4. Willow
4
WILLOW
A voiding the Chessmen is proving harder than I imagined. They’re everywhere. No matter where I go, one of them is always lurking—watching, waiting. After what happened in the cafeteria, I can’t even look them in the eyes. Thankfully, they’re giving me some space, but not enough.
Damien’s gaze clings to me like a shadow, trailing over every inch of my body from the moment Jasmine’s car pulls into the parking lot. For the past three days, his presence has been a constant weight, his watchfulness oppressive and unrelenting.
Vincent is no better. His eyes sweep over my outfits every morning, his judgment palpable from across the cafeteria. And when he thinks no one can see, something in his expression shifts. He looks heartbreakingly lost, like a wounded animal yearning for comfort. That vulnerability makes me want to run, but it also tugs at something deep inside me, demanding I stay.
Then there’s Cast. Cast is the most suffocating of them all.
I feel him before I see him, the air shifting heavy and electric as he approaches. A shiver races down my spine as his towering frame blocks my path just outside the cafeteria.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Cast says smoothly, his voice a velvet blade. “Avoiding us.”
“Is that so surprising?” I snap, trying to move around him, but he sidesteps to block me.
“I love to play games, little pawn,” he murmurs, leaning in close. His green eyes glint dangerously, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “But do you really think you want to play with me?”
“I am not playing a game with you. I’m just trying to live my life,” I shoot back, glaring up at him.
His lips twitch into a smirk, the kind that makes my stomach twist with equal parts fear and... something else I don’t want to name. “ Your life? That’s cute.”
“Excuse me?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended as I shift my weight onto my right hip and cross my arms across my chest.
Cast licks his pink lips, a scoff escaping from between his lips as he slides closer to me, the scent of ash and honey invading my nostrils. He plays with one of my curls between his pointer and thumb. His eyes never fading from mine. “This is not your life anymore. You are ours, little pawn. Damien’s to control. Vincent’s to tease. Mine to torture.”
I try to take a step back, but his hand snakes around the back of my neck, drawing me in so close the cinnamon scent of red hot gum flutters over my face. My eyes widen and I can feel all the air leaving my chest as my eyes lock with his slowly expanding pupils that seem to consume almost every inch of his green irises.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I say firmly, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands.
Cast tilts his head, his smirk deepening as though I’ve just issued him a challenge he can’t wait to accept. “You signed your life away for one hundred fifty thousand dollars, which is sad,” he says, his tone almost playful. “I would have paid so so much more.”
I swallow roughly. His lips a safe inch, or a painful breath away. I can’t decide. “W-what does that mean?”
“It means,” Cast’s lips brush over the shell of my ear. “I know your worth, even if you don’t.”
I’m still struggling to make sense of Cast’s words, my heart pounding against my ribs, when Vincent’s voice cuts through the haze.
“What the hell is taking so long?”
I jump at the interruption, my eyes darting to where Vincent stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets. His gaze flicks between us, first landing on Cast’s hand still wrapped around my neck, then on my flushed face.
“What’s this, Cast?” Vincent asks, his voice deceptively calm, though the tension in his posture gives him away.
“I was just giving her a... reminder.” Cast drawls, his grip loosening but not entirely letting go.
“A reminder?” Vincent raises an eyebrow, alarmed eyes locking with mine. “Princess?”
Without me trying, I can feel the tension in my eyebrows loosen at the concern in his voice, but before I can stop myself the sarcasm drips into my tone. “What? No more little devil?”
Vincent moves in closer, the tips of his fingertips brushing against the curve of my cheek, leaving my cheeks in flames. His glittering blue eyes search mine, a flicker of something soft and unguarded showing beneath his usual composure.
“You don’t like it?” he murmurs, his voice low, as though we’re the only two people in the world. I turn my body towards him, Cast falling to the side as I am lost in the ocean of his eyes again.
“I didn’t say that,” I reply, the sarcasm in my tone faltering under the weight of his gaze.
Behind him, Cast scoffs. “You see? She’s ungrateful!”
The heat of Cast burns into my spine as he moves in closer. Amusement flashes across Vincent’s gaze as he murmurs, pinching my chin between his fingers. “Is that right, Princess? Are you ungrateful?”
