DEVOTION
SOPHOMORE YEAR AT BARRINGTON UNIVERSITY
I’M STRADDLING MY motorcycle, my earbuds blaring “Sick” by Adelitas Way when the song pauses, alerting me of an incoming message. Unzipping the pocket of my leather jacket, I remove my cell and read the text.
UNKNOWN: You have thirty minutes.
I put it away and pull my leather gloves on, followed by my helmet, fastening the buckle under my chin. Starting up my blacked-out R1, I feel the engine rev between my legs and kick it into gear. I tear out of the parking lot, squealing the back tire. Taking the back way, I lean into the curves, practically dragging my knee as I wind up the hill on the Pennsylvanian road.
As I ascend, my headlights shine on the two lanes. There is no shoulder here. It goes from road to tree line. One wrong move and I’d be in the hospital or dead. No one is on this road at this time of night, so if I were to crash and it didn’t kill me, who knows how long I’d lie there before I got help. Neither one sounds appealing tonight.
Approaching my destination, I slow down and take the last curve before stopping at the top of the hill. Placing both of my feet on either side of the blacktop to hold up the bike, I look over the house, now in full view.
Nothing but a glass four-story front. The lights are so bright that if I wasn’t wearing the darkened face shield on my helmet, my eyes would hurt.
I’ve been here before. A lot of times, actually, over my twenty years of existence. This will be my first time for business.
Cars line the cobblestone circle drive. He’s having a party. I’m not surprised. A man of his stature must keep up appearances for all intents and purposes. He’s a respected Lord. But he’s done something they don’t agree with.
Usually, I wouldn’t give a fuck what a man has done—Lord or not. An order is an order. But him? This house? Why? I’ve obviously missed something right in front of my face all these years. Maybe I’ve been too blinded with big tits and bleach-blond hair to pay much attention to anything else that lives inside the mansion.
Picking up my foot, I put the bike in gear once again and take off, making my way down the hill via the hidden road. None of his guests would use this way to access the house, so I’m able to remain unseen.
Coming to the bottom of the hill, I continue past the house before bringing my bike to a stop on the side of the road. I push it right into the tree line to hide it in the darkness. I remove my helmet, leather gloves, backpack off my shoulders, and jacket to have better mobility with my arms. I yank the earbuds out of my ears and shove them into my jeans pocket. Then I place my backpack on the seat and unzip it. I grab what I need and screw the suppressor onto the end of the barrel. I shove the gun into the back of my jeans, securing it for the time being. Then I remove the hoodie, pulling it over my head, along with the mask, before I place the backpack on my back, just in case, and make my way across the street toward the house.
My combat boots crush the leaves and branches under the soles once I hit the other side. The house lights up the woods in the middle of the night. As if any partygoer could miss the twenty-million-dollar mansion.
Making my way up to the house, I smile that the idiot doesn’t even have security at the front gate tonight. That’s how fucking cocky he is. Stupid motherfucker. He is not untouchable.
I stay low, crouching down behind the trimmed bushes lining the side of the property. Every now and then, I peek to watch the guests get out of their cars and limos to be escorted inside by men dressed in white tuxedos.
Not a single guy who resembles security is to be seen. He feels safe here. Making my way to the side of the house, I see the wooden lattice that I know she uses to get in and out of the house when she’s snuck out in the past. I start to climb it until I get to the second floor, where I jump the railing to the balcony. Wrapping my leather-covered hand around the knob, I turn it to find it unlocked.
Slipping into the bedroom, I look around and see it’s empty, like I knew it would be. She’s downstairs partying with the others. It’s been going on for hours. I’m sure she’s drunk and bored as shit by now.
The room is spotless. Not a single thing out of place. Her king-size four-post bed sits against the wall to the left. The white duvet covers it along with an obsessive number of pillows. The bench at the end has her favorite throw blanket that she prefers to wrap up in when watching a movie. I gave it to her for her birthday a few years ago.
Slowly walking through the room, I inhale the scent of vanilla. It makes me groan, thinking of grabbing her hair and burying my face in her neck. My fingers digging into her creamy thighs while my cock fucks her cunt.
I’m so fucking hard that it hurts. I dream about her when I’m asleep and awake. She’s consuming me to the point I’m suffocating.
Shaking my head, I adjust my dick and make my way to the door. I don’t have time for that right now. I leave the bedroom door open as I step out of the room and into a lit hallway. Large, expensive artwork hangs on the walls that he paid millions for from well-known artists.
