Chapter 4
four
The week of midterms after Red Night passes like clockwork.
No alarm because I don’t need one.
No fuel. Hunger is the breakfast.
Thirty-second stare at the wall in front of me. No blinking. No breath. All to remind myself: Focus. Control. Goals.
Fifty push-ups, chest to floor. No shaking, or I start over.
Fifty sit-ups, slow and balanced. Perfect.
No wasted motions. Planks on fists. Stare at the ruby carpet, eyes wide.
Then, the pull-ups. Hanging leg raises. I don’t release until my fingers are numb.
Burpees, counting each one to twenty-five. Next semester, it will be fifty.
No music because silence is an orchestra.
No thoughts. Only my body.
Breathe deep, then drop into my Krav Maga drills—elbows, knees, throat strikes. Flow like violence bottled.
Weekends are for waking up to sluts. Weekdays are the times I reset. No one can see me like this. It’s sacred. And I have to have it.
Today is an angry day.
After the party’s events, I need recalibration before I do something irreversible.
Using my oversized plastic cup, I fill it with ice from the machine sitting on my marble bathroom counter. Turn the water on slightly above freezing. I step under the frigid stream and douse myself, then shake from the chill.
Calm.
Doctor recommended.
“Aiden is a…special child. He would do well to focus his energies on physical sports. Preferably solo activities…” the shrink said with a bit of fear behind her eyes.
My parents thought I killed a cat. When I told them that I found it dead on the street, no one believed me. Even though it was the truth. But I gave up trying to convince them.
They found me, forceps from the medicine cabinet in hand, peeling back its skin from the scalp. I wanted to see what was inside its head. Was it like me? And what did its brain feel like?
Monday: 6 a.m. — Protein and term papers
I finish one while reading the textbook for my second class. By 9 a.m., all my week’s work is done. Pristine.
Would any of my professors dare to give me less than an A? No. But that’s not the point.
I’ll be one of the CEOs of Cardell Enterprises. A product of the Seven. Second heir to the kingdom of a legacy family. That’s nothing to take lightly.
If I don’t focus…I’ll eat someone’s eyeball. Just to see how it tastes.
Fuck! Now I’m fully erect.
Don’t think about that golden hellkitten. Don’t think about her…
After dressing, I shove my things into a leather bag and head for the stairs, soaking in the lazy greetings tossed my way by a few brothers.
Landon appears from his doorway like a hungover saint, blond hair a tangled halo. Judging by the state of it, he still hasn’t recovered from the weekend.
“You smell like brandy and bad decisions,” I tell him as he stumbles into the hall, pajama pants clinging to his waist like they’re holding on for dear life.
He rakes a hand through his hair. “There’s, like, six people in my room I don’t know. I mean…I know their insides. But not their names.”
I don’t break my stride. The front hall is my destination, and I’m not stopping for a debrief.
He falls into step beside me anyway, hips swaying as he rounds a mahogany console table, but he clips the corner, jarring the gilded mirror on top. “Where you going?” It’s not curiosity—it’s fear he’s missing out.
“I need Tade. You’re useless this morning.” Through gritted teeth, I pick up my pace. “Tell him to meet me downstairs now.”
“I can watch you!”
My jaw clenches at the insistence of my best friend’s accompaniment. Spinning on my heel as I reach the top step, I face him with a frozen stare. “Take a fucking shower. Eat something real. Give all those girls a Plan B. And grab Tade.”
Shrinking back, his cheeks turn pink, but he wouldn’t fight me. Not while he’s this hungover. “Yes, Mom.”
That’s the thing about it. Since first grade, I’ve been his caretaker. And he’s been a horrible son. Never does as he’s told.
Some days, I think I keep Lan alive just to prove I can.
By the time I reach the stone-walled dungeon, ducking beneath the low wooden beams and trying not to inhale too much of the mildewed air, my ire has revved up into full-blown fury. One of the pledges watches me carefully as I approach the house gimp’s, Cuntlyn’s, chamber.
“She…just had breakfast, sir. Do you want her?”
“No. Where’s that Delta kid we caught snooping around the manor? The freshman.”
He nods toward one of the rooms down the hall as footsteps bounce off the low ceiling.
“Here,” Tade says breathlessly. “Class starts soon.”
“This won’t take long.”
Tade is the heir to a real estate conglomerate. There’s no reason for him to attend class. Which means…there’s some pussy there he’s interested in. I’ll find out who later.
We enter, and the Delta in question lies in the middle of the stripped bed, unchained.
“I thought we only had to do this if we failed Terror Tuesday!” he argues, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. The sight only angers me more.
“You’ll address me as Mr. President.”