Cast pushes in closer, his hand shaking around my waist. “Tell him, what you told me Willow.”
Nerves rush across my skin, because saying I don’t belong to Cast is easy, but I can’t say that to Vincent. It feels like a lie. It feels like a betrayal.
“Say it, Willow,” Cast whispers, leaning against the curve of my collar. “I don’t….”
Vincent’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away from me. His fingers drop from my cheek, and for a moment, I almost wish they hadn’t. “Ignore him,” he says softly.
Cast presses in closer against my ass, a lazy smile on his lips. His hands pressing firmly to the curve of my waist. I can feel the hardness of Cast's chest pressing against my back, each breath he takes sending a wave of heat down my spine. “Cast-”
“We need to talk, Little pawn.” Cast directs, moving my hips in the direction of the science corridor, further away from the cafeteria.
Every instinct screams at me to run, but I know better. My feet feel rooted to the ground, my body caught in the crossfire of their attention. Cast’s grip is firm but not bruising, a silent reminder of the control he believes he holds. Vincent steps to the side, his gaze sharp as steel as he watches me carefully, as though measuring my every reaction.
“We can just talk to her later,” Vincent says, his tone clipped as his eyes flick toward Cast.
“Relax,” Cast replies, his smile all teeth. “She’s done running from us. Aren’t you, Willow?”
I don’t answer. My mind is too busy racing, plotting, calculating. Every door we pass as they guide me toward the empty science corridor feels like a missed opportunity for escape. But running now wouldn’t just be reckless—it would be futile. I’ve seen what they’re capable of. I’ve seen the reach of the Chessmen.
“Hmm…the silent treatment? ” Cast murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Why don’t we add a spanking to your punishment?”
I glare at him over my shoulder, forcing a steadiness into my voice that I don’t feel. “I am not a child. You are not spanking me.”
Vincent chuckles softly, the sound low and warm but tinged with warning. “Careful, Princess. He doesn’t take rejection well.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Cast says, his hand sliding down my waist just enough to make me stiffen. “But, little pawn, you are mine to torture, remember? You don’t have a choice darling.”
The air grows heavier as we round the corner into the deserted corridor. The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, the only sound apart from my uneven breathing. Vincent steps ahead, opening the door to an empty classroom, and gestures for me to enter.
I hesitate, my feet frozen.
“Inside,” Vincent says, his voice soft but firm.
I swallow hard and step in, my eyes darting toward the window on instinct. Too high to jump, even if I could make it there unnoticed. Cast and Vincent file in behind me, closing the door with a quiet finality that sends a chill down my spine, as Damien sprawls across the teacher’s desk, a three-ring binder open across his knees.
“Took you long enough,” he drones, flipping a page of the binder without even looking in our direction.
“What is this about?” I whisper, stalling my feet from walking any further into the room.
Cast lazily caresses my hip, whispering in my ear as he walks past me opposite of Damein. “This is about your insubordination.”
I square my shoulders, refusing to let fear overtake me even as the expensive smell of worn leather and ash overwhelms me, almost as much as Damien’s eyes running over the curve of my body.
“Insubordination?”
“I prefer brat.” Damien mumbles which only makes me want to pull my hair out, but instead I flip him off.
Vincent’s hand slides over my middle finger, slowly putting my finger down. “Not right now, Princess. You’re already in so much trouble.”
I yank my hand back, glaring at Vincent. “Trouble? For what? Not bowing down and calling you my kings?”
Cast chuckles from his corner of the room, leaning casually against a desk. “Not a bad idea, actually. Shall we add that to the list, Damien?”
Damien looks up from his binder, his sharp, disinterested gaze meeting mine. “Wouldn’t hurt. She needs structure.”
My fists clench at my sides as I take a step back, my body colliding with the closed door. “I don’t need anything from you. If this is your idea of intimidation, you’re wasting your time.”
Vincent’s lips press into a thin line as he steps closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. “This isn’t about intimidation, Willow,” he says, his voice calm but laced with authority. “It’s about reminding you of your place. You signed a deal with us. That means you’re part of this, whether you like it or not.”
“I didn’t agree to be harassed,” I snap, meeting his gaze head-on even though my knees feel like they might give out at any second.
