Chapter 1 #2
“What about her?” Galina chokes out breathlessly. Jesus, it’s like men with their favorite sports dudes.
Lucia’s jaw drops. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard! Okay, get this: apparently she might be a fucking student here.”
Even Ari, who studiously avoids our “horny book stuff”, looks up at that.
“Whoa, what?!” Wren blurts.
“Bullshit,” Ari giggles, rolling her eyes.
“No, seriously!” Lucia nods eagerly. “You know Mariana Guzman? In The Reckless, posts romance book content?”
The rest of us nod.
“Okay, check out her latest video. It’s wild. She thinks a video Velvet Villainess uploaded a week ago was filmed in Ravencroft Library. How crazy is that?!”
For once, Galina is at a loss for words. Wren whistles under her breath and drains her mug. Ari’s brows arch as high as mine.
“Does Mariana know who she is?”
Lucia shakes her head. “Nope. Just said that she must be a Knightsblood student, otherwise how would she have been able to film inside Ravencroft?”
“Wow, so crazy,” Galina murmurs, shaking her head. She glances at the clock on the wall and clucks her tongue against her teeth. “Okay, bitches, ready to roll?”
Wren springs up and grins. “Hell yes!”
Galina beams. “Attagirl! Let’s go get some Para Bellum boys to flirt with you. PS, survey says The Untouchables are all still siiing-gle,” she adds.
In a school of future kings, the four that everyone at Knightsblood calls “The Untouchables” are on another level. They’re not just future heads of hugely powerful mafia families, and obviously all in Para Bellum. They’re gods walking amongst us mere mortals here.
Lochlan Kildare, future head of the Kildare Irish Mafia family, plus his younger brother, Ronan. Drago Krylov, who could either be the king of the Krylov Bratva or a senior partner at the most powerful law firm in New York, depending on which of his parents he takes after.
And lastly, the president of Para Bellum: Achilles Drakos.
He’s the one member of The Untouchables who doesn’t outright terrify me.
We’ve never spoken, but unlike Drago, who prowls around campus like a dark nightmare, or the Kildare brothers who look like pure trouble, Achilles is the golden boy of Knightsblood and a poster child for “magnanimous future king”.
He’s built like a god, with looks and a smile that would make legit deities jealous, and has just about everyone at school eating out of his palm. Faculty included.
Wren frowns as she tucks a loose wave of buttery-blonde behind her ear. “Pass on the walking red flag parade, sorry.”
Galina rolls her eyes. “You’re seriously telling me you don’t think they’re hot?”
Wren shoots me a “save me from her” look and sighs. “Girl, you do realize that your fictional boyfriends would be restraining order nightmares in real life, right?”
Galina giggles. “Okay, I’ll grant you that someone like Drago is scary as shit.”
“Fucking nightmare fuel,” Arianna shivers.
“But Achilles Drakos?” Galina’s brows lift. “I mean, are you joking? Not one of you would say no to all that. And if you say you would… You’re lying.”
Wren shakes her head. “Nope, not interested. Sorry.”
Galina groans. “I’m just saying, we need to get you back on the horse.”
Wren and I share a look as she rolls her eyes.
“I’m all set with my horse situation. But you do you.”
“Tragically, I fear Galina will never find true love,” Arianna sighs dramatically. “She’s still hung up on four hundred and thirty-seven fictional men with horse dicks and Halloween masks who she unironically calls boyfriend.”
“Please,” Galina sighs, winking. “It’s four-hundred-and-thirty-nine, thank you very much. And no, I don't share.”
She and Arianna crack up as everyone takes last glances in the mirror before filing out the door. I wait until they’re all gone to snake a hand under my mattress. My fingers close around a lacy red thong before I quickly pull it out, ball it up, and shove it into the small pocket of my leggings.
Yes, under normal conditions, planting crime scene evidence on someone innocent of said crime would be considered evil. But there’s nothing innocent about the predator I’m targeting tonight.
Sometimes bad things have to be done to stop bad people.
The five of us tumble out the front door of Morvaine Manor and follow the white gravel footpath past the woods and to the main Knightsblood campus.
Even though I’ve spent a full school year here, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how stunning the campus is.
