32. Raf
CHAPTER 32
RAF
I wake up in a foul mood, sleep tearing off like a bad bandage. Ava’s here , in our apartment, wedged under my skin like a splinter. We moved her into the spare bedroom last night, and it just so happens to be right next to mine. I barely slept knowing she was right on the other side of the damn wall, invading my space and my mind.
My fingers curl inward, fisting the comforter at the memory of her trailing behind Ford like a puppy as he showed her around our apartment, taking everything in with wide-eyed wonder.
Or was that fear?
It’s hard to tell with her, considering she gets off on submission. She tries to hide it, but I’ve seen the way her pupils dilate in response to our rough treatment, I’ve heard the way her breath hitches in response to praise. She only fights back because she hates how much she loves it. She’s a virgin, but she’s also a whore deep down, just like her mother.
Wes and Ford are thrilled with this arrangement, and that only pisses me off more. They should have my back, not be pandering to Ava like she’s fucking special. She’s nothing , and the thought of having her here under our roof feels like poison running through my veins.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and quickly pull on a hoodie and a pair of jeans, needing to get the fuck out of here before I suffocate. Maybe I’ll skip my morning class and hit the gym, burn off some of this aggression on the weight bench. Just as I open my door to leave my bedroom, though, I hear it. Clattering from the kitchen and a soft, feminine giggle.
Someone thinks they fucking belong here.
By the time I’m halfway down the hall, I’m seething, the commotion from the kitchen getting louder as I draw closer. My jaw clenches at the sound of another laugh, the smell of something burning hitting my nose as I turn the corner. When I absorb the scene unfolding in the kitchen, it takes everything I have to hold back the volcano of rage that threatens to erupt.
Ford and Wes are sitting at the table, watching Ava clumsily attempt to cook something on the stove. The sleeves of her Corvus College hoodie are bunched up at the elbows, her chestnut hair wavy and wild. Wes has a dopey grin plastered across his face, like this is the most amusing thing he’s ever seen, while Ford taps his fork against his plate in demand, loudly complaining that she’s taking too long to bring him food.
They’re all acting so goddamn comfortable , basking in happy domesticity.
“The fuck is this?” I snarl, voice echoing off the stone walls as I stalk into the room like a phantom.
Wes sits up with a start, while Ford doesn’t even flinch at my sudden intrusion. He glances over at me smugly, a smirk slowly curling his lips as he simply replies, “Breakfast.”
I narrow my eyes. “Since when do we have breakfast here instead of at the Bistro?”
Wes relaxes back in his chair, lifting a steaming mug of coffee to his lips like he’s king of the fucking world. “Since we’ve got someone to make it for us,” he says, nodding toward Ava.
I turn to look her way just as she lifts a frying pan from the stove, a pair of heather gray leggings hugging her toned thighs and round ass as she carries it over to the table. Using a spatula, she scrapes what looks like scrambled rubber from the pan onto Ford’s waiting plate.
He stares down at the black goop with disgust, cautiously poking at it with the prongs of his fork. “The fuck?”
“I said I’d cook, not that I’d be good at it,” Ava quips, shrugging a shoulder and smirking.
Wes snorts a laugh while Ford folds his arms over his chest, still staring down at his plate in dismay. My lips fight to twitch up, but I quickly school my expression, frowning instead.
“Give me that,” I snap, lunging toward Ava and yanking the frying pan from her grasp. She jumps back a little, eyes wide as we lock gazes and I point to the table. “Sit.”
Without waiting for her to comply, I turn my back on the three of them, marching over to the sink and tossing the frying pan inside. It clatters as it lands, clinking against the glasses resting in the basin. Grabbing a fresh frying pan out of the cabinet, I move over to the stove and set it on the burner, adjusting the heat. A carton of eggs is already open on the counter, a mixing bowl resting beside it.
The scrape of chair legs against the floor tells me Ava’s joining the guys at the table, but I resist glancing back at them, getting to work cracking some eggs and whisking them up.
“You cook?” Ava asks incredulously.
I ignore her question, but Ford doesn’t.
“Yeah, Raf’s a great cook,” he drawls. “His mom taught him.”
The plastic whisk I’m holding nearly snaps in half as my fist tightens around it, a dozen memories flashing across my mind, sharp as glass.
Standing on a chair next to my mom so I could reach the counter.
Watching her laugh as I cracked eggs into a bowl.
Her warm hands around mine, guiding the whisk.