“No,” Vincent agrees, his tone colder now. “But you agreed to follow our rules. And disappearing for three days isn’t following the rules.”
“ I didn’t disappear for three days.”
“No,” Damien drawls, flipping another page of his binder. From the X’s and O’s it looks like his hockey binder, filled with plays that he’s studying for. “You just cowered and ran away from us.”
I take a step forward, the fire in my veins roaring to life. Damien’s smug expression fuels the inferno building inside me, and I open my mouth, ready to snap back at him. If he thinks he can call me a coward and get away with it?—
Before I can get a single word out, Vincent’s hands slide around my waist, pulling me back against him. The heat of his touch ignites a whole new kind of fire, one that rushes across my hips and leaves my thoughts in a tangled mess.
“Easy, Princess,” Vincent murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “No need to lose your temper. Especially when you’re in the wrong.”
My body stiffens at the intimacy of his hold, my words dying in my throat. The fight I’d built up moments ago falters as my senses are overwhelmed by the weight of his arms and the scent of him—clean and sharp, with a hint of something dangerously intoxicating.
Damien’s laugh is low and cutting as he rises from the desk, the binder tucked under one arm. He moves with a deliberate slowness, each step reverberating against the polished floor until he’s standing in front of me. His sharp, calculating gaze pins me in place, making me feel like a chess piece caught in his intricate game.
“You signed a deal, Willow,” he says, his voice deceptively smooth. “But clearly, you need a more... formal arrangement.”
Before I can respond, he pulls a crisp document from the binder and unfolds it with a snap, holding it up so I can see the official seal at the top. My heart sinks as I skim the bold letters: AGREEMENT OF SUBMISSION AND COMPLIANCE .
“You can’t be serious,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roaring in my ears.
“Deadly serious,” Damien replies, his tone laced with finality. “This ensures there’s no more confusion about your role. You’re ours, Willow. Until graduation day. No running, no hiding, no defiance. You’ll adhere to our rules, and in exchange, we’ll ensure... everything stays in balance.”
My fists clench so tightly that my nails dig into my palms. “You can’t just force me to sign that.”
Damien raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a cold smile. “Force? No. Persuade? Absolutely.”
Vincent steps closer, his towering presence making the walls feel even tighter. “Think about it, Princess. This protects you as much as it binds you. Step out of line, and we could ruin you in ways you can’t even imagine. But with this”—he gestures to the document—“you’ll have clear boundaries. No surprises.”
Cast lets out a low whistle, his grin smug as he leans back against the desk. “It’s a win-win, really. You get to keep playing nice, and we get to keep our pawn on the board. Everyone’s happy.”
For a moment, the air feels too thick to breathe. My mind races, weighing my options. Signing would be giving them more control, binding myself to their twisted rules. But refusing? How can I refuse? The money is gone. I can’t go back on this.
My stomach churns as I glare at the paper Damien holds out to me. “I need time,” I say, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound strong. “That contract is like thirty pages.”
Damien’s eyes narrow, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “Time? You don’t have time. You have now, besides, you already agreed to everything in here. It’s just written out.”
“I doubt I would agree with everything in there.” I snarl.
“Trust me, Princess. There is nothing in there that you wouldn’t give willingly.” Vincent says, pushing me closer to the desk while Damien holds the paper and a pen out to me. I don’t know if it is the new nickname, or the sureness in Vincent’s tone, but out of everyone here I trust him not to make me regret it.
“Is there anything in here that says you can kill me?” I question.
“Where’s the fun in killing you, pawn? I need you alive, well, content and willing for the things I want to do to you.” Cast shrugs.
My hands shake as I take the pen, my gaze darting to Vincent and Cast. Neither of them speaks, but their stares bore into me, leaving no room for doubt about what they expect.
I glance down at the document already open to the final page with the signatures, the words blurring together as my vision swims only to focus on the three signatures next to the empty spot for me. Vincent Beaumont. Juan Castillo. Damien Sterling.
Damien, silent until now, finally speaks. “We want you to understand the rules,” he says quietly, his voice steady but chilling.
“Rules?” I repeat, my stomach twisting. “I just signed my fucking life away.”