Music filters up from the lower level as I wrap my gloved fingers around the wooden banister to see the people below.
Everyone is dressed to the nines, like they always are. But my eyes catch sight of a bleached blonde. Ellington Jade Asher. She stands over in the corner by a bar. Her back leans against it while she looks over the crowd with an expressionless look on her gorgeous face, and she’s holding a glass of champagne in her hand. I wonder how many she’s had.
My little demon. She’s always been the one. She doesn’t know it, but when the time is right, I’ll let her know.
Her mother walks up to her, and Elli gives her a fake smile.
Soon, Elli. Soon you’ll worship me like the devil worships his hell.
A man walks up the stairs, and I smile when I see who it is. Jackpot.
I push away from the banister and quickly make my way to the end of the hallway to the master suite. I hide behind the open door in the shadows and wait.
The sound of his feet approaching has my heart racing. I remove the gun from my jeans and slowly cock it, trying to make as little noise as possible.
He enters the room, and I watch him make his way past the Alaskan king bed and into the adjoining bathroom, all while he whistles. The light shines under the shut door, and I make my way over to it, softly turning the door handle and poking my head inside. I see him at the sink, opening a bottle of pills. Viagra.
Fuck, I hope someone shoots me when I have to take medication to get hard.
Popping the pill in his mouth, he throws back his glass of scotch, swallowing it. Not sure what the fuck he’s going to do with a hard dick while in the middle of a party, but it doesn’t matter.
When he turns to exit, I step inside the bathroom, raising my gun to aim at his head. He doesn’t even have time to register what’s about to happen when I pull the trigger.
The bullet hits him right between the eyes. Blood runs down his face and onto his shirt, and I watch his blue eyes turn black. A smile tugs at my lips while the life slowly drains out of him. I like the rush of killing. I know that’s what a serial killer would say. And although I do kill people, I do it because I’m ordered to. Not because I choose random people to torture. My assignments come from a higher-up. And you never say no. A Lord lives in a kill-or-be-killed world. And I don’t know about you, but I’d do anything to survive. Even if that means taking someone else’s life.
He drops to his knees before falling face-first onto the white marble floor.
I bend down next to his body and remove his cell phone from the pocket of his William Westmancott suit. Then I take the bolt cutters from my backpack and put his right pointer finger between the two blades before snapping it off. Dropping his hand, a fresh pool of blood flows from his now severed finger.
“I’m going to need this,” I say, opening up my backpack once again and pulling out the small lunch box. I place the finger inside, securing it with the ice pack, and then unzip my jacket pocket before placing the cell inside for safekeeping. He’s got a lock on it. Note to self: never use a body part to unlock your phone. It can easily be removed and used. Even an eye.
My head snaps up when I hear a sharp intake of breath. She sees the man lying facedown, and her red lips part to scream. The champagne flute in her hand falls to the floor, shattering at her heels. “Daddy—”
I’m slamming her up against the wall next to the open door before she can finish. My hand slaps over her mouth, and I pin her in place.
Big ice-blue eyes look up at the mask covering my face. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. I could stare at them every second of every day. They’ve never been so large; she’s terrified of what she sees. Me. I can feel her small body trembling against mine, and tears start to fill her eyes. They’re gorgeous.
She blinks, quickly looking at the man’s body and then back to me. I remove the gun from my waistband and press it into the side of her ribs with my free hand. She whimpers, her legs buckling. But I remove my hand from her mouth to move it around her neck, holding her up and restricting her air.
Her now smeared lips part, and I hold the gun in place. “This is our little secret,” I whisper, not giving my voice away. She knows me.
Nodding, she grips my forearm, and I hate the fact that I wore gloves because I’ve dreamed of my hands on her skin like this. Of course, my cock was fucking her cunt at the same time.
“I’d hate to have to kill you too.” I push the gun farther into her ribs with my words, hoping she’ll take me seriously. I’d never kill her, but I sure as fuck would make her regret being alive.
Tears spill over her bottom lashes and run down her cheeks while her lips start to turn blue. Her body fights me, but not as much as I’d expect. I tilt my head to the side when she pushes her hips forward into mine, and I know she can feel how hard I am.
I bite my tongue to keep from moaning. Fuck, I knew she’d be this way. A part of me has always known she’d be my dirty little whore once I got the chance to make her mine.
I let go and take a step back. She falls to her knees, coughing and choking out a sob. I crouch in front of her, using the gun to push the bleach-blond hair from her tear-streaked face. She looks up at me through her watery lashes, and I imagine shoving my cock down her tight throat. Or in her pussy from behind. Making her come while she stares at the man I just killed lying on the floor. I want him to know she’ll be my filthy little slut one day, and I’m going to do things to her that will make her disgusted with herself. I’ll control her like a puppet on a string.
