“Then I suppose I don’t have a choice.” I gripped the arms of the chair before I stood, itching to get back to her. “Next week, same time, yeah?”
Butala studied me. “Yes, Oliver. Next week.”
He wasn’t stupid. He knew I wasn’t taking the bloody medication. I only needed him not to push the topic until I breathed the air on the other side of the wall.
I stopped at the loo for a leak before I met Mia in the common room. Classes haven’t started back up yet, and to keep the restless from throwing themselves into trouble, movies played on repeat.
Moaning sounded a few stalls away, and I rolled my head back at the distastefulness of fucking next to a bloody toilet.
“Fuck, yes … ” a whiney voice hissed, and I slammed my eyes shut, focusing on the job at hand—quite literally.
“Ollie,” the girl sang, and my eyes sprang open.
“What the fuck did you just call me?” a bloke asked.
I shook off my knob and zipped my pants, unsure of what to do with myself.
“Oh, just go with it,” she breathed.
The sound of flesh slapping together bounced off the stalls. Over and over. The girl cried my name. The bloke grunted, and I stood frozen.
“Ollie,” she whispers with tears in her eyes. “It’s alright.”
“No,” I seethe through gritted teeth, shaking my head. It isn’t right. What he wants me to do isn’t right. I look up at Oscar, who stands beside me.
“You will, brother. I got her just for you. She’ll comply.” Oscar’s palm hit my nauseated stomach with a condom inside. “Should fit your fourteen-year-old knob, yeah? Get him going, darlin’. It’s time for Lil’ O to enter manhood.”
I freeze, eyes set out in front of me but looking at absolutely nothing as the older girl unzips my pants and Oscar has a tight grip at the back of my neck.
She can’t be much older. Oscar likes them young, and apparently, she was picked and primed for me. Platinum blonde hair. Ice blue eyes. Fake nails. Fake lashes.
If I had to guess, I’d say she’s seventeen or eighteen.
Any boy my age would jump at the idea of losing his virginity to an older girl with a beautiful face and pristine body. Not me. “But I’m saving myself.”
Oscar throws his head back, a menacing laugh escaping. “What for?”
I shrug, unsure exactly. I’d never been the one to have to prove something to anyone. I’d never had to prove myself to Oscar, and I’d read enough books to know that the action about to take place shouldn’t be done lightly, especially with an audience. “When the time is right, I suppose.”
Oscar sends a nod of approval to the girl who he calls, “Lacey,” and Lacey pulls down my pants and boxers.
“He’s blessed,” she declares.
“Runs in the family,” Oscar mutters and slaps her arse. “Get on with it.”
Oscar plops down over a chair against the wall behind me, rubbing over his knob as the girl rubs over me. It is wrong, and I want to hate myself for how my body reacts to her.
A few minutes pass and Oscar’s frustrated breathing mixes with the sound of the girl blowing me. Yeah, I’m hard, but can’t reach the fucking point. She snatches the condom and rolls it over my aching dick. I look back over to Oscar in a desperate plea as he clutches his junk in his hand. “Fuck her, you coward. No one’s leaving this room until you become one of us.”
I know how to fuck. I’ve watched my mom bang blokes, and Oscar beat into fanny so many times before. I just don’t want to. Not like this. Not here. Not now. Not with her.
Lacey turns her back to me and bends over. Her fanny splits open, offering whatever I want. I could leave, get my arse beat and be back here again tomorrow.
Or I could take it.
One last look at Oscar, the dirty fucking scumbag only pumps his hand over his knob harder. “Fuck her, brother,” he barks. “Now!”
“Is this what you want?” I ask Lacey, her face pressed into the mattress and arse ready to take a beating. She nods, and rage blows through me like a tornado. Oscar wants to create someone just like him. I spat on my hand and grabbed a handful of her fanny and my dick responds. “You sure?”
“Yes, Ollie … ” she cries out, and it doesn’t take long before I turn into the monster sitting behind me.
“Yes, Ollie … ” My name pulled me from my memory. I had to get out of there.
The swinging door slammed against the wall as I pushed through. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I should’ve asked the girl why the hell it was my name she was screaming, but all I wanted was to get out of there as quickly as possible in search of oxygen—in search of Mia.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Perhaps the most
dangerous man,
is a man in love.”
—Oliver Masters
mia.
ETHAN DIALED UP the volume on the TV to drown out the chatter in the room before he fell back into the desk chair beside me. My legs kicked up on the wobbly desk, and I shoved my hand inside a bag of Lays. The fluorescent bulbs were out. The only light was the sliver streaming through the blinds and Die Hard playing at the front of the room on a rolling cart.
“Christmas movie or not a Christmas movie?” Ethan asked, snatching the bag of chips from my hands.
“Hey!” I screeched, but his fingers had already pulled out a chip, and I proceeded to suck off the tips of mine. “Christmas movie … definitely.”
“Agreed.” He nodded.
The phone on the wall rang, and Ethan bounced back to his feet and tossed the bag in my lap. My eyes followed him over to the phone beside the door. Ethan was back in his black uniform, belt snug around his hips and red hair fixed wildly over his head. Moments after answering, his gaze shot over to me before turning to face the wall, nodding in agreement to whoever was on the other end of the line.
Ethan hung up, walked behind the TV, and leaned over the desk to whisper to me, “That was Lynch’s assistant. There’s a call for you downstairs.”
“I don’t know who it could be.”
“Maybe your dad wishing you a Merry Christmas?”
A laugh came out in the form of a rush of air. “He’s a few weeks too late.”
“So, you’re not going?”
I shook my head, pulling my thumb between my lips.
“Something could be wrong, Jett. He rarely calls. Maybe it’s important … ”
My hand fell from my mouth, and Ethan pressed me with that just-talk-to-him look. I groaned and slapped my palms against the wooden desk as I rose to my feet. “Fine. Are you coming with me?”
“Can’t,” he jabbed a thumb behind him, indicating his duty to Dolor.
“Ollie will be mad,” I sang.
Ethan dropped his head to the side and raised a brow. “Masters will survive.”
I trudged down the lifeless halls. The sound of my combat boots against the marble mirrored the creepiness, and though I was fully clothed in my black jeans and Ollie’s black “poetic” hoodie, the building put off enough resentment to turn this hell cold.
My pace quickened, and before I made it to the stairwell, a force grabbed my hood from behind, choking me and thrashing me backward. My nails dug into the skin of whoever had grabbed me, but they didn’t stop yanking until I was thrown into a dark closet.