The original founders of Knightsblood were looking to emulate famous universities of the time like Harvard, Yale, Trinity and Oxford.
They envisioned a place of higher learning in the newly-minted United States for the heirs to the aristocracy who were immigrating from Great Britain and Europe.
Since then, the core concept might have changed from “heirs to the aristocracy” to “heirs to criminal empires”, but the same motto still hangs above the gates.
To the blood of king and crown, cross and knighthood.
Hence, Knightsblood.
The five of us giggle and gossip as we walk across the campus. Kingsward Hall is all lit up like a royal palace, and you can hear the party is in full swing.
“Sweet! I totally forgot this was a masked thing!” Galina laughs when we get to the two big football or rugby player types at the front door and are handed black Venetian masks that cover the top halves of our faces.
I didn’t forget.
It’s part of my plan.
The two guys at the door stamp the backs of our hands with a little crown, then let us through.
The full din of the party hits as we step inside the cavernous, palatial mansion.
I’ve been here before, of course, for various parties in my freshman year.
But whoa. Kingsward really does feel like actual royalty lives here.
Vaulted ceilings loom high overhead. A sweeping double staircase ascends to the upper floors. Huge double doorways lead to massive, gorgeous ballrooms, ringed with gilded columns.
“Remind me why we don’t hang out here more often?” Wren moans, her jaw hanging open.
“Because you need to be invited?” Ari sighs. “And we’re not friends with anyone in Para Bellum?”
“Well, we should change that,” Galina groans, her neck craned back as she stares up at the battle scene painted in French Baroque style across the vaulted ceiling. “Immediately.”
“Except they’re all a bunch of snobs,” Arianna snickers.
“Not all of them,” Wren laughs. “I had a lecture last year with Selene Drakos, and she was super cool.”
Galina nods. “And I met Drago’s sister Tatiana at a cocktail thing that Papa dragged Zane and me to earlier in the summer. She was a little intimidating, but nice. I don’t know, though. Zane got a little flirty with her, so I left. No one wants to see their big brother trying to spit game.”
We all laugh. Luckily, I’m the only one who realizes that my own laugh is fake.
False.
A mask to cover the nervous adrenaline coursing through my veins.
They’re all here to have a good time. Not me.
I’m here to put a monster behind bars, where he belongs.
We meander through the raucous party toward the bar. I swallow heavily and slip my fingers into the pocket of my leggings, feeling the lace stuffed inside.
Almost time.
I’ve done my best not to think about it.
About him. I’ve shoved the whole event and the weeks on either side of it in a locked box and buried it in the dark recesses of my mind.
But being here tonight, knowing how close I am to exacting my revenge on that fucking asshole, has the sickening memories and crippling emotions rushing back to the surface.
The leering grin.
The smell of alcohol on his breath. The way the room spun as the drinks in my own system dulled my senses and slowed my ability to think.
To run.
To say no.
The stifling, claustrophobic feeling of his body pressing to mine, his hand pushing past my defenses and slipping, unwanted, between my legs…
“Yelena.”
I startle, blinking. Wren is standing in front of me, giving me a strange look.
“Yeah?”
She cocks a brow, bringing her glass to her lips. “You okay? You were doing that zone out thing.” Her brow furrows. “You’ve…been doing that a lot, actually.”
She’s my best friend, we’ve got a ton of classes together, and we have a shared bathroom between our bedrooms at Morvaine Manor. She of anyone would notice that I’ve been a little spaced-out since the school year started.
But she doesn’t know why.
Why I’ve been avoiding alcohol, why my smiles are sometimes forced, and why I’ve been so tired, because sleeping brings nightmares.
I haven’t told anyone what happened this summer.
What he did to me.
He’s not on campus anymore, thank God.
But tonight he is.
The thought sends a shiver raking down my spine like broken glass. Knowing that he’s here, and that any one of the tall, built men in black Venetian masks around me at this very moment could be him…
Bile rises in my throat, but I manage to muscle it back down.
“You good, dude?” Wren frowns.
My fingers slip into the pocket of my leggings again, toying with the lace as I nod, and she gives me one of her looks.
“I mean, really?” she says, her brow furrowing deeper with concern.
I force myself to smile and roll my eyes. “I’m fine. Just tired, you know?”
She nods. “Maybe a drink?”