I force them back and focus on the task at hand, letting muscle memory take over. I add a little milk and butter to the eggs, then scramble them just right, scooping out portions onto three plates and carrying them over to the table. I try not to look at Ava as I set one down in front of her, but I can’t help it. I fucking look, her eyes locking with mine and holding my stare.
Their eyes are different. Daphne’s are bright blue, but Ava’s are a warm brown with a burst of copper around her pupils. When I look into those eyes, I can almost forget who Ava is; what she represents.
Almost.
I jerk my gaze away, stomping back over to the stove to plate up some eggs for myself.
“We’ve got something for you,” Wes tells Ava, pulling a small black box from his pocket and sliding it over to her across the table.
She eyes it warily, then reaches out to pick it up, turning the box over in her hands. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” he urges.
I watch as she carefully tips the lid back, as if she’s handling a live bomb.
“You’re to wear it at all times,” Wes informs her.
Ava just stares at the necklace resting inside the box, seemingly at a loss for words. It’s a silver chain with a diamond-encrusted crown charm– just like the one Ford inked on her skin– given to us by the Invictus when we were sworn in as Kings.
“I…” Ava whispers, brows drawing in. “Why?”
“Every student here knows what that collar means,” Ford provides, shoveling another forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
“C’mon, we should get going,” I grumble, tossing my plate into the sink without taking a single bite.
Wes eases to his feet, but Ford and Ava are suddenly locked in a staring contest.
“What’s wrong, didn’t like the eggs?” he asks, motioning to her untouched plate.
“ Collar? ” she huffs, glaring daggers at Ford. “I’m not a dog.”
“No, you’re a Doll,” he replies with a wink. “Wearing the collar is part of the gig, Ava baby.”
“It’s just a necklace,” Wes placates, stepping around to her side of the table.
She closes the box slowly, looking up at him. “I really have to wear this?”
I watch their interaction with suspicion, wondering just how soft Wes is getting for this girl.
He passes the test when his expression hardens, eyes darkening. “It’s not a request.”
Ava swallows thickly, averting her gaze and reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears. Then she rises to stand, still clutching the box in her hands with a white-knuckled grip.
“You also need to change,” Ford states, giving Ava a quick once-over as he rocks his chair back on two legs. “Wear something sexier.”
She whips her head in his direction, eyes narrowed into slits and mouth opening like she’s about to argue. One pointed look from Ford has her snapping it shut again, swallowing back her indignation.
She knows the rules, and her new reality is sinking in.
“How about one of those little skirts?” Ford suggests, grinning up at her.
“You’ve got five minutes,” I grumble, not even trying to hide my annoyance.
Ava huffs a sigh of defeat and stomps out of the kitchen, heading down the hall to her room. Ford snickers as he watches her go, looking pretty damn pleased with himself as he eases to his feet and cards his fingers through his dark hair.
“Five minutes?” he asks, cocking a brow. “That’s generous of you.”
“If this is gonna work, then it has to look real,” I mutter, pacing into the living room to collect my backpack. It’s not like me to leave my shit laying around the apartment, but I wasn’t in my right mind last night, all fucking twisted up at the way Ava was making herself at home in my space.
“He’s right,” Wes agrees, shifting his own backpack onto his shoulders. “It’s her first appearance as our Doll, so she has to look the part.”
The three of us had a long talk last night about how important this morning will be. We need to parade Ava around, let everyone see her shiny new collar so they know that the social order has changed. She’s about to go from social outcast to campus darling and she doesn’t even know it.
Or maybe she does, because when she returns from her room, she’s completely transformed. A short plaid skirt clings to her hips, her hair pulled back in a slick ponytail and the scooped neckline of her top showing off her new jewelry. The crown charm glitters above her cleavage, drawing the eye, and I hate how fucking hot she looks wearing it. How it looks like it belongs there, fastened around her delicate throat.
“I’m ready,” she announces with an irritated sigh.
We’re all just staring at her, like we’ve forgotten how to fucking speak.
Ava sweeps her gaze over the three of us, lips turning down in a frown. “I’m not changing again.”
“No need, you look hot as fuck,” Ford remarks, whistling in appreciation as he rakes his heated gaze up and down her form.
“Let’s go,” I bark, turning on a heel and stomping for the door. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can go back to pretending like my stepsister doesn’t even exist.
Our footsteps echo in the stairwell as we descend all four flights of stairs, pushing through the back doors of the Sutton Hall and stepping out into the crisp morning air. The first whispers follow us like shadows as we fall into a natural formation and start down the path toward the heart of campus, everyone we pass doing a double take when they see Ava’s necklace, knowing exactly what it means.
