Chapter 5
There’s this thing they drill into us from day one. A core tenet of the brotherhood.
Truth.
To be a real Mu Lambda Nu man, you have to be honest with yourself and with everyone else. No masks. No lies. Only brutal, soul-baring accountability.
It’s bullshit, obviously. Or maybe it’s only bullshit when you're the one lying.
That’s what I’m chewing on as I stalk through the house, heart still jacked from the scene in the front room, pulse hot behind my eyes, scanning every hallway for a glimpse of him.
What is the truth?
I’ve twisted myself into whatever shape needed by those around me so they’d accept me. So I could pretend the power of my name wasn’t the only reason they let me in, but I am who I am, whether I want that or not.
I don’t get a say in how people see me. I only get to choose how I use it.
The truth is… Power is sexy.
I like the way it feels when the room tilts toward me. When I take up space and no one dares to look away. That used to scare me. Now maybe it means I’ve finally stopped pretending I have to play nice to belong.
I especially like the feeling when just existing is enough to make a man bend a little.
It makes me feel hot and a little unhinged, like I’m buzzing with it. It makes me want a world where I can show that off, where everyone can see exactly what I’m capable of. Where Knox is mine and I can leave my name carved somewhere permanent and brag about it.
It’s a dangerous part of me that I could learn to love if I’m not careful. The part that whispers I’d rather be dangerous than forgettable.
I take in that realization with adrenaline still burning in my veins and I don’t feel cold. I don’t feel like my dad. I feel seen. Maybe I didn’t have to sand myself down to be worthy. I can stay sharp and still be wanted.
The party’s still raging downstairs, but up here there’s a party all its own.
Guys snoring on couches. Someone puking in the communal bathroom. I step over a trail of Solo cups and a half-eaten slice of pizza
Meanwhile, behind closed doors, the house hums with a different kind of rhythm of moans and muffled laughter as girls and brothers make memories on futons that should’ve been replaced five pledge classes ago.
I snake through the front hallway and round the corner toward the president’s suite. Tucked in the far corner of the house, it’s the only room big enough for an actual bed and not some creaky twin XL lofted over a mini fridge.
My footsteps go quiet as I get closer. These next steps carry me to a threshold I can’t cross lightly. Whatever happens past this point doesn’t get undone.
When I reach the door, I pause. It’s cracked. Not enough to see inside, but enough to make my pulse skip.
It’s an invitation. Or maybe a test.
I press my fingertips to the door and push. It eases open, like the house itself is holding its breath. A warm amber glow spills into the hallway.
The air changes the second I step in. Thick with something unspoken. Heavy with what’s about to happen.
He’s slouched in the armchair. His ski mask dangling from one hand, the other clenched tight around the armrest. His bare feet rest on the edge of the bed, every inch of him saying he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Lock the door,” he says.
I click the door shut behind me like I’m not sealing myself in with a loaded weapon.
The air inside the room shifts the second the latch catches. It’s hot, humming with tension, thick enough to taste. My body’s already wound tight, but I haven’t figured out how I want to play this yet.
Am I walking into his hands… or is he already in mine?
Is he in control because I let him be or because he always has been?
Knox doesn’t move from the chair and from his searing gaze I know he’s already dissected me and found the softest point to press.
“You’ve ignored me all semester,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
“Being around you is a risk,” he answers.
“You didn’t have this much restraint over summer,” I shoot back.
“I think we remember it differently.”
I tilt my head, feigning nonchalance. “I remember it exactly. You locked on to me the second I walked in.”
A low hum slips from him, and his mouth twists into a dark smile. Something that promises trouble. He rises from the chair unhurried.
“If I had restraint, you’d still be untouched.”
He crosses the room and stops as we both feel the invisible thread pulled tight between us
“Tonight,” he murmurs. “You were a fucking tease.”
“No,” I snap, too fast. “I had your attention.”
His eyes bore into me. “You had everyone’s.”
He takes his time, gaze trailing down like he’s remembering the shape of me under his hands.
“You’re a black hole,” he says. “Dragging everything toward you to see what survives.”
My breath catches. Part of me wants to argue. The other part wants to pull him in and watch him fall apart. His hands hover near my hips, fingers twitching. Every inch between us feels like a dare.
“You knew how to hook me,” he replies.
It knocks the air from my lungs. I see it hit him too. The flash of fireworks, the sweat on my skin, the way we moved like we already knew each other. His pupils blow wide as he sinks into the memory.
“I liked you soft. You looked good like that.”
He leans in, nose brushing mine. My knees nearly buckle.
“It’s why I was gentle,” he murmurs. “Thought I’d break you.”
“I’m not fragile,” I say, voice catching in my throat.
His smile flickers. “I know that now.”
I could back off and give him the distance he keeps asking for, but I’m done shrinking. Done sanding myself down into something easier to hold.
“Okay then…” I whisper, lips brushing his. “Break me.”
He studies me looking for the cracks, but we both know he won’t find any.
“Couldn’t if I tried.”
“I want you,” I say. “Whatever you’re offering.”
His eyes darken. “Then don’t give me the version you give everyone else.”
“You’re so worried I can’t handle you,” I say, and my throat goes dry the second the words land. “But what if it’s the other way around? People treat me like I’m breakable because of my name. No one wants to be the one who shatters a Finley.”
Knox tilts his head and narrows his eyes, studying me with a heavy gaze. I hold his eyes for a moment, then shake my head.
“I only play it safe because I have to. It’s easier to seem harmless than powerful. What’s your excuse?”
He pulls in a breath that sounds equal parts pain and restraint.
“I think you liked pretending I was innocent. It gave you an excuse to hold back.”
“Maybe it did.”
I scoff, tipping my head. “That’s not what you want, is it? You don’t want control. You want permission to lose it. Free reign to ruin and be ruined and stop pretending like you’re above wanting anything.”
He doesn’t say anything, but that muscle in his jaw twitches and I know it’s taking everything in him not to bite.
“You keep trying to twist this into something manageable,” I murmur. “But I’m not safe, and neither are you. Stop trying to choreograph every moment and just be who you are when no one’s watching.”
His chest is rising fast, unsteady. He’s one exhale from unraveling. I can see the way his jeans pull tight, the outline of him hard and straining.
“Do you know why I was at that party on the Fourth?”
I lift an eyebrow, waiting. He swallows thickly.
“My uncle was throwing it. I wasn’t gonna go, but I knew you’d be there. I—” His voice drops. “I needed to see if the stories were true. If you were really like that. If anyone could be that fucking magnetic.”
A beat.
“You were worse.”
My cock’s straining in my pants so hard I could bust. He really sees me in a way no one else ever has, and it makes me fucking feral. I laugh. I can’t help it. It bubbles out of me wild and breathless, manic with the high of being known.
“You’re right to be scared,” I say. “If you keep letting me in, there won’t be anything left of either of us.”
His jaw flexes.
“But maybe I want the version of us that ends in ruin. Maybe you do too. I’m not soft. I’m not fragile. So don’t play nice with me. Don’t water it down. I’m done pretending I need to be protected from who I really am.”
His nostrils flare. That careful calm he hides behind is long gone.
“Stop pulling your punches.”
He looks half-feral. Hands flexing his sides, every instinct in him fully screaming to take. To ruin. To make me his.
The air between us crackles, thick with want and warning. His eyes drag over me until I’m squirming under the weight of it. I can see it in the way he watches me that he’s made his choice, but he’s dragging it out, letting the hunger sit on his tongue a second longer.
And then, voice firm, he says—
“Face the headboard.”