Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Thiago
My jaw locks, feeling the strain coil through me, every muscle tight as I watch Zayden storm out behind Ezra and Wyatt.
Which leaves me alone with Nico, who looks at me for answers that I’m not sure he’s ready for.
Would he even believe the truth if I were to tell him?
It’s not like I was privy to this engagement.
Meetings with Peter have been private until tonight.
It all happened so quickly, just like the fist now flying to connect with my face.
I don’t duck.
I take the hit because it’s the least I can do to atone for my sins. What can I say? I truly am a masochist.
“I didn’t know,” I choke out, lifting my hands in the air, surrendering to the madman standing in front of me.
“I found out tonight, I just didn’t have a chance to tell you.
Nico, this is out of my hands, out of my control–” My words are cut off by another blow to the face, this one splits my lips, and blood trickles down my chin.
Fuck! That hurt.
Using my hand, I wipe away the blood, keeping my gaze on Nico.
The look on his face tells me he doesn’t believe me.
Good, he shouldn’t. Trust gets you killed in a place like this.
He should learn that… the sooner the better.
So why does it sting to know he already has?
I thought we were brothers in this, and here he stands, looking at me like I’m just another liar.
“You’re full of shit, T, you knew. You all fucking knew,” Nico snarls through gritted teeth, small particles of spit landing on my skin, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Fix this, not him.”
Not Peter Morelli. Not the monster we’ve all come to know. We’ve heard the rumors. We all know why he was sent away, and the reason why Nico needs to stay in his lane. I swallow the lump threatening to choke me, and I shake my head.
Sadness wraps around my throat like vines. “I can’t, man.”
This time, when he swings, I catch his wrist, twisting and turning it so I’m pinning it behind his back.
“What the fuck do you think I can do, Nico? Look at us.”
He bucks against me, pushing and pulling, causing me to strain before he slams us into the bookcase. Pain bursts through my back, but still, I hold on to him, even as the books fall around us. “She never belonged to you or anyone but this fucking hell, man.”
I feel for my friend, but he should stay out of the way…
now more than ever. There’s no turning back, there’s no playing around the fence in hopes of not getting caught.
Peter is not like any of us or even the donors.
He’s truly an enigma, not quite here nor there.
Shit, I’m not even sure that I know enough, and even with the little that I do know, it’s better that Nico stays as far away as he can.
People always find themselves missing when they get in Peter’s way.
“Nico, you have to stay away from her. For your sake.”
“Fuck my sake. Fuck all of you.”
He continues to thrash until his head swings back and slams into my nose, the sickening crunch causing blood to gush down my face as I push him off.
“What the fuck, Nico?! I’m trying to help.”
I hold my nose, trying to breathe through the pain, and toss my head back to prevent more blood from streaming down.
I don’t need this shit, none of it. Yet, I can’t help the guilt that consumes me, festering inside me and devouring me with each passing day.
Nico storms out, not bothering to say another word.
I lean against the wall and allow my body to slide down until I’m sitting on my ass.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I try to ignore the feeling, but curiosity kills the cat.
Fishing the device out of its confines, I chuckle loudly as I stare into the screen.
Anonymous:
Looks like you have no one on your side. I’ll be your friend; will you trust me?
Fucking anonymous, always stirring the pot.
But soon enough, I will find out who they are.
Exhaling through my nose, I toss the phone, but it doesn’t go far.
Blood streams down my cupid's bow and slips past my pursed lips into my sour mouth. Numbness holds me; I don’t know what to do anymore.
There’s so many pawns on the board, not even one moving with a clear pattern.
My phone vibrates again just as I close my eyes, my mind wandering back to earlier today.
A loud buzz bounces off the wall as the device squirms itself closer.
“Filho1, I need you to be on your game,” my father rambles on as he takes a bite of his breakfast. My stepmother sits beside him, her face stoic and empty. Did she always look this hollowed out? My thoughts are interrupted by the booming voice of my father.
“I think it’s time you begin to pursue Allison.” The name goes down like acid in my throat, making my stomach sink at the thought of being attached to someone as insufferable as her. Beautiful and vain, just the kind of wife for a Safra.
“No,” I respond flatly. “I don’t care for her.”
My father scoffs, slamming his fork into his plate. “Any girl is a bother to you, unless you’re between their legs.” I couldn’t help the eyeroll, the blind leading the blind.
“Like father, like son,” is all I reply, watching as his brown eyes bulge from the anger, and he strikes my face from across the table. The sting is immediate, my cheek burning from the contact, and all I can do is glare at him.
