Page 10 of Twisted Little Game

Old.

Entirely different from everywhere I used to party in New York City.

It still feels like some cosmic joke that I’m actually here, at some private college in the middle of the forest… all because I was such a problem that I needed to get shipped away.

The girl who brought me here said this was Onyx House.

I met her on the steps of my dorm, asked her about parties, and we became friendly fast.

When we got here, she called this place a “secret society,” and I laughed.

I didn’t believe her.

When I walked in, it was like any other house party I’ve been to, other than the fact that the place looks like one of those haunted mansions you scream at the characters for being stupid enough to go inside.

But we went inside.

Which was a mistake.

Then she dragged me to a corner and started pawing at my groin, which was a worse mistake.

Because she was only touching me for a grand total of ten seconds before some random prick in the corner tried to take pictures of me.

I’m used to people wanting to take my picture, because growing up with Landrey as a last name means that you have all eyes on you since the day you’re born, but what I’m not okay with is catching a frat bro trying to take stealthy pics of me while an innocent girl squeezes my dick through the front of my pants.

Then I overheard him calling her a slut.

The prick.

I wasn’t actually going to cut his throat.

Just wanted to suggest that I could.

My dad always said that I was born ready to befriend the whole world. I don’t get in fights. I don’t have a violent bone in my body.

But I couldn’t let that guy sell those pictures.

I’ve already screwed shit up for my brother and my parents enough, so ruining a random girl’s life isn’t on the menu.

One photo with Tate Landrey would definitely be enough to get guys calling her a slut or gold-digger for the rest of college, and no one deserves that.

Not everyone can tank negative attention like I can.

My name is Tate Landrey, and yes, fucking sue me, I want people to talk to me.

Like me.

Touch me.

Even when it causes me to fuck up my life.

I push open the doors to the backyard and head outside.

The yard is huge. Lined with tall trees and rose shrubs. A stone path leads out to the pool, and other than a few guys playing poker on the patio, it’s calmer out here than it was inside. This whole house looks like something out of a movie set from a period drama in England, and the giant yard is no different.

I loop around the edge of the house and avoid any sideways glances from people on the patio.

I get to the side where it’s just rose bushes and rows of thick green hedges, and I’m finally alone.