“Dude,” I hear, just before I’m punched in the arm, “get the fuck up.”
I rouse, blinking at the bright light coming in the living room window. My head feels like someone cracked it open with a sledgehammer, scooped it out with a melon baller, and then filled it with nothing but gauze. “Jesus Christ,” I mumble, rolling over to the sight of Rath standing above me. “What time is it?”
“Past time to get up,” he says, eyebrows all knitted up. “The fuck happened to you?”
I scrub my face and sit up. It takes me two attempts, temples throbbing. “Hell if I know. One minute I was partying like usual, and the next,” I squint up at him, grimacing, “you’re standing over me and I feel like I licked sandpaper.”
Rath scratches at his bare chest. “What, you blacked out?”
“Maybe,” I hedge, but I already know something is up. I don’t get blackout drunk. Sure, I drink and use the occasional recreational drug, but my body is a temple. Too much of that shit will screw me up. Also? I don’t lose control. Ever. “Where’s Killer? Story?”
He ruffles the back of his hair, face scrunching up. “I don’t know. Just got down here.”
Rath doesn’t look much better than I feel, but that’s no surprise. He’s not like me. Rath is just fine with getting blackout drunk, and that’s pretty much what Killer and I expected him to do last night. The only signal he was still alive at all had been the bass-pound of his rage-filled music blaring all night.
Ms. Crane walks in and pauses, scowling at the room. “The three of you are going to turn my crusty ass into a goddamn murderer.”
“You know we’ll give you a hand.” Rath rubs his temple. “And you already are a murderer.”
She has a point, though. The living room is completely wrecked and I doubt the other rooms look much better. This isn’t necessarily unusual; I just don’t fucking remember much past playing DJ and talking to some of the guys. I remember Story handing me a drink and going to look for Rath, but that’s about it.
Ms. Crane just shakes her head. “Breakfast is ready, you unstable ballsacks.”
“Is Killian already in the dining room?” I ask, leaning forward to get my bearings. The room is a little wobbly, but eventually rights itself.
She sniffs over a mess on the table. “If he were, I’d put my foot up his ass. Weren’t none of you looking over those trust fund rodents last night. About had my fucking fill of it.”
Rath and I exchange a look. Not only is someone always around to watch over the party, but Killian is always the first one down. I figured with his new pregame ritual, Story would be shacking up with him last night, but god only knows what that looks like. I struggle to my feet. The floor sways beneath me and I grab onto the chair.
“Hey,” Rath rasps, reaching for me. I wave him off. “You okay?”
I swallow, my tongue feeling swollen and too dry. “No, I’m not fucking okay.”
Rath must be finally putting some pieces together here because his eyes blink wide before narrowing to a squint. “Since when do you drink enough to wake up like this?”
I don’t need to answer. The look we share says it all.
Some shit went down here last night.
It’s a testimony of how concerned I am that I manage to keep up with Rath as he jogs up the stairs. The difficult thing about having so many hustles is that I don’t even know what to worry about on any given day. When we reach Killer’s door, I don’t even let myself think up possible scenarios—too many possibilities.
When I push it open, I sort of wish I had. It might have prepared me for the sight of my friend, sprawled out naked and bound to his bed.
“Holy shit,” Rath blurts, eyes widening. “Holy fucking shit.”
The only thing that makes the hot surge of fury in my chest abate is the fact that he’s breathing. Obviously, he’s passed out just like I had been. Fuck, maybe even like Rath had been.
“Story,” I say, shoving past Rath into the hall. Her door is closed just like his was, and I pause for a moment before turning the knob, not sure I’m ready to see what’s on the other side. A million visions pass through my mind, each worse than the other. Story, tied up like Killian is, naked but also violated. Someone else’s come dripping down her thighs. Her pussy all torn up, tear tracks dried on her cheeks. The longer I wait, the worse it gets, so I don’t need Rath’s shove to spur me into motion. I push the door open, lungs aching with the possibilities.
What we find is enough to make me black out again.
Story’s curled up in the middle of her bed, wearing Killian’s jersey, sound asleep. Breathing. Whole. I want nothing more than to climb in behind her and clutch her to me, bury my nose into her hair and fall back asleep, knowing everything is fine.
Only it isn’t.
