22. Ava
CHAPTER 22
AVA
After the mindfuck of fight night, the entire next week is blissfully uneventful. I manage to get caught up in all my classes, and though one of the Kings is present in each, none of them try to pull anything. The fact that they’re not messing with me somehow makes me even more anxious, but by the time Friday rolls around, it almost seems as if they’re starting to get bored with whatever game they’re trying to play.
Almost .
I’m not foolish enough to let my guard down for a second while knowing what these boys are capable of. Instead, I’m slowly taking everything in, learning more about each of them and collecting ammunition in hopes that I’ll be able to find some way to use it to fight back.
Of course, the most obvious way to put a stop to all of this would be to get Raf’s father involved, but neither Gideon nor my mother have called me back, and I’m beginning to worry that they’re in some sort of trouble. I’ve tried calling every day, but their voicemails are full and not accepting new messages.
It seems I’m truly on my own here. Most of the other students have been avoiding me like the plague, so with the exception of Bryce, I’m not making any strides in the friends department. Even Richelle has been cold– though that may have less to do with the Kings and more to do with her glittering personality. I still haven’t quite figured her out.
I’ve picked up a lot about the Kings from the other students’ reactions to them as they walk through campus each day. Everyone grants Ford a wide berth, eyeing him warily and skittering away like mice. Wes is constantly surrounded by his adoring fans, flashing easy smiles and eating up their attention. People are drawn to Raf, maybe because of his indifference, but few dare to venture close; not even me. While I don’t have the luxury of keeping my distance from Ford or Wes, Raf rarely even looks my way.
I’m not sure why that bugs me so much.
There’s another party at the boathouse on Friday night, and according to Ford, my attendance is mandatory. He’s like my keeper; always telling me where and when I need to show up and herding me through campus when I’m walking to and from classes. He doesn’t give me any instructions for Friday night other than to ‘ just be there’ , though, so I tag along with Richelle and Lesley again, much to their chagrin.
When we arrive at the boathouse, the two of them are quick to ditch me, evidently not wanting to tarnish their reputations by being seen with a social pariah. The party is already in full swing, sweaty co-eds grinding together on the dance floor and drinking suspicious looking punch out of plastic cups. I make my way to the bar on the back deck and opt for a beer, seeking a little bit of liquid courage but wanting to keep my wits about me so this party doesn’t end like the last.
Most of the girls here are dressed to the nines, flitting around in skimpy dresses and heels, while my own attire makes me look woefully out of place. I’m rocking a pair of black skinny jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt, and a white Corvus College hoodie– which was a total impulse buy from the campus bookstore on my first day– as if covering up will provide some sort of protection from the predators lurking here. It’s a little chilly out on the deck, though, and while most of the girls are rubbing at their arms for warmth, I don’t regret how cozy I am in my thick sweatshirt.
I post up alongside the railing overlooking the lake, sipping my beer and people watching. I don’t see the Kings anywhere, but I do see Travis, the cute guy from the library. When he spots me, I’m expecting him to turn away and ignore me like everyone else seems to be doing, but to my surprise, he actually beams a smile and heads in my direction.
“Hey Ava,” he greets as he approaches, big brown eyes sparkling. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” I lie. I suppose I could be honest and tell him that I feel like I’m slowly descending into madness from the games the Kings are playing with me, but I’m pretty sure that would send him running in the other direction. The last thing I want to do is alienate the one person at this party who will actually talk to me. “How about you?”
He shrugs a shoulder casually. “Can’t complain. Especially now that I’m talking to you .”
I feel a blush rise to my cheeks, a bashful smile pulling at my lips. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Only the pretty ones,” he winks, raising a plastic cup to his lips and taking a sip from it. He swallows, licking the residue from his lips as his gaze drops down my form. “I like the casual look. Most of the chicks around here would be afraid to make a statement like that.”
I arch a brow, resting the rim of my beer bottle against my lower lip. “And what statement do you think I’m making?”
He grins. “That you don’t give a fuck.”
I bark a laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know about that. It just seemed easier to dress for comfort.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I dig it. I mean, nothing against showing skin, but sometimes it’s sexier to leave things up to the imagination.” He wags his brows suggestively, shifting to stand a little closer. “So, how are your classes going?”
