Chapter 5
Lucien
Game over. St. Augustine wins. St. Charles can suck my dick.
The crowd erupts like a volcano, and my teammates swarm me, pounding my back, screaming in my ears. I've scored forty-two points tonight, carried these fuckers on my back the entire second half. My blood's on fire, adrenaline making everything sharper, brighter.
“Holy shit, Devereux!” Coach Fontaine is actually smiling for once, his perpetual scowl replaced with something close to pride. “That's what I'm talking about!”
I scan the crowd as they chant my name—”LU-CI-EN! LU-CI-EN!”—drinking in the worship like it's the finest whiskey. And that's when I see her.
Tucked away in the highest corner of the bleachers, trying to blend into the shadows but failing miserably with that fire-red hair. Watching me. Her face is half-hidden behind a book she's clearly not reading, but I'd know those eyes anywhere.
I lock my gaze on her and let a slow smirk spread across my face. Got you, Little Sinner.
She realizes I've spotted her and immediately looks away, but it's too late. The damage is done. She came to watch me play. She can deny it all she wants, but her body's still drawn to mine.
“Locker room! Now!” Coach bellows, breaking the moment. “Before these St. Charles pricks start crying about their loss!”
I jog off the court, deliberately not looking back at Seraphina. Let her stew in it. Let her fucking squirm.
The locker room is utter chaos with guys shouting, music blasting, the smell of sweat and victory thick in the air. Cassian and Asher break away from the pack to join me, both still riding the high of the win.
“Fucking beautiful shot, man!” Asher throws his arm around my shoulders, practically vibrating with energy. “Did you see Michaels’ face when that shit went in? Like someone just told him his mom's been fucking the mailman!”
“What did you expect?” I strip off my jersey, tossing it into my locker. “St. Charles is trash. Always has been. Well, their basketball team is anyway. Football and hockey have decent records. Gotta give it to the Blackwoods for that.”
Cassian tosses me a towel, his eyes gleaming with a fire that only comes out after a win. “You were in the zone tonight. Never seen you like that before.”
“I refuse to lose to fucking SCU, man,” I say, wiping sweat from my face.
Coach calls for everyone's attention, and the locker room quiets down as he launches into his post-game speech. I tune him out, already knowing what he's going to say. Good job, room for improvement, blah blah fucking blah.
When he finally finishes and heads to his office, I stand up on the bench, towering over everyone else. The team turns to me, waiting. As captain, they expect words of wisdom or some shit.
“Listen up, you worthless fucks,” I say, my voice carrying through the locker room.
“We won tonight, but barely. A three-point buzzer-beater shouldn't have been necessary.” I scan their faces, making eye contact with each of them.
“Next time we face SCU, I want a fucking shutout. I want to humiliate them so badly their grandchildren will feel it.”
Some of the guys cheer, but I shut that down with a glare.
“You think this is good enough? Half of you played like you had your dicks in your hands instead of the ball. Rodriguez, you missed three fucking layups. Jefferson, your defense was weaker than your pull-out game.” I point around the room.
“Next time, I want to see actual points on the board from everyone, not just me carrying this team on my back.”
Miller raises his hand like we're in fucking kindergarten. “But we still won—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I cut him off. “Winning by the skin of our teeth isn't winning. It's surviving. And I don't survive—I dominate.” I look around at their chastened faces. “So maybe spend less time fucking everything that moves and more time practicing your goddamn shots.”
I jump down from the bench, dismissing them with a wave of my hand. “Now get the fuck out of here. Practice tomorrow at six.”
The team disperses, heading to the showers or checking their phones. I grab my own phone from my locker, seeing a few missed texts from my father—probably congratulating me on the win he didn't bother to attend. So very typical.
Cassian and Asher slide onto the bench on either side of me, boxing me in like they always do. The three of us have been inseparable since primary school, long before we officially became Sinners.
“Quite the motivational speech there, Captain,” Asher says, scrolling through his own messages. “Really inspiring shit.”
I grunt, not bothering to look up from my screen. “If they can't handle the truth, they shouldn't be on my team.”
“Speaking of things you need to handle,” Cassian says, his voice dropping lower, “the Choosing Ceremony is coming up fast. The elders are already placing bets on who you're going to pick.”
Asher leans in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, who's the lucky girl getting the Devereux crown? I've got twenty bucks on Vanessa Bosworth. She's been practically begging for someone to choose her since freshman year.”
