, needy bud, as she shakes but does her best to stay still.

The wicked honor, of having her scent in my nostrils for the rest of the day excites me. When my tongue begins to fuck her only then does she rock, ever so slightly forward to meet me. I allow it, letting it distract her from my fingers edging closer to the rosebud. I pull away only to spit on it and continue my assault, eating her pussy like a starved man while my middle finger rubs my spit on her puckered hole.

The breathy sigh sounds like a plea like she’s silently begging me to please, please, please make her come and it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever encountered. I shove my finger inside, wiggling it along with my tongue. I pull away and spit again, shoving two fingers into her tight, swollen cunt with one hand and shove another finger into her ass, watching as she shakes, her walls tighten, alerting me to her impending orgasm but I want it on my cock, not my fingers. The need to hear that gasp, that silent moan, that breathy sigh when I feel her break for me is as visceral as the need to fill her gorgeous little cunt with my seed.

I pull away completely to unfasten my belt and pants and in one swift motion, I tug her down, position myself at her entrance and sit her right on my hardened cock, the pressure from her pussy so hot, so tight, so fucking perfect I shudder and almost embarrass myself in my own delirium…

Three. Loud. Knocks.

GODFUCKINGDAMNIT.

I shove her off me, the loss of her weight and her warmth is felt in my soul and push her under my desk, right myself, then put her backpack with her and open the door. “Yes?”

“Professor Harrington. I was hoping you’d seen Raven?”

I motion for her to get out from under the desk so her fucking ward can see her.

“Perfect, isn’t she?” Damon grins devilishly. “Before your next class starts in…” He checks his watch, “Oh, ten minutes; Jonas will be at the funeral late and I had a last-minute appointment. I know she plans on going to the lake house, would you mind, seeing as how we're neighbors and all-"

I release an annoyed growl, “No, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Wonderful. Raven I’ll see you at home.” He winks and leaves us be.

While I want to absolutely abhor Damon Archer, the handsome prick just saved me and Raven from coming out of my office to a classroom full of gossiping fuckwits, and my job as well.

I turn to face her as I leave the door somewhat ajar while she fixes herself as best as she can. She cups her pussy, eyes wide and so beautifully brown and my dick longs to be inside of her again. I lick my lips, “The next time you choose to tease me in my classroom like the filthy, needy little slut you are, Siren, I suggest you leave them at home if you don’t want me to take them.”

She grabs her backpack in haste and pushes past me, the scent of her shampoo fills my senses.

Hunt. Catch. Rut. Claim.

                                         ______

Dr. Dick: 94732

Me: What’s this?

Dr. Dick: Just keep an eye on her.

Dr. Dick: Close up. Afar. Whatever.

I hang my head back, trying to relieve the tension between my shoulders, letting today’s stress roll backwards. I get out of my car, take the few steps it takes to get to the door that leads into the  mud room then the kitchen of my house. My two story, five bedroom, four bath, and a study, too large for just me house. I set my leather satchel down on the counter, the one I’d received as a gift from my former FBI partner.

It's old, worn and has been patched in a few places, telling me it should be retired. Yet I can’t let it go. It’s a piece of me. My former life. Agent Harrington. I sigh, kicking off my shoes, hanging up my sports coat and begin my ascension up the stairs that lead to the master bedroom, avoiding the closed doors filled with beds for guests I’ve never entertained.

Never bothered to.

After a quick shower, I change into something more comfortable, sweats, sweatshirt, socks, then head back down, not eager to grade anything. Not even Raven’s debate which I usually reserve for Thursday or Friday evenings. The usual comforting emptiness of my home has become louder, unnerving me. For some reason, I do a quick sweep of my home, bottom to top and then back to the kitchen. I heat up a few leftovers, chicken, sweet potatoes, and with a glass of red wine, I sit at my empty table that’s large enough to hold six.

Suddenly my chicken is grey, my favorite potatoes taste like ash and the only noise in my home is that fucking low hum of the refrigerator, taunting me. When did my solitude become unbearable? I sit back in my chair, letting the flavor of the wine settle on my tongue before swallowing, swirling the liquid in my glass.

I know when.

I hate that I know when.

It’s when even in her silence, her home was still loud and livelier than this fucking crypt. She was desperate to make memories, create new ones she could hang on her walls, books ready for her to annotate, to highlight, to tab. There are knickknacks somewhere out in the world, ready to be purchased and placed amongst her shelves and her mantle, a house just waiting to be a home. Whereas my home already had all those things, memories already attached, and yet, it was empty. A mausoleum-in-waiting full of my haunted memories, awards, and pictures with presidents and old classmates I hadn’t spoken to in over a decade.

Unhappy and mildly irritated, as is my constant mood lately, I leave my seat, discard the rest of my dinner, rinse my plate and utensils, the only ones that are ever dirtied, leave it in the sink to dry and put on my running shoes.

I set the alarm before leaving my house, heading to the trails but my feet lead me elsewhere, padding along the frequented path to her home. I punch in the code, jog through her garden, run up the few steps of her back porch that’s lit up by a light and also fairy lights, truly recognizing the changes, I spot her in a large circular hanging chair like the one in her library. Her face comes into focus.

Raven is sitting back, her knees up to her chest, a blanket around her, thick socks an RMU sweatshirt, thick black leggings, dark hair in a messy bun atop her head, escaped tendrils framing her face, a textbook balancing on her knees, highlighter in her hand. She is the most divine thing I have ever seen. The epitome of ethereal beauty in the soft glow of the soon-to-be setting sun, the lit twinkling lights, she arches a dark brow in question.

I clear my throat to rid the chunks of my heart that have climbed up. “Have you eaten?”

She nods once and I step closer to her, a moth to a flame, ready to burn in her fire. She closes the textbook and places it on the table before her, the one separating us. The one that makes it feel as though she’s an entire world away from me even though she’s probably only six feet from my grasp. Her feet touch the floor, and she leans over to close her laptop. It’s now that I’m certainly becoming more aware of my surroundings. The new patio furniture, a grill – the promise of cookouts in the summer, the hanging chair meant to hold a pair of lovers.

“Well, I’m going to go on a run, and Damon doesn’t want me to leave you alone too long. Join me.”

She rolls those pretty eyes at me.

“Get your shoes on.”

Raven sighs, obviously annoyed by my intrusion on her lonely study session, but I am a man of my word. She seems to ponder the choices she has; to either go with me willingly or face mine or Damon’s choice of consequences. She sighs again, this time heavily and she stands, only to head inside, I follow to just the threshold of her house as she slips on her shoes, bending to tie the infamous black-and-white high-top sneakers that are worn down. She slips her phone into her pocket and a pair of fingerless gloves.

We’re on the path that’s only illuminated by the setting sun, which we have about an hour left of daylight. She stretches, bending over first to one leg then the other, lunging and then taking a deep breath. Her stride is strong, keeping up with me until we get to a part of the trail that ascends, man-made natural stairs made of boulders and logs. I reach the top before her, and I hide behind a large red maple tree, watching as she looks around. She squints her eyes, trying to control her breathing. She puts her hands on her knees and looks around, wiping a bit of sweat off her brow.

I’m interested in seeing if she’ll call out to me.

Her eyebrows bunch together, worry etching across her face and when a twig snaps under my weight, she tenses. A doe being watched by a hunter. I step towards her more carefully, hyperaware of the little breaths escaping her, creating little puffs of fog. I get right behind her, letting my own breath create a misty cloud. “Scared?”

I see the tremor run through her. At either being frightened or our close proximity, I’m not sure, but a surge of desire pulses through me, the feeling shaking me to my core. “Do you want to run, Siren?” I let my finger trace down her arm. “Archer made me aware you prefer kindness… I tried that, didn’t I?”

She whips her head around, whiskey eyes snapping at mine.

“In the library… yesterday?” I remind her. “Letting you turn in your little debates on paper? Do you think I would do this for anybody else? No, Siren, I wouldn’t. I have shown you kindness when I am not a kind man. But I don’t think you need kindness, not from me. Others pity you, don’t they? Poor little weak, Raven. So traumatized she can’t even speak. Tongueless.” I whisper.

Anger flashes in her eyes and when her hand flies out to slap me I grab it and yank her to me. “Now, that’s not very nice, is it, mute?”

Chest heaving she struggles in my grasp and it fucking fuels me. I like her anger, her fight. I love to see the lioness she hides so well behind her mousey façade and yet I want to tame this hellcat. “I think you like it when I’m mean to you, don’t you? I bet if I reach into your leggings I’ll find you already wet and aching to get fucked in the woods by a man you barely know.”

Siren struggles against me when I slip my free hand into the waistband of her leggings, slipping into her panties and we both inhale sharply when I cup her pussy and find her slick with both her sweat and her arousal. “Did you walk around wet all day remembering how full you felt seated on my cock?”

I shove two fingers inside roughly, watching as her jaw drops open, those fucking lips, those eyes, widening then closing. “Were you disappointed we were interrupted? I was,” I admit, “all day I walked around with your scent in my nose, your flavor on my lips and tongue, remembering the feel of you and how I was denied feeling this pristine pussy milk me.”

I withdraw my fingers and rub her essence across her bottom lip, and then push them past onto her waiting tongue, fucking her mouth with my fingers. “I could have killed him for ruining that sacred moment between us…” I run my tongue along her lips and into her open mouth, tasting the delicacy that is Raven Olivia Monroe and I groan into her mouth.

“I want you to run, Raven. When I catch you, remember there is no one out here to hear you or stop me. I’m going to fuck you like the beast I am, on the ground or against a tree, but I’m going to fuck you like the dirty little whore you are.”

I release her arm and without a backwards glance, she takes off into the trees. I have three things on my side: 1) I’ve been running in this forest for the last three years. 2) She’s fast, but I’m faster. 3) She’ll get tired or exhaust her leg and have to stop.

After two minutes I go after her, dashing between the trees, only squatting now and then to look at the pattern her feet leave, tracking my prey. Letting instinct take over, I ignore the hooting of the owls nestled overhead, the last chittering of cicadas that haven’t gotten the memo that summer is over. The last rays of the sun are still glowing when I hear twigs snapping to my left.

It's quiet.

I can't hear her but in a demented way I've become accustomed to, I can sense her. I can feel her fear, her excitement, her need to abandon the demons in her mind, mirroring my own sentiments.

She needs to be fucked. Hard. Owned entirely.

Another snap, this time behind me, sneaky little minx, trying to get back to the trail. I turn in time to see her take off in a sprint and I give chase, catching her in a tackle and when we fall to the soft earth, she struggles and my dick hardens to stone.

She fights me, clawing where she can reach until I shove her down and when she gasps, I roll her onto her stomach, straddling her lush thighs, pulling down her tights to mid-thigh to reveal her red thong, which I snap off, leaving angry, irritated stripes on her hips. Fuck, I love that. I use it to tie her hands behind her back, then spank her once, twice, over and over again, unrelenting until her fleshy ass is pink and hot to the touch.

Taste. Feast. Rut.

I pull her up by her hips, and dive my tongue into her, tasting both holes like before only this time the saltiness of her sweat invades my taste buds, feeding my fucking obsession. Whether she’s fighting me or encouraging me, I’m not sure. I tug my cock out of my sweatpants and then rise, up on my knees. I spread her ass and position myself at her wet entrance and in one jarring thrust I shove my entire cock into her until I hit a wall. I grunt, eyes crossing, stars in my subconscious aligning for once at the sound of that gasp.

“Fuck yes.” I growl.

I bend over her, tucking her shoulder beneath my chin, pounding into her from behind and lick up her jaw like a wild animal. Forgetting every inhibition I’ve ever had, reach over and under to pinch her clit between my fingers. Every muscle in this position burns but the tingling in my balls, turns into an ache to release.

“Always in those little fucking skirts. Nipples hard, flaunting this perfect ass. This is what you wanted isn’t it, Raven? You don’t want to be treated like a broken doll, fragile. No you want to be fucking broken because you aren’t.” I grunt.

“Do you like tormenting me? Hmm?” Even in this state her need to fight back is essential but every twist and struggle only spurs me on, taking me deeper. She needs to be claimed. Owned.

“You need to get fucked like the bitch in heat you are, don’t you, Siren?”

The moan. It’s a moan that’s the equivalent to a mind unraveling.

“I’m going to give you every drop of my cum, Raven. Do you know what’s deranged? I’ve imagined fucking you so much, these tits, this ass, this fertile little cunt and the sicker part is how fucking hard I get imagining you big and swollen with my child.”

Another gasp, and she’s fucking me back, meeting me thrust for thrust to find friction against my fingers tips rubbing across her clit. “Filthy, filthy fucking girl, getting fucked on the dirty ground. You hate that you love this, don’t you, Siren? How full my cock makes you feel, oh fuck, this pussy is too fucking good.”

Claim. Claim. CLAIM.

I’m barreling towards insanity, chasing this euphoria, groaning when I feel her pussy pulsate around me, gripping me like a vise. She’s gasping for me, a cacophony in the midst of the  woods surrounding us and all its nocturnal creatures awakening. “That’s right. You love the way I fuck you, don’t you? You take my cock so fucking well,” thrust “so wet,” thrust “so hot," thrust “so tight” thrust “so” thrust “fucking" thrust “perfect.” Thrust. “Give me your orgasm, Siren. God yes, just like that. Good fucking girl.”

I roar when my hips still then jerk once, twice and like a lion dominating his lioness, I bite her shoulder and we erupt together.

I empty all of me into her, only withdrawing when I’m fully soft and disengage. I tuck myself back into my sweats, pull up her leggings terribly and untie her hands, pocketing her ripped thong. She falls limply on the bed of fallen leaves and I fall beside her, breath ragged. I tug her to me, rubbing her arm, her wrists, touching her beautiful face, as the sun finally sinks and there’s nothing but stars glittering against Indigo like tiny diamonds and a sliver of the moon.

Whether seconds or minutes pass, I’m unsure. “C'mon,” I interrupt our silence, fully feeling the cold of the late September breeze Massachusetts has to offer. “Let’s get you home so I can clean you up.”

Raven sits up and winces, the sight of her with broken leaves and twigs in her dark, unruly hair, dirt on her smiling face, shadows dance across her features, that soft shine of the moon, makes her look ethereal in her satiated state. She reminds me of a fallen angel that chose to dive out of heaven and land here, with me.

She looks unreal.

She looks…

She looks mine.

My heart stops and I have to reach out to her. I have to touch her to verify she isn’t a figment of my imagination and what just transpired between us was real and not just another dream where I’ll wake up fucking my fist. I cup her face in my hands and she leans into my touch like a tamed hellcat being petted by her demon.

My dick stands at attention again.

I should’ve known once wasn’t going to be enough. That I would need more. Ache for more in her presence.

I lean forward and kiss her lips. Simple and yet somehow even more binding.

And my heart beats again.

                                         ______

When I notice her limp, I offer to carry her on my back, a simple gesture but she climbs on, and we make it back to the dark two-lane road. I set her down and when we get to her house, she punches in the same code: 94732.

We get to her front porch she turns and pulls me in for a kiss. A kiss that turns into something needy. We close then lock the door behind us, she sets in her code and leads me past the couches, past the basement door, and to the last room on the right. Our clothes come off quickly, a heap by the bed, and she tugs me down and in a flurry of motions I’m inside of her wet heat, slick with my cum.

My mark.

The beast inside purrs.

We’re a torrent of naked flesh against flesh, of tongues, teeth, lips, of hands finding each other in the dark, one using the other for pleasure and I love it. I want it. I want all of it. Like this. This passion, this sickness that’s maddening outside of her arms and yet while inside of her body it quells and quiets any thoughts I have unless it’s about her.

They’re all about her. All the time.

It doesn’t take us long. Raven rips through an orgasm with whimpers but reaches down between us, her hips rocking, searching for another and I climb my peak, encouraging her to find her pinnacle of madness, to find me there with her and we fall, fall, fall, two ships crashing in the night and sinking into her depths together.

And then I smell smoke.

I stand up fully, withdrawing, an orange glow coming through the open doorway. I step out into the hallway to see the entire front of the house in flames. “Put your clothes on, we need to get out!”

She races, throwing on her clothes, and I put mine on, but by the time we’ve gotten dressed, the fire has accelerated into the hallway. I try to open the window and notice the screws.

Goddammit!

I look around, take my sweatshirt back off and punch out the window, clearing the glass as best as I can so she doesn’t get hurt. I turn back but her eyes are wide, in shock. “Raven, we have to go, now, Angel, let’s go.”

She doesn’t hesitate and I’m ecstatic she isn’t stubborn for once. One foot out, she lands on the porch, sirens faint in the distance, another leg. She’s out. The flames are lapping now, kissing at my back when I jump and then we jump together off the back porch.

I tug her to me as we stare, in complete silence as her house, the one budding into a home under her care, goes up in flames. Dark plumes of smoke rise furiously, hiding the stars and the tops of the tree, sirens loud as the fire engines arrive, as I hold my angel.

“Get back, to the street line.” A Fireman orders, and I pull us backward into the crowd that’s formed.

I look down, expecting to see tears, but instead her features are entirely schooled and the fury etched across her face makes her look wicked. Flames dance in her eyes, her face still dirty from the forest floor, twigs still in her dark hair, she looks like a feral woman that is calculating things, planning destruction.

There’s a screeching of tires and a car door opens and slams shut as the firemen work quickly, yelling orders and falling into a familiar synchronism only years of working together would offer.

“Christ! Raven!” Damon says when he reaches us, he checks her out tenderly as he so often does, like a doctor and a lover and he pulls her to him when he sees nothing wrong and she relaxes in his arms. “What happened? How come whenever she’s alone with you something goes wrong?”

“What’s wrong, Doctor, thinking of putting her back in her cage?”

The good doctor stands to his full height. “Don’t fuck with me, Harrington this isn’t the time.”

“Where were you? I got her out safely. Your appointment was to have ended over an hour ago.”

“I had things to oversee and there was traffic.” He says blankly.

“Traffic.” I repeat, unblinking.

Another roar of an engine and breaks squealing and I hear the all-too familiar, “Baby?”

She dives into Jonas' arms, finally releasing her emotions and he tries to grab her and remove his helmet as they sink to the ground. He looks up at me, “What happened?”

I explain everything and when I tell them I had to break a window because it was screwed shut, they all freeze. That cold look comes over Raven’s face all over again as she digs out her phone from her pocket.

“Never.” Damon says. “I may be a lunatic when it comes to her but locking her in or up was never a choice for me.” He murmurs as we watch the firemen continue their war against the flames. “For the last year I wanted her to be at home with her family. I wanted her to continue therapy but I believed being in the asylum was doing more harm than good. Then I realized it was the complete opposite.”

I look over at him. “Why were you late?”

He sighs, rubbing at his chest with his knuckles as though the sight of his ‘Little Bird’ crying hurts his heart. “Whitmore came into my office after the last session, questioning my hire.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Seems he was made aware I was her doctor at Lorne Wood. I told him that yes, I was one of her doctors but not her sole doctor. That even though we’re on the same campus, it was purely coincidental. I hadn’t seen her until after Chase’s death and she came to seek the school counselor, but weren’t we so lucky that I’m aware of her prior treatments and her episodes?”

“What did he say to that?”

Damon is shoved before he can answer me by a very angry Raven. “Hey, little bird, what the fuck?”

Her hands fly up, signing faster than I can decipher, but when she makes a “fuck you" motion, one that means shadow,  one that means crazy, and then Damon defends himself, I understand that she means she told him she had someone following her and he told her she was crazy.

Jonas holds up her phone and shakes it in our direction. “Someone came in ten minutes after them.”

Tears of frustration spill from Raven and my heart cracks when she begins to point to the ruined home.

You made me feel crazy, Damon.

Anger rises through me as Damon’s jaw opens and closes but nothing comes out. And then, “Raven,”

She signs slower. Her world has come tumbling down, she has nowhere to go and my heart sinks at the pain etched across  her face. She sinks back down to the ground, turning to face the desolation. The sight of her soothing herself tears at me in ways  I’ve never been torn. Not even on that farm.

Damon gets down to his knees beside her, facing her. “Amourette,” He begins to apologize but it’s her I’m worried about.

She stops rocking for a moment. It doesn’t matter at all anymore, does it? It’s gone.

“She… can come home with me.” I blurt.

“Absolutely not.” Damon growls.

“You all can.”