“Good,” I sigh, setting my beer down on the railing beside me. “I’m finally caught up, so that’s a plus.”
Travis’ gaze flickers past me, his grin suddenly faltering. “Uh, I’d better go,” he mumbles, raking a hand through his hair and shuffling backwards uncomfortably. “Nice talking to you, Ava.”
My own smile drops, brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”
Travis doesn’t stick around to answer me. He abruptly turns around and walks off, and when I glance over my shoulder to see what’s got him so spooked, I realize why.
Raf storms across the deck toward me, invading my space in two seconds flat.
“What the hell are you doing?” he grits out, the muscle in his jaw feathering from how tightly it’s clenched.
“Um, talking?” I reply, thoroughly confused by his approach. Pretty sure the guy hasn’t said two words to me since that night on the beach two weeks ago.
He reaches out, curling his fingers around my arm and giving it a sharp yank. “Let’s go.”
I wrench my arm back, managing to free myself from his grip thanks to the baggy material of my sweatshirt. “What the hell is your problem?” I scowl, stumbling back a step. “Now you think you can tell me who I can and can’t talk to?”
Raf’s glare hardens, his jaw ticking. Then he abruptly turns on a heel, stalking away.
For a second, I think I’m in the clear… but then Ford’s suddenly there, shaking his head in disappointment as he approaches me. “Let’s go,” he sighs, ducking down to wrap an arm around my waist and hauling me up over his shoulder with ease.
“What the hell?!” I protest as my world flips upside-down, kicking my legs and pounding my fists against his back. My attempts to fight don’t deter him in the least. He carries me inside like there’s nothing amiss, his arm clamped down around my waist as I continue flailing.
I only stop trying to wriggle free when he starts to ascend the stairs up to the loft out of a sense of self-preservation, not wanting to send myself careening over the railing on the way up. Though honestly, falling to my death right now might be a better fate than what awaits me up there. The last time one of the Kings brought me to the loft, it didn’t end well.
Ford doesn’t take me inside, though– he strides across the balcony and dumps me onto the large black sectional instead. I sweep my hair out of my face with a huff, getting my bearings, only to realize that Raf is sitting just a few feet away.
I whip my head back around the other way to yell at Ford for manhandling me, and that’s when I see Wes seated on the opposite side of the sofa, sandwiched between a pair of girls. They’re all over him, touching and giggling and lifting the hem of his shirt to run their fingers over his washboard abs. An unexpected wave of resentment hits, knocking me even more off-kilter.
Raf clears his throat loudly and I snap my head his way again, finding him pointing at the floor in front of him in command. And, because the possibility of what he might do truly frightens me, I jump up from the couch and scramble over to stand before him like a whipped puppy.
“It seems you’re forgetting who you belong to,” he says, the low, threatening tone of his voice making the little hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“I didn’t do anything,” I force out past the lump in my throat. “I was just talking.”
He spreads his arms across the sofa cushions behind him, leaning back and looking up at me with those dark, hollow eyes. “Did we give you permission to talk to him?”
“You can’t control every aspect of my life,” I grumble, folding my arms over my chest. “I’m entitled to have friends.”
Ford hisses a breath in through his teeth, dropping down on the sectional near Raf. “Wrong answer, Ava baby.”
Raf’s gaze flickers in Ford’s direction. “I think she needs a reminder of who owns her, don’t you?” he asks, slowly turning his glare back on me. “I think everyone needs a reminder.”
“Fine, I won’t talk to anyone else,” I say quickly, backpedaling as alarm bells sound in my head.
Why is it that I can see the red flags so clearly now, when I was blind to them the last time I was up here?
The corner of Raf’s lips lift ever so slightly and he tilts his head in Ford’s direction, eyes still trained on me. “It’s too late for that. I think to make it really sink in, you’ll need to suck Ford off.”
“What?!” I screech, jolting back. My eyes ping between Raf’s cold stare and Ford’s eager one as I take a step backwards, followed by another, then another. My butt bumps into the metal railing at the balcony’s edge and I flinch, sucking in a gasp.
“ Now , Ava,” Raf commands, the deep bass of his voice rattling down to my bones.
