Lords of Pain: Chapter 22

“We need something on this guy,” I say, reading the name aloud, “Rufus Hammond.”

Rath’s finger trails down the ledger, trying to find a connection. “Nick isn’t giving us shit to go off of here.”

I snort. “Ugly Nick, or Pretty Nick?”

Rath sarcastically mutters, “Yes.”

Well, he’s not wrong. Walking the line between the factions is a fragile thing. Sometimes we have to do things for the Nicks, sometimes the Nicks have to do shit for us. It’s a whole harmony deal, which makes it difficult coming back to school after a summer spent working South Side. It’s a balance we have to get back in the rhythm of, and it takes time.

Sighing, I begrudgingly admit, “Maybe we should ask Ms. Crane.” It’s harder to get dirt on people when you have classes and frat duties. South Side informants aren’t exactly waltzing onto campus.

“No,” he replies, shaking his head. “Today’s her wedding anniversary. She won’t want to dig anything up. I’m surprised she’s even here at all.”

“What good is having a living, breathing, cussing database of South Side fuckery if we can’t ever approach her about it?” Throwing the folder aside, I rake my fingers through my hair. “You two coddle the shit out of her.”

“And you treat her like a living, breathing, cussing database of South Side fuckery.’ He gives me a hard look. “Delores Crane is more than that. She’s a goddamn testament to this whole crooked institution. She’s an icon.”

“She’s a relic,” I correct, all prepared to give him a tirade about the old ways and how cronies like Crane would never survive in the information age.

And then Killer storms in.

It’s obvious that he’s furious, even though he doesn’t say a word. He just stands there all rigid and still as Story enters behind him, immediately sprinting up the staircase to her room.

Rath closes the laptop. “What now?”

Killian points a finger toward the stairs, snarling, “That fucking bitch is fucking around with someone.” And, oh, he’s really worked up about it too, pacing now.

“No way,” I insist, snorting. “We have that girl locked down twenty-four-seven.”

Rath agrees, “She’s with us all the time. We track her phone. When would she have the opportunity?”

“Even if she did, she wouldn’t,” I argue, knowing it in my bones.

Killian stops, glaring at us. “Are you listening to me? I’m telling you she’s fucking around! It’s someone in LDZ, too. They sent her a pair of panties in the mail, along with this.”

I catch the card he flings at me, squinting as I read it.

You’re mine, whore.

Rath takes it next, scoffing. “Are you sure you didn’t send this?”

“Someone’s taking a run at her,” Killian swears, snatching the note back.

I lean back, thinking. “Underclassman?”

“They have access to the house,” he agrees. “Probably someone trying to get a jump on us.”

“We have two years left in this house,” I say. “We won it.”

“That didn’t stop us.” We had no respect for the former Lords and their Lady. We set our sights on Charlene and flipped the game. The problem is that it set a precedent. And if these little snot-nosed fuckers think they can take a run at us and our Lady…

“I don’t know,” I say, tapping my knee in thought. “Do you really think Story would do that? It doesn—”

He barks, “Don’t you fucking dare say it doesn’t seem like her! She’s a money-grubbing slut. We knew there was a risk of this when she moved in here. All it took was a better deal to come along and she wouldn’t give a shit about our reputations.”

Rath stands, face blank, looking between us. “Okay, so say it’s true. How do you want to handle it?”

Beneath the skepticism, I see the worry in his eyes. I know what he’s thinking; that Killian will want to kick Story out for violating the contract. It’s valid. There is a strict no-fucking-others clause in there, but even if she had betrayed us like that—and she didn’t—I’m not sure I’m ready for her to leave, either.

“We’re not kicking her out,” I say, squashing that shit now.

“I agree,” Killian says.

I look up in surprise. “You do?”

“Whoever did this needs to learn what happens when you fuck with the Lords.” His jaw clenches. “And Sweet Cherry? She’s going to learn there’s no easy way out of this contract.”

Shit. “What’s that mean?” I ask, apprehensive about giving him too much slack. Killian is as close to a sociopath as I ever expect to meet. Whatever he has planned can’t be good.

“Call a meeting. Of the whole frat,” he says, not answering my question. “Bring Story to the meeting room. Dumb bitch is probably up there packing as we speak. You know her first instinct is to run.”

That, we do know.

Killian starts off and I grab his arm. “What are you going to do to her?”

He looks me in the eye and I don’t like what I find there. “I’m going to make sure she, and every other member of this fraternity knows exactly what happens when you try to play with the Lords’ favorite toy.”

I only knock once before trying the knob.

It opens, so I let myself in, fully expecting to see Story packing the sad, tattered duffel she’d come here with. Killer was right. She’s a runner. She ran from here three years ago, and then again at boarding school, and then again when she returned. When it comes to instinct, she’s all flight and zero fight.

Which is why, when I see her standing in front of the bay windows, just staring down at the street, I know I’m right.

Still.

I have to hear it from her.

She doesn’t turn her head when I approach. The room’s growing dark—she hasn’t turned the lamps on yet—but the intense glow of the sunsets illuminates her with a wash of warmth. She’s pretty, wearing this simple little dress. I know without asking that she’d chosen it for him—for Killian.