Before they can answer, the fire chief comes waddling to us, his uniform drenched, heavy, boots thudding in the wet, sticky mud and he looks completely exhausted. “The owner of the home?”

They all stand up.

His face scrunches up.

“I thought she was in there with you?” He says, pointing at me.

I rolls my eyes. “I’m also her boyfriend, and I can also translate.”

Damon cackles.

I’m going to kick him.

“Unfortunately the ruins to your home are now a crime scene.”

Raven flinches when he says ‘ruins.’ She eyes Jonas and he lifts an eyebrow. With one short nod, she gives him permission to tell him of the evidence they’ve found and we all get to spend the evening with the chiefs of both PD and FD as if I don’t have mounds of student papers to grade.

I eye Raven sitting across from me, still dirty.

I really need a TA.

And how lovely I’ll have a such a pretty little one available in my home now.              

Chapter Twenty-Six

Damon.

My fingers trail up the soft skin of her legs, her muscles lax and pliable after I made her shower to rid herself of the stench of the smoke and take half an Ambien to ward off any sleepwalking episodes. She’d closed the door to her temporary bedroom, but I’d overcome more obstacles than just a closed door to get to her. I’d done more to get to where we are.

We were at the Police department for so long, sunlight will soon do it’s best to break through the clouds of the promising storm that’s coming.

I spread her thighs, the hem of Harrington’s old FBI shirt rides up to her stomach, revealing the naked lips of her sex to me, that patch of hair trimmed to perfection. I crawled up the bed to her sleeping form, kissing her inner thighs, one and then the other, my fingers moving with me.

Her thighs move naturally for me, ready to accommodate me even in her state. I use my thumb and index finger to spread her lips and deeply inhale her scent and rub my nose into the thatch above, licking her hidden clit, coaxing it to come out so I can suck her into my mouth. I wiggle my tongue around her entrance, letting my saliva pool into her.

A soft moan escapes her lips and her hips slightly glide her pussy along my tongue, thighs spreading farther. “That’s it, little bird.” I whisper, continuing my gentle assault. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

I take her legs, throwing them over my forearms and position myself at her entrance, gently entering her. A breathy sigh and at the sound of the rolling thunder overhead, her eyes roll beneath her lids, mid-way alert to the noise. I praise her, kiss her jaw, her breasts, her chin, her lips, her temple, thrusting, ever so slowly it’s driving me mad. It’s a feeling I love losing myself to when I’m inside of her, knowing she’ll be aching in the morning, feeling empty with the loss of me after stretching her out.

She moans my name in her sleep and I thrust, just a bit deeper, keeping an unrelenting but languid pace so I can feel everything. The wall of her womb, her warm inner muscles gripping the head of cock, each ridge smoothly massaging my shaft, even her ambrosia collecting at the base of me. It is the willpower to not pound into her that is the sweetest torment. I love feeling her pussy plead for more, swallowing and squeezing me.

“Yes, Amourette, it’s me.” Her eyes open, very aware she’s in the dark. Her breath hitches, her fear of the dark palpable. Rain pangs against the window and I hold her closer. “It’s okay. I’m here.” She tries to push but with each wiggle of her hips, all I am is deeper, closer, needier, hungrier. “Are you still angry with me?”

She stops fidgeting, her eyes finding mine and then she looks away.

“That’s okay. If you’re mad, we can be mad together, little bird.” I take her lips with mine, pistoning my hips, searching for her pleasure. Whether I meant crazy or angry, it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except she and I and this moment.

“Di-di-didn’t b-b-bb-believe mm-m-me.”

Although the stutter is concerning, I could cry. “I know, I’m sorry.” I kiss her. “But you’re not good with apologies are you, Raven? You need proof of my sincerity. Aren’t I in your room, inside of you, protecting you from the storm? Lightning has been striking and you’ve been lost in my arms, little love. I’m here. With you. For you.”

She scoffs and I grin against her lips.

“Do you want to take it out on me instead?” I roll us over without slipping out. She sits up, pulling off Maverick’s shirt, and I let out a winning growl. Months ago I dreamed of having her just like this, her nails roughly clawing down my chest, taking her pleasure from me, grabbing her hips to help her because she’s still inexperienced. That’s our fault, probably, always taking over, impatient and demanding, dominating, but this is for her.

Another flash of lightning but she’s not even paying attention. Her head hangs back in pleasure, chestnut hair tickling my thighs. I push her breasts together, rubbing my thumbs over her dark pink nipples, watching the tips move and harden under my touch. I sit up with her, kissing and licking one before moving onto the other, back and forth, roving my tongue, sucking them into my mouth just to hear those little breathy moans.

Anything.

I’d do anything for those illicit little sounds she only gives to those she trusts and no matter how angry she is with me, she trusts me. “I love you,” I groan into her chest, letting my heels find purchase, pushing up on her down, our bodies in tune with the other. It’s too fucking good. “Raven,” her eyes find mine, and her arms go around my shoulders to balance. “Please.” I moan, feeling that too familiar need to release.

With another strike of lightning, something takes over her, her eyes sharpen, her hand finds the nape of my neck, and she tugs my head back. She bounces harder in my lap, no longer using her hips but her knees to balance herself, blossoming into a succubus before my eyes. She licks along the seam of my lips and I open for her, the kiss is ravaging.

“Come, Damon.” She breaks from me as her pussy pulsates, hot, gushing.

“A little more, don’t stop.”

She cries out, and I follow, each squeeze of her tight cunt makes my eyes roll back and I shatter as her forehead tips on mine.

I let myself fall against the pillows, bringing her down with me as we pant. When she tries to move, I wrap my arms around her middle. “Not yet. Please I’ve missed you.”

I am not a man that begs, but for her, I will.

Her arm comes up, her hand on my chest, and I soothe her back, letting my fingers run circles, up and down.

“Raven…”

“Hmm?”

“They’re probably arresting him right now.”

She nods as the door creaks open, and Jonas slips into the room. “The lightning woke me up. I came in to check on you, baby, since we didn’t get a chance to buy you your nightlight.”

“S-s-sleep light.”

Jonas smirks and lays at the foot of the bed. “Sure, sleep light.”

“Little bird, are you aware of your stuttering?”

She nods again and Jonas sits up and crawls up the bed to where we are. I sigh heavily and bring my fingers to my forehead.

“What does it mean? Is it bad?”

I shrug. “She didn’t speak for so long so we weren’t made aware of it. She had really bad head trauma. A severe concussion. Could be aphasia, damage to the brain’s language center, which can be helped with a speech therapist. Or it could be apraxia which… that’s damage to the cerebellum that controls the tongue and the vocal chords.”

Another squeak of the door and Maverick pops in. “I was making sure she was sleeping well before I headed down to make coffee if anyone would like some?”

“I’m going to sleep in. We don’t have practice when there’s lightning and my other classes are hybrid classes.” Jonas informs us. “So I’ll probably just go to the library later.”

“I’ll take a cup.” I say, doing my damnedest to have a truce but the beast really likes pushing my buttons.

“I’ll bring it up.” He nods, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“Baby, can you tell us what happened that night? I know you never told anyone, and I don’t want to push, but I think, we need to know what type of brain damage it is, so we can help you.”

Raven pushes off me and finds Maverick’s shirt and pulls it on. She sits beside me and asks if I can interpret.

I nod.

She takes a deep breath and begins. I didn’t want to talk about it because I hated remembering. Not what happened, but who I used to be before it happened. Trying to remember everything hurt my head. That’s when the stuttering started. I’d get flustered and I’d give up. So I just decided not to. Everyone wanted to interview me, I was the next great podcast episode and people were offering thousands of dollars for my story. It was unnerving and if I’m honest, after being drugged up for so long, it was hard to tell what was real and what was fake, what was a nightmare and what was a memory sometimes.

I nod. The first few months of her being at Lorne Wood she was in constant survival mode, fighting. My vicious little bird. I try hard not to smile at the memory of the first time I had to put her in  a straight jacket nor smile at the warmth it gives me at how far she’s come. And so her story begins.

She tells us of how she was on her way to the music hall which I already know about thanks to Axel’s sessions with me. The immense guilt he carried around. She tell us of her audition, talking to the former custodian, Lex, and him leaving her for the evening after he locked up. How she was ambushed from behind and beaten, left for dead.

Disgust rolls through me. One tear rolls down her cheek, she wipes it away as quickly as she can before continuing.

Before they closed the door of the locker, they punched me one last time on the side of my head and then they tugged the leash so I couldn’t move or scream and locked me in, then pounded it shut with a hammer. 

“Jesus Christ.” I murmur, seething.

When Lex finally found me, it had been days. And yet he’s the one who saved me.

“My sister told me that. He’s the one who found you.” Jonas says. 

Raven shakes her head. No I mean… I was dying. When they say your brain begins to replay your life, that was happening to me. I was remembering things from my childhood, my dad, my mom, the first-time meeting Axel… and music would be playing. He’d pull me out of my memories and I would just listen to him play.

Not a lot of people know this about Lex but he was a child prodigy. He could play any instrument, listen to a piece of music and replicate it instantly. He had a car accident after he married his wife and he broke both of his hands. It took years of him teaching himself to play again. When he took the job as a custodian, the university granted him full access to the music rooms and any instruments left behind.

So, I would tap against the door of the locker but he’d be playing so loudly he couldn’t hear me. But on the third day, I thought he was a hallucination. The music, too. So I pretended I was tapping on my phone to change the song. Even requested a few.

“He finally heard you.” Jonas whispers with unshed tears in his eyes.

Raven nods and looks down, not meeting our gazes. I tried to talk at first, but my throat always hurt and the words were hard because of the medication I was under and then… and then it seemed like they didn’t matter anymore. I was lost to the pills or in my mind most of the time and then they, my family, gave up trying to talk to me or I was always alone and then it really didn’t matter anymore.

“But why the vow of silence?” I ask.

She looks up at me and blinks. I want my words to matter when I finally speak them.

“Everything you do matters, little bird. Even if you don’t impact millions of people, even if you only decide to tell your story to us, you’ve changed our lives. That’s the thing people tend to forget; the way you impact just one person creates a ripple effect. You’ve been created ripples for a very long time that are causing tsunamis.”

She smiles sadly at me.

“Well, I for one, can’t wait to see the type of destruction you leave behind.” Jonas leans over and kisses her jaw in a place that makes her squirm. “Make those waves, baby. Fuck with their heads and then drown ‘em all.”

Maverick pops up with two mugs of steaming coffee, black for me, and one for himself. “So, what did I miss?” He asks, sitting on the other of the bed, his back against the headboard beside me, even though he’s lax, he’s still tense in his own home.

I shake my head. “We were just talking about how Riordan is probably being arrested at this moment, and how since the police department said it was an open and closed case, we can start rebuilding soon.” I half-lie.

Maverick takes a sip and then clears his throat, “There’s… There’s no rush.”

“Maverick, we’re obviously crowding you, we’ll find an Air BnB in the meantime and either rebuild once the insurance money comes through or find a new place to live. I’ve already been scoping out a few places I could purchase if Raven doesn’t want to rebuild.”

“I’m uh, just not used to… I’ve lived alone since I was a teenager. This is all just… new to me but you aren’t… I’m not entirely uncomfortable. I just need to adjust.”

I understand what he means. Every room in this house is impeccable. Nothing is out of place. Not even one throw blanket on the plush sofas downstairs are actually thrown. They’re perfectly placed to make the house look warm and inviting, but it’s not. It’s just a place someone lives but doesn’t live in. It’s desolate in the many ways it shouldn’t be - a house of this size. As a single man, it was why I’d opted for living in an apartment. There was something that felt wrong about having an entire home and nobody to share it with. Men like Maverick and I… we weren’t the type to be hosts either. 

“We argue a lot.” Jonas states.

He nods.

“Raven is messy.”

Raven kicks Jonas.

“Ouch. Babe, you are. The books and throw pillows and blankets and the taking notes with everything laid out, not to mention, you tend to forgo picking up after yourself so you can nap. And her hair gets everywhere.”

Maverick watches them intently as Raven hikes a brow and she crosses her arms.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

She climbs into my lap and Jonas frowns when I chuckle.

“I don’t mind those things.” Maverick argues.

“You don’t mind those things until you’re in the shower pulling hair out of your ass that’s not even yours.” Jonas mumbles.

Raven looks at me, the question in her eyes, asking me if it’s true.

“I have yet to have that happen to me,” I lie.

“At this point I could build a wig.”

Raven makes a scissoring motion with her fingers and grabs her hair. It’s a collective gasp and a “No!” And she smirks knowingly as if saying that’s what I thought with a head nod.

“Besides, Siren, I thought you preferred me being able to wrap your hair around my wrist when I fuck you from behind.” Mav growls and Raven shivers.

Mav?

It's my turn to hike a brow. Oh? “I prefer being able to watch her face when she comes for me.” I wink.

“Same. But that’s why I love fucking her in front of a mirror. It’s the best of both worlds.”

“You sure it’s not just your own ego and you watch yourself?” Maverick jokes but the tension in the room is building.

Jonas laughs. “Why watch myself when I can watch her titties sway and clap together or look down and watch her ass bounce while her pussy swallows my dick? Fuck, Raven baby, come here. I need you.”

He stands up, hands already in the waistband of the sweats Maverick let him borrow and she climbs out of my lap and goes to him immediately on all fours, flashing us her pussy and my cum dripping out of it. Maverick hisses and I groan in satisfaction. She sits up on her knees and kisses Jonas tenderly as he slips the sweats down to mid-thigh and then tugs the FBI shirt off.

“Show me what Professor Harrington taught you, baby. Show him what a good student you are.” He whispers and she  bows to him, exposing herself to us again.

“This doesn’t bother you?” He asks.

“Watch.” I whisper.

She licks her lips then grabs the base of his shaft and pumps him while swirling her tongue over the head before taking him into her mouth. He fists her hair in one hand and guides her. The smile on his face demonic. “That’s it baby, fuck you’re such a good girl aren’t you?”

Her thighs tremble in response and I leak out of her. “Show me how much you love me, baby.” She sucks him deeper, swallowing and his eyes roll back. “Fuck yes, that’s my sick little slut. Did your doctor fuck you? Hmm?”

Instead of letting her answer he reaches over and plunges his ring and middle finger knuckles deep into her slippery cunt and she moans, arching her back further.

I feel my length thicken and harden as if I hadn’t just fucked her thirty minutes ago. She’s dripping. The sight so erotic I want to take pictures of it. He scoops as much of me as he can out and wipes it on her pink puckered hole, playing, teasing, one finger, in and out and then the other.

“Relax, baby.” He coos, slowing the piston of his hips into an unrelenting pace. He looks at me, hazel eyes dilated, lids heavy. “Doc, clean your mess while I finger this perfect ass. Spit it all in there so Harrington can see what other lessons she took. She’s been such a good girl for us, hasn’t she?” He winks.

“Jesus Christ.” I hear beside me and smirk at the Professor stroking his dick over his sweats before I lean forward on all fours and begin to lick up my mess.

Raven tenses and Jonas shakes his head at her. “Uh-uh baby, you wanted this, remember? When me and Archer took your virginity? I asked you if you wanted Maverick, too. These are the consequences to being honest, baby. You get rewarded.”

Another whimper and her thighs shake when I lick her pussy from behind, the taste of us, tangy and sweet, intoxicating and reviving. I do as I’m told, for no reason other than my love of watching her reach oblivion. When I’ve gathered enough of myself I lift my head. Jonas let’s go of her hair and uses both hands to open her ass and I spit all I haven’t swallowed into her.

Jonas pulls out of her, a string of saliva connecting them. “Let Maverick stretch your asshole baby, but face me. I need to feel your pussy squeeze me.”

Jonas is deranged. There’s something that happens to him when he’s inside of her that’s on the verge of depraved and experimental, testing hers and his own limits, forcing her to trust him, me, and now Harrington to break past her mental barriers to give her the pleasure she doesn’t or won’t ask for but so desperately craves.

She looks at Jonas confused and then at Maverick. I know we’ve put him on the spot, but if we’re going to stay, we need to learn to be able to share. Specifically, Raven. It’s what made Jonas and I able to tolerate each other, to get past the initial awkwardness. Maverick must sense this, too.

It isn’t a power play. It’s a choice. We either do this, or we don’t. He knows we’ll take her with us and we won’t come back.

He tugs down his sweats and kicks them off completely, extending his arms to her. She goes to him, still unsure of it all, but when he takes her mouth and shoves his tongue into hers, it seals us together. She breaks their kiss to turn over and he guides her, helping her straddle him. He spits in his hand and glides it over the tip of his dick, then positions her so he can enter and she sits, her hands on his thighs.

“Jesus,” Maverick groans as she leans on him, jaw slack, brows furrowed but her eyes bounce between Jonas and me. He stretches his legs out, his heels finding purchase on the mattress to spread her legs wide. He slowly fucks into her ass, holding her hips and it is a sight to behold. I’m still draining from her puffy, dark pink hole, her nub is swollen and begging to be kissed and that’s exactly what I do.

It’s an instinct now, a reflex to pleasure her in all ways imaginable. She rides Maverick, gliding her own pussy against my flattened tongue, those little sighs various in pitch as I lick and suck on her clit.

“Siren, you feel… incredible.” He rasps.

I stand on the bed, tugging my own boxer briefs off, groaning as I shove as much as I can of myself into her open mouth as Jonas kneels between her parted thighs. “Are you ready baby?”

The vibrations of her moan goes straight to my balls. I’d rather be inside of her, again. Torturing her to orgasm but I’m confident in Jonas. I watch as he slides the tip of his cock up and down her slickness, coating himself, inserting only the crown of his cock, the entire tip and then a few inches over and over again.

“Christ. Jonas.”

Jonas laughs devilishly. “I know. But that’s our girl. All of her feels amazing. Look how slutty you are baby. Taking three cocks. You’re such a sick… little… slut.” He groans as he thrusts and from the frenzy she’s wreaking on my cock, deepening her slurps, hollowing her cheeks, she loves it.

“Fuck you feel amazing like this. Gonna go deeper now, mmhmm, good girl. I know you can take us.”

Her eyes rolls back and she’s moving on her own, silently pleading for more.

“That’s our good girl. Keep going. Fuck, yes. Fuck it’s so goddamn beautiful to see your pussy split open for me.”

“Fuck, Siren. Don’t fucking stop.” Maverick groans.

“You want your professor to shoot his cum in your ass baby?”

She nods and Maverick curses.

Jonas licks a finger, bites his lip and smiles like a madman. “You know what I want? It’s sick baby. It’s so sick…” He snakes his finger into her, and whatever he’s doing inside with that finger makes her gush. He lowers his voice, “I want two of us to take your pussy. I want to stretch you all the way out and fill you up with so much cum.”

“Siren, don’t stop angel.”

“But that’s not the sick part, baby.”

These confessions, the feel of her tongue on the underside of my cock, the view of her breasts bouncing… it’s too much.

“Want to know the sickest part?” He taunts.

“Fuck, Jonas, stop.” I warn.

“I want the good doctor to take out your birth control. I want to shove a plug in your pussy so you keep us inside all fucking day.” He whispers. And then, “What if you get pregnant baby?”

Maverick groans, his toes curling, obviously turned on by that thought.

Raven gasps as they pound into her, all of them slick with sweat, pheromones permeating in the air. No longer able to hold back, my thighs shake as I cum down her throat, groaning like a savage animal in the night. She leans against Maverick again and pulls Jonas onto her and tugs me down to kiss her. Shoving my hand between their bodies so I can play with her sensitive clit, not leaving me out of bringing her pleasure. She keeps her lips on mine, never breaking away, only devouring me harder even when her body convulses between them. She needs me to be a part of everything she is. To let me know she loves me any way she can.

To feel her break.

“Oh, god, baby. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” It’s incredible how desperate and guttural Jonas sounds when he comes for her as if she’s the answer to all of his prayers.

“Siren!”

When she finds the strength to climb off them, it’s me she seeks. Shaking, overstimulated, hypersensitive and afraid of everything she’s feeling, she seeks me for comfort. For guidance. “It’s okay, little bird.”

Her chin trembles and tears spill. It’s a natural reaction to what she just experienced and Jonas being so open and honest probably fucked with her.

She puts her index finger up to her lips and pushes it forward. Real?

I nod. “Real.” And she clutches me closer, as if I’d ever let her go.

“Fuck, did I push for too much too soon?” Jonas asks.

