Lords of Pain: Chapter 30

Tristian looks back at me, his jaw flexing like he’s gnashing his teeth. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs,” I say, jerking my chin toward the staircase. “Ms. Crane’s been in and out, but I haven’t…” I don’t say the truth, even though we all know it. Story doesn’t want to see me.

Dimitri doesn’t look any less pissed off, pacing the den with slow but hard steps. “Those motherfuckers.” He pauses by the fireplace, hand shooting out to grab something off the mantle. He throws it across the room. “Those motherfuckers!”

I don’t roll my eyes, but it’s a near thing. Wouldn’t be fair, anyway. I was trashing the steering wheel the whole way to that abandoned house in South Side. “They didn’t get the chance to do anything,” I reiterate, sick of watching him pace around. “She was just a little drugged up.” I don’t tell them about her ripped shirt. I figure the fire is hot enough without gasoline.

Tristian thrusts a finger at me, eyes ablaze. “This is your fault. You threw that goddamn fit about the package, which was obviously from the Counts, and then you punished her for it and stormed off like a fucking toddler.” His laugh is completely without humor. “It did exactly what they wanted it to do. If there’d been a third Lord to watch her while we were tied up in other shit, this never would have happened.”

“They planned it like that,” I argue, trying to quell the anger rising in my head. “Your group project, Rath’s peer review…they were making sure you were both out of the way. They tried it on me too, it just wasn’t as effective.”

“We need to retaliate,” Rath decides, finally coming to a stop. “We can’t let them get away with—”

Tristian raises a hand. “Retaliation will come. Right now, we need to clean shit up.” He looks at me. “What kind of damage are we talking here? Witnesses? Injuries?”

I shrug, picking listlessly at the label on my beer bottle. “She got a little roughed up, but nothing too bad. Bruise on her cheek. Her wrists and ankles are a little raw. She’s probably up there sleeping off whatever they drugged her with.” Sighing, I set my bottle on the table. “I paid one of the corner guys to run diversion so I could get in there. Perez and the others caught us just before we escaped, so Story pulled my gun on them and—”

Tristian’s head rears back. “I’m sorry, she fucking what?”

“I had it in my pants,” I explain, leveling him with a look. “The safety was on; it was never a danger. But you can bet your ass that they shit their pants.” For the first time in days, I’m able to crack a smile. “That shit was priceless. You should have seen Perez, cowering like a damn baby.”

Tristian isn’t smiling. At all. “They know about our contract, which means that this won’t stop.”

“They’ll keep gunning for her,” Rath agrees, face grim. “I don’t know about you guys, but we’re burning a candle at both fucking ends here, between LDZ and South Side. I know the two of you get off on being glorified babysitters, but we don’t have time to be bodyguards.”

I give a heavy nod. “So what do we do? Release her from the contract?”

Neither of them seem to like that idea.

Tristian props his elbows on the bar, taking a calming breath. “No. We have to end the game. Tally shit up, and get it over with.”

Rath pauses, looking between us. “That’d be me, then.” At least he has the good grace not to smirk while saying it.

Tristian nods in agreement, but even though he has to be disappointed, he doesn’t look it. “You’re up by eleven. Give her some time, though. She should take the day off from classes tomorrow. We should get her used to the idea first. She might be a little—”

I down the last of my beer before saying, “Rath wouldn’t win. It’d be me.”

Rath scoffs. “No, it wouldn’t, you’re down by almost eighty points.”

My stomach churns in displeasure at what I’m about to say—almost as badly as the thought of not being the one to have her first. Almost. “Blow job, exhibition, multiplied by forty five.” Looking up at Rath, I add, “That’s over three hundred.”

They stare at me for a tense beat.

It’s Tristian who speaks first, his voice a low hiss. “You cannot be fucking serious.”

Rath holds my stare, his eyes dark and threatening. “That’s the real reason you did it, isn’t it?”

I give a firm, certain, “No.” Sweeping my hair back, I lock my jaw, remembering. “I did it because the thought of her fucking around with someone else made me fucking crazy. It got in my head. It got me all twisted up, because this is what I do. Are you even surprised? It’s like I see red and nothing else—not until it burns itself out. I won’t defend it. You were right before,” I tell Tristian. “I gave them exactly what they wanted. I see that now. But Story?” I give a harsh laugh, shaking my head. “She’s done with me. She’s mine by rights, you both know it. But she’ll never…” I curl my fist, unable to say the words aloud.

Her voice has been banging around in my head ever since she got to her knees and spoke. They’re what I heard when I peeled out of the driveway. They mocked me when I got to my suite in the dorms. They hissed themselves at me as I drank myself into a toxic stupor until two in the morning. They were still there when I woke up, hungover and nauseous. Even when I was breaking into that house to rescue her, all it took was her cringing away from my touch to tell me everything I needed to know.