Ford shuffles back against the couch cushions to get comfortable, his hands dropping to the waist of his jeans and popping the button.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
“Here?!” I squeak, eyes darting around in panic.
Raf nods.
My heart slams against my ribs, throat tightening as I glance toward the door to the loft. “Can’t we go inside…?”
“ Here is the whole point,” Raf states firmly. “You’re not the only one who needs reminding of who you belong to.”
I turn around to glance out over the crowd below, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed up here on the balcony. Sure, there’s a railing, but that doesn’t mean the people down there can’t see what’s going on right above them.
I think I’m gonna be sick.
I take a shaky step forward, then hesitate, glancing toward the stairs and mentally calculating how much of a head start I could get if I make a break for it now.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, Raf lifts his phone, turning the screen toward me so I can see the thumbnail of the video queued up on it. “Or should I send this off?”
“What makes you think someone down there won’t just take another video?” I scoff. “Then your blackmail will be worthless, won’t it?”
A low chuckle rumbles in Raf’s chest. “They wouldn’t dare .”
“He’s right,” Ford chimes in. “Every person down there knows better than to cross a King.”
My mouth runs dry. These guys really are as dangerous as they seem, and with everyone in their pockets, I’ve got nowhere to turn for help.
Raf beckons me with a flick of his head, my stomach sinking and my feet feeling like lead weights as they carry me back over to him, a feeling of numb resignation settling over me. “I hate you,” I mutter.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “ Good . I hate you, too. You’re nothing but a filthy whore, just like your mother. So why don’t you put that whore mouth to good use and suck his cock, huh? Give us a fuckin’ show.”
The sharp sting of tears pricks behind my eyes as I realize just how screwed I am. There’s nothing I can do; nothing I can say. With that video, he’s got me over a barrel, and he damn well knows it.
“I’m nothing like my mother,” I grit out, glaring back at him defiantly.
Raf snorts a laugh. “And I’m nothing like my father. Which one of us is telling the truth, hm?” He cocks his head mockingly, a smug grin stretching his lips.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
His smile drops as quickly as it appeared, a look of annoyance sharpening his features as he tips his head toward Ford and raises his glass to his mouth. “Now do as your told, I don’t have all fuckin’ night.”
Fury chokes my windpipe as I move to comply with his order, drowning in my own defeat when I step in front of Ford and hang my head in shame.
“Aw, cheer up, babe,” he remarks, grinning up at me savagely. “Most girls around here are begging to suck my dick.”
He’s already got his jeans shifted down his hips, his hand resting on the bulge in his boxers as he strokes himself idly through the material.
“On your knees, Ava,” Raf barks, and I flinch at the bite in his tone.
Taking a final step closer to Ford, I lower myself before him, mortification setting in as my knees hit the floor. The moment they do, he leans forward, grabbing at the material of my sweatshirt.
“Let me see some skin.”
I instinctively fight him at first, trying to shove his hands away, but what’s the fucking point ? I’m already on my knees, about to suck him off in front of the entire school. I thought what they did to me in the loft was rock bottom, but this ? This is worse.
So much worse.
Ford tugs my sweatshirt off over my head, my hair falling down in a mess around my face and shoulders. And then, to add insult to injury, he makes a little grunt of disapproval when he sees the t-shirt I’m wearing underneath it, stripping me of that, too.
Goosebumps pebble up on my skin as I kneel there in only my bra and jeans, watching as Ford tosses my clothing aside. By some miracle he doesn’t make me take off the rest. He just settles back on the couch again, tucking his hands behind his head and nodding to his crotch.
One of Wes’ girls giggles from the opposite side of the sectional, only adding to my humiliation as I reach up to peel Ford’s boxers back, freeing his huge, pierced cock from the confines of the fabric. It flops against his belly, the barbell at the base of the head glinting in the light as I wrap a trembling hand around it, stroking it to life in my palm. He’s already mostly hard, and within seconds, he turns to steel in my grip.
Ford smirks down at me, looking like the cat that got the cream. I’m so close to him that I can see the little golden flecks in his hazel eyes and the hint of stubble forming on his jawline. For a fleeting second, I’m struck by how disturbingly attractive he is, even in the face of what’s about to happen.