Sighing, I push past Rath again, back across the hall. It’s a jarring sight, the blood red crown painted into the middle of my friend’s chest. The first thing I do is begin untying his wrists, my fingers yanking too hard at the cords. It isn’t until I go to round the bed for the second wrist that I realize Rath is getting his ankles. We share a brief look, Rath muttering, “…fucked up shit, Jesus Christ,” and Killian doesn’t stir for any of it.
“Hey man, wake up,” I say, shaking his shoulder. He moans but doesn’t open his eyes. “Killer!” I give him a harder shake, relieved when his eyelids raise and lower in a long blink. I know when he pulls a face, lips smacking, exactly what he’s feeling right now. The sandpaper tongue. The head full of gauze.
Killian grumbles, “…the hell?” and starts looking a little more coherent, glassy eyes opening in fits and starts. “What’s going on?” I know when he realizes he’s naked—that something is wrong—because he goes rigid. He looks like he instantly regrets it.
“Easy,” I tell him when he starts sitting up. There’s a bottle of water on his nightstand, so I uncap it and hand it over, watching as he clumsily raises it to his lips. He downs the whole thing in four hard gulps.
“You good?” Rath asks, pacing nervously around the foot of the bed.
Killian’s nod is heavy. “What happened?”
I ask him, “You don’t remember?” and he shakes his head.
“Last thing I remember is drinking a beer in the den. Coming up the stairs.” When he reaches for his chest, I grab his wrist, stopping him from smearing the paint. Killian reaches for his junk instead, giving his balls a slow, curious scratch. “Fuck, my balls ache.” He pauses to blink down at his dick, forehead screwing up in confusion. “Did I get some pussy last night?”
“You know what this is,” I say, shooting Rath a glare. I don’t bother hiding the contempt from my voice, and Rath doesn’t bother pretending he doesn’t hear it.
“Yeah,” he says, dark eyes taking in the scene, “I sure fucking do.”
I spell it out, anyway. “You fucked with the Princes, and this is retaliation.” Frustrated, I rake my fingers through my hair. “They had us drugged, in our own house.” I should have seen that coming. If the Princes are working with the Counts, and possibly even the Barons still, then we’re fucked. Prince tactics are one thing, but…
Oh, shit.
I stare wide-eyed at Rath. “Prince tactics.”
The Princes were here last night. Killian’s obviously got some bitch’s pussy juices dried on his dick. Story is next door, passed out. Alone.
I can see when it clicks for him, his jaw going slack at the implication, but I’m already rushing back across the hall.
Story’s in the same position she was in before, which makes it easy. I press a knee into the bed at her side, rucking that jersey up to see what’s underneath. The white cotton panties provide a little relief, but not enough. I hook my fingers into the elastic and begin shimmying them down her thighs.
Rath’s right on my heels, so when Story starts squirming, slowly rousing, he carefully wedges himself in behind her. Pulling her upper body into his lap. “Shh,” he says, grabbing her wrists when she tries to groggily push me away. “Relax, baby.”
I get the panties down her ankles, hearing Killian shuffling in behind us. Wedging a hand between her warm thighs, I gently pry them apart, trying to make her open up for me.
“Whuh?” she asks, eyes blinking open. She clamps her knees together, eyes flashing in alarm. “What are you doing?”
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Rath commands, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Tristian just needs to check you over for a second. Nothing to worry about.”
“Check me over…?” Her eyes ping between me and Killian, then behind her shoulder to Rath. Her heels slide against the bed as she backs into his embrace. “Why?”
Glancing behind me, I see Killian running a wet cloth over his junk. We exchange a dark look. “Don’t be difficult,” is my answer, grabbing her knees and giving them a little tug. “It’ll just be a second.” It’s the truth. None of us are in a fit state to fuck her right now. Maybe she senses that, because with a bob of her throat, she reluctantly lets her knees part, exposing her pussy to me and Killer. “That’s our good girl,” I say, giving her thighs a soothing stroke before pushing them apart, wide and obscene.
My dick instantly begins filling at the sight of her, all pink and pretty and ours—only I have to be sure. I touch her sweet little lips, fingertips spreading them open to reveal her hole. I can’t see anything—no blood or spunk or swelling. Keeping her open with the fingers from one hand, I use my index finger from the other to check. She clenches when I sink it inside her, feeling around for anything sticky and wet. My shoulders collapse in relief when I realize it’s not there. I shake my head, looking at Rath, and then Killian. “Nothing.”
Killian jerks his chin, eyes fixed to where my finger is disappearing inside her. “Check her ass,” he mutters, voice low.
