“Then we all lose,” Jack replies gently.
Frankie drops to the ground and removes his backpack—I swear he even showers with that damn thing.
And…
Now I’m thinking of Frankie showering, the soapy suds cascading down his body. His hand wrapping around his cock. Sweat and shower water beading on his forehead.
Down, girl,I tell my libido seriously.
Using my fang, I pierce my bottom lip until blood is drawn. The stab of pain helps ground me to the present, to the here and now. It helps remind me that I’m alive and breathing, and that I can’t get on my hands and knees and start licking Frankie’s cock like a lollipop. You know, normal things.
“I have something in here that might be able to help…” Frankie mutters, removing first a bowl, then a slimy eyeball, and then a six-foot liver. Keep in mind, Frankie’s backpack is two feet long, max. I swear it must be spelled.
I wonder if you can spell a vagina to fit more cocks in it at the same time.
Focus!
“People are going to be searching for me, correct?” I ask, running a finger across the distressed wood.
“Of course,” Vin murmurs curtly. “You have the flag.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Barret glances first at me and then at the flag I placed on the desk beside me. “She’s not even touching it.”
Cal and I exchange a look of camaraderie before shaking our heads and pasting on smiles. “You’re right, Barret,” I say. “But it’s just a figure of speech. What Vin meant was everyone knows I have the flag with me.”
Here’s the thing about Barret. He’s not stupid. Honestly, he’s not. He just processes things differently than other people. Sometimes, that means he takes things too literally, and other times, he becomes bored with the conversation, zones out, and misses all of what was being said.
“Wait!” I say suddenly, jumping to my feet.
“Uh oh.” Mason grimaces. “I don’t like that expression on your face. It means you’re up to something.”
My smile widens as wariness flitters across each of the men’s faces.
“I have an idea.”
CHAPTER 13
VIOLET
“This is fucking stupid,” Vin grumbles as we stand in the foyer of their shared house.
“Trust me.” Ignoring his muttered curses, I sashay to the supply closet immediately opposite the kitchen. I spot a vacuum, a broom, a duster, and my sex doll.
Yup. Apparently, it’s a thing.
Fake Violet is hunched over currently, dressed in only a revealing bra and thong. Her blonde tangles obscure her face from view. I can’t help but note the lacerations on her arms and legs as well as the wires visible on her stomach. This Fake Violet? She endured a pretty severe beating at the hands of my classmates, and her body still bears the marks.
“This is never going to work,” Vin—the Debbie Downer—laments as I haul the life-sized doll from the closet. Mason quickly moves forward to help me, his hand accidentally grazing her plump breast. Color rises to his cheeks as he lowers it to her distorted stomach.
“Sorry,” he mouths as we maneuver her onto a kitchen chair.
At first, I wonder why none of the guys bothered to help me, but when I catch a glimpse of their faces, I see why.
They’re positively livid. Cal’s wings are flapping erratically as angry red splotches erupt on his cheeks. Barret, my gentle giant, is spewing vitriol with his eyes. Jack appears concerned, and Vin looks as if he wants to rip the limbs off of every person who’d attended that party. Frankie’s face is devoid of any emotion, except for his eyes. A banked fire percolates just beneath the surface, demanding an outlet.
“I can’t believe they did that,” Cal hisses, running a hand through his light pink hair. Suddenly, he whirls on Vin, who is standing closest to him. “How could you have let this happen?”
“Me?” Vin comically points to his chest before taking a step closer. “Why the fuck are you blaming me?”
“Maybe because you’re always breaking her heart,” Cal refutes instantly, and Vin blanches as if he has been physically struck. Only his eyes move to focus on me, and in them, I see a decade worth of yearning and pain.
“I didn’t…”
“You guys are supposed to protect Cheese Curd,” Barret adds in a low, dangerous tone. His untamed green hair stands on end, almost as if his agitation is physically manifesting itself.
“What did you just say?” I know, without even having to look, that Jack has transformed into Hux. His hands ball into fists as he slowly, mechanically, turns towards the mammoth monster.
Hux is significantly shorter than Barret, but I have no doubt they’ll be evenly matched in a fight. What Hux lacks in body mass, he makes up for in pure stealth. And insanity.
Insanity...passion…
Is there really a difference?
“Do not talk to me about how I protect my precious treasure,” Hux hisses through gritted teeth. His eyes spew an almost incandescent fury, capable of lighting this entire room on fire. “Who the hell even are you?”
Cal moves to stand protectively in front of Barret, his chest puffed out. “Your mom’s secret lover,” he sneers.
Hux’s face creases adorably.
“My mom’s dead.”
Barret pushes up onto his tiptoes to whisper conspiratorially in Cal’s ear, “How can you fuck his mom when she’s dead?”
For the love of…
“I’m going upstairs!” I announce suddenly. Without waiting for them to respond, I spin on my heel and hurry to the second level.
Each of the doors are closed, so I choose a room at random and let myself inside. It’s surprisingly sparse, with a single queen-sized bed in the center of the room flanked by two nightstands. A desk sits against the far wall with a laptop closed overtop of it. Clothes are haphazardly strewn across the floor. And when I see the black tee-shirt, I realize the room I have wandered into is Vin’s.
“There are much easier ways to get into my bed,” the man himself murmurs from behind me. When I turn, I see his lips
