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I should run.
Throw my diamonds and expensive shit in the garbage bins that line the streets of New York.
I can’t.
Something draws me back every time.
Maybe it’s the way they blend pain with a protectiveness I didn’t realize men could give.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never had a strong parent to protect me before.
Maybe I’m scared Nate will come back at any moment and I need them to keep me safe.
No one can protect me like my Kings can. No one. I could hire the best bodyguards known to man. Tell them that I need them to look out for me twenty-four hours a day. The pink helicopter that takes me to Saintswood every morning already comes with bodyguards, but I could ask my men to hire more.
Something tells me that the bodyguards wouldn’t hold a candle to my Kings’ flame. Colt, Brock, and Rook will keep me safe in the most violent of tempests. Hurricane gusts might slam the windows of the penthouse into pieces but they’ll hold me in their big arms. A shred of broken glass won’t cut my skin.
I remember what they told me when they moved me into the penthouse. There is pain in beauty, little girl. Never forget that for every beautiful rose that blooms, one has to die.
My innocence is that dead rose. They haven’t fucked my cunt yet, but every time they lay their masculine hands on me, I lose the girl I used to be in their destructive presence. She perishes with every blow they inflict on me.
I hate that I want them.
I hate that my pussy aches for them when they leave.
I hate that I buried myself under my covers, pulled down my panties, and rubbed my pussy on my sheets after Rook spanked me.
What does that say about me?
Why does a girl like me want to be destroyed?
If my father was interested in my life, he’d put a stop to this. But no. He checked out after Mom died.
The boys’ locker room where I’m waiting for Colt, Brock, and Rook after practice is dark and menacing. Sleek mahogany paneling lines the door, reflecting the dim glow of the hall lights. This is by far the most interesting place in Saintswood.
I researched the locker room after Colt ordered me to meet him, Brock, and Rook after practice today. It’s plagued with rumors. The online message boards say that countless girls have lost their virginities here.
I once read a romance novel where a baseball star and this girl he was in love with made a bet that they wouldn’t hold sex. They wound up fucking in the campus locker room. This was a big deal because when they fucked there, they had to get married. It’s a reverse curse.
I wonder if the Saintswood boys’ locker room holds the same magical powers. Or maybe this locker room makes the men inside of it kind and gentlemanly. My heart prays that’s the case. I’m not sure I can take another pounding.
The door swings open. Vicious Sinners stomp out, bags swung over their shoulders, their gazes cut with determination. They drip with fresh shower water, their thick hair sitting on their foreheads, gorgeous and devilish. My tummy aches when I lay eyes on their matching skull tattoos, the team logo that every girl at Saintswood has doodled in their class notes at least once.
I try to pick out the players who will replace Colt, Brock, and Rook when they graduate this spring. This is a futile task. None of the men compare to my Kings. Jacko struggles not to stare at me as he exits, telling me at once that he’d never take Brock’s place as starting quarterback.
I can’t believe Rina said she’d fuck Jacko. She must really be going through it because Jacko isn’t an iota as manly as my three. I bet he doesn’t even spank his girls because they make his balls hurt. Jack’s probably the type to whine that he doesn’t want to hurt his woman, when in reality, she’s begging him to grab her throat, pin her to the closest wall, and fuck her.
"Are Colt, Brock, and Rook coming?" I twine a strand of my auburn hair around my index finger, my toes curling with hesitation. I can’t decide whether I’m nervous or ready. The way Colt spoke to me told me that today’s practice was a big deal. I pray they need me to hug them, kiss them, and be their number one cheerleader. If they make me their filthy slut again, I’m not sure I can take it.
"I’m not permitted to tell you that, ma’am." One player that all the juniors are in love with bows.
I gnash my teeth. "Tell them to hurry up. My helicopter takes me back to my penthouse at six."
Whoa.
Did I really say that?
My helicopter. My penthouse.
