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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Angel Lawson
Read between
May 26 - June 2, 2023
Pace doesn’t get his claws into just anything–or anyone.
He doesn’t have flings. He has projects. Fixtures.
If something’s going to break us, it’s not going to be gutter trash like Verity Sinclaire.
None of us were meant to create. We’re the creations.
“We’re the rats.”
“Their collective noun. A group of rats is called a mischief.”
“That’s us,” I say, the words twisting bitterly. “A mischief of Ashbys.”
Rats also sleep together, nestled into the dark, secret, safe places.
“You do like it, don’t you?
A little bit of pain complements your pleasure?
It’s nothing to be as...
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A lot of girls are dirty, jus...
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“You may be a virgin, but your body wants to be treated like a slut.”
We’re seeing each other’s secrets.
“Bark, Princess. Bark for me, and I’ll let you off this table.”
I want to curl up in a ball, beg for mercy, jump on his cock.
There’s a cello between his knees.
He must seem to you a very cold, callous man.
He is, of course, but there is one thing Rufus Ashby holds sacred above all things. Creation.”
I bet you don’t even know how to make yourself feel good. You need a man to do it for you, don’t you?”
“I’m going to have so much fun breaking you.”
Love isn’t real. The closest I’ve ever come to it is the bond I have with my brothers, but even that’s too twisted and permanent for such a trite, bullshit label.
“Thank you,” I finally manage, because I know Father well enough to understand he’s just paid me the highest compliment possible in his dead, empty soul.
“If you don’t win the game this weekend,” he says, sharp as broken glass, “I’ll have Lex remove your index finger.”
“You wanted to beg for it, but you wouldn’t. Not that I blame you. Wicker’s ego is big enough.”
“But you’re going to beg for me.”
I came to East End to play, and as I walk down the path, I feel a burst of power for the first time in a week.
“Thought you’d manipulate me? Drive me mad like you’ve done my brothers?
Wind me up with your sloppy cunt so I’ll finally give you what you so desperately want? Release?”
“Show me a Prince worth being a good Princess to,” she says, low and caustic, “and maybe you’ll get one.”
Pain has never bothered my brother. The real wound is the failure.
That’s always Father’s goal with these things.
We’re intertwined. A cohesive, symbiotic unit. My pain is theirs. Their guilt is mine.
If kissing is an art, then Wicker Ashby is Picasso.
She’s right. I can’t just be a Princess. Not if I want to survive. I need to be their Princess.
“You’re such a good girl, Verity. So poised and obedient. I knew you were the right choice.”
Pain hurts more when it’s empty.
“You’re gonna be so round by the time I’m done with you. Do you feel that?”
“Do you feel me putting my baby into you?”
It’s something that used to add one more check to the column of things that make me different from my brothers.
Different hair. Different skin color. Different height. Different eyes. Different dick.
“I’ve never seen someone try so hard to make no effort.”
When Wicker’s unhappy–and there’s been a lot of that since I got back–everyone’s unhappy.
But when Wicker’s in a good mood? The whole fucking world sparkles. Birds sing.
I once saw him smile at a girl–a genuine smile, happy and smug–and I swear to g...
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If everyone in this room knows Wicker’s a selfish lover, then we also all know that he’s a fucking fantastic kisser.
He kisses our girl like he’s trying to make her knees give out.
The sad thing about Lex’s little issue is that he’s actually a total fucking stud in the sack.
I’m selfish too, but goddamn I like seeing her like this.
Begging for it. Never getting enough.
