Lords of Wrath (Royals of Forsyth University, #2)

by Angel Lawson

Killian might be a monster, but he’s never worn a mask to conceal it. Tristian might be a creep, but he’s never dressed it up in pretty lies. Rath is the kind of evil that infects you. He gets inside your blood and hides there, wounding you in places that won’t become apparent until he’s done with you. He’s an internal catastrophe you don’t see coming.

I might be theirs, but in some deep, fundamental way, they also feel like mine. Mine to know. Mine to injure. Mine to beat.

Lifting the blunt to my mouth, I take another drag, thinking. “It means the woods are lovely, dark and deep. But we have promises to keep.” Exhaling, I open my eyes to meet her stunned gaze. “And miles to go before we sleep.”

Glancing up, I spot Story across the room. She’s watching me, a small smile on her pretty mouth. A proud smile. Okay. Guess I’m doing this. Fuck my dick.

Too bad he’s a manipulative asshole who doesn’t deserve any of it.

“These people are all fucking crazy.”

“You built the wheel, boys. I just gave it a nice little spin.”

Hallmark doesn’t exactly make a fucking card for that.

“Story has two M.O.s. She runs away, or she makes shit worse. At least this time she left a note.”

“Did you shoot your dad?” he asks, voice full of baffled excitement. I spare him a glance over my shoulder. “Yeah.” He nods, eyes fixed to the blood running down my dad’s arm. “Nice.”

Tristian gives him a cold grin. “It’s true. She uses metal utensils on Teflon pans. In forty years, we’ll all be full of cancer. Downright diabolical.”

“I’m deranged?” she scoffs. “I’ve seen quivering come bubbles more stable than the three of you.” She slaps Rath’s legs. “Get your goddamn feet off the table, you degenerate. Spend three minutes in a fuck show and think you’re something special.”

What I’m asking for is logical, humane and appropriate. It’s not going to be easy.