Wicked Wednesday (Cult Campus #3)

Chapter 1

one

No one matters to me. Anyone who tries gets slapped hard enough to rattle their soul. Maybe it’ll shock some sense back into their tiny little brains.

The girl currently dissecting me with her judgmental stare, sneering so hard she’s in danger of losing her upper lip, rakes her gaze over my short, sparkly red dress.

As casual as a war crime, my high heel catches the corner of their bromidic Aubusson rug in front of the soapstone bar.

And—oops—there goes a splash of Cristal down the front of her pale satin dress, the stain blooming like blood.

If only it were…

It’s unflattering on her anyway.

“Bitch!” she screeches, her eyes locked on the cheap fabric as the drink seeps toward her crotch.

My lashes flutter with unapologetic care. “Sorry,” I purr, already gliding past her toward the raucous game room.

Nope. Not here…

No mask, because why bother? Everyone else is busy hiding who they are. Not me. I love myself. Too much to cover up with some pretend niceties.

High-paneled wainscoting and women in blood-red dresses cling to the walls, waiting for the bathroom in a long line of body glitter and Black Opium.

Like identical vinyl-sided houses crammed into some sleepy suburb, all trying to outdo one another while looking the same.

Vagrant purple feathers float past—remnants from a random masquerade mask—as I stride toward the kitchen.

The guys by the pool tables? Drenched in dark liquor, drowned in clouds of blunt smoke, flailing at keg stands like they’re performing mating rituals at a zoo. As if this isn’t Theta Rho Zeta’s Red Night.

It’s a sex party. Everyone had to consent before setting foot inside.

“Pretty sure she’ll say yes,” I mutter, swatting my hand in the air between some guy spitting weak game at a baby-faced Sigma Lambda Psi pledge. She looks terrified. Not fit to be a Sigma.

But then again…

Neither was I.

I love myself. Which is why when my cousin, Pippi, comes sprinting past, wide-eyed, I duck into a shadowed doorway and let her pass. Face exposed. Posture relaxed. I can’t have her thinking I’m looking for someone. That would show my hand too soon.

“Help me! There’s someone chasing me!”

Caliphylla’s sake. She’s so dramatic.

Lucky for me, she slides right by. Hot on her heels? Ryan Cardell in a wolf mask, loping after her like this is a rom-com and not a ritual.

Not in there.

Taking a deep breath, I aim for the reception area, belly filling with a sinking desperation that I redefine as excitement.

“Another champagne,” I tell the bartender as my eyes scan the crowd like I’m not looking for someone.

It’s my first Red Night as a freshman at Northview University. Getting invited was an event in itself. My face still burns when I think about the moment that crimson envelope landed in my hand.

Total accident that I showed up at the quad café when I did. Fellow Omega Nu Epsilon pledge, Athena Griffin, was already in line, pretending not to see me. I gave her a nod. No wave. We’re cellmates, nothing more.

In strolled Henry Cardell and his hype man. Henry clocked Athena, turned pink, and shuffled over like a pigeon in heat. The invite trembled in his grip as he offered it to her, but swiped it on his jeans first, like that would fix his perspiration problem.

The guy standing next to him—shorter, dimpled, and wide-eyed—jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “Dude. She’s standing right there,” he muttered, not quietly enough.

Only then did Henry fish out a second envelope and flick it toward me, like it cost him something. “Bring your friend,” he told Athena, gaze skimming right past mine.

Joke’s on them.

I don’t have friends.

What a waste of energy they are.

“Looking for someone?”

Before I even catch who’s asking, I exhale an irritated sigh. “I came here with someone, so…if you want to fuck, we’ll have to wait until he gets back.”

But when I turn and see who it is, the guy is staring at me with such pure disgust that I falter. I almost consider taking it back. And that never happens.

“Wow. Are you always so full of yourself or just a bitch?” He’s got slicked-back dirty-blond hair. And one of those jaws that looks as if he mews on gravel. Attractive, but…

Likely gay. He looks like he sucks a mean dick.

And that’s not an insult.

“I’m both, I guess,” I say with a shrug.

His light brown eyes scan the crowd over my head. “That’s fine. At least you’re insightful.”

I glance around with him. “Are you looking for someone?”

“God, not that clingy, ivory satin dress, that’s for sure. My eyes hurt looking at it.” He narrows his gaze at the woman I splashed champagne on earlier. “Someone did her a favor by staining it.”

A genuine grin curves my lips. “That’s what I said.”

