Reckless Little Game (Crimson College #3)

Prologue

WESTON

The first time I receive an invitation to a Zenith night, I don’t make it past the front porch.

The colossal door looms in front of me, tall and painted in glossy black with a prominent gold handle. It shines under the angled moonlight, but there are no other sources of light outside the house.

He’s here.

Sev Berlant is inside, somewhere.

All I have to do is go in and find him… then take what I want.

My heart starts to slam in my chest already. The potted white flowers flanking the door smell like fresh soil, and everything else about this house seems normal.

Does someone live here? Is it solely reserved for fucked-up Zenith club activities? It’s a couple of blocks past the edge of the Crimson College campus, on a street that usually would be reserved for professors’ homes or wealthy administration execs.

Not sex parties.

Sex parties that try to pretend they’re something else.

Or maybe they are something else, and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m getting myself into.

My heart weighs heavy in my chest as I shift my feet on the patio floorboards.

Just do it.

Quit being nervous, and do it.

I reach up and knock in the specific pattern that the invitation instructed. Two slow knocks, then two more in quick succession.

No one answers.

My skin flushes with heat as I second-guess every step that led me here. I don’t do things like this. People call me “Frat Dad” for a reason, no matter how ridiculous I think it is.

I run charity events. I take care of things. I don’t show up at shadowy houses late at night with a mask on my goddamn face and…

Fuck, what the fuck am I doing here?

I slide my fingertips over one of the flower petals in the cool air. White daffodils, just like our housekeeper used to plant every spring growing up. The petal is thin and velvety.

The thick door swings open and I jump back, the petal breaking off in my fingers.

“Why do you come here?” the masked man at the door asks, his figure silhouetted by the dim glow of light behind him.

Music comes from inside the house. Not loud like a normal college party, but low, deep and pulsating, filling the air.

The rules on the invitation were simple.

Say the fucking phrase.

Just. Act. Normal.

“To be unchained,” I answer, forcing my vocal cords into cooperation.

The man moves aside.

And it’s as if my skin lights on fire, catching like kindling and sweeping over every inch of me in a flash.

I can enter now, but I don’t. I see into the room and spot candles, low lamplight, and more masked figures walking around in the main room.

There’s one man who catches my eye sitting in the center, alone on a blood-red tufted loveseat.

He’s tall. Broad. Probably very strong under his cream-white collared shirt. He’s sitting there with his legs spread wide, like he’s a lord surveying his land.

Not really like a participant.

More like… a ruler.

A flash of ink slips out from the tattoo below his sleeve. It’s the black edge of a raven’s wing, jutting down from his wrist.

There you are.

I haven’t even stepped inside yet and my body is too hot under my suit and puffy coat. My neck is overheating.

Sev Berlant is right fuckin’ there.

And you knew he would be.

And you’re still two seconds from chickening out, like you’re already laid bare in front of him.

The threshold of the door is right in front of me. All I need to do is take a step forward. The Zenith club is exclusive, another layer of elite within the elite college I’m already attending.

But I can’t. Step. Forward.

I’m not naked, not even close. But I’ve heard enough about Zenith lately to know I should be wary.

Heard rumors, at least. And I know by the end of the night I’ll either be bloodied or passed out or truly naked, perhaps tied up and fucked because that’s what I made the fatal mistake of signing up for.

Right? Remember? You fucking wanted this?

There is one reason I’m here.

I want to make Sev Berlant take my cock.

I need to finally see him on his knees, under my control, after enduring the years of his pompous fucking attitude toward me on campus. He breaks every rule. He fucks up events that I put weeks of effort into. He shows up at my parties and acts like he is the king.

After being injured for the last few months, he can finally walk again.

And ever since I found out he attends the Zenith parties…

I’ve had a deep, sick craving to bring him to his knees. It’s not revenge, per se. Just vindication. He signs up to be part of this depraved group of people who fight and fuck all behind anonymous masks. So it’s the one place in life where I can put him in his place.

Very unlike me.

I swallow past the boulder in my throat and the wind at my back blows harder, as if it’s trying to usher me inside.

The masked figure guarding the door cocks his head at me, as if he’s wondering what the fuck I’m waiting for.

But it’s one thing to know that a man who utterly despises you will be in attendance… and very different to actually see him.

Sev stands up.

He looks to one side of the room as he pulls at the bottom of his shirt sleeve, and I see his eyes flicker up toward me from the small holes in the mask. He has no idea it’s me behind this mask, and I made sure to have my coat hood up, so there’s nothing he could identify me by.

But his gaze rips right through me and I swear he’s regarding something deeper in my soul.

Sev would probably relish breaking my skin.

Making me beg him to stop.

Doing anything and everything to break me down, now that he has a chance to.

God.

Fuck.

This isn’t who I am.

“I… I’m sorry,” I manage to say to the door guard.

I hate the waver in my voice.

But the pit in my stomach wins out.

A charge of pure, incandescent warning fills my blood, adrenaline and instinct signaling me to fucking move.

I turn on my heel and charge off back into the dark street.

Don’t call after me.

Please, please don’t.

I practically choke on air as I walk off, my shoes clicking on the asphalt, relief pouring through my blood like I just escaped a wild predator.

But no voice comes from behind me.

Once I’m down the street, under the thicket of branches canopied above the new grass, I turn and look back.

No one is looking after me.

The door is already shut.