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THREE
Xander
Four and a Half Weeks Later
Seething rage burns beneath the cool and calm façade I plaster onto my face. The only indication of what lurks underneath is in the tightness of my smile for even I can't stretch that into something genuine.
I watch as the students of Oakwood Prep file into the auditorium—rich, entitled,oblivious. Trying not to wince knowing what lies in their future, I search for the one person I only have eyes for. My pulse races as I bounce from student to student, not seeing her, my hopes soaring. Maybe she's not attending, after all—maybe I can spare her—but just as quickly as my heart lifts, it plummets, sinking to my stomach when my gaze locks on the familiar pair of soft brown eyes and long, brown hair.
How long have I loved her?
The answer—from the moment that I laid eyes upon her—and I will do anything for her. Even if it means going along withhisplans. I grit my teeth forcibly at the thought of his name, the ire cracking through as a soft snarl escapes my lips. Hastily, I look around, but the noise in the auditorium muffled the sound. No one is paying me any heed.
Tearing my gaze from the one woman I vowed to protect with my very life, I turn my head back to the door. In walks two young men with identical smirks, whispering. Irritation crawls up my spine at the sight of them. Instinctively, I know they're nothing but trouble. Nothing is more insufferable than a kid who's been fed by a silver spoon his entire life. That’s the child who can do no wrong because money can buy their way out of anything.
My fake indifference gives way to the distaste I feel for people just like these boys. They're the type that think of no one but themselves. Although, it's probably going to be the only thing that keeps them alive. As if he can feel me staring, the darker haired boy of the two glances up. I stiffen in surprise, finding myself staring into the gaze of one that is quite similar to my own. It's not the color of the boy's eyes but more the shape of them and how the one eyebrow raises in smug superiority—a look I give right back to him.
Narrowing my eyes in challenge, I refuse to look away. Luckily, someone from behind jostles the boy, earning a sharp word from him, but my attention is already diverted by the flicker of something golden in my peripheral vision. Once more, I turn back to the door and inhale a sharp breath. Standing there in the auditorium entryway is an angel—it’s the only word to describe her. She's smaller than her fellow students with long, curly, blonde hair that reminds me of some storybook princess.
She’s dressed more casually than the other girls in the room in navy slacks with a matching blazer. Underneath is a white button-up blouse edged with lace, as if to tease me with the femininity she hides. Her high cheekbones are kissed with the rosy glow of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors, and they match the same petal-pink of her full lips—which she's nibbling on as she looks around. Unfortunately, she never turns my way, but my gaze never stops stalking her as she finds a seat. Raucous laughter sounds a few rows above her, and I notice it's the two idiots from before. They're making a scene, picking on someone nearby, which is exactly what entitled assholes do.
I plan to ignore them until the blond-haired bully looks down at the angel, a flicker of interest in his eyes. Unconsciously, I move forward, but it’s at this precise moment that Principal Windsor walks in, reminding me I'm not here for these boys—nor the angel—I'm here forher. Quickly, I search until I find the dark-haired girl who is oblivious to what awaits her. Mentally, I chastise myself for being distracted by another woman. I need to focus. It's showtime, and I better have my shit together if I’m going to pull this off.
Of course, Windsor doesn't even glance at me, the fucker. He knows I'm cornered and will do whatever he wants regardless of my personal feelings. Instead, Windsor addresses the auditorium full of students, his booming voice carrying through the microphone. He drones on about the history of Oakwood, of forming new alliances, creating new futures, and expanding our horizons—all of it total bullshit—but there are moments when he hints at the insanity to come.
I look out over the crowd wondering if anyone notices the premonition in Windsor’s words, but realize the references are too vague and the students are too self-absorbed. The demonic principal couldn’t have picked a better, more oblivious crowd of sheep to slaughter. I snort derisively, knowing their money and entitlement make the students even more so, but in their defense, they shouldn't be anything else at the moment.
They shouldn't have to fear what is coming for them, but rather, enjoying their gap years before turning the world into their oysters. It still doesn't stop me from wishing someone in this room would pick up on what Windsor is so gleefully alluding to—someone who would tell the others to run, leave Oakwood, and never return. Because if they stay… that's exactly what's going to happen, but not on their terms.
