I sit in the control room of the mansion, nursing a bottle of alcohol and staring at the security footage of the initiation that changed everything.
Or, more accurately, I watch the sequence of when Cecily ran off the property on repeat. She probably thought she was out of the cameras’ range, because she removed her wig and mask as she sprinted away.
The scene is oddly reminiscent of earlier, when she finally managed to slip through my fingers.
Like sand.
This was probably how it was supposed to be long before she barged into my space.
The first time I actually ‘met’ Cecily was at the fight club when Annika decided it was a good idea to sneak in with her new friends. That was exactly one night before the initiation.
I throw my head back as images from that first meeting flow to consciousness.
Nikolai is bored.
It’s downright unsettling whenever he’s bored. He spirals into a vicious cycle of self-sabotage, over-the-top violence, and destructive paths.
For that reason, it’s imperative to keep him on a leash, which is why I’m at the fight club.
Noise and excited energy hover in the packed building. Crowds mingle, chatter, and place bets on who will come out as the winner tonight.
I pay no attention to the whole scene. It’d be ideal if I could grab Nikolai by the back of the neck and leave, but something tells me my unhinged friend would be opposed to the idea.
Killian walks beside me, his nonchalant mood matching mine. We don’t have to push through the people since most of them automatically scatter upon seeing us. A reputation like ours precedes us whenever we go.
He comes to a slow halt, and a rare gleam sneaks into his otherwise grim eyes as he stares ahead. If I didn’t know Kill lacked emotions, I’d say he appears spellbound.
He nods at me and then ahead. I follow his line of vision and find a group of girls. I narrow my eyes upon seeing a very familiar person in her signature purple dress. Annika.
Who is definitely not supposed to be here.
I side-eye Kill, ready to have his balls on a platter if my sister is the subject of his attention. However, I find him snapping pictures of the one on the far right. Landon’s sister, Glyndon. I know her name because I did a background check on the Elites’ leader, also known as a slimy fuck.
In fact, I know everyone in that group of girls ever since Annika decided to move in with them.
The loud blonde is Ava Nash and the silver-haired one is Cecily Knight.
They all come from prestigious families in the UK and Dad agreed to let Annika live with them. I still don’t.
I stroll toward them silently, Killian in tow. Once we’re near them, I hear Annika saying, “You…you’re right. Jer can’t do anything to me.”
“Sure about that, Anoushka?” I whisper from behind and she goes still.
“Oh, hi, Jer.” She speaks in a high-pitched awkward tone. “I didn’t really mean to come here. I was just taking a tour with my new friends.”
My attention doesn’t waver from her, and I raise a brow. “Taking a tour in a place you’re not supposed to be?”
“I was just—”
“Leaving. Now.”
“Hey.” The silver-haired one steps in front of my sister with a raised chin.
Not only does she look me in the eye, but she also glares down her nose at me, completely disregarding the height difference or the fact that I could squash her petite body in a fraction of a second if I chose to.
But the insolence doesn’t stop there, because she says, “She can decide whether to leave or stay on her own because oh, I think we’re at an age where women don’t get told what to do.”
The audacity of this little fucking minx.
Though my expression doesn’t change, I stare at her through a different lens.
Despite her bizarre silver hair, Cecily is a beautiful girl. High cheekbones, petite nose and lips, almond-shaped green eyes, pale skin that would look exquisite with marks, and a body that’s begging to be fucked.
If I’d run into her under different circumstances, I would have fucked her while grabbing onto that white hair and trailing my knife over her flesh. I would’ve bloodied her the fuck up while she writhed and screamed.
The keyword being if.
However, she’s too uptight and would probably run at the first sight of my brand of fuckery and disturbed sexual tastes.
Annika pales, realizing her friend is in immediate danger of falling victim to my wrath, and pushes her away. “It’s okay. I’ll go back.”
Cecily finally slides her attention away from me to focus on my sister. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I want to, really. It’s not worth it.”
“Walk in front of me, Anoushka.” We’re done here.
For more reasons than one.
If this Cecily takes my leniency as approval and keeps provoking me, she’ll get my attention, and no one wants that.
Annika bows her head and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”
Then she falls in step beside me. Killian stays behind, seeming too interested in Glyndon to have actually paid attention to the whole ordeal.
I’m only starting to cool down when Cecily catches up to us and interlinks her arm with Annika’s. I cast her a fleeting glance that she returns with a glare.
This fucking…
“I’m going back with you, Anni,” she tells my sister.
“You don’t have to. I’m fine to be on my own.” Her voice lowers. “I’m used to this.”
“Well, I’m not. This is highly oppressive behavior.” She stares at me. Again.
“I’ll ask for your opinion when I find any fucks to give,” I tell her point-blank.
She’s about to speak, but Annika slaps a hand over her mouth, putting whatever retort she had to an abrupt end.
I usher my sister into the car, and Cecily follows her into the back seat. She glares at me through the rearview mirror during the entire car ride, even as Annika tries to change the subject and drive away the tension.
Me?
I want to see how those glittery green eyes would look when she’s being pounded into within an inch of her life.
The hassle isn’t worth it, though.
I slide my finger up and down the steering wheel, summoning patience I don’t usually need in situations like these.
When we reach the dorm, Annika jumps out of the car and Cecily follows.
I roll down the window and say, “No more roaming around in dangerous places, Anoushka.”
“Okay!” she says and practically runs inside.
Cecily, however, faces me and crosses her arms, causing her breasts to perk and strain against the fabric of her T-shirt.
“I suggest you tone down the patriarchal tone. Doesn’t look good in this day and age.”
“I suggest you mind your own business. Busybody is a horrible description to have.”
She narrows her eyes. “You—”
“Don’t.”
She swallows, and the translucent skin of her throat works up and down with the motion. “You didn’t even hear what I have to say.”
“No need to. If you keep talking, I’ll take it personally, and believe me, you don’t want that.”
Her body stiffens, and I’m not sure if it’s because of my nonnegotiable tone or the look she must see written all over my face, but she doesn’t push it.
What she does do, however, is throw me a condescending glare, then slip into the dorm.
My lips curve because I’m so tempted to drag her into my lair.
Kicking.
Screaming.
And everything in between.