I shake my head. “It’s an influx of emotions, being touched, praised and fucked so thoroughly… she feels… loved.”

As she should.

A softness rarely seen comes across his face as Maverick reaches over and pulls her hair away from her face and cups her chin. “You did so well, Siren.” He praises and when his eyes fall on his watch he springs out of bed. “Holy shit I’m going to be so late.”

Jonas ignores him and slides in beside me to take her from my arms. “Let me clean you up and then you can take a bath with me.”

I ignore the professor as well. “I’ll make breakfast and then you can go back to sleep okay?”

Raven nods, wiping her tears.

“Wait so, what all do you have planned while I’m working?” Maverick asks.

I shrug. “Our girl is going to need a few things. Her laptop was destroyed. She’ll need a new one. Clothes.”

“Fishnets and thigh highs, no panties.” Jonas murmurs sleepily. “They get in the way a lot. Oh, no rompers either.”

“Shopping? I’ll be working and you will be… having fun.”

Jonas laughs. “Jealous?”

Maverick clears his throat. “I can purchase the laptop.”

“You don’t have to.” I supply. “You’ve done enough letting  us stay here.”

I know what he’s doing. He wants to be a part of this in any way he can. “Please, it’s the least I can do. You can purchase ungodly amounts of clothes and books for her, and I’ll… I can do that.”

“Okay.” I agree.

“You hear that, baby? Your guys are spoiling you today.”

Raven sighs happily in his arms but then sits up. Wait I have a few things I need from my dorm room. She looks at Maverick. Can I move those things in here?

“Could you sign just a little slower?”

She does, and I can tell he’s fighting a smile. He wants her here. He wants this. Knowing she plans on staying here for a while makes a light dance in his eyes, all while his face remains neutral. But he wants it. All of it that comes with her but that fucking cool mask he puts on for show is fucking ridiculous and it’s annoying. The sooner he rids himself of it, the more she’ll trust him. Keeping up that façade will only confuse and push her away.

That’s the last thing she needs.

He nods. “Yes, That’s fine. I’ll have keys made for each of you. You’re welcome to everything in the kitchen. There’s a gym in the basement. The layout to this house is similar to Raven’s Lake house.” He leaves the room and we get up so we can shower. While we’re getting dressed, Maverick leaves without a word. Though she doesn’t say anything, just as I suspected she would be, she’s a little sadder than usual.

I make a mental note to set him straight soon.

Unfortunately, by the time I get the chance, it’s too late.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Raven.

Jonas parks my Rover in the student parking lot under a tree so we can put in our things since Damon’s BMW is packed with things we purchased at the mall in Black Throne. I never thought I’d ever be exhausted by shopping, but the lights in the mall, coupled with so many noises, the crowds, the different smells of the food court… I’m overstimulated and a little cranky.

Jonas opens my door, opens the umbrella, helps me down, kisses my forehead and takes my hand while we make our way to the dorms. The campus is glorious, but with the overcast and the rain it looks as though there’s a midnight filter placed over us. There’s a fog loitering around the wet ground, dead leaves are along the centuries old cobble stone path, the last of the earth worms are struggling to find their way back to the soil and there are ravens and crows perched everywhere, feasting.

It feels as though we’re the only two on campus since everyone is still in their classes. When we reach the dorms, Jonas shakes out the umbrella and places it by the door in the appointed large blue vase and walks me to my room. “I’ll be upstairs getting my things. I don’t have much, really. Just my uniforms and textbooks. I’ll be back when I’m done packing them into the Rover to help you with yours. Okay?”

I nod and give him a small kiss.

He leaves me to pack alone which I’m grateful for. The first thing I do as soon as the door closes behind him, is run to grab my binder containing Syndicate things. How am I supposed to hide this from Maverick? His house is fucking tidy. I’m pretty sure he has house elves that clean up after him. He’ll notice this. It’s large and obviously not my notebooks or my textbooks. I sigh, opening it to find the hot pink flyer I snagged from the cafeteria.

It's a flyer soliciting work for Inferno. A cage dancer.

While I don’t need the money from the tips they make, (nobody here does, really) I knew a few girls from before that danced to release their inhibitions. It was a way to dance like a whore behind a mask in a slutty costume. I always admired them for that. For being able to let go like that. When I saw the flyer, I thought it could be a great way to be able to get closer to some of the members of the Syndicate. A way to eavesdrop on the where’s and when’s. Specifically, Thadd’s when’s and where’s.  

I pack my books into the suitcase, then the binder, shove a bit of my clothes over them, and throw the dry-cleaning bags over my uniforms. I grab my duffel bag and shove the rest of my clothes and shoes in there. I’m so happy I still have my cello. The one in Casa de Cuervos was a stand-in for this one. The one in my hands means so much more to me. It was a gift from my Abuelo after my first recital. I grab my shower caddy and all my things in my bathroom and put them in a separate bag.

I look over at the mini-fridge and a pang of guilt hits me in the pit of my stomach. I’ve been ignoring Axel’s texts and calls. I just have too much to deal with. I can’t care about his feelings right now. I have so many other things to compartmentalize like the fire, finding a way to get to Thadd and Ashleigh, moving in with my professor who claimed himself as my boyfriend, and my other two boyfriends.

Christ, a few months ago I thought I would never get anyone to sleep with me, let alone have three boyfriends.

I sit in my desk chair and turn it to look at myself in the full-length mirror. Memories of the way Jonas took me in front of it tickle my brain and I feel a blush creep up my chest and settle on my cheeks. There’s so many memories in this room alone. Enough to leave me satiated for the rest of my life if anything goes wrong. I’ll always look back at the memories created here fondly. The room where Damon held me in my sleep, even though he’s a total creep but he’s my creep. The room where Jonas and I lived together, even if the circumstances for that happening were abnormal.

But nothing about this is normal, is it? I was a girl that was at a university so prestigious, it didn’t offer scholarships; you either had the money and the grades to attend, or you didn’t. I was a girl with friends and had study group sessions and dreams of playing for a symphony. I was a girl at one of the safest universities in the entire Northern half of the United States.

Or so I thought.

Every time I try to forgive, every time I sit there and I try and try so hard to forgive that my heart forgets to beat, I’m back in that fucking locker, bound and gagged listening to Lex’s broken hand rendition of The Secret History and suddenly I can’t breathe, can’t think, and all I feel is pain and anger. Pain in my side, my head, my leg, my throat. Anger for the stupid girl I used to be.

I scoff. I really thought I was untouchable.

I thought I was safe. The only thing I was afraid of was that goddamn faceless shadow.

Until the universe sent me the biggest message of all; monsters aren’t faceless shadows creeping in the dark. Real monsters have faces. They have names. They have families and smile with too perfect teeth that are too white and too bright, with lying lips and poisonous eyes and flawless skin.  

I cover my face with my hands and groan. How could I bring them into this? Damon? Jonas? Keeping this from Maverick? I can’t do this to them. I’m a bitch, aren’t I? Keeping them for myself, not letting myself just choose one and having a normal monogamous relationship. But in truth, I’d leave the entire thing, let them choose their own happiness. I wouldn’t only keep one and betray the others like that. They deserve someone that can give them each their undivided attention. I’d love them all forever.

Love.

That’s this damning thing, isn’t it? The thing making me question my sanity. My future choices. They seem fine with all of this. Even Maverick. Sharing me this morning? He didn’t miss a beat. I gave him a chance to back out and he didn’t. 

“Hey baby, I’m back.” I look up to see Jonas in the reflection of the mirror, unaware I’ve spilled a few tears.  “Oh, that’s not a good look. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, baby? Not ready to go?”

He stands me up, sits in the chair and pulls me to him so I can straddle his strong, demigod thighs. In Jonas fashion, his hands go straight to my ass, pushing up the new skirt he picked out at the mall. “Go slow but tell me what’s wrong.”

Baby, we can’t keep doing this. I sign, and motion between us.

His eyes narrow into slits, glaring. “Shut the fuck up and never say that shit to me again.” His hands grip me tighter in a possessive hold, bruising and God, how fucked up am I that I love it? Love the way his love bruises me from the inside out?

I’m… I’m only going to get deeper into this. You could get in trouble. They’ll take you for an accomplice.

“I am an accomplice, Raven.” I cringe at the use of my name. “The day I chose to lie I became one. I know I’m fucking crazy. I know I shouldn’t have. But I did. If you’ve damned your soul, I’ve damned mine, baby. Except I damned mine a long time ago, you’re barely catching up.” He pauses, “Do you think Jacob and Paris were my last?”

I gasp.

“Once you’re in the Syndicate you’re never out of it. The Syndicate owns you until you graduate. Even then, you have a job here, a job there, sent out like thugs and lackeys so they don’t have to get their hands dirty. The worst is the cops here are so deep in their pockets, they turn the other way just for an extra two to ten grand in their pockets. Granted, it’s not always taking someone down physically. Sometimes, it’s taking someone down mentally or financially. C’mon, Raven baby, use your pretty head. The Syndicate only comes together for large events.

“You really think my parents came down here to watch me play and celebrate my win? You really think the Anderson’s are tied to football like that? No babe, I was in Boston, fucking a guy up with special made gloves that are padded for me but have brass knuckles imbedded into the fabric to cause destruction, to get the point across. I beat him, some dude I don’t even know for owing the Prescott’s money they don’t even need. Then I showed my face at the bar where I had dinner with my parents, where my father made me for an alibi because he’s a legacy. I may be his son, but the Syndicate still owns me.”

I throw my arms over his shoulders and kiss him.

“Do you understand baby? We both want to take down the Syndicate. We both have our reasons. Do your thing, baby. Cause mass panic and destruction between the cloaks. If you make a mistake, I’ll help clean up your messes. You think I haven’t been paying attention to you or your kills or your history searches on your little fake VPN on your laptop? How to get away with this or that? How to clean up a crime scene? Baby…” he chuckles against my lips, his cock growing hard beneath me. “Nothing you do escapes me. Why do you think I love fucking you in front of a mirror? I don’t want to miss a thing you do. Not a move, not a ripple, not a moan.”

He takes off my shirt, grinning when he sees I’m braless. His fingertips skitter over my flesh, causing goosebumps to rise in the wake of his touch. That fucking electricity he causes zaps me everywhere, making me ache. “Remember when I told you it would be dangerous for you to know how much sway you have over me?”

I nod when he nips at my chin.

“I’m so fucked for you baby. So stop overthinking it, okay? Let me love you. Let me be good to you. You’ll probably do a lot of terrible shit and to be by your side, so will I. But if you’re going to drown the world, then I’ll be on the boat with you. Get that through that thick, luscious hair of yours,” he wraps my hair around his fist and yanks it back roughly to kiss the column of my throat, “and listen to me when I say, there is no getting rid of me. Any little bad thought you have of being too much for me or leaving me, I’ll incinerate every single one. It’s us against them and they’re already losing, baby.”

And then he attacks. His lips, his tongue, his teeth, he pulls me up only slightly to unfasten his pants and pull out his dick then pulls my panties to the side. I rub him on me, coating him in my arousal and then slide down his length. The groan I let out is carnal. I feel so fucking full of him, the way he stretches me always hurts but in the best ways possible. Our eyes open and clash, it’s a flood of emotions that happens when we’re joined. He lifts one of my breasts to attack my nipple, and his eyes are open but behind me.

I look back to see what he’s seeing, having forgotten all about the mirror. What a conniving madman, this one.

“Look at you baby,” he lifts my skirt and bunches it up, twisting it in his hand. The sight of me impaled on him, shirtless, my breast in his mouth, my skirt bunched up in his hand, the other holding my ass open, his autumnal eyes lock with mine and he grins. “Do you see it now?”

I nod, planting my booted toes on the floor and lean forward, putting more of my weight on him. Jonas groans a resounding “Fuck yessss.” I grab my other cheek and we watch as I impale myself on him, over and over, the sight so fucking hypnotizing.

“Watch baby, look. Look at all that cream on my dick. It feels good doesn’t it? I do that to you?”

“Ugh, yes.”

“Watch.” His hand leaves my ass and he takes a nipple back into his mouth, flicking, licking, teasing, sucking, biting and the desire, the pleasure deepens, the warmth between my thighs feels as though its pooling, a liquid heat where we’re joined. “So fucking responsive.” He whispers.

I watch as more of my juices accumulate and something inside me snaps, the need to feel him cum inside of me and so I can watch it leak out around us so intense I feel fucking feral. I tighten my hold around his shoulders, only for my hand to slip down and grab his throat, squeezing the sides, staring at the way my body takes him, owns him, bucking my hips, each jiggle, the sweat on my body, the contrast of his large tan hand against the light of mine, the veins in his hand and forearm where he grips, strong and firm, not letting go once, only holding me tighter, closer.

“Oh fuck baby, yes, just like that.” He grunts.

My clit rubs against his pubic bone, swollen and needy, pulsing at each touch of contact I make and I seek it, using him, his perfect fucking body that was made for me to worship, to use, to love.

“Don’t fucking stop, I’m so fucking close. Use me baby, fuck my dick. That’s it – oh God.”

I feel his cock thicken, watch as his balls tighten. His fingers dig into my skin, my pants, his moans, his scent, his praise. It’s so much.

But then, something seems to snap inside of him, too. He shoves his forearms under my legs and he carries me like I weigh nothing and we’re against the wall. He pounds into me in short, angry stabs, the angle so much deeper, his grunting filling the silence with each brutal thrust and I buck my hips, meeting him. I come apart with a scream. “Jonas!” 

He roars my name with a shudder as he shoves each impressive thick, throbbing inch of his cock into me and groans, “That’s my fucking girl, strangle my cock baby,” as I milk every ounce imaginable from him as he stills and I can feel every shot he shoots into me as I rock on him lazily.

He stumbles back, pants still around his ankles until we’re on the bed. We’re both breathless as he lies back, taking me with him. “Give me a sec.” he mutters. “My hearts beating so fast.”

I giggle and kiss him.

“Fuck baby,” Jonas wraps me in his arms. “Do that again.”

“Hmm?”

“Laugh for me.”

I shake my head.

“No?”

“No.”

This time, it’s a different attack. Jonas breaks his embrace, without withdrawing from me and begins to tickle me in ways I haven’t been tickled in years and in my stifled laughter, I panic, letting out something like a snort and a hiccup.

It is the most atrocious sound I have ever made.

He stops and looks at me, bewilderment in his eyes. There’s something of a devious smile on his face but his eyes, those eyes the color of leaves with splashes of caramel and sun drops are so serious they command my attention. “I’m going to marry you, one day, you know that? Mark my words. You will be my wife.”

The words are too much. They’re so much my entire heart bursts. I can’t help but nod as tears well in my eyes, never spilling. “Yes,” is all I say, promising him I will be.

The devastating grin that spreads across his face is so beautiful it hurts.

We make love for the first time, saying goodbye to my dorm room, soft and tender with promising kisses that mean more than words can ever say and it ends feverishly and brutal. 

                                        ______

Damon is in the kitchen when we return, we put our things in our respective guest rooms as the smell of salmon, bits of bacon and something else I can’t quite place fills the air. His brown and silvered hair is in disarray, he wears an apron, the sleeves of his dark Henley are rolled up and he calls out to us, smiling at me. He gives me a kiss and puts me to work, washing dishes and the scent of lemon hits my nostrils as he makes Jonas slice them for garnish. My handsome doctor looks so in his element, I love it.

He puts the seasoned vegetables in the oven with slices of lemon and then turns to us, leaning against the island. He puts his palms on the edge. Jonas grabs an apple and then hands me one after washing and slicing them. “What?” Jonas says around the apple.

“I think you should both know I purchased a home.”

Our jaws drop. “Call my fucking flabbers ghasted because we were only gone for two hours.” Jonas says.

Damon shakes his head. “It’s more of a failsafe.”

“Why?”

Damon looks at me. “Do you fully trust him?”

I know he’s talking about Maverick. I should. We shared something unique this morning but it was sex. Sex isn’t exactly a soul binder. I shrug and then shake my head. I’m not sure. I sign. 

“And that’s exactly the reason why I purchased it. It’s fully furnished. The basement, too. It’s five miles away and closer to the school. I pick up the keys on Monday. I’ll make you both copies and give you the codes to the alarms.”

“Where did you find this house in such a short amount of time?”

Damon sighs. “I’ve been looking at it for a while if I’m honest. Nothing against RMU or its faculty but it would be nice not smelling what everyone else is cooking or hearing them fuck through the walls.”

Jonas lets out a laugh. “Oh my god, who’s fucking?”

“They all are.” Damon grumbles.

“It’s Miss Overly isn’t it? She gives off huge secret slut vibes.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. Damon kisses my cheek and chuckles. “Yes, she is definitely… promiscuous, which is her right as a single woman.”

I tilt my head. I have to ask because since I had this talk with Jonas, it only seems fair I have it with him, too. Does this not bother you? I ask, pointing to them and then the rest of the house, indicating Maverick.

Damon looks at me curiously then lifts me so I can sit on the island. “At times, Amourette, but I know you could never choose and I won’t make you. Besides, they help me watch over you, which is more than I can ask of them. I think we’re all obsessed with you, obviously. But we each love you in the different ways you need to be loved, just the way you love us. It’s reciprocated.”

“F-f- mmm…” I try to get a hold of the word on the tip of my tongue. “Family.”

Damon grins and kisses me. “Exactly, Amourette. We’re your family.”

I’m about to sign and tell them about dancing at Inferno for intel, to be able to get closer to the members of the Syndicate that gather there to network and… whatever else people at Inferno do, but we hear the garage door opening then closing. Maverick comes in, strides so long he’s practically running to me, stepping between my thighs, taking me into his arms and kisses me openly. The kiss is possessive, claiming and chaotic as it is tender. My blood feels like it's boiling with every swipe of his tongue that’s exploring, tasting me.

“I thought of doing that all fucking day, I couldn’t wait to get home to you.” he says, putting his face in the crooked of my neck, inhaling deeply. He licks my neck, sucking little bits here and there, marking me and does the same to the other side. “You smell so fucking good.” He growls, pushing my thighs open further and like a natural response, I begin to get wet for him, his woodsy scent, the natural musk of him mixed with his cologne makes me dizzy.

My reaction to Maverick is always so visceral. My entire body craves him. His touch. His scent. His kiss. I gasp when he hooks his hands under my knees and pulls me closer, like he can’t get me close enough. My nipples harden and I get wetter.

He somehow makes Damon and Jonas melt away along with the rest of the world. We aren’t in the kitchen. We’re back on the forest floor where he finally took me. We’re in his office enclosed in a small space. We’re in a bubble and I feel like I can’t breathe. I suffocate where Maverick Harrington is involved. I lose all sense of self-anything. I’m not just aware of myself, I’m hyperaware of him and myself when it’s just me and him and him and I in a room full of others, even an entire classroom full of others… it’s just us and my lungs seize and my heart beats erratically and I just crave the air he breathes so I can stop suffocating.

How does he do this?

I can’t help but wonder if it’s my body or my heart that wants him? His kiss? His attention? Is it my brain? My soul? Those filthy words that make me come so hard around him he can’t move?

“Another little skirt, Siren?” He asks, his breath skimming my clavicle along with his teeth and lips. “You just have to make it so easy to pull these panties to the side and dig into your perfect little pussy, don’t you?”

It’s the words. Definitely the words.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders to which he responds by grabbing my throat lightly and telling me to open my mouth and stick out my tongue.

I do.

He kisses me by licking my tongue with his, groaning at my taste and I moan with his. Sucking my bottom lip into his mouth and then tangling his tongue with mine again, devouring. His hands go to my inner thighs and he squeezes, his fingers traveling up until both of his thumbs rub along the silk triangle that covers my sex.

God, I can feel my panties sticking to me with how slick I’ve gotten with just one kiss.

He pulls away, his nose still against mine, his thumb slipping under the silky material, finding me wet and wanting him. “Did someone cum deep in my slutty girl or are you wet for just me?”

I moan when he pushes his thumb into me only to rub my arousal in circles on my clit. I keep my eyes on his and nod. It’s useless to lie. Except Jonas and I showered one last time in my dorm before coming home and I am so very, very wet for him.

He reaches between us and I hear him unzipping his trousers, tugging his dick out and rubs the tip of his cock all over my pussy, notching at my entrance. “Do you know why a penis has a mushroom-like tip?”

I shake my head.

