Wrath of an Exile (The River Styx Heathens #1)

by Monty Jay

I wanted to be that. A flame, a blaze, an inferno. I wanted people to be afraid of touching me.

I was the only one who stayed. Yet…she gets the note. Sage Donahue gets the apology I waited my entire life for.

“There is a clause.” “Merry Christmas.” I toss my hand behind me. “Don’t fucking care.” “A legal clause, smart-ass.”

“Don’t sit there and talk about him like you fucking cared. You’re a heartless bi⁠—” “Watch your fucking mouth when you’re speaking to my wife.” Rook’s voice cuts through the air like a serrated blade, scorched and swift.

Their brutal touch left bruises on my skin, so deep I can still feel them aching years later.

“Quite the switch up. You don’t wanna feel how freakishly warm my hands are again?”

“When I’m finished, you’re gonna wish I killed you.” I grab her face in one hand easily, pursing her lips open before spitting a mixture of spit and blood onto her tongue. “Now, swallow.”

“Ah ah ah.” I click my tongue with a shake of my head, palming her hips roughly. “You don’t get to run away. Stick that ass out and take this dick like a good fucking slut.”

“Shut up and make me come.” “Do it yourself, fucking brat,” I grunt, pulling back until I’m only halfway inside her before slamming back home, eliciting a high-pitched whimper from her lips.

“And if she was, I’d be one too. Whatever your Aunt Lyra is, I am.”

“I love you, my firefly. Come see us soon. Thatcher misses your debates on the universe.”

“You’ve lost your mind. I’ve got no desire to be a part of that fucked-up Brady Bunch.” “Tough. It’s the only family you’ve got.”

“He is not Easton. You’re going to have to trust me on that because Jude Sinclair is a part of this family now.”

The dean doesn’t play favorites either, so asking Aunt Lyra was out of the question.

But it doesn’t matter. It never matters how many showers I take. I’ll never be able to scrub the grime of my past off my skin. The scars are too deep, bruises too permanent.

“You can’t be looking at your new foster brother like that, Geeks,” I murmur, a slow, arrogant grin playing at my mouth.

When milk dripped down from his chin, following the hollow groove between his pecs, this tug pulled in my gut, urging me to lick it up. And I’m fucking lactose intolerant.

“Is Phi still as sweet as I remember?” My shoulders tense, blood running cold. “What the hell did you just say?”

“Touch me.” His eyes burn into mine, head tilting as he peers down at me. “Say it again. Tell me you want me, Geeks.”

Note to self: When Jude gets writer’s block, people die.

“Papers are due by next Friday, and please let’s not forget our cited sources this time.”

Dont remind me wtfffff

I arch a brow, letting my eyes drift down to her hand, still resting on Jude’s chest. She flinches, yanking her hand away like she’s been burned. “Good girl,” I say, jerking my chin. “Run along.”

“No one takes it like my spoiled little brat. You were made for it. You got it, just relax for me. Let me make you feel good.”

Jude deserves, at the very least, to feel safe. To be protected.

“Aww, baby.” His chuckle vibrates against my lips, the sound teasing my skin as it sends shivers down my spine. “You want up here? Does that needy little cunt want to be stretched and filled while I bounce you on my cock like a little fuck toy?”

She wouldn’t be Phi if she chose me. But it’s okay. It’s fine. I’ll just sit here, stealing pieces of her like a thief.

“Respectfully, your niece swings on grown men and has impulse control issues. I think she’s gonna be just fine.”

“Listen, not to be that girl, but it is our first Christmas together, and I still don’t have my gift.” “Oh, is that so?”