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

by Angel Lawson

On my way out, I grab the wrist cuff she’d removed before getting in the bath, and then throw her a rag, not watching as she silently cleans herself up. Her eyes follow me around the room as I grab a couple blankets from the closet, laying one on the bed for her, and the other on the couch. For me. She stops me when I go to grab a pillow. “Wait.” I look down at her, and I’m pissed off because I’ve apparently lost all my ground with this girl, and I don’t even know why or how. But there’s something else underneath all the ire. I think this must be what rejection feels like. It makes me want to strike out, to tell her she’s a whore for letting me do that when she clearly doesn’t want me. I want to tell her to go back to her brother, who’ll tear her open and manhandle her, but is apparently more appealing than me. I want to tell her she’s not that special, anyway, and that I’ve had better, easier, prettier girls than her. All the lies die in my throat at the look of bald panic in her eyes. “Are you…mad?” Maybe she doesn’t want me like she had before, but she can’t afford to have another one of us looking to use and taunt and hurt. So I shove the feeling down, reaching down to take her hand. Her arm is limp when I raise her wrist, gently snapping the cuff into place. “We’re good,” I say, knowing all the while that we’re not. “Go to sleep.”