“Amado2.” Lucia’s hand wraps around my father's wrist, trying to de-escalate the situation. It never works; his anger only fuels his reaction, turning him against himself. Her head turns the opposite way from the blow, disheveling her perfectly slicked back bun. Lucia doesn’t cry; instead, she looks down at the table, her knuckles white from how tightly she grips her fork.
For a second, I wonder if she would end it all.
The thought is a passing one, as my father slams his hand onto the surface.
The sound is loud, snapping my attention to him, and he looks down at me like he always does. He points a beady finger my way.
“You will do as I say, or so help me God, Thiago.” The threat was clear.
Zayden. He will use him to hurt me, to get under my skin.
Just like he did when I was a freshman and wouldn’t join the hunt.
He made me watch as he—I shake away the thought.
There’s only one way to keep him safe, and that’s feeding myself to the vultures.
“Keep your word, and I’ll do what you want—just not her. Anyone but her.”
He sighs, running a hand over his face, looking at me as if he’s unsure whether to agree or strangle me.
I would rather the latter to just get my life over with.
But instead, he sits up and clears his throat, while Lucia glances between us, knowing she missed something important.
And I mean, she’s not wrong. She did, but I won’t acknowledge it, and neither does my father.
Flatly, I say to him, “You have my word, but by the end of the semester.”
I wait for a blowback, but none comes. All he does is point his fork at me. Veins bulge over the redness on his forehead. “I want a real arrangement, no more games.”
The sound of footsteps pulls me out of the trance, and quickly I blink away the memories, focusing on the noise that filters over the music playing downstairs.
The door creaks open, forcing me to move and find my way underneath the desk just before the door slams shut.
There’s a floral scent in the air, and in the silence of the room, I can hear everything much more clearly.
The soft, feminine sounds of pleasure fill the quiet space.
My lips curl into a grin as the sounds turn into sloppy wet kisses and mewls that have my cock twitching in my pants.
“Fabi,” a woman moans, her voice familiar, and the wheels begin to turn. A plan coming to fruition in a matter of seconds. But before I can soak in my victory, my phone vibrates… Too fucking loud across the marbled tiles. Shit.
I freeze, my eyes glued to the device, illuminating like a beacon as it slides against the floor. My pulse quickens while I wait for them to find either the phone or me.
“Did you hear that?” Fabiola asks quietly; the sounds of smooshes drown out the vibrations.
“Shh, Fabi,” the woman's voice says, her tone clearer. It’s now impossible to miss our professor’s delicate cadence as she continues to kiss her flesh.
From the reflection on the glass, I can see her pressing Fabiola’s ass against the edge of the desk.
The sight is truly a wet dream, and it screams opportunity for a shark like me.
Using my leg, I inch the phone closer to me and grab it just as the symphony of arousal surrounds us in its lullaby.
Opening the phone camera, I record them.
I’m sure the school board would love to see Ms. Torres, Villalargos’ art teacher, fingering her student. I know I do.
The desk moves with each plunge of Ms. Torres’ fingers inside Fabiola—the crowned one writhes and moans, probably celebrating that her future with Peter is no longer a thing.
Her legs are splayed open; her green dress bunched around her waist. My cock aches beneath my pants, desire surging through me.
I’ve always enjoyed watching, and this time is no different.
My smile deepens as Ms. Torres brings Fabiola closer to the edge.
Tasting sweet victory at the tip of my tongue.
The video is damning evidence, not sure when I’ll need this, but knowledge is currency in places like this.
“Mmm, you like that, baby?” Ms. Torres purrs as Fabiola’s heels hit the wooden surface, almost startling me. “Yes, fuck. I need you.”
“You have me,” Fabiola breathes as a stream of curses falls from her lips.
The beautiful, crowned one comes hard, her body shaking from the intensity, making the items on the desk rattle and fall off the desk.
They continue to kiss passionately, and Ms. Torres grips her with possession, all while I wait patiently like a snake in the grass, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Zayden comes to the forefront of my mind, and before I know it, I'm replaying my moment with him. Wondering what he’s doing now, I pull up the app tracking his location. His red dot moves across the field, and I smile. Even in the cold, he practices. Maybe I’ll pay him a little visit.
I exit the app just in time for the women to finally pull away after saying their goodbyes.
Ms. Torres exits first, leaving Fabiola to wait behind for a few minutes.
Just as her heels click towards the door, I push the seat near me—the sound of the chair scraping against the tiles has her stopping in her tracks.
“Who’s there?” Fabiola asks with a small quiver in her voice. My finger moves back between apps and lands on the video. Fabiola’s moans fill the space as I come out of the hiding spot with a smile on my face.
“Thiago,” she snaps, her eyes narrowing to slits.
“I think we should have a little chat.”
1. Son
2. beloved