“A university in Michigan did a study and theorized it was a way the Neanderthals were able to scoop out another's semen out, to have a higher chance of impregnating their mate.” He growls and in one full shove he thrusts his entire cock into me.

I moan, clutching him closer, spreading my thighs wider to take him deeper. I decide, in this moment, I absolutely fucking love evolutionary science. Or is it history?

“Let’s see, shall we?” He pulls out until only the crown of him is inside. We look down and see a stripe of my essence on him but the rest of me coats him. Whether it’s me or remnants of Jonas, I’m not sure and he isn’t either because he groans and pushes into me again.

I moan and he takes my mouth with his again, over and over again he gives me as much pleasure as he takes, stretching me with the fattest part of him. It hurts and it feels amazing and I need more.

Wrapping my legs around his torso, I hook them at my ankles. In the blink of an eye his hands are clawing at my shirt, pulling it up and over my head and his tongue dives to my nipples.

God, yes!

He sucks as though I’m feeding him, flicking his tongue and biting one, switching from one to the other. One hand pinches whichever one isn’t in his mouth. He’s claiming me, leaving physical marks on my body along with invisible ones in my heart, in my mind, in the very thing that makes me me. His words are nothing but worship. My back arches as my pussy begins to clamp down around him.

“That’s my good girl. I love feeling the way your gorgeous cunt throbs around me. Come for your professor, Siren. Come for your professor so I can fill your pussy.”

I moan and he groans, filling the bubble we’re in with animalistic noises and I fall back to earth, the bubble popping when he places a kiss that’s as soft as his urgency was. I tip my forehead against his and smile.

“Christ, that was-”

“Hot.” Damon finishes for Jonas, reminding me we aren’t alone. I blush as the alarm on the oven beeps, telling us dinner is ready.

Maverick smirks but doesn’t withdraw from me. Instead he hooks his arms under my thighs. “Let’s go clean you up, Angel. Then we’ll have dinner.”

We’re in his room moments later after he took the stairs with me in his arms as though I weighed nothing, only withdrawing from me once we’re in his bathroom. He undresses me only after the shower turns on and steam is rising, slowly and deliberately taking off each article of clothing, looking at every single one of my flaws.

My scars. Stab wound. Tattoo. Tracing his fingers over each one, smiling at the goosebumps he leaves on my skin.

“Perfect,” he whispers… and I feel it. That’s the thing about Maverick, even when he’s crass and he hurts me, he’s honest. It’s a fucked-up thing to love a man that can call you out on every single one of your insecurities even if it hurts you and still make you feel beautiful amidst the ugly.

I gnaw on my tongue.

They all do this to me. Jonas with his need for me, telling me that I’m sick in the head but then making me feel like it’d alright to be crazy because he is, too. Damon, making me feel normal with all of my… issues, but he makes me feel invincible. And Maverick… he’s never made me feel fragile. Not once. He uses words like daggers because he knows my skin is thicker than I let on.

So how do I trust him? How do I let him in completely? Will the former FBI agent that hunted serial killers still think I’m beautiful when he finds out… if he finds out? Will he turn me in? Us? Would he understand?

When it’s his turn, he also undresses himself slowly. I realize it’s the first time I’m seeing him naked. The night of the fire we were in the dark. In the forest he took me from behind. Neither of us ever fully undressed in his office.

There are a lot of tattoos going from his wrists up to his chest, stopping just at his neck. Some look like runes, vines; on his right pec is Icarus falling from the sky, feathers everywhere. There’s other things but barely any skin is left untouched except his left pec as though he’s waiting on something to put over his heart. There are words in Latin scribbled across him I can’t wait to focus on to translate.

The one I love the most is the Invictus poem written on his ribs.

“I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”

When he steps out of his slacks it looks like lightning bolts going down his strong thighs.

It’s when he turns to check the temperature of the water I hold in my gasp. He has bullet scars on his shoulders and his ribs. A tattoo of an old ship on a turbulent sea covers the scars like mine covers my own. I reach out to touch and when I do, he tenses for only a moment before relaxing against my touch.

He clears his throat, still not facing me. He just holds his hand out behind him and when I take it, he tugs me into the shower with him. He scrubs me clean and then himself. It’s a quick shower and when he reaches between my legs to clean me up, he thickens immediately. It seems the response I have to him is the same for him when it comes to me.

When we step out of the shower, Damon is there with a warm towel. He doesn’t linger, giving us time together. Mav’s room, obviously the master bedroom, is spacious and oddly empty. Yes, it has a bed and a dresser and two nightstands but there’s hardly anything here. It doesn’t look lived in. It looks like a set for a Home & Gardens catalog, as though he went to a store, saw the display and said, “I’ll take it as is.”

The lack of warmth makes me a little sad.

Maverick rummages around one of the drawers and pulls out a shirt of his and tugs it over me. Green eyes bounce all over me as though he’s trying to remember every detail or he doesn’t know where to look or both. It’s the first time his gaze is soft when it’s in my direction and it makes me uneasy. I don’t know what I’m expecting. I don’t know where to go from here.

“I’m… I’m not an easy man to live with, probably. I’m not very kind. I’m a selfish motherfucker and I tend to voice my opinions even if they’re unwanted. It’s hard for me to open up to others and I enjoy the quiet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully be kind to you,” he visibly swallows and I follow the bobbing of his throat as he searches for the words. “Damon has made me aware you are... I… he believes I live in a world of black and white. Wrong and right. I don’t know if I can- Christ, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, angel.”

I arch a brow and tilt my head to the side.

“You do things to me I’ve never felt before. You make me act on impulse and you piss me off so fucking much.”

I grimace.

He rubs the back of his neck, searching for the right words to articulate whatever it is he’s trying to say, his tattoos stretching along with him and I follow them down the expanse of his abdomen to where they disappear into the towel wrapped around him. I love his body. It’s not young and ripped like Jonas' wide receiver body. But you can see how he puts in the hard work for his physique. His legs are strong, thick and defined by his lightning bolts, the V is toned and has a six pack, leading up to his pecs, his collarbones protrude only for his traps to be the main reason as to why they protrude. The veins in his forearms travel along corded muscles in his biceps and triceps.

He's a masterpiece.

He grins as he catches me staring. If anything, he looks like an MMA fighter. Which would make sense. Of course he’s strong. He has to fight people if they fight back. Of course he runs. He’s been trained to hunt and catch bad guys.

My clit tingles at the memory of how he chased me and held me down. I’m his bad guy. I groan inwardly. How am I horny again? I’ve done nothing but get fucked since I woke up and yet I want more?

“I’m trying to say I want your lilacs and purples.” There goes my pussy again. “I’m trying to say I know I’m not- fuck, I’m terrible at this. I like you here. I want you here. I loved knowing I was coming home to you. I’ve never driven over the speed limit without my lights flashing overhead and my sirens blaring. I’ve never even attempted to provide aftercare. In the three years I’ve been teaching at Rayne-Moore, I’ve never brought a woman here. It was always one and done. With you I want more. I want to try.”

Wet. I’m so fucking wet again. I tilt my head and motion to the closed door at Damon and Jonas.

He shrugs. “They know how to treat you where I fail… I didn’t grow up watching my father treat my mother properly, not at all, actually. She left when I was a child. My father never really got over my mother leaving. We had a rocky relationship and then he died. I… I’m learning. Okay? You may have to be more patient with me because all of this is completely brand-new territory for me.”

I nod and press on my toes to kiss him, which he responds by kissing me back. It’s still tender but it’s not all-consuming. It’s a kiss that’s quietly begging me to love and trust in him without any of the extra words. It’s a silent plea, a redundant silent plea because I already love him. Love the way he makes me feel and what he brings out of me. It’s carnal and visceral and pure lust.

After he brushes my hair and goes to find a pair of panties for me to wear and comes back with them, putting them on me, we go down and have dinner with my other guys. It’s our first dinner together and it’s a little awkward at first but he holds my hand or grips my thigh underneath the table every now and then, as if making sure I’m truly beside him. I don’t think this man has ever had a family meal and granted, I’ve never had one around a table that wasn’t made to fit fourteen or more people, I’m sure Jonas feels the same way. Damon ignores all of our awkwardness, the brilliant psychiatrist he is, accepting all of this completely as if it’s just second nature.

Our new normal.

It's when Maverick looks at me over a glass of wine, moss-colored yes, winking at me that I feel some semblance of home with him. It’s the other thing I feel that I hate.

I love Maverick Harrington, this much I know.

I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust him like I trust Damon and Jonas and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.

But there’s only one way to find out.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Raven.

“Ah, yes, Miss Monroe, thank you for coming to see me. I would like for you to be my TA,” he says, somewhat loudly in case any students have lingered outside in the classroom before shutting and then locking the door behind him. I came straight here after my Art History lecture. I peel off my panties and sit on his desk, the wood cool against my bare cheeks. Maverick’s peridot gaze darkens to emerald, eyes hooded as he takes his seat behind his desk. “Spread your legs wider, Siren, or I’ll spread them for you.”

I barely slide them open just a little wider to see my handsome professor’s lip curl upwards in distaste but I know he loves this. He gets off on making me do things that please him. Forcing me. And so do I.

“You always have to be a bad girl for me, don’t you? You can never just be my good, obedient student, can you?”

I lazily shake my head, unable to keep the smile forming on my face.

Sighing, he stands and shoves my thighs apart, bending my knees and placing my heels on the edge of his desk. “Lean back on your hands.”

I do and he takes a seat on his office chair, leaning back, relaxed and in his element. His hands come together and his fingers steeple as he stares at my exposed sex. He raises an eyebrow and I can almost see the dirty thoughts forming behind that heated gaze – nothing but worship behind those dark frames of his.

“Well, will you be my TA? It doesn’t pay much but I could use the help.”

Oh, he’s serious.

I’m about to close my thighs and sit up but he makes a tsk sound and his lips twist to the side of his mouth. “Siren, I didn’t say for you to move, did I?”

I stop and shake my head.

He checks his watch and looks back at me shaking his head slowly. “Do I need to bind you so you’ll behave?”

My eyes widen. The thought of being restrained by him makes me flush with both desire and an immense panic. I shake my head once and remain where I am.

“I need an answer by tomorrow.”

I won’t be seeing him tomorrow. I’ll be at Inferno for my audition. It’s October now and with the Annual Masquerade Ball coming up, a lot of members of the Syndicate will be in town – new and old. It’s one of the only events that allows prior alumni to come and mingle with seniors and network on school grounds. Even Axel will be coming with Sofia and John.

Plus, Damon wants us to check out our new home, and fill it with things that either I or Jonas want or need. But parts of me want to fill it with what Maverick will need, too. There’s just this need to make sure he’s taken care of.

I nod at him, telling him, yes, I’ll be his TA.

“Perfect. Now that business has been concluded,” he takes off his glasses, leans forward, and runs his nose along my slit, inhaling my scent with a groan. “It is so vexing, Miss Monroe, to see you in my class, uncrossing your legs, flashing me your panties, tormenting me and being unable to do anything about it.”

I bite my lower lip as he presses a kiss to my pussy before flattening his tongue and licking up to the most sensitive part of me. My thighs want to clench close but he holds me open for his intimate gaze, strong tongue digging in deeper, lapping me up like a starved dog.

“Behave, Siren. Sit still and I’ll give your little cunt exactly what she needs but only if you’re my good little mute.”

Except I can’t sit still. His tongue probes my entrance before flattening up and then he sucks my entire clit into his mouth, flicking as his thick finger enters me palm up and I buck in anticipation for my orgasm. I want it. I need it. I want to cry out for him to fuck me.

I love the sight of his face between my thighs, the obscene sounds he makes from the pleasure derived from tasting me, pleasing me, tormenting me. My lower stomach contracts, wanting so much to give him my orgasm. For him to own it. To take it from me like he did in the forest, to let me lose myself in his grasp and I’m so close to giving it to him.

I make the mistake if bucking against his face.

He sits up and frowns at me. “I have one last class, Miss Monroe and so do you. I’ll see you at home.”

My scowl makes him laugh.

“Angel, you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of this semester. But you live with me now. I don’t have to worry about not being able to control my urges or us being caught. You’re mine now.”

He grabs my panties and helps me put them on, his fingers lingering, burning my skin. I have my backpack back on and just as Maverick unlocks it, there’s a knock on the door.

Maverick opens it with a smile on his face. “Mr. Anderson.” He greets as Jonas smiles back.

“Hey, baby.” He kisses my temple and grabs my backpack from me. “Professor, think you could take Raven home for me?” His forest eyes look me up and down. “Coach called for extra practice before our game against West Shore tomorrow.”

“I thought you already played West?”

Jonas shakes his head. “It was the one canceled due to… Chase. Now that we’re down a Quarterback and a running back, we have to reform our strategy, go over some things.”

My heart plummets. I know what he has to do. He won’t be back tonight.

I know Maverick can sense something is wrong, too. “Is something wrong?” He asks as students begin filtering through the room.

Jonas shakes his head. “I’ll just be getting back late tonight. I’ll probably just crash in my old dorm room.”

I take his hand in mine and tug him into Maverick’s office, leaving the door only slight ajar so people won’t see me signing.

I don’t want you to go. We need to stick together. I don’t want you to not sleep with me. It’s supposed to storm tonight. I don’t want you alone.

“Slower, baby.”

I repeat myself, aware that Maverick is watching.

“I have to go. You know I don’t want to go but I have to.”

I don’t want you alone in the dorms. Just because Riordan is gone, does not mean it’s okay. It’s still not safe.

“I don’t know when I’m coming back.”

What?

“All I know is that I’ll be back in time for my game, okay?”

Not okay. I push past him, yanking my backpack off him only to push past Maverick as well. Yeah, if I wasn’t already going to audition to dance at Inferno, I absolutely am now. I need to find out what’s going on. I need to learn their secrets. I want Jonas as far away from the Syndicate as possible, preferably yesterday.

“What’s that about?” I hear him murmur to Jonas.

Jonas sighs, “Nothing.”

Except it’s everything. I walk past the thinning crowds of students and fly up the three flights of stairs to Damon’s office. He opens the door before I have a chance to knock and fucking Addison Cleary is walking out. “Thank you, Doctor Archer, I feel so much better.” She says when she sees me with a fucking giggle and then, “Of course you’d come here. You need all the help you can get, huh… freak?”

I roll my eyes and step through the threshold, shutting the door on her ass and flinging my backpack onto the sofa only turn to face his steely eyes. God he’s fucking beautiful. He’s sitting behind his desk, which I know is something he does when he either hates the patient he’s seeing or doesn’t care for them whatsoever.

At Lorne Wood, he would always sit right in front of me or beside me. That’s why for years I silently begged him to touch me and tried to horribly seduce him. It’s also why I’m not worried about Addison fucking Cleary or her obnoxious giggles.

“Amourette, are you alright?”

No. The Syndicate has Jonas doing something for them tonight and all he knows is he’ll be back before his game tomorrow.

“Come, sit on my lap.”

I do. God why is it so fucking easy for me to obey these men? Oh, because I’m dicknotized.

“Firstly,” he kisses me with no rush, calming me. “Hello. Secondly, what’s going on with Jonas?”

It’s the first time I’ve ever used this card so when I ask, Doctor-Patient confidentiality?

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Of course.”

I tell him everything that transpired the day we moved our shit in at Mavericks and what Jonas confided in me about being a fucking lackey for Prescott. It’s shitty. It doesn’t make me feel good. I hate telling him. But I want Jonas safe.

Can we tag him like you tagged me?

Damon laughs. “You aren’t a dog, little bird. I didn’t tag you.”

I deadpan, holding my glare.

“Fine, okay. I tagged you. But for your own protection.”

I want to do it for Jonas then, too. I want to know if he’s safe. If he needs me, I want to be able to get to him. I already know you have an extra whatever you put in me. A microchip.

He laughs again. "It's an implant. Barely the size of a grain of rice. And you’re right. I have… a few extras in case you tried to dig them out.”

Color me unsurprised. I grab my phone from my blazer and FaceTime Jonas.

“Baby? Where are you?”

I turn the camera so it shows me with Damon. Come here.

“I was just heading up there. I’m down the hall.”

After explaining to Jonas what I wanted, it was easy for him to agree. Damon inserts the implant with a large sterile needle and downloads an app on my phone that I could use to watch him.

“The things I do for love.” He groans but then kisses me.

“The app shows you real time location and it’s better than just sharing your location via phone. You can see what street and where exactly he’s standing.”

This is fucking incredible and demented. I stand and head over to Jonas as Damon gets a band aid. He tugs me closer and cups the backs of my thighs. “Will this help you sleep better?”

I lean in to kiss him as a yes, which is only a half-lie.

“You know how crazy this is?”

I nod.

“You crazy for me, baby?”

I wrap my arms over his shoulders and nod again. Jonas Anderson is my weakness. I brush back his hair and kiss his bottom lip, only to tip my forehead against his. “Always.”

“Show me, baby.”

I do.

I sink to my knees for this man I’m so crazy for. For this man that just let my other boyfriend insert a tracking device into the back of his neck. For this man that sees my inner monsters and loves me harder despite them. I’ll do anything to keep them safe, which is why before I show them both how crazy I am, and how grateful I am, I then request for Damon to do the same, to let me tag him. I need to know where they both are at all times. I have to know they’re okay.

Damon, as unhinged as he is, shows me how to insert the implant and as soon as it’s inserted, I can now see two little dots, just like him.

Now to convince Maverick to do the same…

                             ______

I wake at the startling lightning, the beginning of the tropical storm that made landfall in Virginia finally making its way up to Massachusetts. It’s the last stretch of hurricane season but soon comes the snow and the sleet and the freezing rain. I reach for my phone, seeing that it’s only a little after two in the morning and check the app, seeing that Jonas is at the RMU campus, but he’s… at the library?

I jump when I hear my door open. I put my phone back on the nightstand as both Damon and Maverick climb into bed with me like zombies and underneath the blankets. Their scents fill my nostrils and it’s like I’m laying on a forest floor with hints of leather and smoke. They’re both so warm.

“You’re freezing, Siren.” Maverick murmurs sleepily, guiding me by my arm and turning my back to his front.

Damon’s hand find my waist and hikes my thigh over his hip, I feel his dick hardening against my stomach and just the feel of him alone is enough to make me crave him. He trails his hand from my knee up my thigh, over my hip to the slope of my waist and back down over and over again. The touch so intricate, so small and so fucking intimate, as though he’s learning the shape of my body all over again does things to me.

Maverick reaches over, sliding his hand from my waist and under my shirt to the undersides of my breasts, teasing. The warmth of his large hand on me feels like he’s trying to rub his scent on me. My breasts feel heavy, nipples hard and aching to the pinched and suckled the way only they know how to.

But their hands only wander, only teasing never fully touching where I need them to be touch me until I squirm between them.

Maverick chuckles darkly in my ear, making me shiver. I can feel him growing hard against my ass. “What is it, Siren? Hmm?” He hums into my ear as his thumb finally grazes over my nipple only to slide his hand between my breasts and down to my navel.

Fuck.

“Stop squirming little bird, go back to sleep.”

Impossible. Did they plan this? I raise my arm, draping it over Damon when his fingers dance along my hip and Maverick’s fingers play along the hem of my thong. My back arches into him, encouraging to please, please continue.

“Shh, Siren, be a good girl, go to sleep.” He whispers against the shell of my ear, the warmth of his breath sending goosebumps down my shoulders and spine. “We’re here, you’re safe. We aren’t going anywhere until it’s time, okay?”

I nod, listening as their breaths deepen and even out, and they’re both asleep. I close my eyes, thinking about the routine I came up with for my audition later today at Inferno. It’s seductive and slow, which I’m hoping is enough.

I signed up for the spot with the name Chloe Ultor, the Latin word for avenger, ordered a gold, Emperor Moth blind mask to wear with large black moth wings, a black skintight, stretchy leotard with gold vines that outline my curves, bejeweled small-holed fishnets and thigh-high black boots to hide my tattoos which I’ll put foundation over, and a hair spray dye I ordered that can cover my silver stripe.

If I’m given the job, I’ll dance on Saturday and Sunday evenings. So I’ll still be able to TA for Maverick. The most important part of this is still being able to watch Jonas’ games on Friday nights. To be there for him as much as he’s there for me. As though I’ve manifested him, I feel the dip of the mattress.