“Fuck you, dude. You’re not my president.”
I turn to Tade, who slides on a knowing smirk and asks, “Pillory?”
“No. I think this one’s a fighter.”
Tade nods, then leans against the back wall with his arms crossed, getting comfortable for the show.
“Stand up.” I crook my fingers, beckoning him forward.
The kid looks like he needs a shower and an IV drip. He hauls himself off the bed and stands, a dark bloom of a piss stain coating his jeans. Disgust curls my lips.
“Are you serious? I’ve been in here too long, man!”
“You broke into Red Night. I thought you’d want to stay.”
His mouth hardens into a thin line as he sizes me up.
He’s not small. Not soft either. But he’s the kind of puffy bulk you get from corner-store beer and cheap protein powder, not from the gym.
Ink lacing up his arms screams second-rate mafia cousin—removed enough that I don’t know him and wouldn’t care if I did.
“Here’s how it’s going to go, Delta. You get one swing. If I flinch, you can leave. But then I get one… After that, you can go.”
“Nah, man. This is illegal.”
I chuckle. “Is it? Bitch, I am the law. I’m your judge. Your sentence. Your punishment.”
I cross to the far side of the room, ducking under a low beam. My fingertip trails through the dust caked on the old pillory. Too long since I’ve used it. Maybe today’s the day.
From the rich umber upholstered chest in the corner, I click the lock open with my rusted key, then lift the creaking lid. In the dim light of the little cell, the crop gleams as I rotate the handle. I smooth the leather between my palms, feeling it wake up.
“Or we can do it this way. Which do you prefer?”
His throat bobs. “I know who you are, Aiden Cardell. I’ve seen you fight underground.”
“Ah. So, you thought you’d be tough when you entered my house uninvited. But the moment you don’t have your weapon, you try to squeeze out of the ramifications of your chosen actions.”
His body odor smells like ripe onions. I tap a crooked finger under his chin and lift it so his eyes can meet mine. The kid actually trembles.
“I think you want me to use the crop on your plump, virgin ass. Is that it? You want me to hit you there?”
Breathless, he stutters, “N-No.”
“Put him in the pillory. Five hits and he’ll come. Watch.”
Tade chuckles silently and grabs the kid’s wrists, then shoves his head in before locking it securely. I stroke the leather repeatedly, not completely unaware of how excited I am. Pulse pounding, dick thickening…
Then, I imagine her again.
And my face gets hot once more.
Tade’s already got the kid’s pants pooled at his ankles, the Delta squirming like a hooked fish.
Before he moves back to his secure spot, Tade gives me his serious black eyes. “Five.”
It’s a warning. And he’s the only one I’ll listen to…and the only one who can stop me.
“Five,” I confirm. Then raise the handle in the air and let it fly against the soft flesh of the captive in front of me.
The scream rips out of him before the welt even blooms—angry red, racing up from the swell of his ass to the small of his back.
My second strike sends him jerking forward, desperate to escape.
Third lands on the trembling meat of his thighs.
By the fourth, I catch his balls, and he vomits—only bile, thank fuck, though it barely masks the stink already clinging to this room.
The fifth should be the end.
But my cock is throbbing.
Friday night flashes through my mind—the sting of her slap, the heat of her spit, the desperate clench of her throat in my hand, her nails carving my skin. The want to give worse than I got. The deeper ache from scars she left where no one can see them.
I put all of it into the final blow—rage, hunger, restraint—branding it into his flesh until he spills onto the floor. Simpering moans leak from his lungs, and quivering thighs rock his entire body. All his cum spurts in waves until it seeps into his black Jordans.
I keep my zipper up with control.
Watching him come is almost enough.
Almost.
Instead, I toss Tade the crop and dust off my hands. “He’s free to go. Thanks.”
Tuesday: 4:05 a.m. — 60 push-ups
Penalty for the heating vent clicking all night. No sleep. No silence. Only a metallic tick-tick that rattled my skull until the only thing I could do was burn it out of my muscles.
Wednesday: 4:58 a.m. — 75 push-ups
For thinking about her in class when I should’ve been focused. The way she flicked her strawberry-scented hair when she walked past—on purpose—had me tightening my fists until my knuckles cracked.
Thursday: 3:05 a.m. — 105 push-ups
For breaking a vow. One I’m never ever supposed to.
Hand on my cock, tugging hard.
Thinking of her.
Again.
Every day on the way to class, Hailey Twinston tries to stick herself to me like gum on a shoe, offering blowjobs in the library, in the bathroom after lectures, sliding onto my lap at lunch.
But she’s not the problem.
The problem is her.
Gold hair like a loaded gun.