They will disappear, never to return.
A cold dread fills me as I stare at the woman I would do anything for, the woman who has my heart and soul, Bianca. I want nothing more than to tell her the truth, to tell her what will happen if she stays, but the bastard Windsor is holding her over my head, blackmailing me into compliance. There is no way for me—or her—to escape this fate because it's not just our lives that are on the line, but everyone’s who I love and care about. Windsor will slowly destroy them all if I do not obey his wishes.
The asshole pauses in his speech, glancing over at me, seeing where I'm looking. A diabolical smirk graces his lips, and he arches a brow in challenge. I want nothing more than to stab him in his black heart—and someday I will—but right now, I don't have the upper hand. Like everyone else in this room, Windsor is a smug little prick who has too much money and thinks it can buy him everything and anything. While I come from the same background, I don't subscribe to the same philosophy. It will be exactly this thinking that is his downfall. Money is Windsor’s crutch—his only weakness.
And I plan to kick it out from underneath him.
Unfortunately, the bastard is richer than Midas, and things like this take time—time that I really don't have because the faster the seconds tick by, the higher the bloodshed will be—and there's no guarantee that my sweet, innocent Bianca will come out alive. Nauseous at the thought, I run a hand over the stubble growing on my chin until my gaze clashes with one so blue even the sweetest summer sky cannot compare. My heart skips a beat before racing like I’m sprinting at breakneck speed as I find myself mesmerized by the angel from before.
The dangerous one who distracted me.
She stares at me with open curiosity and something more, something that makes my cock stir and throb. I cross my arms over my chest and grip my biceps to keep me rooted in the moment, doing anything I can to keep myself from stomping over there, tipping up her chin, and demanding to know the secrets that lie in her gaze. Or worse, whipping my dick out in an auditorium full of spectators and shoving it down her throat until she gags, and tears run down her cheeks.
The angel’s tongue darts out to wet her full bottom lip in an unconsciously provocative move that nearly has me groaning out loud. I've been around enough women to know a practiced move when I see one, but everything about this angel screams the opposite. She's a paradox, holding her head up high and confidently, while at the same time, I know she would be pliant beneath me—a beautifully perfect and submissive doll for me to unleash my sexual hunger onto. Images of us entwined together, naked, dance before my eyes, and I glare at the girl who's distracted me for a second time today. In my mind, it's easier to blame her than me. I already have enough guilt riding me hard these days, and I don't need to add to that plate.
“And now, a few words from Professor Vaughn!” My name on the bastard's lips startles me, and he grins, letting me know Windsor’s fucking with me. He knows I'm not paying attention, and this is my punishment, but Windsor underestimates me.
Smoothly, I take the microphone and introduce myself, choosing my words carefully. I suggest that if you're not ready for Oakwood, then you should leave, praying once more that someone will get the message, but knowing my attempt is in vain. Oakwood Prep is the world's foremost school for the richest of the rich. It's not only an honor to attend, but a sign of your rank in the world. Only the best of the best come here, and only the best of the best will survive—notbecause of money. This might be the only time in these students’ lives that their name and fortune will not save them.
They look around, starry-eyed now, but will wake up tomorrow disenchanted from the world they once knew and thrown into a living nightmare. Windsor beams a smile at me when he takes back the microphone, letting me know he’s on to what I was trying to do—and that I failed—but what he doesn't get is that I will keep trying until I succeed.
It's not a question of if, but when, because I will succeed.
Preferably sooner than later as I'm trying to keep the body count down, but Windsor surprises me by addressing the assembly and asking anyone if they want to leave point blank. If so, he requests that they leave the assembly immediately but won’t be refunded the registration fee—which is enough to feed a family of four for years. Of course, the students are blind fools and remain seated, and that's when Windsor proceeds to roll out a contract for everyone to sign—a binding agreement that will ultimately lead to their deaths. None of them have a clue because none of them will take the time to read it.
They think it's just for Oakwood Prep, but they have no idea they're about to sell their souls to the very devil himself.