“Right? She needs help.” He’s tall—either that, or I’m just short—but his snort of laughter hits my bare shoulder like a warm breeze over the puffy cape sleeves of my dress. “Look at that one, though. And his suit? Please.” Not-so-carefully, he points out some ridiculous outfits.

I giggle. “It’s an orgy party where consent is already given, and I bet those two still won’t get laid.”

He smirks. “I’m Julien. Think we have Foundations of Societal Ascendancy together.”

Points for the tailored tux. And for not hiding behind a mask.

Foundations is a massive class—mandatory for all Greek freshmen to absorb the Seventh Society’s instillments and betterments. No way I’d notice him in that sea of students.

“Oh, cool. Are you in…”

“Beta Kappa Eta.”

“Smart guy, huh?”

“Nope. Dad was a legacy, so I was roped in. Doesn’t take brains, just the right pedigree.

Only…the breeding part of this? The appointed thing?

That may be an issue.” His alabaster cheeks flush to a flaming red, and I read between the lines.

Julien’s not telling me he’s gay. But he’s telling me he’s gay.

And that he can’t say because… What does it matter?

He’ll probably be appointed to marry a sorority sister anyway.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

He takes a drink of his clear liquid, eyebrows lifted. “Hmm?”

I motion to my outfit. “You could get appointed to a bitch who’s full of herself.”

“At least she’ll know how to dress.”

A smile takes over my face without asking permission.

Oh, shit…

Did I just make a fucking friend?

“What are you drinking?” I ask.

“Water. I, uh…I don’t drink—”

My body jolts as someone slams into me from behind, and a low voice growls, “Who the fuck are you?”

Talon.

He thrusts a champagne flute in front of my face, eyes locked on Julien like a tattooed bald eagle who just saw another male circling his nest.

“Julien,” I say, contempt on full display. “This is the guy I regretfully brought with me.”

But Julien’s already retreating, smile soft and apologetic as he disappears into the swarm of dancers near the party room.

I snatch the flute and whirl on Talon. “Why are you like this?”

“What? Protective?” he scoffs. “Ashlyn, quit being naive. He was eyeing your ass.”

“No, he wasn’t. It was facing away.” I suck the champagne down in one long pull. “Besides…we’re at an orgy, dipshit. I think the point is to stare at asses and not just that, but fuck them, too.”

I whip the glass over toward the bar. It explodes against the marble tile, shards flying along with the last slivers of my peace of mind. It’s gone. Talon stole it, like he always does. Clumsy hands. Dirty mouth. No sense of rhythm or timing.

He runs his paws through his greasy brown hair, then grabs my upper arm. “Then let’s go do that. I’m almost ready.”

I roll my eyes. He probably just snorted some lines and got his dick sucked in the bathroom by a Sigma ho. Or one of my Omega sisters, thinking screwing him would bring me down a peg.

We can pretend Talon matters to me.

I’ve done it for years.

His brown eyes are bloodshot behind his Zorro-style mask. Occasionally swiping at his runny nose with a thumb, he cranks his neck to the side while I study his ‘Cosa Nostre’ ink. Wrong spelling. Wrong font. Never had the heart to tell him. Because I don’t have one of those.

Talon’s tattoo is a running joke in his fraternity, Delta Pi Alpha. I fake outrage when they mock him, only so I don’t have to hear him whine about their ribbing for hours.

“Can you even get it up now?” I ask, eyeing his trousers. He thinks they’re black Armani. They’re gray. And also, not Armani.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks with a glare.

“Figured you’d already started without me…”

“Ash, pumpkin. I wouldn’t do that. We came here together.”

Like second nature, I shove my bottom lip out and blink slowly at him. “Do you love me?”

He strokes my light-brown hair over my shoulder. “Of course, fancy. You want to fuck here, and I can show you, or in the hot tub, or in a room upstairs? We could find a couple of girls to join us.”

I swallow. Showtime. Fancy feet, don’t fail me now. Are you ready for it?

With the utmost care not to overact, I part my lips. “Oh…I know you said you wanted to fuck me with a bunch of other girls. I just…still feel kinda scared about it. Like, how will you feel about me after?”

“I told you, it’s different for guys. We don’t get emotional. It’s just sex, Ash. No big deal. The entire point of coming here was to try with other people, yeah?”

“I suppose… Other people?”

Bending over, he brushes his lips against my cheek as his tattooed hand rests on my waist, like he owns it. “Yes, fancy. Whoever you want. You can decide. I’m sure once you try pussy, you’ll realize you’re bisexual. I know you are.”