I open my eyes, only to be shrouded in darkness, no Jonas. A sinking feeling settles into the pit of my stomach as I descend, burrowing further under the blanket between my men, closing my eyes tightly, sending a prayer, for the first time ever in my life, to any deity listening, to please, please, please, keep him safe.

Chapter Twenty- Nine

Jonas.

“…Pro Familia, Sanguinem.”

It should be a crime (it probably is) to perform a ritual with an opening hymn. I’m exhausted and the only thing I can think of, is Raven. Tonight, after I came back from New Bedford on Syndicate orders, I was told we had three new initiates. Three young men that have proved themselves “worthy” to enter the brotherhood. Three new lackies.

The Elders, or Legacies that haven’t died yet, are conducting branding rituals under the Monroe library on the altar just twenty feet away from me. They stand before a fire on a dais, torch sconces along the maroon brick walls, the rest of us, red cloaks, stand around the circular dungeon-like room beneath the library.  

It takes everything I have not to shake my head at the initiates that are currently giving their lives away. They aren’t legacies. They’ll forever be lackies. Pretty rich thugs, no matter what highbrow career they choose, they’ll always be doing Legacy dirty work.

I have six more months of this. Once I graduate in April, it’ll be over. No more secret shit. No more late nights. I’ll be able to just go home and be with Raven. First, we’ll move to New York, then, I’ll make her wife and then-

“Ezekiel Cage Wilson.” One of the Elder Legacies in a white robe calls the sophomore forward. From the sound of his voice I believe it’s Stephen Prescott, who took his father's place as an elder after he died three years ago.

Zeke obeys, stepping forward, his head bowed.

“Your witness?”

“I have two, sir. Charles James Ashby and Marc Antony Rivera.”

With the mask, it’s difficult to get a read on the Stephen's face but he sounds bored, monotonous. “Very well.” He calls on Zeke’s witnesses and they step forward as well, they pull at the sleeves of his black cloak, and it pools around his ankles like a velvet puddle, displaying his naked body. They shove him forward, and he kneels before a stone slab, a sacrificial-like altar with runes gravely etched into it like hieroglyphics. 

I can still feel the coolness of the rock against my cheek, as they press him forward. Stephen turns back toward the fire only to come, walk down the three steps with the branding iron, glowing orange, the train of his cloak dragging behind him as he finally stops in front of Zeke. His witnesses hold him down.

“You have completed your initiation, no ties have led back to you, nor the Syndicate. Your father is proud, your brothers are proud, we Elders are proud as we welcome you as a piece of the future, a Legacy. You, Ezekiel Cage Wilson, are now a member of the Syndicate. We witness your final initiation rite as is our duty.” Stephen presses the hot iron into the side of Zeke’s left ribcage as he screams and shakes.

I feel my own ache, the pain of it forever seared into my memory as the scent of burnt flesh reaches my nostrils and I hold my breath to hold back my gag. But it’s not over. As soon as Zeke has recovered, a small bowl and a carving knife is brought to Stephen by a red cloak, and he slashes quickly, holding the bowl under small gash, collecting Zeke’s blood… for the ledger. So he, and his witnesses, can write their names and their crimes down – the only proof of what they did.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I lift my gaze to find a pair of green eyes across the room watching me beneath a red hood, red-rimmed and tired. Axel. His grandfather Eugene is a white cloak, sitting on the dais in a wheelchair, too old to be the one performing this. I cast my sight back down, counting the minutes until I can get back to my dorm to shower and nap before tomorrow. I also need to see my girl before the game.

I usually look forward to this game, the West Shore Titans are great adversaries and put up a good fight, but I doubt we’ll be able to beat them this year on their turf. I go over plays and calls in my head as they go on and initiate Marc and Charles. I go over every way we’ve worked harder with River, to bring him to Chase’s level, to make sure he can at least partially carry the team the way Chase, Riordan and I did. It’s not all on his shoulders, it’s mostly on mine. 

I barely hum the old hymn; grateful this is all over. In a timely manner, we all exit the dungeon, into the tunnel that leads underneath the university, out into the medical department where the morgue that holds cadavers for the students to practice on.

We change, believe it or not, there, in the morgue. I do so quickly so I can get back to my dorm as soon as possible. The best thing I can say about all of this, is my dorm is straight across the pathway. I’m on my way out, backpack on, heading into the corridors of the silent empty school, when I hear my name being called by Axel. I continue, not stopping even when he reaches me.

“Goddammit, Ax, just stop.”

“I heard about the fire. Is she okay?”

“Axel-“

“I know, I get it. You don’t want to talk to me, I just need to know she’s-“

“No, Ax, it’s that I don’t want to talk to you it’s that she doesn’t want to talk to you. And until she’s ready to, I’m going to have her back on this. Leave it alone. She’ll reach out when she wants to if she wants to.”

He nods, twisting his lips to the side. He looks miserable, like he hasn’t slept well in weeks. “Will you tell her I said hi?”

I drag my teeth over my bottom lip. “Sure.”

“Thanks. Will she be at the game tonight?”

I want to tell him no, that she’ll be home because she can’t stand large crowds and he should know that, instead I just shrug, gripping the strap of my backpack. “I’m not sure.”

“I stopped by her dorm, she’s not there and it looks like she hasn’t been in a while.”

I nod. “Yeah, we’re living together off-campus.”

His eyes widen and I swear they flash a little greener with something akin of envy. “Where?”

I stop in my tracks and release an aggravated sigh in his direction. “Jesus, Axel, I’ve been awake since yesterday, I have a game tomorrow, I need to go to my dorm and get some sleep.”

“I thought you were living off-campus?”

“I have to be back up here for my classes, it’s almost four in the morning. It’ll be best if I sleep here.”

“So she’s alone?”

The tone in his voice makes my stomach flip. “No. She’s not alone. She’s never alone.” I reply. “And that’s all you need to know. I know her location at all times, no matter where I am and she knows mine.” I divulge.

His face softens, as he blinks rapidly. “I love her, Jonas.”

“I know.”

“She was my best friend. I tried to help her the only way I knew how.”

There’s a part of me that wants to question that, like there’s a deeper meaning behind his words but I’m too exhausted and I still have to walk a quarter mile through the rain to get to the dorms. I simply don’t respond, just start walking again without a backwards glance.

Once I’m in my dorm, I shower and change and get into bed, I reach for my phone, fighting the need to FaceTime my girl. It feels like ages since I’ve seen her but instead of calling, I scroll through my camera gallery, looking at all the pictures I’ve taken of her both when she is and isn’t aware of the camera. I find one Damon took of us on the sofa, a candid shot of her between my legs, her back to my chest only her winged eyes visible over the edge of the book, my hands on her tummy, holding her to me, my chin on her head, reading with her. 

I play around with the filters, making it black and white,  only highlighting the colors of her tattoo, blurring our surroundings. I hashtag it “Book Babe,” tag her and then darken my screen.

I had to turn off my notifications for Instagram a while ago when I started posting her, making our relationship official because the love and hate coming in was too much. Especially if I posted something that showed off her dangerous curves. I learned to turn off the comment settings on those before posting because if I could protect her in any way shape or form, including rude fucks, I would and I will.

There was just only one thing left to do to really cement it into people’s brains that this was my woman. My one and only. The love of my life.

Maybe I was crazy for only being twenty-two and being so fucking gone for this girl. My first psychiatrists diagnosis of Erotomania was right. I had fancied myself that Paris had loved me. That the way she had treated me at times was because she loved me.  But in this case, that diagnosis was wrong. 

This time, Raven and I are both obsessed with the other. We both love each other and it’s so fucking easy this time. Even when we were apart for those brief few weeks, I couldn’t stop loving her. It felt like a sin to even try to stop. Like it was wrong to not let myself love her. It was wrong to not be by her side. It was wrong to not fuck her wherever the need strikes, no matter who's watching.

And lately, it seems like everyone is watching.

Chapter Thirty

Raven.

There was a sordid feeling, ominous almost, when I slipped into the black and gold leotard and it molded to my body like a second skin. I can see now how it shimmers like snakeskin under the bright lights as I stand before the two judges and the other girls trying out who are watching my audition. As the sultry music begins to play, I force all thoughts of Jonas, Maverick, and Damon out of my mind and focus solely on making my body move, to rock my hips side to side, only to turn, dip low, arch my back, and follow my routine, careful, not to let my wings hit the floor.

I’m the only one that decided to try out in full get up.

I am a moth. Dainty. Dangerous. Possibly venomous. Scratch that. I am the dark poison woven into a silky exterior.

I’m not sure if there are poles in the cages or if they’re just cages, but I decided to go for this as well. I’ll need to be able to dance with or without one so, with that being said, I reach for the pole on a whim and grab up high, only to bring my leg up and around, spinning, letting my hair fall, my mask wants to slip free but I don’t let it. I just maneuver my body differently.

I know I don’t have the most beautiful one, I have bigger thighs, and rounder hips, and my tummy isn’t incredibly flat. With the way Damon and Jonas feed me, I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been and yet… there’s always that niggling insecurity in the back of my mind that I won’t be able to do this because of that. When the music stops, and I land with splits on the hardwood studio floors, a few of the girls waiting to try out or that have already done so, get up and leave.

I’m not Raven today. I’m Chloe.

And I’ll be Chloe for as long as it takes.

“Step forward.” With the lights still shining on my face, and the dark mesh in the eyes of my mask, I’m not exactly sure which of the duo I’m auditioning for says it but I do so. The woman sitting in front of me to my right gets up and walks toward me. She rounds me, like a jungle cat circling its prey. She wears all black, from her stilettos to her tights to her pencil skirt and turtleneck, including the frames that sit on her small face, and her dark hair is up in a tight bun. The only splash of color on her are her matte red lips.

“You aren’t usually what we look for in a dancer…” She begins.

“Her curves are more natural than Marissa’s and she’s a favorite.” The other one says. She wears exactly what this one is except her blonde hair is down and she’s older.

“Could you waitress?” She asks me.

But Chloe signs that she can’t talk.

The woman’s dark eyes widen and she nods without judgement. “I see.”

The other, older woman stands and does the same perusal of my body so now they’re both circling me like vultures, picking me apart. The first one twists her lips to the side and leans toward the blonde, whispering.

The blonde snaps her gaze to mine. “Leave your name and number with Daisy at the front desk. I’m assuming we’re to reach out via text?”

I nod. Leaving the studio and back to the empty dressing room, I quickly change, shoving my costume, mask and boots into my gym bag, going up the first floor to find Daisy who’s lounging around the bar, talking to a bartender that’s drying glasses behind the bar and putting them where they belong.

“Chloe?” She asks. Her green eyes are a sharp contrast against her bronze skin.

I nod.

“Perfect. Layla and Sasha wanted me to give you a tour. They’d like you to begin working Saturday night.” She rounds the bar, wearing a white shirt tucked into a pencil skirt and the best part of her outfit are the suspenders. Her chestnut locks are styled in a 1950s pin-up manner as we take the first floor. Where there are booths and tables and medium lighting.

“Inferno is about expanding horizons. Growing. This first floor is the busiest during the day. A lot of bankers and finance guys have lunch and dinner here, networking type things.”

We take the stairs to the second floor. Where it’s the same as downstairs but dim lighting, and booths. The tables here have no chairs but there are barstools by the bars. “This floor is more for schmoozing. After dinner a lot of our clients end up here after work, needing to take the edge off or mingle with more highbrow clients.”

Third floor. Where it’s set up like it is the first two floors but now there are cages. “This is where you’ll be dancing primarily.” She points to the cages that someone behind the scenes lowers. It’s large, and the bars are sturdy. “We have a no touching policy. Unless they decide to purchase your company for the evening. Your cage has a monitor that will list the things you’re comfortable with from nothing but company to heavy petting to oral to sex to group sex. If you are purchased for the evening, you’ll be taken to the fourth floor where it is VIP access only. It’s a minimum of two thousand dollars and one hour with your client or until we close for the evening.”

We go up. The fourth floor does have poles, along with velvet sofas, ottomans and even though it’s empty, save the bartenders and barbacks gearing up for the evening, it still smells of sex and sins.

“If things progress and you’d like to go up to the fifth floor with your client, you’ll be leaving with no less than five grand in your pocket. It is wired to you immediately after signing an NDA. Come, let me show you the fifth floor.”

Up we go.

The fifth floor is a long hallway with four rooms on either side. Each room has a small window outside of it so you can peek inside, for voyeurs, I assume. Each room has four poster beds, a Saint Andrew’s Cross, a plethora of toys, restraints and bondage gear including a mini-fridge and after-care supplies and an en suite with both a shower and a tub.

“There is a guard that stands outside of every room to ensure your list is being followed through and your client is not crossing your boundaries. They are also there in case you say your safe word and your client does not follow protocol.” She says, her smile fading as though it’s happened before.

My list? I hike a brow and she seems to understand.

“Before you sign your NDA, you’re given a limits list. What your hard and soft limits are so your client doesn’t end up doing something that you are not okay with.”

I nod and she laughs again, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry. A lot of the time… the men that come here, the older ones mostly, it really is about companionship. Sometimes they pay you to be a pretty thing on their arm while they conduct business arrangements, and sometimes… sometimes when they take you to the last floor, they just want to cuddle.”

I point up.

“Let’s go.”

The sixth floor is totally and completely different from all the ones below. It’s the same as the fifth floor but unlike the whips and chains from the fifth floor, this floor is all about comfort even the music up here is different. It’s like hotel suites.

“If you’re brought up here, it’s a minimum of seven grand. They can provide aftercare on the fifth floor, but this floor is made exactly for that. To pamper you. Or for cuddling. There are still guards outside of every door just in case.” She frowns. “It’s kind of sad, really. So many men are so touch and attention starved – especially the older ones. A lot of them are widowers.” She hums softly and then, “I was a dancer before I became a partner. I made a lot of money being someone’s arm candy.”

And I get it. Inferno is about growing. But it’s so much more than that.

While the first five floors are Dante’s Inferno, this floor is Dante’s Paradise.

I smile at Daisy as the realization dawns on my face. Whether or not she knows it is beyond me. But for me, there’s a fire burning in my belly.  I recognize it for what it is – excitement.

                            ______   

After shopping and dropping off a few things at Damon’s, I head back to Maverick’s, opening the door to find Jonas waiting for me, a bouquet of dahlias, dark sunflowers, calla lilies and dark red roses on the counter. The colors clash but they’re beautiful. My heart zings, popping in my chest, as he rounds the countertop and greets me with a deep kiss, one hand on my hip, the other holding the back of my neck.

“Hey baby.” He smiles against my lips and then kisses my forehead. “I couldn’t stay away. I missed you so much. I texted Coach to let him know I’ll be driving out to West Point since it’s only twenty minutes from here. I just had to see you before the game.”

I kiss him in response, my arms going around his shoulders to keep him close because I hate being away from him with every fiber of my being. His hands wrap around my waist and tug me closer and we just stand there for a moment, holding each other, chest against chest, savoring the others presence.

“I have a question to ask you.” He says against my temple and we finally break apart. He pulls something out of his back pocket and it takes me a moment to realize he’s holding a black mask by the satin string. It’s old and the face piece looks a little Victorian. I tilt my head to the side and scrunch my nose in question.

“Will you be my date to the Homecoming Ball?”

I smile so big it hurts. I rub my nose against his and nod, smile still on my face when I go in for a kiss. He licks the seam of my lips and I grant him entry.

“Fuck baby, I don’t have time. When I get home? Will you wait up for me?”

I smile again and pull away because it’s my turn to surprise him. Just as I go to grab one of the bags I came home with, the door leading out to the garage opens and Maverick and Damon walk in. I greet each with a kiss then continue on my mission. I hear them ask Jonas what’s going on as I grab the bag with the yellow jersey that has his last name and the number nineteen on the back, run  to the laundry room, throw it over my turtleneck and some back out.

Jonas groans something animalistic and practically tackles me. “Fuck baby,” I melt. “My name looks so good on you.”

Now I can’t wait to show him my other surprise later on then. I had a little time and happened along a tattoo parlor. I got his jersey number tattooed on my ribcage. Crazy? Probably. Too soon? Maybe. Do I care? No. Not when I can see that just wearing his jersey causes him to practically sink to his knees. His large hand wraps around my middle as he holds me close from behind, tugging my back to his chest, I can feel his hard length on the small of my back as he leans down to whisper, “All that’s missing is my ring on your finger, Mrs. Anderson.”

Arousal doesn’t just pool at my sex, it makes my entire vascular system run rampant, electricity shooting through me as a chill skitters down my spine and the neurons in my brain spaz. I want it. I didn’t know how much I love the thought of possibly being Mrs. Jonas Anderson once this is all over, and it makes me fall in love with Jonas just a bit more, if possible.

We may not have time for me, but it doesn’t mean there isn’t enough time for him. I turn around and drop to my knees quickly, making quick work of his jeans, and tug him out for me and lick my lips. He hisses as soon as my tongue swirls around his crown, and I do what I can to take him as deep as I can without gagging his groan echoing in my ears.

When I look up, my core burns at the sight of his narrowed eyes focused on me, jaw slack, one hand on his hip holding back his t-shirt and the other coming for my hair. I wiggle my tongue on the underside, sucking as I reach up, stroking him with one hand and bringing up the other to play with his balls.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good to me. Suck a little harder, yes, good girl, so fucking good… deeper.”

I do, I take him as deep as I can and then hold- swallowing when I feel like gagging and I feel his thighs tremble. I take him out, stroking my slobber all over, fisting his cock, gathering the extra saliva that pooled in my mouth because the taste of him, clean and masculine, always makes my mouth water, I spit on his dick.

“Holy shit, God help me, that was so hot. I’m gonna fucking come, baby.”

That spurs me on. I redouble my efforts, taking him deeper, the hold he has on my hair is tightening, the sounds of me gagging and his groans a cacophony I treasure.

“You gonna take every drop I give you, baby?”

I whimper. Jonas holds my head with both hands by my temples and guides me up and down, pistoning his hips slowly so I take him deeper into my throat. “Just like that baby, fuck, you kill me… so good, so fucking precious, my sick little slut on your knees for me, just couldn’t wait for a taste of my cum, couldn’t you baby? Needed me to fill you up? Made for me, I swear… fuck.” He groans it out as his dick thickens, pulsing in time with the slow thrust of his hips, his eyes never leaving mine until he bows over me and I swallow every drop like I promised.

When he pulls away and I tuck him back in, he stares at me, forest eyes shining with something akin to awe but filled with so much love I can’t take it. He helps me stand and presses a kiss to my cheek and then my lips. “I love you so fucking much, Raven. Fuck I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to play this game. I want to stay here with you.”

He’s pouting, and God, if I ever said I didn’t like it I’d be lying.

I’m coming with you. I sign.

His eyes light up like I told him Christmas was coming twice this year.

“You want to go to the game?” Damon asks and I jump, completely forgetting he was even here. I nod. There’s a smile on his face that matches Jonas’. “How about you go, Jonas so you aren’t late and we’ll meet you there?”

Jonas’ grin widens. “You all want to watch me play?”

Maverick laughs. “It wouldn’t be the first time. For me, anyway.”  Jonas’ head jerks back a little in disbelief. “The game where you got in a fight and barely won by the skin of your teeth. It was entertaining. You’re a good wide receiver, I’d have to say you’re somewhere up there with Larry Fitzgerald. Is football something you’re trying to pursue?” he asks  and Jonas’ smile finally falters at the question after he was just preening under Maverick’s words.

“In a different life, maybe. For now it’s criminal law.”

“But if the NFL drafts?”

Jonas grimaces then shakes his head. “It would be a dream but, nah, my future has kind of been set out for me already.”

Maverick shrugs, clearly picking up the vibe in the room, Damon giving a tight-lipped smile, silver eyes watching. “That’s too bad. You’d break records.”

Jonas nods and I can’t let him go to the game with that feeling in his chest so I turn to him to sign. You’ll be the best lawyer. And you’ll come home to me every night and get to tell me about your day.

This perks him up. “And I’ll get to come home to you every night, huh?”

I bite my lip, another nod as I stand on my tiptoes to kiss my mountain of a man.

“Okay, I have to go. I’ll tell the stadium to keep tickets for you at will call. I love you. Please wear something warm. And your boots. It gets cold, okay?”

I nod and send him on his way with another kiss.  

                           ______

Yellow Jackets win – 21-17.

                                           ______

Getting away from my guys wasn’t as difficult as I thought it was going to be.

