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

by Angel Lawson

I fight against Tristian’s hold, and then Killian’s powerful arms, splaying my thighs wide. “I’ll scream!” Rath sends me a cold smirk. “Promise?”

You could never be a normal girl. You know that, right?” I thrash against Tristian and Killian’s hold, but deep inside, I know he’s right.

No one is going to save me. Not the police. Not family or friends. Not Ted.

I’m so fucking tired of fighting.

I hope she can forgive me for causing one last mess.

When the blood bubbles up around the glass, dark and wet, everything seems very clear. This is how I free myself. Once and for all.

Jesus Christ. I taught her to use a gun.

How much of Story’s was constructed on account of us for her to have played us so expertly? And why does the answer to that make my fucking heart sing?

This woman broke the one thing I can’t look past. The one thing that makes us Lords. Trust.

But deep down, beneath the tattered squares that define my fabric, is the knowledge that she’s probably right about one thing. We struck first.

I’m sorry. It had to be done. I’m sorry.

Tonight, someone is going to be on the other side of this gun. Maybe it’ll be a Lord. Maybe it’ll be Ted. And if all else fails, maybe it’ll even be me.

But there was also last night, Killian’s eyes blank but soft as he talked about that Easter, years ago. There’s the way Tristian had looked at me when he said he didn’t like me being mad at him. There was Rath in that bathtub, telling me how he’d made plans—not for him, but for me.

I don’t ask where we’re going. Wherever it is will be the place I finally come clean about Ted. About everything.

Fucking idiots, telling her to leave. To start a new life. A life without the three of us.

What do you buy someone after carving your initials into their flesh, jacking off onto their cheek, and then fucking them with the hilt of a knife and leaving them on the floor in a puddle of come, blood, and their own tears?

“I made a promise to take care of you, and I bailed at the first sign of doubt without asking any questions.” Reaching for the ointment, I add, “I don’t know how Killer and Rath feel about it, but it makes me fucking sick.”

But the fact it was done in anger, to inflict pain as a goddamn punishment, makes me physically ill.

When I come out ten minutes later, she’s gone. So is the car.

I cut him off, saying the words that I’ve been holding in for so long. “I know who you are.”

Huh?

stare at him in horror. “You wanted to sell me?” He tilts his hand back and forth. “I like to think of it as more of an exchange of assets.”

Killer was shot. Killer was shot because Ugly Nick tried to fucking rob us. Only Story killed him. A lot of ‘kill’ happening here. Bear with me, brain.

He shoves my shoulder, face going hard and stormy. “I’m the one who wanted the tracker!” “She called me Dimitri!” My words bring Tristian up short, that fire in his eyes dimming.

“You find our girl, and you bring her back to us.”

The hard truth is that Tristian probably loves her. The harder truth is that maybe we all do.

I’ve got nothing but a phone, a gun, and a score to settle. He can fucking try me.

Pretty Nick is another one of Daniel’s new pet projects. Again. Emphasis on ‘pet’.

But me? Oh, I ate that shit up with a spoon.

Lollll see this why i like Demitri. Hes so unintentionally funny!

“I want to make a deal.”

No Rath. Dont do it!

myself. I want to run, hide, scream. But when I finally find it in me to look up, I don’t see a wolf. I see Dimitri.

I have this thought that, later, I want to ask him why he chose these songs. Then I remember there won’t be a later. After this, I’m leaving South Side. I’m leaving Forsyth. I’m leaving the Lords.

His dark eyes hold mine, tongue flicking out to fidget with the ring in his lip, and the look he’s giving me is saying volumes. He’s asking me to be good. He’s telling me it’s time. He’s wondering if I’m ready.

This is why i love Dimitri! Its the little things

Eyes on me, Cherry.

“Dimitri…” He answers with a strained, “Fuck,” and slams into me, rearing up to fix me with a fiery gaze. “Where?” he asks, teeth clenched tight. “Where do you want it, baby?” Anywhere. Everywhere.

do it to drag it out a little longer, because something just transpired between us. And only us.

I don’t belong to Daniel, or the men in the audience, or the perverts at home. I belong to the Lords.

I spent most of that trying to get away from Tristian, who—let’s be real—probably spent those four hours trying to figure out how to get away from me.

“Frankly, you can eat a bag of dicks.”

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.”

Im sorry but Tristian is so unserious

“Ms. Crane. She’s…” “South Side’s most notorious madam,”

“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.”