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

by Angel Lawson

“I’m supposed to ask for Daniel’s help.” The funny thing is, I don’t realize Killian was maybe—possibly—in something approaching a good mood until every trace has seeped from his expression. The line of his jaw tightens, knuckles going white around the steering wheel. “With?” he asks in a nasty, unnecessarily hostile tone. Taking a breath, I explain, “I didn’t realize the Lady had to organize her own charity drive, but I guess I do. That requires money for supplies, and I have like a hundred dollars to my name.” Wincing, I conclude, “So they told me to ask your dad.” The leather around the steering wheel creaks with the way he’s strangling it. “Fantastic.” It sounds anything but fantastic. It actually sounds more like he’s saying, ‘fuck you’, just with different and more interesting letters. Swallowing, I keep my gaze trained out the windshield when I ask, “Um, can…can you help me instead?” There’s a long pause, one of those hands lifting from the steering wheel to turn off the radio with a quick flick of his fingers. “Why?” he asks, voice full of animosity. “You know he’ll give you the money. Just say the word.” “I don’t want his money,” I insist, but it’s kind of hard to throw that out when Daniel is paying my way at Forsyth. Instead, I reason, “This is about us. It’s a Lord and Lady thing. It should be you.” Softer, I confess, “I’d rather it be you.” Luckily, we’re at a stoplight, because Killian looks at me for a long moment, those dark eyes of his taking in every inch...