He doesn’t know shit. But I bounce on my toes excitedly. “Okay. Give me a minute. I need to use the restroom!”

Heat sparks across my backside as I sashay away from him. He ogles my best asset. And I’ll use it to keep him tame…for the time being.

Acting lost, I meander toward the Theta Manor foyer, tossing my thick hair back like a banner before climbing the stairs. Talon’s still watching, so I raise a palm and shrug, then mouth, Are they up here?

He doesn’t respond. Two guys start fucking right on the floor in front of him, accidentally shoving him off-balance. His fists shoot up in the air as he yells something unintelligible, indistinguishable from the riot of voices surrounding us.

Keep it the fuck together, Talon. At least until I can use you.

Each step deeper into the manor syncs with the thump of my pulse against my ribs. As a precaution, I tug my dress up so my tits sit higher. Can’t be too careful about who I might run into…

The first hallway? Boring. All doors shut tight.

The next? Same.

So, I start flinging them open. Groups of fuckers barely notice, too busy doing what they came here to do.

Wait. How did she get into that position?

When I’ve almost given up, I turn down a large section with a set of double doors at the end. Celestial moans curl from beneath them, wrapped in twinkles of light like a silent invitation.

Bingo.

Swallowing roughly, I lift my chin and march toward the room, like I belong there.

You might puke, Ashlyn. No. No. Don’t be a wuss. Let’s go.

The golden handles are hot as I thrust them down and make a Broadway entrance.

My eyes need a second to adjust to the dim light.

Shadowed figures move rhythmically throughout the room, but none of them pay attention to me.

Swinging around, I hurriedly shut the doors, plunging the space into deeper darkness.

Only the pulse of red LEDs and flickering candlelight illuminate the cavernous bedroom.

A four-poster velvet canopy bed looms in the center, draped in sin and sweat.

Several glistening-bodied men and women writhe on top.

In the far recesses, a desk creaks beneath a pile of naked limbs and swiveling hips.

Most wear masquerade masks…and nothing else.

Suddenly, I feel very overdressed.

Bowls of condoms and flavored lube perch like party favors on every table. The air hums with slapping skin and the sour-sweet scent of slutty sex. High-pitched cries ripple through the haze like violent gusts of wind.

If my eyes were closed, I’d think I was in a haunted house. One that smells like cum.

Which is pretty horrific, I guess.

“Excuse me,” I say, pushing aside some random guy who grabs my waist.

“Honey, you’re in the red room now. Join us,” he says with a nod toward the sofa.

And that’s when I see him…

Gravity drags me forward, awed and breathless, as he reclines in the living room like he owns all the oxygen in my lungs.

Silky, wine-colored fabric drapes over every inch of his long legs.

His bare, hewn chest gleams with sweat, reflecting the licks of fire in front of him.

Both arms drape across the back of the couch, as if the whole thing was built for no other purpose than to be his throne.

Neck tilted toward the ceiling, his eyes squeeze shut while sipping air through parted lips.

There’s a tattoo—too hazy to make out, but maybe…a skeleton key just under his left pec. Unfortunately, yeah, that’s rock hard. As is the entire carved ladder of abs beneath it, twitching with each breath.

Broad hands twist into the hair of the women beneath him… The three heads of Cerberus: Elowyn Price, some dumb cunt I don’t know, and…Mutton Marris. Her real name is Sutton, but Mutton is far more fitting for what her face will look like later.

Aiden Cardell chokes on a groan, then lifts his head and peers down at them with disinterest. When he stands, the three stay kneeling before him like worshipers, his open-mouthed acolytes waiting for communion.

He’s a god in red silk.

Eyes drunk on devotion.

With a cruel snap of his hips, he shoves each of them down his length. No tenderness, just raw power until he’s ready to blow. And when he does, it’s as if he senses a shift in the atmosphere.

Those icy eyes lift…and find mine.

He doesn’t look away. Not even as he jerks himself with steady, hungry strokes. His bottom lip curls underneath his top teeth…and the smug bastard smiles.

Then he comes.

All over their faces.

Fire ignites in my belly as he gasps, letting out a breathy, performative whimper. The women moan as if it’s sacred, gathering the glistening mess off each other’s skin, licking and swapping it with dainty reverence. All the while, Aiden pets their heads like some benevolent god.

But his eyes?

Those are still locked on mine.

Cute. He plays rough…

But I play dirty.

The only thing I give him is a slow, dangerous grin.

Because tonight? I don’t need revenge.

I need to win.