Story tenses, yelping, “What?” but I’m already sliding my finger from her pussy, wetting it in my mouth, and then prodding into that tight ring of muscle.
“Just for a second,” Rath says when she bucks, wrestling her closer. “Come on, relax.”
She doesn’t, but I still manage to force my finger past the resistance, effectively stilling her. Her wide, pretty eyes gape back at me in shock. It isn’t until her breath hitches that I realize what that shock is actually about.
Arching an eyebrow, I can’t help but give my finger a testing thrust, sliding it back a little just to sink it back inside.
From my periphery, I can see her toes curl. She breathes out a stunned little, “Oh,” and when my knuckle brushes against her pussy, I’m the one thinking, ‘oh’, because it looks like our Lady is learning something new about herself this morning.
She fucking likes it, the little freak.
Suddenly I’m rethinking my position on being fit to fuck her.
But before I can play around some more, Killian is saying, “Tris.”
Right.
I pull back, clearing my throat. “She’s fine. They haven’t had her.”
Rath lets go of her arms, but starts shucking up the jersey, baring her tits to us. They’re flawless, the pale skin unmarred by bruises or sticky residue. Whatever happened occurred before Killer could get his pregame load off, that much is certain.
I climb off of the bed, trying to ignore the sight of her, all spread out and bare for us. “What do you remember about last night?”
She snaps her knees closed, shoulders shuffling against Rath as she lowers the jersey to cover herself. “I-I don’t know. I came up here to get ready for…” Her gaze flicks to Killian, and then down at his exposed junk. She swallows, glancing away. “I came to get ready, and I…I don’t know what happened. I only had one drink.” She clutches at her head, wincing.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Rath says, hand steady on her back as she sits up. “Why would they drug all of us and do that to Killian? What’s the endgame?”
“They did it because it’s the only way those pricks could get one over on me.” He rubs at the red marks on his wrists, scowling. “They had to drug me and tie me down. And they had to drug the three of you to make sure you didn’t stop them.” His face darkens, eyes drinking Story in. “This was about me. About fucking with me before the game. Messing with my process and rituals and—” His expression changes, chin snapping up to meet my gaze. “My superstitions.”
He bolts from the room.
I watch him go, wondering what that’s supposed to mean, and for a long moment there’s nothing. I could hear a fucking pin drop with the sudden hush of silence that falls over the house.
And then from across the hall comes a pained, furious roar. “Motherfucker!” His shout is followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, followed by a cacophony of destruction. Shattering, pounding, crashing.
By the time I cross the hall to see what the hell is going on, the room has already been transformed from his usual tidy space to utter chaos. The dresser drawers have been pulled out and tossed on the floor. Piles of clothing are strewn everywhere. His closet is flung open, and he’s on his knees, rummaging through a box on the floor. “They took my shit,” he’s barking, face all hard and red. “My socks. My baseball card. The guitar string, the gum, the—” he pauses, jaw going tight.
Lurching up, he rushes to his desk, opening the laptop. I snap my fingers encouragingly, knowing what he’s looking for. “Good idea.” Footage of what took place in the room.
“Anything?” Rath asks, coming in behind us, Story shifting from foot to foot over his shoulder.
Killian clicks around, eyes narrowed, but I know when his shoulders sag that it’s hopeless. “The cameras were turned off.” A few more clicks and his teeth are clenching. “Worse, fucking everything is wiped. Goddamn it!”
Rath and I see it coming a mile away, but Story visibly flinches when the laptop crashes against the wall, clunking onto the floor in an injured heap.
There’s a long stretch of tense silence.
I’m the one to break it. “So they knew about the cameras.” That’s huge. If they control the footage, then they’ve infiltrated the entire house. They had intel.
Killian stalks over to the shelf and picks up the helmet that’s been there since the day we moved in. Beneath it is a camera—small, black, unobtrusive. He yanks it off the shelf and throws it with the laptop. “Son of a bitch.”
“Oh, my god.” Story’s staring between the three of us, her cheeks flushed a vivid pink. “There was a camera, that whole time? Does that mean they have videos of us…you know?”
I throw my arm around her shoulder and pull her tight, pressing a kiss to her head. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll find who did this before anything gets out.” I look over to watch Killian pulling on his clothes, his motions jerky and mechanical. “We can have Pretty Nick monitor security. Right, Killer?”