“Language, pawn.” Cast clicks his tongue, leaning against the whiteboard behind Damien, but I don’t move my gaze from the fucker who wants to give me rules on top of me signing my life for the next four months.
Damien’s eyes pin me in place, a storm brewing in their depths that I can’t seem to look away from. They’re cold, calculating, and yet there’s something magnetic about the way they burn into mine, as if he’s daring me to defy him just so he can relish tearing me down. My breathing falters, the weight of his gaze pressing down on me like an invisible force. I should be angry, I am angry, but the intensity of his focus sends the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy through me I can’t quite explain.
“You eat with us every day for lunch,” Damien says, his voice deliberate and clipped, breaking through the haze he’s wrapped me in.
Before I can react, Vincent’s fingers brush against my neck, sweeping my curls aside with an infuriating tenderness. His touch is light, almost reverent, and yet it sets my skin ablaze, a stark contrast to Damien’s icy demeanor. “Wear the clothes, or lack thereof, that I pick every day,” Vincent murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
I tilt my head instinctively, exposing more of my neck to him without even thinking, though my eyes remain locked on Damien. His expression sharpens as if he’s noticed the subtle movement, a flicker of triumph flashing in his cold stare.
“Monday through Friday only,” I manage to say, my voice steadier than I expect despite the wildfire raging under my skin.
“Monday through Saturday,” Damien counters smoothly, never breaking eye contact.
“Deal.” The word escapes before I’ve fully thought it through, my focus so consumed by Damien’s gaze that I don’t notice Vincent’s hand sliding along my body until I feel the heat of his palm on my hip. His fingers glide over the curve of my waist and trace up to my ribs, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake. The sensations are so overwhelming, so consuming, that my knees threaten to buckle, and I slump back against Vincent’s chest, my breath hitching.
“What else?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. My body feels like it’s caught in a tug-of-war between the fiery touch of Vincent and the icy command of Damien, and it’s taking everything in me to stay upright, to stay composed.
“You come when we call, and you cum when we let you.” Cast adds, and my eyes flash to the deep moss of his eyes.
“And if I don’t agree with all of your rules?” I challenge, my voice sharper than I intended, though my hands betray me by trembling at my sides.
Cast’s smirk deepens, and he pushes off the desk with a languid grace, stalking toward me like a predator cornering its prey. He doesn’t stop until he’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “Lesson one, pawn,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “There is always a consequence for your actions.”
With a casual flick of his wrist, he flips to the third page of the contract and points to a line buried in dense legalese. “Page three, section B,” he drawls. “You break the contract, you pay every penny back—with interest, of course.”
The blood drains from my face. My chest tightens, and panic wells up inside me like a tidal wave. Without thinking, I rip myself out of Vincent’s embrace, his hands falling away as I stagger backward, putting as much space between them and me as the small classroom will allow.
“What happens if you break the contract?” I demand, my voice cracking with a mix of fear and fury. My eyes dart between them, looking for any hint of weakness, any crack in their armor that I can exploit.
Vincent’s gaze softens slightly, but there’s a resolve in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine. He steps toward me, measured and calm, as though he’s trying not to spook me. “That won’t happen,” he says, his tone almost soothing.
“That’s not an answer!” I snap, my voice rising. “What happens if you screw up? If you go back on your word? What happens to me then?”
Vincent stops a few feet away, his hands loosely at his sides, non-threatening but still in control. “If we break the contract,” he says carefully, “a trust has been set up in your name. Enough money to set your family up for generations. It’s untouchable, guaranteed.”
I blink, his words hitting me like a punch to the gut. My heart pounds as my mind races, trying to process the weight of what he just said. “You… you’re serious?”
“Yes,” Vincent replies, his voice steady. “This isn’t just about us, Willow. We’re not here to ruin you. Quite the opposite.”
“Opposite?” I let out a bitter laugh, my hands clenching into fists. “You’re blackmailing me, controlling every move I make, and you think throwing money at my family makes this okay?”
Cast shrugs, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s called incentive, darling.”
“That’s one hell of an incentive.” I snort. “But that amount of money means nothing to you.”