“Please …”
I stand, grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking her to her feet. She goes to cry out, but I slap my free hand over her mouth, pulling her back to my front. The backpack is already on my shoulder, so I hold the gun to her ribs and order through clenched teeth, “Walk.”
She does as she’s told with her arms up and out to the side, and we silently make our way through the bathroom, out of the master suite, and down the hall past all the guests on the lower level to her bedroom.
Shutting the door behind me with my boot, I let go and shove her farther into the room before locking us in. Alone.
“Pl-ease,” she begs, turning to face me. I like that she wants to look at me. That she’s not going to turn and hide. Those big blue eyes look me up and down, taking in my size and weighing her options. When she realizes she has no chance of winning in a fight, she licks her wet lips and decides to bargain. “Money—”
“Facedown on the floor. Hands behind your back,” I order as quietly but as sternly as I can, interrupting her. The moment I step out of the window, she’ll run for help. And that’s just unacceptable.
She places her hands up in surrender, the movement pulling her already short black cocktail dress up a little more, exposing the top of her thighs. My eyes linger on them for a second, wondering what she tastes like. I just want to spread them wide while I bury my tongue so deep inside her she’s screaming for me to stop.
Sniffing, she goes on, getting my attention. “I won’t—”
I hold my gun up to her chest, and a sob breaks loose, causing her shoulders to shake. Her knees give out, and she falls to the pristine white carpet like the good girl she is, positioning herself on her stomach.
Removing my backpack, I unzip it and grab what I want. Then I straddle her hips, placing my gun in the back of my jeans. Pulling her hands behind her back, I secure them with a zip tie, making her sob once more.
I stand and look over her lying there, tied and ready to be used. Fuck, how many times have I imagined this? It’s like the Lords are rewarding me and torturing me at the same time.
As a show of our loyalty, we can’t fuck anyone for the first three years of our initiation. Not until our senior year. I’m only a sophomore. But right here, right now, I feel like this is an opportunity I can’t pass up. Checking my watch, I see I’ve got eight minutes before my time is up. Technically, the job is done, so I’ve already passed this initiation.
“Spread your legs. Ass up in the air,” I command.
Burying her face in the carpet, she does as she’s told. She understands she has no leverage here. If she wants to walk out of this room alive, she’ll give me what I want.
Ever so slowly, she spreads her knees, the movement lifting her ass up in the air, forcing the hem of her dress to rise up in the process. I crouch down between her legs, looking over the wet spot in her nude-colored thong. “What turned you on the most? Your daddy lying dead on the floor? Or my gun pressed into your side?”
A shrill scream comes from her when she realizes she’s been caught. The bitch is turned on by it. I knew she was. The adrenaline of danger can be arousing for some.
Grabbing her hair, I yank her to her feet and shove her back into one of the corner posts of her king-size bed. I start removing my belt.
“Please!” She sobs, trying to run from me, but I hold her in place with my body.
The leather is yanked through my belt loops, and I shove it into her mouth. Bringing it behind her head, I secure it around the back of the post where I buckle it in place as tight as it will go.
I move back to stand in front of her, my heavy breathing filling the inside of my mask. The only thing she can see are my eyes, and I’m wearing contacts. They’re as red as the blood pouring out of the guy I killed in the room down the hall.
Hers swim in tears while drool runs down her chin. Her straight white teeth bite into the leather. I remove my gun once again and lift it. She whimpers, closing her eyes. I unscrew the suppressor and press the end of the barrel to her upper thigh, slowly raising her dress to expose her underwear.
I cup her pussy, and she flinches, her eyes popping open to meet mine once again. “One with no voice, can’t say no,” I say simply.
She blinks, fresh tears spilling over her bottom lashes to run down her cheeks.
I wish I could lick them off her face, but my mask covers my mouth. “But you wouldn’t tell me no, would you?” Pulling her thong to the side, I run my glove-covered fingers over her cunt. Looking down, I rub my fingers together, smearing her wetness. The underwear didn’t lie.
She sniffs, but her hips push forward. I smile behind my mask. She fights the belt in her mouth while her tied hands are smashed between her back and the post I’ve secured her head to.
