6. Ford
CHAPTER 6
FORD
I’ve known Raf my whole life. My earliest memory of him is picking up a toy truck that he was playing with and trying to walk away with it.
He chased me down and punched me in the face.
The next day, he teased me about my shiner, so I gave him a matching one.
The two of us have been inseparable since.
Raf was an angry kid that grew up to be an even angrier adult. His dad has always been unnecessarily hard on him, molding his son in his own image and grooming him to be just as cold, calculating, and ruthless. It worked, but Raf fucking hates him for it.
Can’t say I blame him. Anyone who grew up with Gideon Romero as a father is bound to turn out a little warped. It didn’t help matters when Raf’s mom got sick and he had to watch her wither away to nothing while his dad was out gallivanting with his mistress. Then he stomped all over Lucia Romero’s memory by marrying the woman mere weeks after her funeral.
I didn’t even know she had a daughter. Then again, Raf tends to keep quiet about his family bullshit. If she hadn’t shown up here, he may never have mentioned it– but now that she has, the guy is like a ticking time bomb, dangerously close to detonation.
He’s been on a rampage ever since he saw Ava yesterday. I overheard him leave several screaming voicemails for his father, but as far as I know, Gideon hasn’t called him back yet.
Which has Raf raging even more.
The most effective way to unleash his inner demons is through a fight, so I’ve been texting with the coordinator of the bare-knuckle boxing matches in Dyersville to book Raf a slot. In the meantime, though, we just have to deal with his shitty mood as he struggles to keep his rage contained.
“So, what are we going to do about her?” I ask as the three of us sit around our usual table for lunch in the Bistro, knowing one of us has to bring it up and it sure as shit isn’t going to be Wes. He’d rather keep the peace than instigate chaos.
Me, on the other hand … I live to watch the world burn.
Raf stops chewing, his frigid gaze flickering up to meet mine. If looks could kill, I’d be a fucking goner, so it’s a good thing the devil’s not ready for me to claim his throne in hell yet.
“Can I at least fuck her before we run her out of here?” Wes sighs, assuming he knows where this is going. “She’s already primed, just give me ‘til the end of the weekend.”
I shake my head, eyes trained on Raf’s. “She’s not going anywhere, is she, Raf?”
He just stares back at me, deadpan.
Wes squints, his gaze sliding between the two of us while we remain locked in a staring contest. “What do you mean?”
Wes doesn’t have the same psychopathic tendencies that Raf and I do. Don’t get me wrong, the dude’s still fucked in the head, but he buries that shit deep and tries to pass as normal while the two of us embrace our inner demons.
Why hide them away when they’re so fun to dance with?
I don’t break eye contact with Raf, my lips spreading into a devious grin. “He wants to play with her a little before we cut her loose, dontcha buddy?”
It’s almost too perfect. Raf has an axe to grind when it comes to his father’s whore, and what better way to do so than punishing Ava for the sins of her mother? Gideon just did his son a fucking favor by delivering her here to our doorstep, offering this girl up to us like a sacrificial lamb for the slaughter.
The look in Raf’s eyes is stone cold, but the corner of his mouth ticks up the slightest bit, making him look goddamn deranged. I’d never say it out loud, but he’s every bit Gideon’s son. And since I know Raf as well as I do, I could peg the cruel, twisted game that was forming in his brain from a mile away.
“You guys are fucked up,” Wes mutters.
I dart him a smirk. “Does that mean you don’t want in?”
“Of course I want in,” he grumbles.
Because even though Wes plays the role of the golden boy, he’s just as twisted as we are. Probably even more so, if he ever fully gave himself over to the darkness inside instead of trying to repress it.
The Invictus society not only creates monsters, but also provides a playground for them to flourish.
“So, how do you want to play this?” I ask, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “The way I see it, Gideon just served this girl up to you on a silver platter, Raf. This is our turf, our rules, outside of the damn Invictus itself. They handed us full reign here to cut our teeth, so I say we take advantage of it, show her where her place is.” I lean back with a shrug. “Hell, maybe your old man sent Ava here as a peace offering, so you can take out your rage on her instead of him for a change.”
“Sounds like something he’d do,” Wes snorts. “Sadistic bastard.”
Raf’s Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow as his gaze slides between Wes and me, his expression an unreadable mask. Then he finally speaks.
“Tonight,” he says simply, lifting his coffee cup with a sinister gleam in his eye. “I say we throw a little party, give her the welcome she truly deserves.” He swings his gaze to Wes. “You said you laid the groundwork, right? Make sure she shows up.”
I see a flicker of hesitation in Wes’ eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared. While he may be the only one of us with some semblance of a conscience, he’s going to enjoy toying with Ava just as much as Raf and me. Maybe even more .
“Easy,” he scoffs, never lacking confidence in his ability to charm the pants off a girl. I’ve gotta admit, he’s proven gifted in that department. He’s a far cry from the skinny nerd who couldn’t get a girl to give him a second look in middle school.
“Speaking of easy,” I mumble, my gaze lifting as Stella, Chelsea, and Blair strut into the Bistro.
