Chapter Nineteen
Tyler Prescott.
Six Weeks Prior…
Chase: Monroe’s on campus.
I choke on my coffee mid-swallow. Out of all the fucking things for my cousin to text me, this was not what I was expecting.
Me: Which one?
Chase: Raven.
Me: What is she doing there?
Chase: No idea. Axel dropped her off.
Me: Well, fucking find out.
I slide my chair out from under my desk, Myles or Michael or…
was it Milo? moving with me. “Sorry, love. I received some bad news. I’m going to fuck your throat now.
Don’t take it personally and definitely don’t flatter yourself thinking you made me cum this quickly.
Your head game is a six at best. But when I do cum, I need you to get the fuck out of my house.
Do you understand? Don’t cling. Don’t hang around. Get the fuck out.”
He nods, and I tangle my fingers in his inky curls, sinking the entirety of my cock into his mouth.
When I hit the back of his throat, I tug on the back of his head, slamming him down, over and over again, while images of Raven, of Axel Monroe, that fucking backstabber, fucking me from behind in the coat closet of the Annual Homecoming Masquerade Ball take over.
It’s these images that I love and hate, these burning memories that get me to orgasm so fast, I’ve embarrassed myself too many times thinking about him but it gets the job done every time.
Axel with those gorgeous green eyes, those lush, perfect pink lips, curly hair.
I fuck Myles-Michael-Milo’s face to the memory of Axel’s fingers diving between my cheeks, spitting and squeezing lube onto me.
His fingers prepping my needy asshole that misses him entirely too much.
That night had been exactly what I had needed from him after everything.
My body still misses him, will always miss him.
The memory of the sound of a condom wrapper tearing, then his big fucking hands spreading my ass open, and how good it felt when he forced his way into my ass, one hand on my shoulder, the other covering my mouth to shut up my grunts, sweat coating my body, all those fake fucking promises whispered between the sound of our hips meeting over and over again.
“I promise, I’ll get us out of this, Ty. No one will know. I love you, Ty. I love you.”
I cum hard, thighs shaking as I unload into Myles’s waiting mouth. “This was fine. We won’t be doing it again. Get out.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” He scrambles out from under my desk, tears in his eyes, cum on his lips.
“And I had to think of someone else in order to cum. So, you know, don’t flatter yourself.” I smirk in satisfaction. No, if I were truly satisfied, I’d be grinning like a madman.
I’d be happy like I once was.
Chase: She’s enrolled .
Angry, I get on Instagram and go to the profile I used to stalk every thirty minutes.
There. The first picture he posted fifteen minutes ago is a selfie of him and Ray in her dorm room.
She looks… different. Fuller? Not fat, exactly.
More defined. Womanly. He looks fucking fantastic and it irks me.
They look fucking great together. It always confused me how he was so tentative toward her.
It always felt like they were more than just stepsiblings.
They always had that weird synchronicity almost like the twins. Except she was more Edgar Allen Poe meet Cher from Clueless and he was always so Jonathon Taylor Thomas .
I grunt at the memory of how they were always together. How it felt like I had to tear him away for practice. He was always following her. To the library, the dining hall, the gym, the everywhere.
My eye twitches at the happiness he’s exuding in their picture. But something is in his eyes. Worry? Fear?
I roll my eyes at the caption: ‘Just like old times. *heart-eye emoji* Go RMU!’
I go to her profile since he tagged her in the one he posted.
Nothing has been posted for years. The last picture she posted is an action-shot of Axel in his uniform. ‘Go Yellow Jackets!’
It’s of the night we fucked her up.
I darken my phone screen and throw it on my desk, my fingers raking through my hair in frustration.
I unfollowed Axel years ago, crying, alone in my room after my father had beaten me within an inch of my life.
How he could hurt me so easily when I was his only son, his only child, never made sense to me.
He thought I was bi. But for him to find out I was gay, not just bi but fully, I-suck-cocks-and-take-them-in-my-ass-and-can’t-get-hard-for-women gay?
I was disowned . The scandal reached Seraphina, a duchess, my betrothed.
It was her family that called off the wedding.
And Axel ? Axel unenrolled and then transferred to Hartford to be closer to Raven. Fucking Raven. I had to unfollow him because my world had come crashing down all around me. And his? Axel Monroe had fucking thrived at Hartford. Thrived so much more than he ever did at RMU.
Axel Monroe, the only man I had ever loved, left me behind, posting pictures of his new friends, new adventures, new favorite food places, girlfriends … after what I’d done…
I grip my phone harder.
