Abel's head whips towards me, but he doesn't answer right away. When he does, his voice is contemplative. "Why? You wanna piece?"
I take a sip from my beer and set it back on the table. "Maybe."
"You did say it was personal now," he says.
That I did, but that'd been before the phone call. Whatever was about to go down tonight, whatever those motherfuckers are planning to demand from us—one thing we need to know for sure is that our rule here is solid. Regardless of whether or not I want her, I won’t put that or Abel and Brax at risk. It’s my one rule.
I wait a beat and then another, watching as she tips her chin up at me in challenge. I wonder if she thinks that makes her any less attractive. I don’t move to give her any sort of response, and she merely turns her head away and disappears around the side of the house. Finally, I give my answer.
"Take her off lockdown," I say. "I wanna see what she does. We've brought her here to intimidate her, but as you can see—that's not fucking happening."
"You sure you trust her off lockdown?" Abel asks, curious.
I shake my head. I don't trust this chick a single fucking inch. "Have Elijah or Raz watch her. I want eyes on her 24/7."
Abel eyes me for a moment more before nodding. “Got it.”
"It's eleven," Brax suddenly announces. I lift my head and tilt it back, releasing a slow breath. "We've gotta go soon."
I hate that he's right. I hate not knowing what we're walking into tonight. The party will rage on here and if we're not back in a few hours, I know the team will start tossing people out. It's not like we crash here anyway. We've all got clothes and rooms at Abel's house, but this isn't home. It's a party palace. This is where we flex our fucking power over Eastpoint. It’s where we reward our most loyal followers—letting them think they’re close to us. And it's where we bring pretty little nobodies from Nowheresville and show them the truth. We show them that we hold the keys to the kingdom and if they’re good little girls, then maybe … just fucking maybe … we’ll let them look inside. But only if they fall in line—only if she caves to my authority.
Frankly, I just don’t see it happening. Not yet, anyway. The issue with Avalon is that she really doesn't seem to give a shit. And damn if that doesn't irritate me and make me want to fuck her ass into a wall at the same time.
"Dean." Abel's tone makes my body stiffen. Rarely does he get that tone. Serious is not something he indulges in on the regular. "K.C. at twelve o'clock."
I don't immediately look, instead letting my eyes wander across the crowd below us until I find what he's talking about. Icy rage froths in my veins, and unlike with Avalon Manning, I feel my true devil rising to the surface. For this bitch, I have no problem letting my inner ruthlessness out to play.
"Well, boys," I say slowly. "It looks like a traitorous bird has made her way into the lion's den." I glance their way, noting their equal expressions of both coldness and brutality. "Let's play with it a bit before we kill it."
13
Avalon
I don't stay because they told me to. I stay because I'm still hungry as fuck and haven't gotten the chance to eat since the pricks ripped me away from my only opportunity at dinner. So, after they leave, I raid their kitchen. It’s the least they can do for being assholes, and it’s not like they can’t afford it.
Now that the guys are out of the way, the kitchen is soon refilled with people. A lot of the girls from before come back, led by the blonde chick that'd practically ridden Abel's lap in front of everyone. They stand against the island, fancy drinks in hand and chat away, effectively ignoring me. Guess that means I'm still on lockdown.
I find some deli meat and the fixings for a nice BLT in the refrigerator and I go about making myself a sandwich. There's a shit ton of food in the fridge and cabinets, but this is a party, and people seem a little more preoccupied with the booze than the food. Whatever. More for me.
I shove the sandwich in my mouth and devour the thing, arching my brow as the blonde talking with her friends pauses and scoffs in disgust. One of her friends picks up the bottle of tequila Brax left behind and starts pouring shots. The blonde continues to shoot me hostile looks. Not my problem though, because the second I'm done eating, I'm out of here.
The sandwich disappears and I pat my stomach appreciatively before snatching the latest shot one of the girls pours. "Hey!" I suck it back without looking at her—no salt, no lime. I don't care.
"Thanks," I say with a grin, slapping the glass back onto the counter as I head for the back door.
"You can't do that," someone says behind me.
With my hand on the door handle, I look back, focusing on the speaker. Of course, it's the blonde. She steps forward and eyes me. "Yeah?" I reply. "Who's going to stop me? You?" I turn to face her and cross my arms over my chest. "You're welcome to try."
"You're on lockdown," she says as if that means anything to me. Here’s a hint—it doesn’t. But I know it does to her and the rest of her cronies. So, I uncross my arms and give her my full undivided attention.
My lips part and I slip my tongue between my teeth, swishing it back and forth as I stare at her hard. "And?" I challenge.
A flush rises to her cheeks, anger heating them until even under the dim lighting, they look pink. "That means you're nothing," she spits back. "You're gravel beneath our feet. You don't belong here. They're going to punish you. They’ll make you wish you never set foot on our campus.”
I take a few steps forward and push down a grin as I watch one of the girls behind her take a wary step back. Smart girl, I think. Unlike her friends. I stop a few feet away and lean forward. Her gaze meets mine and lets her see just how fucking apathetic I feel. Whether there’s a dead look in my eyes or not, I know there’s one thing that she doesn’t have—complete and utter disdain. The kind that should make a person very cautious. Because the true form of darkness is indifference.
"Do I look punished to you?" I ask. "Or better yet, do I really look like I give a shit?" When she doesn't respond, I take a single step closer until our breasts brush against each other. She inhales sharply. "See, the thing is," I say, keeping my voice low and even, “you have to follow all of their little orders. You choose to do whatever they tell you. Know what that makes you?" Sheep. Little lost sheep. Lambs to the fucking slaughter. She narrows her eyes on me, waiting on me to say the words, but I don't. Instead, I wait to see her response. And it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.
"Whatever," she finally snaps, turning away. "It's only a matter of time before you're out. The Sick Boys own Eastpoint and if you don't line up and do what they say, sooner or later you'll be sent back to whatever whorehouse you crawled out of."
There was that ridiculous name again. They hadn’t yet done anything to show me just how sick they were. I was starting to think it was just a moniker and nothing more. That there was no substance to these preppy rich boys with an attitude and control issues.