The three of them are the queen bees of this place– the ones every girl wants to befriend and every guy wants to fuck. Except for me, because prissy and uptight is decidedly not my thing. Or Wes, because Stella’s his twin sister. Though some twisted part of my mind delights in that taboo fantasy.
Raf casts a glance in their direction, beckoning them with a lift of his chin.
Chelsea’s eyes light up like she just won the damn lottery. She’s been obsessed with Raf’s dick since the first time he let her play with it freshman year, the two of them embroiled in some weird, toxic thing where they’re not actually together, but sometimes act like they are. Dumb, since they’re both constantly fucking around on one another.
Can’t say I mind the arrangement, because Chels offers me blowjobs whenever Raf pisses her off. She’s annoying as fuck, but I can tolerate her mouth when it’s stuffed full of my cock, and since Raf never kisses her, he doesn’t give two shits whose jizz she swallows. Sharing is caring.
The three blondes make their way over with Chelsea in the lead as always, asserting her dominance over the others. Chelsea Carson’s father is the CEO of the Carson publishing empire and an alum of Corvus College– a past King. That status grants her certain privileges, though not near as many as my friends and I have as the reigning triad. Nobody here is above the Kings .
“Hey babe,” Chelsea greets as she approaches, coming up behind Raf and draping her arms over his shoulders. She leans in to kiss his cheek and he bristles under her affection, the muscle in his tightly-set jaw feathering.
He shrugs her arms away and she quickly slides onto the bench beside him, trying to appear unfazed by the brush-off.
Pathetic.
“Get the word out that we’re throwing a party at the boat house tonight,” Raf tells her. “All the usuals are invited.”
We claimed the old boat house by the lake for ourselves last year after we took the oath. Gideon made a hefty donation to fund its renovation, transforming the dilapidated old building into a dope party spot that we’ve been exploiting ever since. Prior Kings threw parties in the penthouse apartment of Sutton Hall, but Raf doesn’t like anyone in his space, so an alternative venue was necessary when we took the mantle.
Chelsea beams a smile his way, her interest piqued. “Ooh, what’s the occasion?”
He flicks her a bored glance. “Do we need an excuse to party?”
“You guys don’t do anything without a reason,” Stella points out, slinging a leg over the bench and sinking down beside her brother.
I never notice how scarily alike she and Wes look until they’re right next to each other like this. They’ve both got the same tanned skin, blonde hair, and gray eyes– though where Wes’ features are sharp, Stella’s are softer; more delicate and feminine. Truth be told, she’s a fucking knockout, but there’s no way I could have sex with her and not see her brother in those eyes.
Pity .
Blair moves to slide in on the bench next to me, but I hip check her as soon as her ass hits the seat, sending her tumbling to the floor.
“Seat’s taken,” I mutter.
She glares up at me from the ground, her lips twisted in a scowl. “Dick.”
I cup my hand around my ear, leaning over. “What was that, you want my dick?” I ask loudly. My lips pull into a grin as I nod to my lap in invitation. “Alright, c’mon back up here babe, maybe I’ll let you bounce on it for a little while, see if you can actually get me off this time.”
Her mouth gapes open, eyes glistening with fresh tears as she pushes up to stand. Her lower lip quivers as she brushes off her expensive jeans, then pivots around and scampers off like the scared little mouse she is.
Women are so fucking predictable.
“ Ford ,” Stella admonishes, the stern tone of her voice conveying her disapproval.
“What?” I ask innocently.
She shakes her head. “That wasn’t nice.”
“You’re right, Stell. I’ve been a bad boy.” I lean in, gliding my tongue over my upper teeth. “Care to punish me?” I ask, waggling my brows.
She rolls her eyes, pushing up from the bench and starting after her friend.
Again, so damn predictable . I’m bored out of my skull with these fucking college girls.
“See you tonight?” Chelsea asks Raf, shooting up from her seat beside him.
He nods absently, suddenly finding the food on his plate much more interesting than her. He doesn’t even lift his gaze as she goes, but she’s so used to his indifference by now that she doesn’t make a fuss, heels clipping against the floor as she crosses the Bistro to catch up to her friends.
“I’ll make some calls to get everything set up for tonight,” Wes offers, typically the one who takes the reins when it comes to wrangling these types of events together. Not that it takes a whole lot of effort on his part. There are plenty of students who would do anything to score an invite to one of our parties, including putting in all the grunt work so we don’t have to lift a finger.
Wes is the most personable of the three of us, and the only one who can stand dealing with the plebs. He already has his phone in his hand as he rises to stand, slinging his backpack over a shoulder. “I’ve gotta get to class,” he mutters absently as he starts typing a text message.
“Don’t forget your other job, Romeo,” I coo, blowing a kiss at him.
He gives me the middle finger, sulking away like the sad sap he is these days. The guy desperately needs a win to pull him out of the funk he’s been stuck in since his father’s epic fuck-up. Maybe this little game we’ve got planned for Ava is just what he needs, too.
Maybe it’s what we all do.