It’s my second week dancing in my cage at Inferno. I’m up high, slowly being lowered to a center-top, to be ogled as I sway my hips. This time, I’ve gone with a more revealing gold and black bodysuit except I had to tape up my breasts so they don’t spill out.

Last weekend, a song started in my head, louder than the music around us when Thadd came in, made eye contact on his way to the bar, ordered, watched me dance, and took the other girl up to the fourth floor with him instead. The only difference between her and I was she was wearing less and according to her chart, had less boundaries. Which was hardly any.

I wasn’t changing my boundaries, instead I was wearing less, dancing a little sluttier, letting myself move to the music.

Which works.

Because Stephen fucking Prescott stands in front of my cage for thirty minutes, chilling aquamarine eyes taking in every inch of my body, watching me move. When he reads my chart he twists his mouth to the side, quirks a blonde brow up and motions for one of the bartenders to release me.

“Chloe, is it?”

I nod as he helps me down from the cage. Standing before him even in my boots, he still towers over me. He smells delicious and for an older man he is still extremely handsome. But wasn’t Lucifer the most beautiful angel? He takes a strand of my already curled hair and wraps it around his finger, his thumb glides over as if to test out how soft it is and the drops the strand. “Come.”

Before I can hesitate, he takes my hand in his, large, the underside smooth except for a few callouses I can feel where he probably grabs dumbbells. I whirl and catch sight of two masked men standing against the wall, watching this play out. Silver eyes like melting glaciers behind one, eyes like a forest behind the other. Two completely different men, both equally dangerous.

While Jonas looks bothered, Damon looks intrigued, he takes the tumbler he’s holding, and tilts it to me, saying something to Jonas, with his lips behind the glass, I can’t exactly read what he says but Jonas nods, getting off the wall and following us through the crowd, keeping a few feet of distance between us.

A calm runs through me, knowing at least one of my men will be with me, to protect me if anything goes wrong, which it shouldn’t. I’m just gathering intel. But as soon as we step onto the fourth floor, that music in my head begins to play. I keep my hand in Stephen’s, letting him lead me to one of the tabletops with a pole as he plops down, next to Simon Hoover, both Thaddeus Whitmore and his son, Mr. Anderson, and John fucking Monroe, my stepfather.

Stephen pulls me onto his lap, hand on top of my thigh, squeezing as though he needs the feel of soft skin to ground him. Through the mesh in the holes of my mask, I watch Jonas perch at a table close to us just as Axel arrives, unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting next to us. I twist, settling further into his lap, draping an arm over his shoulders, putting the other hand on his chest, pulling his navy tie loose, unbutton three of the opal buttons on his shirt and let my hand venture into his shirt, touching the dark blonde thatch of hair on his chest. He seems surprised by my forwardness, but he welcomes it, growing hard under my thigh. 

Stephen Prescott exudes power, his presence alone demands respect as all eyes at the table are on him, as he rubs up and down, going from my thigh to my waist and back. He leans further into my touch as a waiter comes and takes their drink orders. He asks if I want one but I ignore it, instead I lean further into him, letting my lips trail butterfly-soft kisses against his neck. He grips my hip as he takes a sip from the drink he still has.

“Now gentlemen, while this is not the appropriate place or time, there is still the matter at hand. My only heir is dead, my nephew is on house arrest, and my other nephew died as well.”

“There haven’t been any other attacks since Tyler’s murder.”

They know he was murdered. How?

I stiffen but Stephen still continues to caress me, large hand gripping tightly, as if he doesn’t notice, the muscles in his jaw ticking. “Yet.” Is the only word he says, the table goes silent as their drinks are handed out and the waiter leaves. “The only heir to the Prescott fortune is either slowly losing his mind or he’s telling the truth.”

“He attacked Raven prior to the fire.” Axel defends. “With no real proof.”

“Riordan also suggested the Anderson boy.”

“My son was out on your business during one incident, helped your boy before the second incident and continues to do your dirty work to this day. If you didn’t trust him, why would you continue to have him be your lackey?” henry spits, defending his son.

Oh, Jonas. I want to groan but I bite my tongue and nudge my nose along Stephen’s neck. This is when Stephen grips me and pushes me off him. “Dance, butterfly.”

I stand, and head to the pole in the midst of them, and as the song starts, I keep my eyes on Jonas, pretending I’m dancing for him, and only him as the conversation flows, going from accusatory to confusion. They have no idea. I grip the pole behind me and slide down, my thighs spreading, I feel the material of my bodysuit slip between my pussy lips, and I almost hear Jonas’ groan from where I stand. But the one I heard is from the one that purchased me to be his companion for the hour.

My eyes drift to Stephen Prescott. He leans back, arms along the back of the black velvet sofa, baby blues roaming all over me, from my hair to my chest to my stomach to the juncture between my thighs. I slide back up, turning, and bend, feeling my wings part along with my thighs, giving him and his peers, (my Jonas is scowling when I see Damon has finally joined him) a better view as I shake slightly, and a hand comes up to touch from my calf, up the back of my knee, my thigh to the swell of my ass and I peek over my shoulder to see Stephen the tip of his tongue swipe along his bottom lip.

I stand slowly and turn again, leaning against the pole, making him eye-level with my pussy.

“Tell me, Chloe, are your limits so little because you’re new?”

I nod, biting my lower lip, still looking at my men. Stephen’s hands crawl from the top of my thighs, over my stomach, and back down before reaching my breasts. Oh, I hope they punish me. The only one left I know would demolish me for letting anyone else touch me currently isn’t here. But the two that are…

“If I gain your trust-” Stephen swallows as his face nears my cunt, “could your limits open?”

I shrug when he steps even closer- an alarm he was given buzzes, telling him our time is up and he steps away.

“I love a challenge, butterfly.” He growls as the bartender from the lower level comes up to help me down from the table, Damon and Jonas are nowhere to be seen when I’m taken back down to put back in my cage.

Two familiar imposing men approach me, striking in their anger, their annoyance I didn’t tell them where I was going, but I hadn’t needed to, had I? They knew exactly where I was the entire time, thanks to Damon. “Meet us at Damon’s.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Damon.

“You like being watched, little bird?” I growl as soon as Raven is in my grasp.

She whimpers, something so soft, but there’s excitement in the way she whimpers as I push her against the front door. She’s changed out of her expansive black wings, into a tight black mini dress, her faux coat on the floor, I put my hand around her throat, my fingers itching to squeeze.

“Did you like that old man’s hands on you?” granted I am older than her, but the man that had her in his lap today was at least fifteen years older than me.

I can feel her trachea as she swallows under my fingers, big doe eyes looking up at me. She looks exquisite. I run my thumb up the column of her throat and swipe it across her red bottom lip. Her lips part just enough for me to push through and her tongue wiggles as she sucks it in. I’m already so fucking hard from watching her dance earlier, but the sight of her lips wrapped around any part of me makes me so hard it’s painful.

She grinds her stomach against my erection and even though it hurts, she’s just so soft. The ample curve of her hip under my hand, the gentle swell of her stomach against my cock, plush lips around me, eluding me into thinking she needs gentle but she doesn’t. She needs to be stretched and fucked and punished. Rewired and disciplined.

Christ, I’m thinking like Maverick. But maybe that sick  beast sometimes has a point in how to handle her.

I move my hand that’s on her waist and pull the soaked fabric from her panties that’s been up her cunt with my index   finger, rubbing my knuckle up and down that swollen little bud, soaking my finger in her arousal. The part of my brain that becomes deranged when I have her at my mercy wants to get on my knees and suck that strip of fabric that barely covered her pussy into my mouth and lick it clean.

The other part of me?

I shove two thick fingers into her tight wet heat and suppress a groan when she bucks but she's pressed tight between me and the front door of this lavish house I purchased for her. “I have half a mind to tie you to the that fucking beam,” I arch a brow and her eyes shoot behind me to the wooden beam above us that connects the living room to the den, “all weekend long and use you like a cock sleeve.”

She gushes on my fingers in response.

My grin is depraved. “You’d finally be a little doll, Raven. But you’d be my little fuck doll.”

“And mine.” Jonas purrs from behind me. “Would you like that, baby? For us to use you? Breed you? Fuck you raw till you’re so sore you can’t walk for days?”

Another gush.

“You’re a filthy fucking girl.” I whisper, leaning forward and kissing her scarred temple and scissor my fingers in her sopping cunt, the scent of the club still in her hair, all sin and depravity but the scent of her pussy hits me the hardest.

She will never know just how fucked I really am for her. She has an inkling, sure, but she will never know truly, how deranged I am just for her, the lengths I’ve gone through to be here, with her, just like this.

And I’d do it over and over again.

I pull my fingers away from her to unfasten my slacks and boxer briefs and let them fall around my ankles only to step out of them, kicking them away then using both hands I tear that fucking strip of wet fabric, hike her thigh over my hip, position the tip of my dick at her slick entrance, but instead of slamming home like I want to, I fight that urge, tipping her head back so I can look into her caramel eyes while I tease.

Her expression looks pained, and oh so fucking beautiful -  tortured as I only giver my tip, slowly, inch by inch to feel every ridge inside of her only to pull back and do it all over again.

“P-please.”

Oh I love that.

“Please what, doll?”

“Mm-m-more.”

“You need more cock in your naughty little cunt?”

She whines but there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “Yes, please, D-d-doctor.”

Fuck, I could blow right now. Reminding me I was her doctor while the crown of my cock is nestled in her makes my balls ache with the need to release. I hike her other thigh around my hips, fully seated inside her. When her arms are around my neck I push away from the door, turning to see Jonas stroking himself.

He cocks a brow and sends me a deviant grin. He opens his arms and I trudge to him, getting one of her arms to brace around his shoulders, her weight now distributed between us both.

“You were so bad, baby…” He says and rips the tops portion of her dress so her tits spill free, palming them only to pinch. “You were touching all over Stephen.”

She shakes her head.

“But you were, baby, we saw you. And you let him get too close to my pussy.” He coos. His tone is ever so condescending but all it does is make her grip my cock harder. I feel the tip of his nudging against mine and he reaches behind momentarily and Raven and I both stiffen when we feel him at her slick hot sopping wet entrance against me.

I groan when she gets so incredibly tighter. She gasps and whimpers a tortured little “please,” and he shushes her. “No. Baby. You’re gonna be a good girl and take us both... fuuuck,” he stills when she whimpers. “Does it hurt, baby?”

She nods but then shakes her head.

Jonas' face changes from worried to irritated and hurt. “Good.” He purrs, shoving himself further inside, stroking against me and we begin to move in tandem. “We’re all the cocks you need, baby. Only our touch. Mine, Damon’s and Mavs. Only we get to be inside of you. Ever. Do you understand?”

When she doesn’t answer, he slips his hand between us and slaps her clit.

“Do you understand?”

She screams, nodding violently as he rubs all four of his fingers quickly, gushing around us and pooling on the floor.

“There you go, let it go. Fucking squirt all over our dicks.  Bad fucking girl. You were a bad fucking girl tonight.”

“Jonas!” She twists her body, trembling between us, her hips undulating.

“Again. And then you’re going to come for us like a good girl.”

“I was bad.” She says, her voice a hoarse whisper but there’s no stutter in her words.

“So bad, doll.” I nod, dipping my head and crash my lips against her, swallowing her scream when she floods us once again, black edging my vision when she squeezes so tight Jonas slips out only to shove back in and rock gently in her.

She moans again and I open my eyes to see Jonas idly flicking his tongue against her hard nipple, groaning, fingers slowly still rubbing over her sensitive clit. “You almost made me cum, baby.”

“Please,” she rasps, her pleading an enrapturing song to me. “I w-want it.”

“You want our cum inside you?” I ask, my balls tighten again when she nods violently. Jonas is right. We created a monster.

“Such a good fucking girl.” I feel his cock slide against mine, the sensation almost overbearing. “Just our cum, right baby? Always be a good girl for us and you can have our cum when you need it. When you want it.”

“Inside of you. On you. In your precious, perfect pussy…”

“Your ass…”

“Your mouth.”

“Your flawless face.”

I can feel her pussy begin to pulsate around me, my dick twitches at the thought of her on her knees, her beautiful face doused in my seed and it triggers my release. Her eyes cross and she shivers. “Oh, fuck.” I grunt, spilling into her, thighs shaking, vision blackening once more around the edges, watching as she tips her head back and she trembles in our arms. “That’s it. Take my fucking cum. Every drop.”

“Fuck, baby. Fuck.” Jonas comes seconds after I do, adding to the mess at our feet. We let her down gently but then Raven, sinks to her knees in our puddle and takes us in her hands, and softly cleans us up with her tongue like a kitten lapping up our cum covered cocks like cream.

Good girl? She signs eagerly and it’s almost enough to get me hard all over again.

“Perfect girl,” I praise and then, get her cleaned up so she can tell us everything she found out while we cater to her. From cleaning her to bathing and feeding her, she does her very best to tell us everything she remembers.

                             ______

The home is temporary. I can feel it. I’m looking at the outside of it as we climb into my BMW, and I back out of the driveway slowly, taking in the house I purchased for my little doll. It’s beautiful and fits her personality so well. It’s a modernized two-story Victorian home with a wrap-around  in a quiet suburb with enough yard for her to have a garden once Spring comes around.

She places her little hand over mine on the gear shift and she tilts her head to the side, mentally asking me what’s on my mind. We have a fifteen-minute drive to Maverick’s and it’s enough time for me to spill what I need to before we get there. I shouldn’t be this nervous, but I’m glad I can keep my eyes on the road so I don’t have to meet their gazes.

I clear my throat. “My parents met in France when my father was in school to be a surgeon. In fact, the reason they met is because I had an older sister that needed heart surgery. My father was a resident that had scrubbed in during and when he was sent to retrieve my mother, he always said it was like time stood still when he saw her in that waiting room, bags under her eyes, lined with worry. She was alone, awaiting to be told if her only child had survived the operation.

Over the next few months, during Maddeline’s check-ups, they slowly got to know each other and soon, my father finally got the balls to ask her on a date. To which she said yes.

Four months later they married. It was a whirlwind, and soon they were traveling to the states while she was pregnant with me, because my father had accepted a job offer here as a cardiothoracic surgeon. I was born and we often traveled to France to visit.

When my sister turned sixteen, we went for her birthday, this time to Paris to stay the entire summer holiday. But she got… sneaky. Like a lot of teenagers. Soon she was arguing with my Maman about the smallest things, leaving, sneaking out. I was only eight, but I remember watching her leave and my mother falling to the sofa in tears. I heard her talking to a friend about how Maddeline had met an older man while at a store with her friends, how she didn’t want to go back to the states, she wanted to stay here with him while he finished university.

She never told anyone his name, only that she loved him, that he had promised a life with her and because she had reached age of consent in France, my mother’s opinions didn’t matter.

On a perfect night, when they didn’t argue for the first time that entire summer, it was amazing. We had good food, Maman let her have a glass of wine, and even let me try some for the first time, too. We were laughing and Maddie even played with me, which was rare in those days. It was like she had survived this thing as a child, and she was suddenly sixteen and she didn’t want to grow old being safe all the time, afraid of the world. Maddeline left in the middle of that night and never came back.”

I stop at the stoplight, waiting for it to turn green. Only five minutes away.

“She was gone for six days. On the seventh, French police knocked on the front door of the home we had rented for the summer. Maman sent me upstairs but I stayed watching from the stairs, hidden when they told Maman they had found Maddeline’s body behind a building. She had been left outside like trash.”

Raven grips my hand tightly but I don’t face her. Can’t face her.

“We never knew what happened. Police had no leads, there weren’t cameras everywhere back then like there are now. Even now, the biggest crime in Paris is pickpocketing.” I shake my head as we pull into Maverick’s driveway. “It tore my family apart, Maman stayed in Paris trying to gather more information, but she never came up with anything. Any lead she had went cold, same with police.”

“Why are you telling us this now?” Jonas asks from the backseat and I inhale as I park the BMW.

“Because the first night I snuck into Raven’s room, after she made copies of the ledger… I found my sister’s name in the goddamn book. A pure fucking coincidence, but there it was written in fucking blood. 1999 - Maddeline Bordeaux. Murdered by one Thaddeus Whitmore.”

The silence in the car is deafening.

I finally meet Raven’s narrowed gaze that sparks with anger, cheeks flushed pink. She lifts her hands to sign.

He’s yours.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Raven.

The following weekend Stephen purchases me again for an hour, chilly blue eyes wide with interest. He’s here every night I dance. So are my guys. Well, Archer and Jonas, anyway.

Throughout the week, I do my job as Maverick’s TA which usually ends with me bent over his desk in the study or he has me spread out for him, thighs held down and obscenely wide, while he buries his face in my pussy. Last Monday as soon as he called me into the study he had me stop, take off my panties, drop, and then-

“Crawl to me, Siren.”

Voice like the warmest of wax being poured over me, made me shiver in the most delicious ways. Paperwork stacked on his desk, I lost sight of him for a little and when I had rounded the corner of his desk on all fours, he had pushed away from it and gestured to the large dark, open underbelly.

My palms began to sweat, and panic rose in my throat, clawing its way to the surface, ripping through that wax and when I rapidly shook my head no, he… I heard a click and… the underbelly lit up.  My heart crashed when I realized he had personally rigged it with the tiniest fairy lights.

“You won’t be in the dark, and you won’t be alone, angel. I’m here. There’s plenty of room. Now crawl to me so you can put my cock in your mouth while I finish grading these papers.”

When I swallowed my panic and mentally forced my body to go into the well-lit area, I also saw he included a pillow for my knees.

I made quick work of taking his cock out and putting it in my mouth. “Now, rest your hands on my thighs.” I obeyed but when I started sucking he lightly tapped my cheek. “I didn’t say suck. I said put me in your mouth while I grade papers.”

So I did. Drool accumulated in my mouth and when I would swallow around him he would groan, reaching under to pet my hair with his large hand.

“Such a good girl warming my cock with your perfect, naughty mouth.”

The praise was too much. I tried to snake my hands down so I could play with myself, but he would stop me. Causing me to want to cry out and argue. He seemed to understand this and chuckled. “Rest your head in my lap, keep your hands on me, my cock in your mouth and I promise you’ll be rewarded, Angel. You’re doing a very good job.”

By the time he was done grading the papers and he came down my throat with a groan, they were neatly stacked and put away, leaving room for me to be spread out, thighs on either side of my chest, holding myself open for him so he could feast on both holes. It was the fastest I ever came.

I’ve also been training a lot more with Jonas in Maverick’s basement although Damon decided to turn his basement in the new house into a gym as well.

Keeping Damon's house secret from Maverick made me feel gross inside. My feelings for him were growing, even though he could be demanding and mean, my body, my mind, my heart craved him. I didn’t want to admit how much I ached to be under his desk, or how when we were hangout out in his living room, being on my knees on my pillow with my head resting on his lap while I read and he fed me snacks and played with my hair made me feel treasured.

It made me feel his.

Not like a doll, maybe a little like a pet but… but I loved it. I love it.

I love him.

“Dance for me, butterfly.” Words I hated hearing but more and more Syndicate brothers were coming here in herds, Stephen having me dance for them until my feet hurt and my thighs quivered from exhaustion; but because of this, I learned three things: 1) Men gossip far more than women, From what they’re going to wear to who they’re going with to what they’re doing afterwards, 2) Thaddeus and Ashleigh would be attending the Homecoming Ball and 3) the weekend of the ball, he was getting his home alarm system upgraded the following day. The one he currently had was ‘too grainy.’ Just because more Syndicate members hadn’t been attacked since Tyler’s death, didn't mean the man responsible wasn’t planning anything.

And I was.

I was planning everything.

As soon as Jonas asked me to be his date to the ball, I began ordering everything I would need to pull it off. And our costumes, of course.

                           ______

Homecoming is a grand, lavish event the university spares no expense on. I’m wearing a dark red Victorian ball gown, a low V-shaped bodice that gathers into the full, voluminous skirt, that swishes at my feet, where I’m wearing  black ballet flats, not heels, so I can run. On my hands I wear full silk matching gloves, the fingers black that turn the same shade of red as the material travels upwards past my elbows. On my face is an old venetian mask, gold, with moth wings on the ends. I’ve decided to wear my hair half up, half down, so it stays in place. I wear an old, loose ribbon around my neck, a sensation that makes me itchy but I know it’s just one more thing I need to get over.