Story will never be mine.

“I blew it.” The words come out simple, matter-of-fact. There’s no sugar-coating this shit. I’m the only one to blame. “This is all I’ll ever have.”

“Let me get this straight,” Rath says, voice low and dangerous. “You know she’ll never want you, so you’re going to make her fuck you. That’s some pure romance shit, right there. It’s a wonder she wasn’t falling at your feet years ago, you goddamn lunatic.”

I spring to my feet, feeling the red pulsing at the edges of my mind. “Like you’re so fucking above it? You think what the two of you have done—have been doing—is any better?”

“Yeah, I do,” Rath answers, eyes narrowing. “Because she actually fucking likes me. Maybe it’s not all based on truth, but at least she can suck my dick without vomiting.”

I lurch over the table, fully prepared to shove this asshole into the fireplace, but Tristian suddenly appears between us, pushing me back.

“We’re not doing this shit again,” he says, giving us both a warning look. “There’s only one way to settle this in a way that’s fair to everyone here—including Story.”

Rath raises a skeptical eyebrow. “And how the hell do we manage that?”

“Easy. The Golden Snitch of the game.” Tristian lets go of my shirt, sending me a smirk. “We let her choose.”

I spend the whole night stewing.

Golden fucking Snitch.

They just as good as counted me out, just like that. It’s not like I could argue. It’s the best way to handle it. Logically, I understand it. Still pisses me off, though.

The guys are both quiet and focused on other shit for the rest of the night, leaving me at odds. Ms. Crane is, if possible, even colder to me than usual, so I suppose she’s heard all about the punishment that went down last night. It’s not enough that I spent my whole morning hunting down anyone with the video—and I knew they existed. Maybe Tristian and Rath weren’t paying attention to the crowd last night, but I sure as fuck was. I could see every single guy who had their phone out, and I was taking notes.

It’s also apparently not enough that all my interrogations were what led me to finding her in the first place. It doesn’t matter that I saved her. Everyone thinks I’m the bad guy.

And the worst part is, I’m pretty sure they’re right.

The guys both go up to see Story in shifts. I’m not there when they tell her to choose, but I know it’s been done by the nod I’m given after one of Tristian’s visits. He goes out to buy food, then carries it upstairs to her. He’s gone for a long while, probably eating it with her.

The only time I see her is later that night, when she comes downstairs and warily enters the den. Her cheek has the kind of bruise that’s more red than blue—sure to heal quickly. She’s wearing a pair of loose pajamas that I didn’t even think she owned. We’d culled all of her ugly, ratty clothing when we settled her in, replaced it with sexier, more expensive things.

She doesn’t even spare me a glance, shoulders tensing up when my head turns her way. “Dimitri?” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Can I sleep in your room again?”

He closes his textbook and stands, not looking surprised by the request. “Sure. You ready now?”

She nods and I don’t miss how she doesn’t flinch when he touches her, reaching out to place a hand on the small of her back, guiding her. If anything, she leans into it.

I give Tristian a look, but he’s not giving anything away. She’s sleeping in their fucking rooms now? I don’t even get the chance to sneak my key into that lock and get a good look at her. Her bedroom stays empty the whole night.

It’s almost a relief to go to classes the next day.

At school, I’m still Killer Payne, star quarterback, LDZ royalty, North Side elite. It gets harder to sink into the roles, though. Story hating me is something I’ve grown used to, but Rath and Tristian are pissed at me, too. Nothing feels right or settled. I spend the whole day trying to fit into my own goddamn skin. We have to get revenge on the other frats, but not until we resolve this. Not until she’s safe.

God, that’s rich.

When we all meet back at the house, things are just as tense as they were yesterday.

They get a lot tenser when Story enters the den that evening. She meets Tristian and Rath’s gazes, giving them a nod. “I’ve decided.”

I put my phone away, already prepared to leave. I almost don’t want to know which one of them it is, but I can tell from the vibe between them that it’ll be Rath. If I were a little less greedy and jealous, I might even find it in myself to be glad. He’ll treat her right.

“You can’t get mad, though,” she adds, ducking her head to shield her face.

I know she’s talking about me. From the looks the other two give me, they know it, too.

“No one will be mad,” Tristian insists. “It’s not a big deal.”

Liar.

Story nods, wringing her hands together. Despite Tristian’s assurance, she doesn’t look any less tense as she looks up, giving us a name.

“Killian,” she says, her voice filled with what has to be false resolve. “I choose Killian.”