“Sure,” he snaps, stomping his feet into a pair of jeans. “I’ll just pull South Side’s biggest up-and-comer out of whatever project he’s doing and ask him to keep an eye out for our sex tape leak. I’m sure my dad will fucking love that.” Snatching his keys and wallet from the floor, he shoves them into his pocket. “Or maybe have him patrol campus. I doubt anyone’s going to be suspicious of the six-five South Sider with face tattoos. He’ll go right under the radar!”
I roll my eyes, rubbing Story’s back soothingly. “You don’t need to be a smart ass about it.”
“I restrained myself the other night,” Rath is saying, standing tensely by the doorway. I already don’t like the look in his eyes—that spark of grim determination. “Next time, I’m not stopping at a little blood. Nothing is off limits.”
His threat rings in my ear and fear pounds in my chest. I fumble for my phone in my back pocket, checking it for the first time since waking up. I immediately go to my ChattySnap account where I see a slew of notifications—not unusual for the pregame party. I click on the direct messages, fearing another threat, but there’s nothing new.
Whoever sent that first one had me running around for two days, keeping the twins in sight while my father was on a business trip to New York. Nothing happened other than carpool and dance practice and the twins constantly begging me for ice cream, but the initial message was enough to set me on edge. Someone is out there, trying to fuck with me. And how many of them can there be?
The answer isn’t good.
“I need to make a call,” I say, stepping away.
“Now?” Killian says, flinging a hand at the scene of the crime.
“I need to check on my sisters.” My thumbs are already on the screen.
“If there’s something you need to tell us, now’s the time,” Killian says, jaw tight. “Like why you disappeared for two days, and took your gun with you?”
I pause, holding his gaze. I know I should tell them about the message, but the last thing either of them needs on their plate is my family drama.
“Look,” I say, willing him to understand. “Whoever is fucking with us? They already destroyed Rath’s music career, and they obviously want to fuck with your football performance. Everyone knows the most important things in my life are the twins. If someone wants to get to me, that’s how they’re going to do it.”
Story goes to follow me out of the room, asserting, “I’m sure everything’s going to be fine, big brother. No one’s going to hurt those girls. They wouldn’t dare, right?”
Rath passes us in the hall, muttering, “I’m going to go double check the rest of the house. See if Ms. Crane noticed anything.”
As the phone rings, I glance back in Killian’s room. He’s standing there motionless, gaze fixed to the destruction, a confused expression frozen on his face. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when Izzy answers, shifting my attention. My sister gives a boisterous greeting, immediately jumping into a story about what happened at the school play the night before. Relief washes through me at the easy joy in her voice. Smiling down at Story, I point to the phone, mouthing, “She’s okay.”
“See?” she whispers, nudging me. “I told you everything would be fine.”
I look at Killian once again and the confusion on his face has shifted into something deadiler. Cold, calculated rage. Story’s wrong. Everything is not okay. Someone violated our home. Someone fucked with Rath and Killian, and someone is threatening my sisters. Whoever did this didn’t just get revenge, they’ve signed their death warrant.
After cataloguing the house, it seems that Killian was right. It’s looking more and more like he was the primary target. Last night, at least. It’s obvious the Lords are under attack and we have no choice but to handle it. Princes, Counts, Barons…
It’s getting to the point where it doesn’t matter who’s behind it. I can tell as we eat a quick, cold breakfast that all of us are strained, the dark glances we share making it obvious that each of us is itching for retaliation. It can’t be like the last two times, the three of us divided and pecking away at it on our own. A silent agreement passes over us.
Whatever happens next, we have to do it together.
Killian and I are the first to get into the truck, Rath and Story lagging behind. We’re all late enough for our first classes that we aren’t bothering to rush now. Killer’s been silent ever since that scene in his room, face unreadable.
I watch him stare out the windshield, eerily still. “What’s up? You worried about them having all those videos?” Truthfully, I sort of am. The older they get, the more I realize how difficult it’s going to be to hide who I really am from my sisters. Videos of me nailing Story aren’t exactly going to help matters.
His gaze slides to me slowly, as if he’s busy thinking. “I’m not worried about that.” At my questioning look, his gaze goes back toward the door, where Story and Rath are just now bounding down the steps. She’s got Rath loaded down with a box of carnival prep materials and he doesn’t look happy about it. Roughly, Killian says, “But we need to figure out what we’re going to do.”
“About the Princes?” I ask.
He shakes his head, eyes following Story as she approaches the truck. His voice is quiet but sharp—just as lethal as his eyes. “About the fact our Lady has been playing us.”