Strapped to my thigh, is a bag full of goodies.

Jonas as beautiful as he is walking around in casual wear, or his uniform, is unearthly in a matching mask and a black three-piece double-breasted suit, complete with a waist coat. The coat itself has a swallow tail and, just for shiggles, he’s decided to walk around with a cane and top hat.

He looks like a prince of darkness.

He makes my heart stop.

Maverick and Damon have opted to wear the same suit, although their coat jackets are shaped differently, Maverick’s being more of a medieval steampunk jacket and Damon’s more traditional. They’re going in as faculty, meanwhile I am, for all intents and purposes, Jonas’ date to the ball.

When we arrive, there are four horse-drawn carriages in the parking lot pulled by beautiful Clydesdales. We get into one, the carriage plated gold inside, even the velvet cushions on the seats match. We are somewhat considered royalty, after all. I can’t help but have that sickly feeling settle in the pit of my stomach as the carriage lurches forward.

No matter how much my mother wanted me to be a princess, I wanted to be able to slay dragons. Where other women wanted prince charming, I wanted the misunderstood villain.

Turns out in order to slay the dragons, I had to become the villain all while portraying to be the damsel in distress.

When the carriage finally stops and the footman opens the door, Jonas gets down first and holds out a hand to help me down and out. The university has transformed. Outside on the quad is a string-quartet, playing Satin Birds, couples are standing, talking, networking. We walk further, going into the dining hall and it truly takes my breath away. The gothic eating chamber has heavy lavender, silver and black silks draped along the windows, the finger-food laden tables have been pushed to the sides to make way from a dancefloor, another string quartet is off to the corner, they too, dressed in Victorian drags, and thousands of tea-light candles ranging from every size, beautifully placed throughout the room. The old chandeliers are lit, furthering the haunting atmosphere to make you feel like you’ve truly traveled back in time.

Thank God we still have indoor plumbing, though.

Damon and Maverick make their way to where the other faculty are standing, as Jonas takes me to where he sees his parents, waving at them. I spot the Monroes on the other side of  the room with the last Prescott and it feels like an entire world divide as my eyes clash with Axel’s, and when he smiles at me, I turn my head, heading in the direction of the Andersons.

I don’t miss the way his smile falters, nor the way his gaze trails after me.

While I miss my brother, my best friend, my rock… I know I’m making the right decision – to go where I’m wanted. Where I won’t be made to feel like a freak.

Elena Anderson reaches out to me immediately, taking me into her arms, and when I glance behind her shoulder, my eyes clash with green ones behind an older, bedazzled mask with a large feather. Sohpia’s lips purse together, but I decide, here and now, I’ll go where hugs are given freely. I’ll go where I’m wanted. Where I’m cherished. I’ll go where I won’t be put into a glass box and labeled as “fragile.”

“Raven darling, you look absolutely stunning!”

So do you. I sign, keeping my movements small, and between us. And I’m being honest. Where I opted for a deep ruby red, Elena opted for emerald with a matching mask, bringing out the deep red in her hair, freckles along her shoulders, her lips painted the same shade as her hair. Her husband, who stands beside her, opted to go with the traditional Venetian suit like Damon’s.

He looks positively bored when he turns to Jonas. “I trust you’ll be on your best behavior tonight, son?”

“Unless bad behavior is warranted, Father.” he murmurs which brings a smile to Elena’s lips and mine.  

“Boys.” She says to me and rolls her eyes and when the string quartet begins to play Waltz No. 2, by Dmitri Shostakovich her eyes go wide. “Oh, darling, dance with me.”

Jonas, without groaning, obliges his mother, he gives me a kiss on the cheek, and they move to the dance floor. The light of  the tea-lights reflect off her gown as they move swiftly about.

“I suppose you and I should dance as well, seeing as he believes he’s to marry you.” I blush at Mr. Anderson’s declaration that Jonas has already told him he wants to make me his wife. I take his large hand in mine as we flow into the already dancing couples.

It’s on the third spin when I’m smiling, my head tilted back, his hand under my shoulder blade, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“May I cut in?” Axel asks, and just like that, I’m handed off to my stepbrother without missing a beat. It makes me sad, and I don’t like it because as we move, I’m transported back in time when we were ten and forced to take ballroom dancing lessons. Back when I could talk and we stepped on each other’s toes and fumbled, griping about being too close to the other, making faces and laughing at our instructor’s heavy German accent.

I’m grateful he doesn’t speak for the remainder of the waltz.

I’m spinning again when Axel inhales. I keep my eyes off of him, searching for Jonas in the dancing bodies, but my eyes land on him. On her. On the stupid grins on their faces as they stand beside Dean Whitmore, and when Thadd’s gaze finds mine, his eyes narrow to the point of slits and a completely different melody begins in my head, making my feet stumble because I can’t differentiate the music in my head from the one playing outside of it.

“Does your leg hurt? Do you need to sit down?” a concerned Axel asks just as Jonas comes to me.

“I got her.”

“I-“

“I said I got her, Axel.” Jonas reiterates, a bark in his tone.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll… I’ll just go.” And off he goes, tail firmly tucked between his legs. “See you around, Cookie.”

The old nickname splits me.

“You okay, baby?”

I nod, but then I shake my head as he leads me out onto the quad, and we stand by the wall near the back garden that’s dead and still so beautiful, lit up by more tea-light candles. It’s secluded and picturesque.

I’m going to disappear tonight. I… I might need a ride home. I need you to make up an excuse for me.

Jonas’ brows shoot up. “Tonight?”

I give him one simple nod and lift my skirts, dragging his hand beneath them so he can feel my goodie bag strapped to it on the outside of my thigh.

He sighs. “Just… keep your phone on you so I know when to go to you, okay? I’ll stay close by wherever you go, but baby, I don’t like you doing things like this without me.”

I grin up at my love. “Bad girl?”

Oh, the upwards tilt of his lips beneath that mask is wicked. Desire pools between my thighs as he crowds me with his heat. “Yeah baby, I’ll have to punish you later for being bad without me.”

My nipples harden, his hand still between my skirts as it travels upward and my thighs part for him so easily. “Or maybe I should punish you now… fuck you’re so wet. I love your pussy. I’m a slave to it… to you. Fuck, I love you.”

For a moment, I understand the allure of having an affair dressed like this, because when he loosens his trousers and steps forward, my back against the rough stoney wall, his lips on mine, his hand digging into the flesh of my thigh, and he thrusts into me, our masks touching on the nose, thrills shoot up. And it’s not the chill of the evening.

It’s the rush that is loving Jonas Anderson.    

                          ______

After going to the bathroom, pulling on the full body spandex suit I purchased from none other than a popular party store, slipping it over my legs and pulling it as high as I could without making the bodice of my dress bunch up, tying the goodie bag around my thigh and stepping out to the Ball again - I keep my focus on the Whitmore’s, every turn they make, every person they speak to, every drink in their hands, counting six for Ashleigh when Thadd removes it from her hand. How her smile falters beneath her mask.

I know how much that hurts. The smiling. When you want to rage.

When I finally see them making an exit to leave, at barely nine, I know it’s because Ashleigh is drunk and Thadd wants to leave before she causes a scene. Never could hold her liquor, that one. 

I tap Jonas twice on the elbow, to which he makes an excuse for me from his lovely mother, and we make our ways through the doors where the faculty is standing around, mingling, drinks in their hands, I catch Maverick’s and Damon’s eye, sending a wink their way, and they each give a nod. Maverick must think Jonas is taking me home to fuck, but I already saw the text he sent Damon.

Jojo: Lil B needs to fly. Tonight. Keep that beast occupied. See you at home.

So much secrecy, and unfortunately, necessary.

But how do I tell Maverick what I am? That it’s me causing chaos on the quad?

As much as I want to tell him, I can’t think about that right now.

I keep my focus on the pair ahead of me, Ashleigh’s wobbly steps, the train in her dress. She really does look beautiful tonight. I wish the lullaby wasn’t playing in my head where the duo is concerned… she was my friend after all. But I suppose, just because we knew each other, played together, slept over at each other’s houses and were in the same sorority together doesn’t mean we were actually ever friends.

As we follow in the dark, Jonas unzips my dress, I hide my bare breasts as it loosens, plunging my arms into the sleeves and feel it settle into place on me, hugging where it needs to hug, conforming to my shape. I keep walking, letting the dress fall as we get to the Rover, and Jonas simply picks it up for me without any hesitation and I open the bag tied to my thigh, pulling out the upgraded balaclava with mesh in the eye holes like my moth mask.

Jonas stops just behind the Rover, “You got it from here?”

I nod once, and continue my speed, leaving him behind, weaving in and out at a faster pace, gaining up on them.

They parked their SUV under a tree, the grill of it facing toward the parking lot and under a moonless sky, it’s easy to conform to the shadows. When Thadd unlocks the vehicle and opens the door for Ashleigh, the lights inside don’t come on. It stays dark, and I’m grateful for that. I slip into the back passenger door and lay on the floorboard as Thadd rounds the front of the car to slips into the driver’s side.

We’re on the road for not even five minutes when Thadd simply says, “You’re such an embarrassment, Ashleigh. Couldn’t even go one night in public without drinking, could you?”

Ashleigh slurs an almost incoherent “sorry,” before it all goes silent outside of my mind again.

                         ______

"Please! Raven!" Ashleigh gasps. And I would but…

Ugh, this music.

A lullaby, a seductive melody, frenzied, rushed, then slow, it was angry and sweet and wanton and fuck this music is pure magic. It’s no longer in my head. It’s spread throughout like warm wax coating my insides, I felt it in the depths of my womb, in my toes, the base of my spine, between my fingers, like silk and warmth.

“Why?” I lean over her from behind, where I have her tied to a chair, loosely, as to not leave any conflicting restraint marks for the story I’m weaving here. But the GHB in her system makes her slow and sluggish, and it made her really fucking heavy, too.

“I hate… you.” She mumbles.

It should hurt, probably. I don’t know what I did to warrant her hatred, but, oh well. That warm wax feeling from the lullaby in my head curls around me, like a protective blanket. So warm as I slide the knife from under one ear, from behind, as though she did it herself, because that will be the story.

“Poor Ashleigh,” they’ll say, “finally had enough this time. Finally made good on her promises.” 

I watch, mesmerized as her tan skin splits for me, the muscles tearing open, the music a growing crescendo as I deepened the blade like one of Maverick's studies showed me how by reading and listening to the interviews and... Maverick...

There’s a pang in my chest.

How could I ever tell him about this?

Pretty, pretty, psycho Raven.

I shake my head to rid myself of those thoughts, unwilling to let myself be distracted from what I need to do to make the enchanting music stop.

I will say, after slipping out of their SUV, following them from the garage and then hiding in the shadows of their bedroom, dropping just enough GHB into the waters on their bedside while they got ready for bed in the bathroom and waiting, again in the shadows wasn’t easy but hearing this fucking melody?

A balm to my soul.

"Raven! Please... you don’t have to do this. You can stop this!" Thadd sobs softly. I let my eyes find his, that music a dull throb in my veins is replaced by another emotion that's always simmering underneath the surface.

Rage.

It's a fury that burns so hot it makes me feel so fucking sick to my stomach and feels like needles under my skin.

"Why?" This time I ask in a hushed whisper. "I w-w-was her friend."

His eyes widen, still connected with mine, glittering with unshed tears. Another body wracking sob escapes him, "Because Tyler-"

I rush to him, slapping him. "I was her friend!" I state clearly, this time without a stutter, like the rage boiling inside of me has no time for mistakes.

Only precision.

"Because she was jealous! Of you! Always jealous of you. Your family. Your money. Your beauty. The fact you thought you were so much better than everyone else.”

I never once thought that I was better than anyone else. I just wanted to create my own life, my own music, my own path. I never wanted this! I just wanted to be free of all these expectations of me, free of disappointing my mother all the time, free of these societal norms, having to hang out with wolves in sheep’s clothing. I wanted to make my own friends that didn’t know about my net worth. I just wanted to make my own fucking destiny… and I was robbed.

I didn’t deserve this.  

“She overheard Tyler telling me what he was going to do to you and she volunteered to help. Once she knew there was no way we’d be caught, she wanted in, Raven."

"Why?" I asked again, digging the blade into his forehead, carving a C, crimson trickles down over his brow and I love it. It sings to me.

"Fuck, Raven!"

"Why?" I ask again carving an H.

"You really don't know? Augh!"

E.

"You were sold to the Prescott’s!"

My heart plummets.

A.

"Goddammit! You were sold to the Prescott’s but you weren't the Monroe Tyler wanted!"

I never wanted to be a Monroe. I liked being an Alvarez-Paloma. I liked California. I loved my dad. I didn't choose this. Did Sofia know?

T.

"You dumb, stupid... bitch." Thadd laughs, those creepy violently bright white perfect teeth of his showing bright red, bloodied between parted lips. Lips Ashleigh once gushed about to me. "You really didn't know about the little trade? Axel-"

I stab him, deeply, exactly where I was stabbed except unlike how they did to me, I use all my strength to slide the knife from the side of him, under his ribcage all the way forward. There's a splashing noise and something hits my shoes, well, Ashleigh's slippers that I’ll put on her feet when I’m done. His entrails are slipping out as he groans.

"Ray," he chokes out. "You can still stop this. You can still save me."

"Like you saved me?" I ask sincerely. God, that music...

"Break her leg... take her down to the ravine..." I croak their words back to him.

The symphony. It’s so beautiful I could cry.

He trembles beneath me, skin paling, his head hangs back, resting on his shoulder. He simply whispers "Ray..."

The music dulls in my mind once more, decreasing softly as the light in his eyes fades.

It's not like in the movies. Thadd's eyes don't close but a tear does leave his eye and I follow its trail until it goes behind his ear. His pupils dilate and his body twitches a final time and then relaxes. I grimace at the mess he makes.

Yuck.

You’d think I’d be used to that bit by now.

I walk back over to Ash, wiping all the blood on my gloves onto her hand, untie her and then place the knife on the floor as though it simply fell limply from her grasp and put her slippers on her feet.

I go to their fireplace, open the flue and then light a low fire. I get naked, burning any evidence I was here, including the rope I used to tie Ashleigh up.

My leg aches from dragging them from their drugged stupor as I stalk to their bedroom, grabbing a nightgown and robe that Ashleigh owned, grab the baggie I came here with, put the expensive blonde wig on once I've put her clothes on and her shoes. If they have cameras, they'll only catch "her."

Walking around their space, their empty home, it does something to me as it does absolutely nothing to me at the same time.

There was a time I loved Ashleigh. We had been friends at Harlon Prep, then went to different academy's. Even though I went to Hawthorne with Axel, she went to St. Paul's, we still hung out, and when we both rushed for our sorority, became closer at RMU until she started dating Thadd. That's when Brina and I got way closer.

She was jealous of you... your family...

My family. That had sold me to the Prescott’s. Like fucking cattle.

I find Ashleigh's study. A large calendar is hung on the opposite wall. So she can view it from where she sits at her desk. She has one bookshelf lined with... photographs and a few self-help books that look as though they've never been opened. If that doesn't sum up Ashleigh I don't know what does. Jesus not even one trashy book. How were we ever friends? I peek at her Calendar, noting her cleaner won't be in until Tuesday in parenthesis it says (Pay Nadia.)

A happy shiver runs through me, delighted that they'll sit in their rot for a few days.

Except I forgot to calculate that there are some parents that actually love their children. That check up on them with a text or a phone call… I forget that there are parents out there that will drop by, unannounced, full of worry when they don’t text back.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jonas.

I wait for her, watching her little purple dot as it goes from one side of the mega-mansion to the other.

The home is magnificent, a brownstone given to him as a wedding gift from his parents when he was forced to marry Ashleigh due to their arranged marriage. Which she was excited for. Ashleigh had loved Thadd since they were kids. He wanted someone more reserved. We all watched as he slowly broke her spirit. Going from carefree to a reserved alcoholic.

It was sad.

Even put together in immaculate gowns, she looked broken.

I watch the blue dot finally make it to the front door but Ashleigh comes out… but the blue dot tells me it’s Raven. I slowly lurch my car forward, letting it go by inch by inch, when I see it is Raven in a fucking wig and wearing a nightgown.

My specter, haunting the moonless night.

I roll down my window outside the gate that’s open and call out to her so as not to wake the neighborhood but most of the people on this block are still at the Ball. This block is mostly Syndicate owned properties. Stephen Prescott lives just three mansions down.

When my little ghost turns to face me, she looks like an absolute nightmare. I know her plan was to burn the things she wore, but it seems to have seeped through the spandex and dried blood clings to her skin. 

Everywhere.

On her forearms, the nightgown, some of it was in the wig that made the sticky strands cling together. The freakiest part and the part that shouldn’t be giving me a boner?

She’s wearing blacked out contact lenses. My girl looks like a fucking vampire from one of those books she loves all pale skin, black eyes and covered in blood. All she’s missing is fangs.

Fuck - New kink unlocked.

“Baby, we gotta go get you cleaned up. You’re a sticky mess.” As much as I really need to get her cleaned up, it’s an excuse - I’m totally gonna fuck her in the shower. “C'mon baby, before anyone sees.”

But her hands fly up. What are you doing here? I’m not done.

“I gotta make sure you didn’t leave anything behind okay?”

Ghosty nods and grab my gloves from the middle console then getting out slowly, not letting my car door slam, I follow her, hitching a breath at the grizzly sight in the living area.

My girl did a great fucking job.

From where I stand, the puddles of blood and piss are large. With the word CHEAT on his forehead, Thadd looks like Ashleigh simply tied him up, asked questions, didn’t like the answers and decided to just end him. Where Ashleigh sits on her chair, she looks defeated or relieved. The knife, coated in blood is laying at her side like it simply slipped through her fingers after offing herself.

I let out a low whistle as I survey it all. I should probably be grossed out, going back and calling the police. I should run away.

But that’s not who we are.

We’re dark and crazy with an agenda.

“Well, goddamn baby. You fucked them up.”

She comes back to me with a grin. Did I miss anything?

“Grab me a trash bag, I’ll clean out the fireplace and meet you in the car.”

When I get in the Rover she’s already inside waiting to speed to home, where I start a fire in the fireplace, remove her clothes and throw it all in, stoking it. She removes the wig but I remind her it’ll stink. To put it in a bag so I can throw it out on our way to school Monday morning. We make our way upstairs to shower and when she goes to remove the contacts I grab her wrist to stop her.

“Leave those in, baby.”

She does, and holy fuck, Happy Halloween to me.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Maverick.

I wake to a light dusting of snow on my window, Raven curled in my arms, her thigh over mine, head on my chest, hand tucked underneath my torso, warm and snuggly like a kitten. I kiss her forehead, whisps of hair stick to my lips and as I try to get out of bed, she only holds me closer.

Fuck my jog.

I stay in, with her, on this cold, November morning, watching the flurry of snowflakes outside of my window as they land lazily, accumulating. 

It hardly ever snowed in my small town of Adelaide, Texas. When it did, even an inch of snow, everything shut down. Texans had no idea how to drive in the snow. Driving through tornado-like weather with surging rain that pounded so hard you could barely see through the windshield was fine... snow? Absolutely not. I will say it took me a few years after moving North on the East Coast to get used to the peaceful silence snow brought.

I look down at my angel to my left, pale skin, black lashes, silver and dark hair, her perfect lips a dusty pink contrast, beautiful, quiet, peaceful. A thing my soul can no longer live without. Even in the arms of two others, she still feels irrevocably mine.

It’s safe to say I’m also hers. She owns me.

I can hear the timer on my Keurig downstairs, letting me know my morning coffee cup is ready, and when she hears it, she moves her head, and the soft kisses she places on my chest, the soft strands of her hair drag softly along my torso, tickling and all it makes me wish for, it that the morning was just a little longer. That I could stay here, in limbo, with my own Persephone, if she’d have me as her Hades.

Brown eyes blink up at me, and my heart caves inside my chest, filling me with an emotion I never thought I’d be able to feel. Never be lucky enough for it to linger even after the stark revelation that I… I love her.

Damon and Jonas say it so freely to her, as though it’s second nature, making sure she always knows and feels loved while I’ve been hesitant. Yes, sex with her is otherworldly, and having her in my arms feels wonderful, but here, now, with her brows furrowed, caramel gaze locked on mine, swimming in my t-shirt, under my blankets, leaving her scent on my pillows and in my sheets, I can’t think of a future without her.

