Chapter 3
THE PERFECT SON
Killian
Make me proud. Those three little words from my stepfather held much more weight than their simple meaning implied. Don’t fuck up. Don’t sully my last name. Don’t disappoint me.
And don’t make me regret opening my home.
The pressure from years of emulating perfection squeezed my chest in a death grip until my ribs threatened to splinter. I’d done everything in my power to become one of the elite, to fit in with the upper echelon of society so that this new life didn’t slip through my fingers like fine sand.
I typed a respectful reply to his text and tossed my phone onto my bed, the screen bouncing against the oversized tufted leather headboard. The morning sun streaming in through the arched windows turned the glossy hardwoods blinding and warmed the ominous gothic mansion.
The opulent decor, mahogany furnishings, elaborate ironwork, impeccable wood carvings, and stained glass weren’t found in your average fraternity house. Then again, Sigma Delta wasn’t your average fraternity.
Not every frat brother was chosen, but those who were, and who passed the initiation, became some of the most powerful men in this country.
Some called us gods among men.
But most just called us Lords.
I ran my thumb over the intricate tattoo of a serpent coiled around a dagger on my inner forearm. A humorless smile tugged at my lips. These historic walls held dangerous secrets we would take to our graves.
And if we didn’t, we’d find ourselves staring up at the sky from a hole six feet in the ground, dirt piled on top of us by our own brothers.
The floorboards creaked as I crossed the large room to my dresser, avoiding the mess that had already started to creep to my side from my roommate’s.
Axel Vanderhart had a habit of leaving his dirty clothes and football shit everywhere.
A grass-stained practice jersey draped the back of his desk chair, and a mouthguard hung from the lampshade on his nightstand.
He was my best friend, but when the fucker left disgusting, sweaty gym clothes on the ground that smelled like ass, I wanted to deck him. Our room didn’t need to carry the stench of a locker room just because he played football for Stonewall University.
Axel called me an uptight, OCD bitch whenever I complained about it, an insult that got him a punch to the jaw.
Being used to pain, he usually laughed it off and picked up his clothes.
In all honesty, he was kind of right. Keeping up with certain expectations and appearances poured anxiety through my veins, and I could be as rigid as a marble statue.
On the outside, I was Killian Davenport, Stanford Davenport’s intelligent, well-mannered, dutiful, and obedient stepson.
I was the picture-perfect son of a senator, following in his illustrious footsteps.
No one even cared that I wasn’t a Davenport by blood anymore.
Stanford’s approval was all they needed.
Without it, I was nothing.
Stanford never spoke the words into the ether, but we had an understanding.
He could snatch his support and public praise away if I gave a less than stellar performance at, well, anything.
He could kick me off the top of the mountain and into a gutter that would drown me in the poverty and grime I came from.
It didn’t matter that I bore the same tattoo as he and Bass.
My stepfather practically controlled the wheels of the Serpent and Dagger beast. He was the Lord.
But I’d make damn sure no one took away what I earned or what my mother deserved.
My outside was perfection, while my inside.
.. that was another story. Impenetrable shadows swirled beyond the shiny facade, and dark memories created jagged wounds that longed to eat me alive.
If I dropped the mask for even a second, everyone would see the terrible, incurable disease festering in my core.
I yanked a pair of jeans out of my drawer, my hands fisting in the material as images from my childhood sped through my mind. My mother’s screams pierced my eardrums followed by her anguished pleas for him to stop.
But he never did.
Phantom pain whipped across my skull as the coppery tang of blood coated my mouth. Alcohol and sweat filled my nostrils once again, making me gag. The stench of vomit and death choked the air. Those bloodshot eyes staring up at the popcorn ceiling would forever haunt me.
My real father deserved what he got. I hoped he was rotting in hell.
I’d find out one day when my time came. The bastard probably saved me a seat.
I shook off the nightmares of my past and dragged on my jeans. If I didn’t stop reminiscing about my wonderful years in San Carlo, Arizona, I’d be late to my first class of the year, and Stan wouldn’t stand for that.
But thinking about the place I’d called home until seventeen also brought up another defect buried deep inside.
The one person I’d trusted the most had fucked up everything with her lies.
She’d ripped my heart into pieces, stomped on the fragile bits with her tiny feet, and poked iron rods into the wounds she left behind.
Never again.
