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FIVE
COLT
The flames of the whiskey sear my throat.
I swallow it down like a fucking man.
"Slow down." Brock shoots me a look.
"Never." My voice is deep. Deadly. Packed with emotion.
My icy black eyes dart around the campus bar. Throngs of students line up to buy cheap water-downed drinks from the bartender who’s more interested in chatting up the eighteen-year-old freshmen girls than serving drinks. Machine Gun Kelly blares from the oversized black speakers, making the walls shake. Smells of sex and sweat enter my nose, making me wish I was outside under a starry sky where I could flex my muscles and roar at the fucking moon.
That’s the problem with Saintswood. There’s nowhere to go to rip your clothes off and scream like a wolverine in heat.
That’s what I am.
A predator.
It’s been one entire week since my dick was in Olivia’s pretty innocent throat. An entire week since I came in an auburn-haired angel.
None of us were sure Olivia was telling the truth, but after Brock and Rook played with her again a few days ago, they determined that she wasn’t full of shit.
Brock felt her hymen when he jammed his finger up her cunt. Fully intact like a good little church girl. An angelic altar girl who has a pure pussy for a priest to wreck.
Olivia… is myobsession.A minute doesn’t pass where I don't think of her face painted in me and my best friends' come. She swallows cock like her throat is going to bust if she doesn’t. And she always comes when we have our way with her.
That’s something else that Brock confessed to me. When he and Rook took her by surprise, her pussy was so wet it soaked through her cotton panties. She clenched hard around Brock’s finger and came.
My friends informed me of the clothes Olivia was wearing, and pure anger flowed through my veins. Fuck did she think she was doing walking around in campus wearing sweats and a hoodie? She deserves couture. Designer dresses stitched by the most talented hands in the world. Diamond necklaces and Hermès scarves flowing around her body that me, Brock, and Rook can rip off as we pillage her innocence.
I deserve better than to be forced to walk around with blue balls.
"I’m a King." My fingers curl around my glass so hard that thin cracks form. "I’ve never let a bitch give me the runaround or lead me by the balls. I’m not about to start now."
When I leave Saintswood this year and go pro, I already know that the Sinners will deify me. That’s what the ancients did to their rulers who moved on to the next life. The powerful men were apotheosized, retroactively fitted into the preexisting cannon of deities that controlled daily life. Roman Emperor Augustus was one of those men. He was the first Emperor of Rome who was worshiped long after his death.
The Sinners will paint my face on the walls of campus infamy. Brock and Rook’s will accompany mine. I already know. They’ll light candles in the locker room before games in my honor. That’s how powerful I am. I’ll be the first Saintswood Sinner to dominate the professional leagues. We’ve sent many players go pro before, but none have gone to Tom Brady levels of success.
I will be the first.
I will be a God.
I refuse to leave this school as anything less than Football Emperor.
Rook places his hand on mine. "We have to be patient. She’s more innocent than we thought."
Brock nods in agreement. "She has her hymen."
"As if that really means anything," some annoying bitch with fake tits who definitely isn’t a virgin says. "You three are from ancient times."
"Shut up, bitch." I don't even bother sneering at this dumb blond cunt. Fifty years ago—well, let’s not even go there."
Rook silences her with a single look."Don’t be jealous that you’ll never get to experience our divine dicks."
"I’d never want to fuck assholes like you." The bitch stands up, grabs her friend, and heads to the bar.
"You know you want me to put it in your ass," I drawl.