Without hearing her cello playing from the other room, or how loudly she plays my vinyl’s on my record player downstairs in our study, catching her reading, letting me settle in behind her to read with her, even having dinner with the others, she sits by me and holds my hand, listening to every word I say, showing me she  is dedicated, making me feel important as though…

Am I delusional enough to believe she could love a cold bastard like me? Commanding and anal-retentive, and fucking rude? I call her mute and tongueless, by God. She should hate me. She should shudder at my touch and be repulsed and yet… she lays here, perched upon my chest, looking at me as though she could maybe, quite possibly love me, too.

Something twists in my gut and I have to leave here. I have to get out of her presence even though everything in me tells me to skip today, to stay in bed with her, fuck the students. I’ve never taken a day off. I deserve one.

But the other part of me, the one that’s crawling for the need to get away from her, from here, to think, to push past all of this, and just fucking go somewhere, anywhere, is what has me pushing her off me like the bastard I am and rushing to get my coffee downstairs that’s probably cold now and when I do, I give one last glance over my shoulder to see she’s sitting up and watching me, hugging her knees now at her chest, ankles crossed, hair cascading over her shoulder and arm like a chocolate waterfall and fuck I have to get out of here before my heart stops beating.  

“Coffee,” is all I can fucking croak out because I am the toad and she is whatever princess it is that kisses the fucking frog but I’m no prince.

She kisses me and I’m still a fucking toad.

It’s war in my heart and in my head as I head down to my kitchen, Damon already down there, sipping my coffee in some fancy mug he brought, scrolling through his tablet, telling me he’s reading the news. “Hope you don’t mind. I went ahead and made you one as well. Your favorite flavor. The Texas Praline.”

I inhale sharply, look at the fucking Keurig and see he also purchased a fancy thermos-like mug for myself and all I can say is, “Thank you,” as I grab the mug and sit at the table across from him when his phone vibrates.

I hear mine chime upstairs at the same time.

I arch a brow as he pales.

“Everything okay?”

He clears his throat and takes another sip, eyes like slivers of a cloudy moon peer at me over his mug and when he swallows, they shoot over my shoulder, to which I hear both Jonas and Raven coming down the stairs in their uniforms, ready for another day at Rayne-Moore. “It would seem the Dean had a cardiac arrest after finding his son and daughter-in-law’s bodies in their home this morning.”

“Fuck, that’s heavy.” Jonas whooshes as goes to the pantry, pulling out bagels and then to the toaster, splitting them to toast them evenly. Raven goes over and kisses Damon good morning, lips lingering on his, and even though I should feel jealousy, I don’t. It should hurt and yet it never has.

“Good morning, Amourette. Did you sleep well?”

Another kiss before she makes her and Jonas a cup of Joe, and I can almost taste it. How the mint of her toothpaste would mingle with the taste of my coffee.

Jonas plops down on the chair beside me just as Raven sits on the other side of me, taking a bagel, and overly smothering it with cream cheese, completely spread evenly so no bite is lacking and then grabs the other half and makes it into a sandwich. Jonas copies her with a smirk, muttering “genius,” under his breath and when he’s done, he simply turns to Damon. “So are classes canceled?”

Damon shakes his head. “No, but I may just visit after my last session today, he’s in the ICU at Lorne Wood.”

Raven makes a movement with her hands for the word rose.

“Yes, Amourette, I will be sure to take him some flowers for you.”

After Jonas and Raven leave for a study session before classes at the library, Damon leaves as well, his first session before classes. I take my time to get ready, taking in the opportunity to take the trash out, grabbing the bags from the garage, one of them smelling particularly of dead blood, which doesn’t rouse me.

What should have roused me was that it was a white bag, and not the black ones we use but I pay it no mind.

Damon cooks a lot of meat, feeding us nightly except for the weekends he comes back late, which is usually Friday and Saturday nights when they go to Jonas’ games or take Raven on a date.

I have yet to take her on one.

No idea why.

They nurture and care for her in ways that I simply do not and… and if I want her to love me, I probably should. Shouldn’t I? I should show her that I love her. She’s one of actions, seeing as she still hasn’t spoken to me, only signing when others are in the room.

Does she still not trust me?

I shove that and all other thoughts of her aside as I get ready for work, dressing as warmly as I can in slacks and a sports coat, bundling up in a scarf, overcoat, and a beanie. Raven’s beanie. She’s everywhere. All over my house. Even in my car. Books, hair ties, .5 mm ballpoint pens… I secretly love it. I adore being able to inhale in any room of my house and know she was there.

The traffic is light, the fog thick, the snow now a sleet as the sun rises, heating the earth.

It’s the Monday after the Homecoming Ball that Raven didn’t get to enjoy as much since she left early due to a headache and her leg hurting after dancing with Mr. Anderson and her stepbrother and then fucking Jonas in the garden. Yes, I did get to watch that happen. I should remind Jonas to be more careful but watching them is always titillating. Hearing how she gasps when Jonas praises and degrades her, fucking her roughly, not giving a damn if they get caught.  

She tried to play off the pain in her leg, only grimacing every now and then, but I knew it must have really been bothering her when she returned from the restroom and kept grabbing at her leg, like she was trying to make sure it was still attached.

When they left, I wanted to leave, too, but unfortunately, faculty members were to stay until at least eleven, after they crowned the King and Queen. They were students I didn’t know and didn’t want to know. They spun around the room to an old school waltz, perfectly, as though they’d taken ballroom lessons for years and a part of me simmered with both envy and rage that they were given that type of opportunity. To just have all of this at their feet since birth while some of us (me) had to fight tooth and nail to get here.

I really don’t think I’ll be back at RMU after this next semester. I need a less elite kind of university to go to. I wonder if Raven still has eyes for New York. How easy that transition would be, from here to there, to teach at NYU or any of its sister schools. I remind myself to ask her later.

By the time I arrive and park at the campus, I have fifteen minutes to get to class, where my students are already waiting outside of my door for me to unlock and open up. While they settle in I decide to text Damon.

Me: I’ll come with you to visit Whitmore.

Dr. Dick: My last session is at 2 and visiting hours are over at 5.

Me: I won’t get out of here until at least 5:30.

Dr. Dick: Next time.

I darken my screen and focus on my students, bored already, pull down the screen, turn out the lights, and let the interviewed recording of Ted Bundy play. 

                           ______

The windows in my classroom show an angry sky, one promising either a brutal rainstorm that will slicken into ice in the morning, or a wintry mix of rain, snow and sleet, which will also make the roads dangerous. I’m packing up my bag to go so I can beat the storm home.

There’s thudding of boots that stop and a knock on my office door.

My hackles rise, a chill shoots down my spine, vibrating like a low hum.

“Professor Harrington?”  The man is of average height as he stands next to the door, tattooed on his tan hand still a fist he used to knock. Dark eyes, dark hair slicked back, clean shaven, and a tablet in his other hand. He’s dressed in a black overcoat, dark slacks and leather boots with a grip, clearly dressed for the storm gathering outside. He lowers his hand and just barely crosses the threshold.

“Yes?” I ask, adjusting my glasses on my nose, pushing them up so they settle properly.

“Detective Arlo Martinez. I don’t mean to hold you up; it’s getting ugly out there. I just… I’m a fan, really. I was appointed this case this morning and when I heard you were teaching here, I was wondered if you could possibly look at something for me?”

I check my watch. It’s six o’clock already. Damon will have dinner cooking by now.

I lift a shoulder and let it drop while shaking my head, “I have a few minutes.”

I should’ve stayed home.

“It’ll be quick. Just a piece of surveillance video. It’s a little grainy but I was hoping maybe you’d have a little more expertise. Apparently the owners of the home, the victims, were supposed to have their system upgraded this weekend, but they were murdered.”

“Ah.” I say, grabbing the tablet as he extends his arms out to hand it to me.

“It’s only two or three minutes long. It’s been fast forwarded already to the important times. Like I said, I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Sure.” I say as I click on the triangle icon to play the video.

A single person shadow surges, long over the lawn, the corner of the nightgown and… something on the feet. A minute or two passes by and this time it’s two shadows coming back. The one wearing the nightdress slightly limps across the lawn, and my stomach swoops and drops.

Completely schooling my features, not letting him see I recognize that fucking limp, Detective Martinez’s phone rings and I rewind the video. I look up at him, to see he’s a holding a finger up to me, motioning that he needs to take a call to which I nod, giving him the go-ahead.

“Martinez.”

I replay the video, watching the limping shadow. I let my eyes scope the rest of it, seeing blonde hair at the shoulders and I exhale slowly, letting my eyes go up to see Martinez with one hand on his hip as he watches me watch the video.

“I see. Alright. I’ll be there momentarily.”   

“Looks like a blonde woman.” I say when he hangs up.

His brows furrow. “Yeah. My team did notice that. Except, the only woman at the scene was the victim. Time stamp shows ten-oh-one PM. Coroner has reported time of death somewhere about fifteen minutes prior to that.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

I want to vomit, but I keep my expression neutral.

“Who were the victims?” I ask because I have to know.

“Uhhh, full confidentiality?” he asks, brown eyes grazing over me as I hand him back the tablet.

“Of course.”

“Thaddeus Whitmore II and his wife, Ashleigh.”

A whooshing in my head, blood rushing to my ears. Black dots appear at the sides of my vision. “I see. Any other witnesses or surveillance?” I ask, swallowing down bile.

“The only other person that had access to their home was his father, the Dean here, if I’m right?”

I nod. “Yeah, I heard he had a cardiac arrest. Currently in the ICU being treated.”

His face goes dark, brows furrowed once again. “Yeah, my partner just called me. Seems he had another heart attack and was unable to be brought back. He’s in the morgue beneath the hospital, currently.”

“Christ,” I breathe, this time letting myself fall back in my chair.

“Friend of yours I’m assuming.”

I nod, grabbing the half-empty bottle of Macallan from my drawer and the tumblers, pouring myself and him a glass. “Yeah, we developed a kinship after I was hired on. Reached out to me when he saw I had… issues at times.” But that’s not why I’m in a daze. No, I’m in a daze because Damon was just there earlier. He didn’t say anything to me about him being dead. Unless…

Arlo grabs the glass of whiskey and shoots it back, sucking on his teeth. “Damn that’s good. So you say the person in the video is a woman, for sure?”

For some reason, that makes the whiskey in my throat burn more. “I said that?”

“You did.” He eyes me, dark stare softening as he seems to be aware of the fucking tornado he just brought at my door. “Fuck. Listen, how about I come back another day, I seem to just have dropped a lot on you and there’s a storm brewing.”

That’s a fucking understatement.

I nod, sipping my whiskey, letting the slow burn fill me.

I don’t hear him leaving.

Don’t remember myself locking up and leaving.

Don’t hear the music playing in the background as soon as my Bluetooth connects to my car speakers.

Don’t remember the drive home or parking.

I don’t even remember getting out of my SUV but when my hand touches the icy doorknob, it’s as though the fog in my mind clears and all I can feel is rage.

Thunder rolls overhead as the rain pings against the windows and hits the roof of my house. A storm promising destruction.

I stare at Damon’s back, illuminated by the fire in the fireplace. It was all so easy for them, wasn’t it? To keep me in the dark. To fool me. My anger has surpassed rage and is now a simmering fury.

I catch his reflection above the mirror of my sidebar holding crystal decanters full of liquors so nonchalantly, having done this plenty of time before, a comfortable liar. He grabs my favorite, the one holding the Macallan, and begins moving his hands around, obviously making himself a cocktail.

When he’s done he turns and strides over to me, an old fashioned like the one in his hand, handing it to me as I sit in my oversized leather chair, made to feel comfortable, and yet, it's the worst chair I think I’ve ever purchased. Granted, I’ve never exactly sat in it seeing as I simply went to the furniture store and told them to just get whatever was on the display. All of this stuff is technically new.

I eye Raven’s textbooks all over the coffee table and I know she probably sat on the floor doing her class work. Her methodical chaos. Organized only in her mind and it hurts me, my heart stutters. I hate myself for adoring the way she ate her snacks while studying, and reading, and didn’t mind the mess.

I had even ordered a desk to put in my office so she could be closer to me. So I could watch her closer.

I’m a fool.

So easy to fool me. I fell for it. Her little meek mouse façade. A bad girl with big doe eyes that just needed to get fucked into oblivion. But the veil has been lifted.

I know what I saw.

I know it was her.

I take a sip of the old-fashioned Damon handed me.

I’d know that limp anywhere. Have seen it up close and personal.

She’s upstairs right now, probably well fucked and full of cum and that’s how she did it. Using her feminine wiles to distract me.

Did she ever even care for me? Did I imagine it all?

“That’s the Harrington Curse…”

The wind picks up outside, along with the splatters of raindrops, hard and unrelenting.

I have a serial killer in my house and her two henchmen.

Damon sits back, places an ankle over his knee, and pulls out a cigar, so fucking relaxed in my home, and lights up like he’s at Inferno, offering me one which I decline.

“You look troubled, Maverick. A dollar for your thoughts?”

“Give me her story,” I reply a little too sharply.

“It’s not mine to tell.”

“And you expect her to just open her mouth and tell me?”

Damon grimaces. “Think of everything you’ve read, of what you know of her, of what you’ve seen of her, and think, really hard. Let go of the black. Let go of the white and let yourself think in all the vast oceans of purples there are.”

“The ocean isn’t purple.”

Damon chuckles. “It could be. We were told the sky is blue but is it really?”

I hold in my eye roll at his bullshit philosophical jargon and look down at my drink instead, the scent of his cigar hangs heavy between us. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Damon. I had a detective come to my office after class today and showed me videos of a certain someone limping around at a fucking crime scene.” I growl.

His smirk drops as he takes another puff, the end of the cigar glowing a bright cherry red, blowing out the smoke before he takes another sip of the best fucking old fashioned I’ve ever tasted. “It wasn’t her.”

This time I don’t hold back the eye roll. I get back up to my feet, a hand on my hip and shove my hair back, holding it at the base of my skull with the other. “Damon, please. I can’t be in love with a… a-“

“A what?”

“A serial killer. It goes against every single one of my morals!”

“Does it?” He’s slow to stand and keeps his distance from me.

“Yes! If she were… that-“

“Your entire life you’ve had a cog in the machine mentality. Which is your first problem.” Damon interrupts me. “The other problem you’ve had is you don’t even hate the wealthy you hate one wealthy person. You’ve hated her your whole miserable life because she chose a life of wealth, she chose to leave you behind, she chose herself. Your mother-“

“Don’t bring her into this! Do not psychoanalyze me!” I roar just as lightning strikes behind him and the light above us flickers. The news promised the worst storm in over four years and they sure are delivering. “Just tell me her fucking story so I can try to understand!”

There’s a creak coming from the bottom step as Raven steps before us. She’s wearing my FBI hoodie, large on her frame, the sleeves of them cuffed by her fingers. A slap in the face. A good fucking joke and my fury knows no bounds.

When she comes deeper into the living room, Jonas is also in view but behind her, in the shadows, watching silently. He looks exhausted. I stride to her grabbing her face by the chin so harshly her lips pucker like a fish.

“Speak! Tell me you didn’t do it! Speak, goddamn you! Fucking talk to me for once and save yourself! Open your fucking mouth and lie to me!” I break, begging, my breath hitching as I peer into the wide, mesmerizing depths of caramel and gold. My heart aches, because if she would just open her beautiful mouth and lie to me, I could help her.

A tear rolls down her cheek but she doesn’t move. The only noise in the room is the crackling of the fire and the raging storm outside.

“Speak!” I rage again.

There, her lips move and I lessen my grasp as more tears flood her perfect face and she gives me one shake of her head but her face is distorted in pain, as though her heart is splintering right along mine.  She won’t even deny it. She won’t lie. She won’t fucking speak to me and I throw the tumbler against the mantle, the glass shattering against it.

“Raven baby, we gotta go.”

I look at Jonas, who grabs her shoulder but she, stupidly and unafraid, marches to me. I push her off but she tries to get to me again and again and when I finally shove her off and she tumbles down, I regret it as soon as it happens and reach for her but Damon catches her, I see the agony on her face that mirrors my heart. I clench my jaw, feeling the muscles ripple.

I don’t miss the anger on Damon’s face and when Jonas comes and punches me square in the jaw, I don’t retaliate.

I deserve that.

“Let’s go, Raven.”

She signs something to him about her binder and with a huff, Jonas gets it and brings it back down along with her backpack and keys, packing up her textbooks after handing it to her.

It's big and looks heavy when she clutches it to her chest. But she walks to me anyway, brave, stupid girl, but Damon is behind her, clutching her to his chest gravestone eyes piercing mine.

Her lips part, opening and closing several times before she rubs circles on her chest, over the binder. “I’m s-s-s-sorry.”

I hold it in. I hold in my agony and my tears and my heartache as Jonas opens the front door and I hear the familiar rumble of the Rover’s engine turning. A sound that used to excite me. That made me feel a sense of gratitude that my girl was coming home to me.

She hands me the thing but when I don’t take it, she leaves it where her textbooks were and goes out into the storm in nothing but my hoodie, fuzzy socks and her boots she leaves by the door.

“Don’t ask questions when you don’t really want to know the answers.”

“It’s too fucking late now for that. You all betrayed me, Archer. Easily. Get the fuck out.”

“You want to know why you don’t want us to really answer your questions? Because your scientific mind wants confirmation. It seeks to be validated that it’s so fucking smart. You get a tiny gold fucking star for being just a smidge above average if you figure out the riddle. Probably gets your cock hard and irons out your asshole so it un-wrinkles but when it comes to this, to her - it's no riddle. It is barely the corner piece of the biggest fucking puzzle you’ll ever solve. So do not ask questions. Watch it unravel. Watch her unravel. Let your mind be blown for once.”

“I don’t know if I have it in me to do that.”

“Then why did you ask the question?”

He leaves. The door slamming behind him thanks to the howling wind and when I hear his own vehicle start up, a panic sets in.

I'm losing her, them, the only family I’ve ever known. I run out into the freezing rain but neither car is in my driveway and I run to the two-lane road, only to catch the fading red taillights disappear and the rain turns to sleet against my skin as Damon’s voice rings loud in my ears.

“… when it comes to this, it’s no riddle. It’s barely the corner piece of the biggest fucking puzzle you’ll ever solve. So do not ask questions. Watch it unravel.”

With that, all I know is that this isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

To Be Continued.

AFTERWORD FROM THE AUTHOR:

Dear Reader,

I won’t apologize about the cliffhanger - Raven and our guys have way too much to do to just end it within 400 pages. With that being said, RMU’s Book Two: STUTTER. Will hopefully be out by February 2025!

You can PRE-ORDER NOW!

Please remember, book reviews are how indie authors get seen!

If you’d like to read more of my work,

Queen of Wrath & Vengeance and its sequel Dethroned are out now! Total Vampire smut following a 500-year-old vampire QUEEN – with ALL THE TROPES – easy to follow world building, fast chapters, Reverse Harem, single-dad, reverse age-gaps, fated mates, Greek mythology, a strong FMC, her guys absolutely adore and protect her. There’s fae, mystics, there’s Shyfters, there’s werewolves and bloodwine – Oh My!

2025 Upcoming Works:

Stutter – Book Two in The Rayne-Moore/Tongueless Duet

Secrets That Bind Us – A small-town, second chance romance, follows Verity, a single mom, as she comes home after being gone for 13 years and moves into her childhood home, where creepy things start happening in the middle of the night!

Scream - A RMU continuum novel.

Avalanche – A dark, Holiday Novella.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First of all – You, Dear Reader – for giving me a chance. Thank you. From the bottom of my uterus and up, you’re incredible. If you’d like to learn more about upcoming projects, you can always follow me on Instagram @AuthorRubyMDarling

J – Again, for always asking the questions, for being consistent, and always asking for more chapters. You keep me on the right path and balance the chaos in my mind.

MK – For re-reading and helping with re-editing when you didn’t have to. You’re a godsend.

My eldest – For creating the cover art for each book. You’re a rockstar kid, please don’t read this book. I love you.

My youngest – You either. But I also love you, little storm cloud.

About The Author

For upcoming projects or to “professionally watch" her, you can follow Miss Darling on Instagram @ AuthorRubyMDarling

And yes, she does want to hear from you.