The mirror over my dresser caught my reflection, and I skimmed my fingers over the battered heart tattooed on my chest. Barbed wire and heavy chains wrapped the maimed organ, fastened with an indestructible lock that no one on this planet could open.
A key for this lock didn’t exist.
As I thought of her, green flames burned in my eyes, and my perfect persona slipped. I shoved unruly brown locks, still damp from the shower, out of my face and bared my teeth. Just a tiny memory of her had the cracks in my veneer showing.
The door swung open and Axel strolled in, munching on a giant breakfast burrito. “Hey there, Kill. You’re looking murderous this morning.” He flicked wavy, dirty blonde hair from his sun-kissed face. “Who pissed you off so early?”
“No one.” I stormed to my closet and snatched the first shirt my fingers grazed, coming away with a green button-down. “I was just thinking.”
His brow arched as he perched on the end of my neatly made bed while his looked like a bomb had gone off between the silk sheets. “Maybe you shouldn’t think so hard. You look like you want to smash someone’s face in.”
I did. And anyone would have to do since the people I wanted to unleash my anger on weren’t here.
Axel pulled out a second burrito wrapped in a napkin hidden by the other monstrous one. “Eat some breakfast. You’ll feel better.”
“I’m not hungry.” Horrific images still inundated my brain.
“I insist.” He stood and closed the distance between us, trying to intimidate me with his broad body wrapped in powerful muscle. “It’s good for you, Killian.”
A smirk curved my lips. Axel was definitely wider and brawnier than me, but my sharp edges gained from childhood made me a dozen times more dangerous. Besides, for all his bluster, my roommate was a teddy bear on the inside. He’d made me breakfast for shit’s sake. No hardened asshole did that.
I snatched the burrito he offered, tore off the napkin, and took a huge bite. “Happy, Mom?” The rich, salty flavors of eggs, cheese, bacon, and potatoes exploded across my tongue.
Axel flicked a piece of potato off his Stonewall University Knights t-shirt.
“Yes, I am happy. And don’t blame me. Your mom pulled me aside this summer and asked me to make sure her sweet baby boy was eating all his veggies so he could grow as big and strong as me.
” He flexed his biceps, calling my attention to the mark on his forearm.
The same tattoo of a serpent coiled around a dagger that inked my arm was also stamped on his.
We all had them.
“Fuck you. She did not.” I picked up the potato crumb and dropped it in the trash can. “Can you seriously not throw food on the ground, Ax?”
He shrugged and finished his burrito in record time. The guy could eat his weight in food and still be hungry. “You’re not still stressing about this year with Bass at the helm, are you?”
My fingers tightened and almost squeezed the delicious innards out of the tortilla wrap. “Why would I be worried about him?”
“Maybe because he’s a wildcard and doesn’t possess even half of your restraint.”
The trepidation coursing through my veins had reached a fever pitch wondering what he had in store for us as president of our frat this year, but I didn’t want my boys to think I couldn’t handle any situation. Before I could spout off a lie, a knock echoed on the door.
Axel narrowed his sky-blue eyes and stormed to the solid oak door, yanking it open. “Didn’t I tell all of you to steer clear of our room until afternoon or later?”
The startled sophomore, Jason Hinkley, froze as crimson melted into his cheeks. “I, uh, just had a message for Killian.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.
I sighed and peered around Axel’s menacing form. “What?”
“Sebastian left you a present downstairs.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and then scurried away like someone had lit his ass on fire.
A sinking feeling hit my gut. What in the fuck was my stepbrother up to now?
As Axel and I hurried down the elaborately carved mahogany staircase, the burnished wood gleaming under the chandelier dangling from the domed ceiling, my pulse thundered. The year had barely begun, and my stepbrother already had to start trouble.
“Tell me that’s not the present.” Axel cursed as we crossed into one of the sitting rooms in the mansion and found a girl sprawled on the leather couch. Her disheveled appearance, mottled bruises on her arms, and the alcohol fumes emanating from her pores made it clear she’d had an all-nighter.
I snatched the note from her chest.
Return her to the Zeta Beta house.
Thanks,
Bass.
That son of a bitch kicked the girl out of his room, and instead of taking her home himself, he pushed it off on me.
Typical.
“Your stepbrother is a piece of work, Kill,” Axel muttered, eyeing the fresh bruises.