“What is one person’s heaven is another’s hell,” I state and then reach up and yank on her dress, pulling the thin straps down over her arms to expose her breasts to me. She’s sobbing uncontrollably, but her pretty pink nipples are hard, and I run the barrel over them while she mumbles unintelligible noises around the makeshift gag.
Lowering the gun down her shaking body, I kick her legs open, and she blinks rapidly. I lean into her neck, inhaling her scent, and my cock jerks inside my jeans. “You’re my heaven, and I’m your hell,” I whisper, making sure she understands her current situation.
Pulling back, I watch her eyes fall closed, and fresh tears roll down her once-done-up face. Her flawless makeup is ruined. I like it. All it’s missing is cum smeared all over it.
Lowering the gun between her legs, I shove a finger into her, making her cry out. I’m running out of time, so this isn’t going to be slow. It’s going to be rough.
I enter a second one, and she rises up on her tiptoes in her Dior heels. I then remove them, running the gun over her cunt, and her breathing turns erratic. I watch her eyes grow heavy as I work my fingers into her over and over, adding a third and then a fourth. She’s crying, body shaking while she sobs, and I slip the tip of the barrel into her before removing it and doing it again. Her pussy opens up for me, and her eyes close. Once the barrel is wet enough to enter on its own, my fingers abandoned her cunt and slap her breasts.
Her body leans into mine, and I smile behind my mask. I knew she’d be this way. Desperate. She’s been trained for years—groomed to be a Lord’s whore by her mother and her father. Even if they didn’t mean to, it’s just a part of our world. You serve regardless of whether you have a dick or a pussy. A dick just has more power in this scenario.
As I pump the gun in and out of her, she thrashes against the bedpost but never closes her legs. I’m not even holding them open anymore.
I pinch her nipple, pulling on it, slapping her breasts and face. She’s sobbing, drool running down her open mouth and onto her chin and chest to where her dress is bunched up around her pierced belly button.
When I remove the gun, she sags in her heels, and I slap her cunt, making her cry out. I shove two fingers into her. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” I growl through gritted teeth, looking at her juices smeared all over my glove-covered fingers. I have to remind myself to hide my true voice. I want to tell her who I am and see that look in her eyes. I know she likes me because we’ve been dancing around the idea for years. It just never worked out, and then I started initiation, blowing any chance I had with her. A woman like Ellington Asher needs sex. She needs to know she’s wanted. And the way she’s getting off on fucking my gun shows me just how fucking twisted she’ll be in bed when I finally make her mine.
I push the gun back into her cunt, and this time, I don’t let up. I fuck her with it until she’s a sobbing, drooling mess. When I pull it out, I hold it up to her face. “Look at that cum,” I praise, running it against her cheek and down her neck. She tries to pull her face away, but the belt holds her in place, the leather pinching her cheeks.
“What we did tonight is our little secret,” I say, and she nods the best she can. “What I did tonight is our little secret, understand?” She nods again, sniffing as snot runs from her nose that is red from her crying.
I leave her there for a few seconds while I load everything in my backpack on the floor. After putting it on, I remove my belt from her mouth, and she softly cries out. I can’t help but run my leather glove over the indentions the belt left on her cheeks. “Open,” I order, and it doesn’t surprise me one bit that she parts her swollen lips. I place the small pocketknife between her perfectly white teeth, and she holds it in her mouth. “You’ll need that to get your hands free.”
Her eyes widen at my words, understanding that I’m leaving her here. Just in case she decides to talk, it’ll take her at least a couple of minutes to cut through the zip tie before she runs off and tells everyone about the dead body in her parents’ bathroom and how the murderer fucked her with his gun.
I make my way down the side of the house and across the street to my motorcycle. I go to start it up but stop myself. Curiosity getting the best of me. Something she said is eating at me.
Unzipping the pocket of my leather jacket, I pull out the cell and the severed finger from the backpack. I scan it to unlock the device. I scroll through his incoming and outgoing texts and phone calls. Nothing really looks out of place. I open his email and go through it. Nothing.
I’m about to close it when I see another folder. Opening it, I plan on scrolling through the emails, but there are none. Odd. But there are multiple folders. Each one is labeled by year. I open one up.
My heart accelerates at what I see. My finger scrolls through them so fast that my mind has a hard time keeping up with the images. My hands start to shake, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. The blood is rushing in my ears, and I start pulling on my hoodie’s collar.
Glancing up at the balcony, I see her standing outside on it. Her hands hold the railing as she looks out into the dark night. She can’t see me because I’m too far hidden behind the tree line. She didn’t run to get help immediately after I killed James. I know my secret is safe with her. And I know why.