The Kings have a Doll .
My blood boils like acid in my veins as I take in the shocked looks on people’s faces. I hate putting on this fucking show, acting as if Ava’s deserving of having this honor bestowed upon her. At least she’s staying quiet, keeping her head down like she hates the attention. I hope this whole spectacle is as miserable for her as it is for me.
The quad is busy as usual when we arrive, countless co-eds milling around in pursuit of caffeine or catching up with friends before their morning classes begin. I spot Chelsea loitering near the coffee cart with Stella and Blair, the three of them sipping on lattes like they don’t have a care in the world. Chels immediately abandons her friends when she sees me, her face lighting up with a smile as she makes a beeline in my direction.
Then her eyes land on Ava.
Her whole demeanor changes when she sees that collar, face turning red as she charges my way with renewed purpose.
“Absolutely fucking not !” Chelsea shrieks, loud enough that the entire quad seems to pause and shift their attention to the scene unfolding.
“Oh, here we go,” Ford chuckles under his breath.
I stay silent, letting her spiral and waiting for the right moment to strike.
“What the hell is this? You said you weren’t choosing a Doll!” Chelsea rants, her voice shrill. Her features contort with rage, blue eyes shining with the hint of tears as she rushes up to me. “You promised, Raf!”
“You forced my hand,” I reply coldly.
Chelsea flinches back like I slapped her, blonde hair swinging as she whips around to point a finger at Ava. “ Her ?” she spits, lips twisting in disgust.
“Who else?” I ask calmly, arching a brow.
She whirls back around, throwing up her hands. “Me, Raf! Me! ”
I can’t fight my smirk, satisfied that this is playing out as I hoped it would, knowing exactly how it’ll end for her.
“After that little stunt you pulled yesterday, did you really think we’d let you anywhere near us?” I scoff, lifting my chin and looking down my nose at her.
Chelsea’s eyes widen, the color draining from her face. Everyone in the quad is definitely staring now, fully invested in the very public takedown of Chelsea Carson. She’s been queen bee of this place since she arrived, but only because we allowed it. Her time at the top has officially expired.
“You saw the tag, and you still chose to touch Kings’ property without permission,” I growl, Chelsea’s face getting redder by the second. “You should’ve known that it wouldn’t go unpunished.”
Her expression crumbles, eyes darting between me and Ava. “But she’s trash,” she whimpers helplessly.
“You’re trash,” I snarl, primed to deliver the final blow. “And a lousy lay. Until further notice, you’re to stay out of our fucking sight at all times. You’re a ghost. You don’t exist.”
I watch as each word hits her like a spray of bullets, shock and embarrassment contorting her features. Nobody’s ever put this bitch in her place before, but it’s high time someone reminded her who’s really in charge here. There’s a steep cost to stepping out of line. This public reprimand isn’t only to punish Chelsea– it’ll also serve as a harsh reminder to every student on campus what happens when you cross the Kings.
I take a menacing step toward her, leaning in and dropping my voice low. “You’re just lucky we don’t report this to the Invictus,” I murmur, pinning her with a callous glare. “They’re always looking for excuses to send little sluts like you to the Dollhouse.”
Her eyes widen in fear, the full weight of my threat sinking in.
I dismiss her with the flick of a wrist, turning away. “Get the fuck outta my face.”
Chelsea spins on her heel and scurries off down the path, the clack of her designer shoes echoing against the concrete until it’s lost in the buzz of whispers around us. The punishment fit the crime– an eye for an eye. Or in this case, one public undressing for another. I look over at Ava, curious to gauge her reaction to Chelsea’s humiliation.
She’s fighting a smile. She thinks I did that for her .
“Ava,” I bark, her posture bristling at the harsh edge of command in my tone. “Come here.”
Her big brown eyes round like a doe caught in the headlights, the air between us thickening with tension as she momentarily hesitates. Then she dips her chin and steps in closer, remembering her fucking place.
The floral scent of her shampoo tickles my nose, my blood heating in response to the closeness of our bodies. Reaching out, my fingers brush the soft skin of her chest as I take the crown charm between them, her breath hitching, lashes fluttering.
I can smell her fear, drinking it in like oxygen as my fingers toy with the charm around her neck. “Congrats, you just became the most popular girl on campus,” I growl, holding her gaze. “But remember, nobody’s above the Kings.”