“And everything to you. Win-win, pet.” Damien leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sign the contract Willow.” Damien's jaw clenches, his arms crossed tightly against his chest and the muscles in his neck pulsing with tension. His hockey jersey stretches across his broad frame, emphasizing every bulging muscle and making him look like a fierce gladiator ready for battle.
With a deep breath, I lower the pen to the paper. My signature feels like a betrayal, but I remind myself: This is only temporary.
“Fine,” I huff, scrawling out my name out larger than anyone else’s. “If this contract makes you feel better.”
Vincent leans in closer, the hard planes of his body pressed into mine. “This makes me feel a lot better, gorgeous. Thank you.”
My chest tightens at the heat of his words, but I still my nerves and place the pen down on top of the contract, sealing my fate to three boys who want to, and I am quoting Cast here: torture, tease and control. Lucky me.
Standing up straight, my eyes locking with the stormy grey of Damien just as a devious smile spreads across his lips, like he wants to kill me. His stare feels crushing, and I can almost feel the walls closing in around me.
“This,” he says, holding up a necklace featuring diamond hearts, where three of them are black while the rest are pure white, “is a reminder. You wear it, and you follow the rules.”
My throat tightens, but I force myself to meet his gaze. “You can’t be serious. A collar?”
“Put it on, Willow.” Damien yawns.
I stare at the necklace. The opulence of it is undeniable—each jewel catching the light and scattering it in a thousand tiny rainbows across the room. It’s extravagant, breathtaking, and probably worth more than everything I will ever own combined. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “And if I don’t?”
Cast’s smirk turns cruel. “Then we’ll help you put it on.”
Reluctantly, I take the collar, my hands trembling as I lift it to my neck. The weight of the sparkling diamonds feels oppressive, each stone cold against my skin as I carefully fasten the clasp. My throat tightens as the cool metal settles against me, a physical reminder of the control they’ve claimed.
“Good girl,” Cast murmurs, his voice a silken whisper that seems to curl around me, warm and teasing. The way his words brush against my nerves makes my skin prickle, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the treacherous twitch of a smile at bay. “Now, ask nicely if you can go to class.”
I clench my jaw, my voice barely above a whisper. “Can I go to class now?”
Vincent’s lips curve into a faint smile. “I’ll walk you.”
The weight of the collar seems to grow heavier with every step as Vincent leads me out of the room. My body feels like it’s buzzing, an uncomfortable awareness of Vincent at my side, his presence as undeniable as the collar itself.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, his gaze flickering toward me now and then. When he finally speaks, his voice is surprisingly gentle. “You know, you could be happy with us. If you allowed yourself to be.”
I scoff, the sound bitter even to my ears. “This is a deal, Vincent. Nothing more. Don’t pretend it’s anything else.”
He stops abruptly, his hand shooting out to grip my wrist, turning me to face him. His blue eyes bore into mine, glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” I snap, though my voice falters.
Vincent’s grip slides from my wrist to the collar, his fingers hooking into it with practiced ease. He pulls me closer, the motion forcing my head to tilt back slightly, exposing my throat to him. The air shifts, charged and thick, as his lips hover a fraction of an inch from my ear.
“Then why are you shaking, Princess?” His voice is low, almost a growl, as his free hand skims down my arm.
“I’m not?—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupts, tugging the collar just enough to make me gasp. His other hand snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “You can’t even hide how much you like this.”
I try to pull away, but his grip tightens, holding me in place. My cheeks burn as he presses his thigh between mine, the friction sending an unwelcome jolt of pleasure through me.
“You’re soaked,” Vincent murmurs, his lips brushing against my jaw. His fingers trail lower, skimming the hem of my skirt. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but your body tells me the truth.”
Heat rushes to my face, humiliation and arousal warring within me. “Vincent.”
Vincent chuckles, the sound vibrating against my skin. “Not until we set another rule.” His fingers dip under my skirt, dangerously close to proving his point. “From now on, you’re not allowed to wear underwear. Understood?”
My breath hitches, a mix of outrage and anticipation coursing through me. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious,” he replies, tugging the collar again for emphasis. His eyes gleam with satisfaction as he watches the conflicting emotions play across my face. “No underwear, Princess. And don’t think I won’t check.”