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

by Angel Lawson

The room isn’t empty. It’s filled with exotic women, each dressed provocatively. I know the look. I can perfectly imagine pressing my nose into the silk and smelling my mother’s perfume. I thought it was so glamorous. The slick fabric and lacy edges, the spicy perfume and lotions. It wasn’t until after the men left and the costumes were removed that the truth was revealed. Bruises and red, swelling welts, smeared mascara and the scent of liquor. There are men in the room, too, full of smiles and charm. For now. I edge myself closer to Killian, curling a hand around his thick, tattooed arm.

“You seem to be whipping this place into shape.” “Well,” she puts a hand to her chest, blushing, “I’m not his first choice. I’m sure you know.” At Killian’s non-committal hum, some of the seductive artifice melts away. Quietly, she asks, “How is she? The girls still ask about her.” “She’s fine,” is his stiff response, and I glance between, wondering who they’re talking about. “I’ve already told your girls they can write to her, but she’s not coming back. She’s happy where she is.” In a low mutter, he adds, “For once.”

For the first time since we got here, her eyes flick over to me, expression shifting a fraction. She offers her hand. “Forgive me, sugar. I don’t think we’ve met.” “I’m St—” “She’s our Lady,” Killian says, pushing my hand down. “She’s with me.” Augustine nods. “It was good to see you, Killer. Come back when you’re here for pleasure instead of business. And tell Rath,” her eyes flash hopefully, “there’s always an open invitation, would you?” “I will.” No, I think, teeth clenching, he won’t.