“Fuck no,” I snap. “I wouldn't touch that desperate cunt with someone else's dick.”
“What about Blake?” Cassian suggests. “Her family's got the right connections.”
“After I publicly eviscerated her in front of the entire gym? Not fucking likely.”
Cassian smirks, leaning back against the lockers with that look in his eyes that means he's about to say something fucking stupid.
“Too bad you can't choose Seraphina Carvelli,” he says with a theatrical sigh. “She's gotten even hotter since she came back. That ass in those skirts? Fucking criminal.”
I grab him by the throat before I can even think, slamming him against the metal lockers hard enough to dent them. The locker room goes silent, everyone freezing mid-motion.
“Shut the fuck up,” I say, my voice so quiet only he can hear me.
I tighten my grip just enough to make his eyes widen.
“Worry more about the fact you're fucking pining after Valentina De la Cruz—the one girl your family hates more than anything in this world, who's already slated to end up with a fucking Saint.”
His face twitches beneath my grip. No one's supposed to know about his obsession with the De la Cruz’s daughter. No one except me, because I make it my business to know everyone's secrets.
I release him, and he gasps for air, rubbing his throat.
“Jesus Christ,” he wheezes. “At least jack me off next time you choke me out.”
“You wish,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Your mouth's good for running, not much else.”
“That's not what you said last summer when I sucked your—”
“This is so fucking rude,” Asher cuts in, pushing between us as he pulls his jersey over his head. “Neither one of you assholes has ever gotten me off, and I'm starting to feel left out.”
“That's because you're blond,” Cassian and I say in perfect unison, then lock eyes and burst out laughing.
“Fuck both of you,” Asher mutters, but he's fighting a smile as he grabs his shower kit.
“You wish, Crawford,” I say, slinging an arm around his shoulder as we head toward the showers. “But your preppy ass couldn't handle it.”
“Try me sometime,” he fires back with a wink that would make most girls drop their panties on the spot.
Cassian falls into step beside us. “If you two are done, can we please wash the stink off? I've got places to be tonight.”
“The only place you're going is to jerk off while stalking Valentina's CampusCrawl profile,” I say, keeping my voice low so the rest of the team can't hear.
We push into the shower area, steam already billowing from the stalls as the rest of the team rinses off. I claim my usual spot at the end, cranking the water as hot as it'll go. The scalding spray pounds against my tired muscles, washing away the sweat and adrenaline of the game.
My thoughts drift back to Seraphina sitting in those bleachers, trying to hide but failing miserably. She came to watch me. She can deny it all she wants, but some part of her still wants me, still needs to be near me.
The Choosing Ceremony is coming up fast, and everyone's waiting to see who I'll pick. The tradition goes back centuries, since Black Crown was founded by the Seven—the original families who built this secret society from blood oaths and wealth.
We weren’t always different sects, but like with all things, we changed, evolved. Now there’s the Sinners and the Saints. Still part of the society, still mandatory to abide by the rules and participate in fuck ass traditions but so very different.
The Saints walk around with their noses so far up their own asses. Always talking about “restraint” and “waiting for the one” like they're better than the rest of us. Fucking hypocrites. They wear white to our black and act like their shit doesn't stink.
But I've seen them. I've watched those same Saints when they think no one's looking—the way they eye their girls across campus, the way their hands shake with need. They're just as fucking animal as the rest of us. They just hide it better.
That's the real difference between Sinners and Saints in Black Crown.
We're honest about what we are. We fuck.
We fight. We take what we want and make no apologies for it.
There's no purity among us, no pretense of moral superiority.
Just raw, unfiltered desire and the power to satisfy it.
The red tie I wear isn't just for show. It's soaked in the blood and sweat of generations of Sinners who came before me.
Who built this society while the Saints were on their knees worshipping.
After drying off, I pull on my clothes—designer jeans that cost more than most people's rent and a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to my elbows.
“Party at the house tonight?” Asher asks, combing his golden hair back with his fingers.
“Obviously,” I respond, checking my phone again. “My father's out of town until Sunday. Perfect time to defile the Devereux name.”
And I need the distraction so I’m not lurking outside Seraphina’s dorm or doing something equally as stupid like kidnapping and holding her hostage in my closet.
Wait a minute, that’s actually not a half bad idea.