“Story.” Her eyes don’t move, fixed to nothing in the distance. “Look at me.” When she doesn’t, I touch her chin, easing it toward me. When she finally meets my gaze, all I see there is anger and exhaustion. “Are you fucking around on us?”

“He wouldn’t listen,” she grinds out, jaw tight. “He never fucking listens.”

“I do,” I say, demanding, “answer the question.”

She doesn’t blink, those big eyes staring right through me. “I’m not.”

Story lies, but she’s never good at it. Killian has her all wrong. Deception isn’t her game—never could be. She lacks the steel in her bones to make it convincing. She’s soft inside, elastic. She’d divert my attention, maybe omit some details, and she’d be good at that. But not this—not bald-faced lying.

Holding her gaze to mine, I ask, “Do you know who sent that?” She goes to look away, but I jerk her chin back. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

She lifts her chin. “Yes.”

“Who?”

She drops her gaze, but this isn’t insolence. It’s dread. “I can’t tell you.” When she meets my eyes again, they’re pleading. “Don’t make me lie. I just can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” I ask, pressing. She shakes her head, exasperated, and I shift gears. “Is it someone on campus? In the frat?”

“No!” She says it with such certain authority that I almost want to go downstairs and slap Killian upside the goddamn head.

“And you haven’t fucked him.” Before she can answer, I clarify, “Or messed around with him, or—”

“I’ve never even met him,” she insists.

Satisfied with that much, I drop my head, giving her a nod. “He doesn’t believe you.”

She rolls her eyes, and when they meet mine again, they’re shining with unshed tears. “Of course, he doesn’t. If he thought I was loyal, he’d have to stop hating me for one godforsaken moment.”

Well, she’s certainly got his number. “Yeah, he’s got some issues. I’m not saying it’s fair, but that’s a part of this.” Sighing, I make sure she understands the weight of my words when I add, “He’s going to punish you now.”

“I know.”

I’m in no place to judge Killer. After Genevieve, it’s not like I’m in any hurry to trust any of these bitches, either. All they do is fuck around. Every girl here is doing someone behind someone else’s back. It makes me fucking sick.

That’s why it has to be Story. Whatever Killian thinks, something is keeping her here. It’s the reason I didn’t find packed bags when I walked into this room, even though she has every reason to bolt. That’s her nature and she’s going against it. People don’t do that for nothing. It’s not the purest form of loyalty. It’s not authentic or genuine.

But goddamn.

It’ll fucking do.

“Why haven’t you done it yet?” she asks, searching my eyes. “I’ve been here long enough. You could take it, right now. You could have days ago.”

I raise an eyebrow, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. Fuck me. Her virginity. I have to tread very carefully here. “Maybe we’re waiting for you to be ready. Your first time should be special.”

She immediately replies, “None of you care about that.”

Yeah, that was always going to be a hard sell. “Fine. Virgins are bad lays, Cherry. They don’t know what to do or how to do it. We’re just letting you get some experience under your belt.”

Her mouth thins, and I know she buys it. It’s perfectly on-brand for us. “Sometimes, I wish—”

Her lips are soft and yielding when I bend down to kiss her, cutting her off. Either I get her off the subject, or I drive her toward the finish line. All I need are the words—an explicit, semantic request—and holy fucking shit.

I could win the game right here, right now.

And from the way she attacks me—there’s no other word for it—maybe she wants me to. She plants both palms onto my shoulders and drives me back toward the bed. It only works because I let her, falling when the backs of my legs hit the mattress. She climbs into my lap without even breaking the kiss, winding her arms around my neck.

I reach behind her to grab her ass, groaning when she grinds down into my cock. It’s just all so obvious. Her back arches into me. She moans. Her tongue licks into my mouth. She’s a woman on a mission, with something to prove.

But she still hasn’t asked.

Grabbing her hips, I flip her around, laying her out on the bed. She stares up at me with this startled look on her face. It only grows in confusion when I just stare down at her. I know exactly how to clinch this. Oh, yes. Story Austin would like it gentle and sweet. A kiss to her cheek. Soft touches to her arm. Nuzzles to her neck. All it’d take is some artificial romance, some words about how pretty she is, and she’d ask for it. None of us care about her first time being special. But she will.

I only make it to the soft, tender kisses up her neck before she springs up, spine straight, shoulders tense.

“Um,” she mutters, yanking one of her dress straps back up her shoulder. “We should…”

Motherfucker. So close.

“Yeah,” I sigh, willing my cock to stand down. We don’t have time for this, anyway. Standing, I clear my throat, hoping it comes off more like I’m gathering myself than growling into my fist. “Killian wants to see you downstairs, so yes. We should.”

“Do you know what my punishment is going to be?” she asks, voice shaking, either out of fear or from how closed we’d just been.

“No.” I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “But it won’t be pretty. Or easy. And there’s nothing Rath or I can do about it, understand?”

She nods and looks at the ground. “I understand.”

I lift her chin with a finger. “Regardless, you’re our Lady now and you’ll be our Lady after.”

That’s the truth, I think, leading her out of the room. What I’m unsure about is how broken she’ll be when Killian is done with her, and if it’ll even be possible to pick up the pieces.