Princes of Chaos (Royals of Forsyth University, #7)

by Angel Lawson

The first time I saw Wicker, I knew he was going to be mine. I didn’t understand yet, six years old and coming out of a group home situation that the social worker explained ‘isn’t going to work out for you’. I just remember seeing him and thinking that I’ve never seen anyone so pure and clean and pretty, and if life is about obtaining the very best things, then little Whitaker Ashby just became number one on my list. And then he opened his mouth. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked. Just as snottily, I replied. “I’m Pace. Who the fuck are you?” “Your worst nightmare.” With his blue eyes narrowed, he buried a fist into his palm, and I laughed. The more I laughed, the more menacing he tried to look. He was just too cute to take seriously. As rosy-cheeked as the cherubs in the paintings lining the walls. It was easier with Lex, who, even at eight years old, looked me up and down and said, “Hey. I guess I’m, like, your brother or something.” And he’s never been anything less than that, as if protecting me was never a question for him. It’s almost like whatever I felt when I looked at Wicker, Lex felt it about me. That I belonged to them. Just like that.