I shake my head.
“Want to go find some boys to flirt with?”
I swallow back more bile, my fake smile staying firmly in place as I do.
“Hey, you’re the one we’re supposed to be finding boys for.”
She makes a face. “Ugh. I guess. I know Galina’s all gung-ho to set me up—”
“Welcome to Galina 101.”
“Tell me about it,” Wren giggles. “I mean, the girl is on the hunt for everyone except herself. Did you know Kirill Tsarenko wanted to take her out last semester and she flat-out said no?”
I grin. “Isn’t Kirill a total man-whore who fucks anything that moves?”
“Well, yeah, but come on. If you’re looking for someone to cook you dinner, don’t you want a chef who’s cooked a lot of dinners before??”
I howl with genuine laughter. Wren grins.
“There’s my Lena.”
I flash her a smile. “I didn’t go anyway, honest. I’m just…”
“Tired, I know.” She sighs. “You keep saying that. I wish you’d remember I’m your best friend and you can tell me anything, though.”
The first part is one hundred percent true. I wish the second part was.
“Anyway, let’s go find Para Bellum boys and see how long it takes them to mention who their fathers are and all the super important shit they’re planning to do.”
I grin. Then my gaze wanders to one of the staircases leading to the upper floors and my fingers snake back into my pocket, touching the lace.
“You know what, I just saw a girl in my econ class I’ve been meaning to catch up with,” I lie. “Talk to you later?”
“Booo,” Wren grumps. Then she nods. “Yeah, go do you. If you need me… The bar is over there.”
I frown at how quickly she knocks back her drink. “Okay, but…you know…take it easy?”
“Easy like Carly Presioso, the fucking slut who, uh, lives in this house?” Wren says with a fake smile.
Carly Presioso is, in fact, the girl that Bryce’s dick was in when he officially broke things off with Wren.
Ick.
I make Wren promise to be safe, then watch her dance away through the crowd before I turn and eyeball the side staircase.
Time to use a dead girl’s panties to frame someone for murder.
Hey, there's a first time for everything, right?
I slip into one of the less crowded rooms, keeping to myself and avoiding the circles of conversation. Near the back of the house, I sneak up another staircase. The party is continuing here on the second floor.
My target is one above, though.
There’s a small sign on a chain hung across the staircase leading to the third floor that reads “no admittance”.
There doesn’t really need to be a sign. It’s common knowledge that the third floor of Kingsward Hall, where the president and senior members of Para Bellum have their bedrooms, is invite only.
No one sees me creep up the stairs and count the doors down the hallway until I get to the third one on the right.
I wasn’t lying to Wren before. I did recognize a girl in my economics class downstairs when we walked in. We’re not friends, but I did hear her talking earlier this week about the former Para Bellum president coming back to visit campus for the party tonight.
She also mentioned he’ll be staying in what used to be his room when he was a student here and that she hoped she'd get “a personal tour” of it.
The only reason I didn’t scream at her to stay away from the monster is that by the end of the night he’ll be in fucking jail.
The huge bedroom is dark when I slip inside. The king-sized bed would be the obvious place. Maybe too obvious. My eyes adjust to the darkness as I tug the red lace out of my pocket.
Finally, my gaze lands on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves against the far wall.
That’ll work.
My heart is racing as I cross the floor in silence, then stand up on tip-toe, reach up, and drop the thong behind a row of leather-bound books.
Hope you like prison, motherfucker.
There’s a sense of relief as soon as I let go of the evidence, almost peace, and I grin. You know what? I think I will have a drink tonight, to celebrate—
The feeling of elation shatters like glass, and my scream dies in my throat when I’m grabbed from behind. My adrenaline spikes, my entire body turning to ice as the powerful figure behind me pins me hard to the bookshelves.
Hot breath teases over my neck. Strong hands grip my ponytail.
Your hair x my fist.
My eyes bulge as the dim light in the room glints wickedly off the razor-sharp edge of a knife that’s suddenly in front of my face.
“Now, little prey…”
My brain short-circuits, my insides liquifying as the words are rasped into my ear in a deep, dark, masculine baritone. My breath catches as the very tip of the knife slowly drags over the skin of my cheek.
“Are you going to be a good girl and fucking run for me?”