“Go on,” he urges, his upper lip curling back from his straight white teeth.
I suppose the devil himself was once a beautiful angel.
Shoring up my resolve, I bend my head forward over his lap, licking my lips before parting them to take him into my mouth.
The skin of his cock is velvety soft on my tongue as I swirl it around the underside, the cold metal barbell of his piercing a stark contrast to the burning heat of his shaft. I’m not well versed in the art of blowjobs, but I remember the way Wes seemed to like this move. And while the last thing I want to do right now is pleasure Ford, the sooner I get him to the finish line, the sooner this debasement will end.
His hand sinks into my hair, gathering the strands to wrap around his fist so he can direct my head over his lap. Ford’s cock is so thick that I gag on it as he pushes my head down, fighting for air as he punches his hips up and starts fucking my throat.
“Fuck, Wes was right,” he groans. “You’re a natural, Ava baby.”
A little piece inside me cracks at the mention of Wes, who’s no doubt enjoying his front row seat to my indignity while those girls lavish him with attention like he’s some sort of god. He’s the reason I’m on my knees right now, swallowing his friend’s cock. If I hadn’t fallen for his charms and let him bring me up to the loft that first night, I wouldn’t have gotten caught in the Kings’ crosshairs.
Distantly, I hear a little commotion from the crowd below, titters of laughter reaching my ears. Suddenly I’m choking– both on Ford’s dick and my hatred toward these boys, tears springing to my eyes as he forces himself deeper. My lips kiss the base and for a second, I think I might suffocate– and actually welcome it. But then he yanks me back up, little pinpricks of pain breaking out over my scalp from his punishing grip on my hair.
I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, peering up at him through my eyelashes as I seek direction.
He’s not even looking at me. He’s looking out over the crowd, a smug smirk on his lips as he uses my mouth to chase his pleasure.
I can’t believe I thought he was the best of the three. Richelle was right; he’s a fucking psychopath.
Ford suddenly yanks me off him by my hair, leaning down to growl, “Wave to Travis,” in the shell of my ear. He grabs my chin in his other hand, forcing my head to the right, and though my vision is too obscured with tears to see clearly, I lift a hand, heeding his command. Then he shoves me back down over his cock, grunting as the heat of my mouth envelops him.
I choke around his girth as I hear jeering and heckling from down below, a few choice words reaching my ears.
Slut.
Desperate.
Whore.
Each one makes me feel filthy and worthless. My jaw aches, spit dribbling down my chin as Ford makes me take every inch of him. I try to drift away in my mind, to go someplace safe like I did when he used my body after fight night, but between the monsters up here and the hecklers below, I’m horrifyingly present for every minute.
“ Fuck ,” Ford grits out when he finally reaches his climax, shoving my head down hard and choking me with his cum. He holds me there as he empties down my throat with a guttural groan, collaring it with a hand and flexing his grip on my neck.
“Swallow.”
As soon as he feels my throat bob beneath his palm, he lets go, pulling me off by my hair again and yanking my head sideways to turn it toward Raf.
My stepbrother is relaxed back on the sectional, a glass of amber liquor in his hand and his heated gaze trained on me. “Good girl,” Raf murmurs, dark eyes boring into mine. And for some twisted, insane reason, something deep inside me lights up at his praise, soaking it in like oxygen.
I rock back to sit on my heels, wiping the spit off my chin with the back of a hand as Ford tucks himself back into his boxers with a satisfied smile. Wes and his skanks have vacated the other side of the couch, but before I can wonder where they went, Raf clears his throat to get my attention.
My eyes dart back to his, the intensity of his stare making my pulse skip. “Let me guess, I can go now?” I rasp bitterly, my voice hoarse from the assault on my throat.
The corner of Raf’s mouth lifts a fraction. “No.” He tosses back the rest of his drink, then thrusts the empty glass toward me, tipping his head to indicate the loft behind him. “But you can go get me a refill. Whiskey, neat.”
“I’m not your waitress,” I bite out, glaring daggers at him.
“You’re whatever I want you to be,” he snaps back.
I shake my head in disgust. “You’re a monster.”
He leans forward, aiming a glare at me to match my own. “And I’m whatever you want me to be, too.”