It was his turn to feel this kind of pain. This agony that never went away.
Me: What’s your plan?
Chase: Seduce her. Get her back to ur dad.
Me: Perfect .
Two Weeks Prior
Chase: I need $10K. I found out where R is staying when she’s off-campus. I have a hacker that can get me in.
Me: Sent. What’s the plan?
Chase: *knife emoji* *rope emoji*
Me: *OK emoji*
One Week Prior
Father: Chase is dead. Police believe he overdosed. He drowned in the pond at RMU by SDC house.
I don’t respond.
Axel: I just heard the news. I’m so sorry. I know you don’t care to hear from me. I’m so sorry.
Me: Can I see you? Please?
Axel: I’m sorry. I don’t think that’s a very good idea right now.
Me: Axel…
Axel: I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll see you at the funeral.
Me: Don’t bother.
Me: You’re fucking dead to me.
Two Days Prior
Father: Autopsy report came through. Hyoid broken. Cops are calling it homicide. No leads.
Me: Security Cameras?
Father: Nothing captured.
Father: Act appropriate at funeral. DO NOT bring any fucking twinks.
Father: We cannot manage another embarrassment or another scandal.
Father: We must appear united.
Me: Yes sir.
Present Day
“I don’t want them at the funeral!”
“The Anderson’s have been good friends to us during this entire ordeal, Riordan.” My aunt whispers.
“Ordeal?” Riordan screams.
“Lower your voice, son. It’s unbecoming.” My Uncle, Jaxon Prescott, condescends.
“My brother fucking died , now they’re thinking he was murdered, and you’re telling me Chase, my only brother, my best friend is going to be buried, rot alone,” his voice breaks.
“And you want me to calm down because it’s unbecoming ?
He was your CHILD and he’s DEAD!” My uncle mutters something about the Syndicate, and Riordan storms out of the kitchen screaming, “UN-FUCKING-BELIEVEABLE!”
I follow Riordan up to his room at the family estate. An old, brownstone manor built on the outskirts of Salem before the Civil War, it’s been in our family for generations. I have a love-hate relationship with this home. Memories of when Axel used to climb up the terrace like Romeo and…
Riordan’s in his closet, tearing it apart, throwing a tantrum the size of Texas, sobbing. When he’s done flinging everything around, he crumples to the ground and hugs his knees to his chest.
I sit near him, not touching, not watching just looking straight ahead at the other wall. “I’m sorry.”
He sniffs. “Yeah, me too.”
“Who didn’t you want at the funeral?”
“Jonas.”
“Oh.” I reply.
“I’m pretty sure his girlfriend killed Chase.”
“Who’s his girlfriend?”
“Raven Monroe.”
My heart stops. “You got proof? ”
Riordan shakes his head. “None at all. School security cameras show she was in her room. Never left until seven AM with her cello.”
I nod. “Yeah, she used to love playing out by the pond. I used to find her and Axel out there jamming out with his guitar. Quite the duo.”
What I don’t tell Ri, is that I used to sneak and watch them from the tree line like a creep, not wanting to disrupt them. Him . Axel.
Riordan puts his head down, resting his forehead on his knees. “I just don’t want Jonas here.”
“I get it, cousin.”
______
Jonas hands me a drink, turning to stare out the window.
He certainly fucking grew the fuck up. Gone are the freckles and that boyish charm.
He looks all man. Even with the suit on, I can see the definition of the muscles in his arms. Square jawline, green-brown eyes, chestnut hair that long in the front gives way to curls.
Fuck, I’m a sucker for men with curly hair.
I meant to ask him about Raven on the drive back, but the conversation stays on me.
I tell him about London, Boston, and he tells me he admires me.
He’s the only member of the Syndicate that has ever seen past the scandal.
“It’s hard for men like us…” he says, catching me off-guard with that sexy dimpled smirk. “ Legacies , I mean…”
Fuck. Something is definitely getting hard.
But the way he says ‘legacies…’ it makes me feel…
seen . Like he understands what it’s like.
I’m out as a gay man, but my proclivities are still shushed, swept under the rug, almost non-existent.
As if I never came out in the first place.
I’m a fly on the wall at most Syndicate meetings or simply excluded from them entirely.
Like he was, which was odd. I heard he had a mental breakdown after his initiation, but I don’t really know.
Like I said, I’m considered furniture these days.
When he drops me off at De Novo, telling me I can find him at Inferno, and then shows me his mask. It barely takes me an hour and a half to go up to my room, shower, shave certain areas, change, and order a car to take me there.