Page 5 of Twisted Little Game

I’m not compassionate, I just see reality for what it is.

“Fine,” I tell Yegor. “I’ll watch over him. But come to me again with another request, and I will break both of your hands in your sleep.”

It’s four nights later before I get another shred of news about the Landrey boy.

Yegor Petrov

He arrives tonight.

Roman

Need more info. When? Where?

That’s all I was told.

Address of his apartment. Now.

He will be in a dorm on campus. Fucking relax.

I squeeze my phone in my hand.

The heavy thud of music reverberates across the first floor of Onyx House.

Tonight is the first party of the fall semester, and I plan on rewarding my cock with something beautiful.

I’m hungry.

Desperate, even.

My cock has a reputation of its own, and women are often very curious to see if the rumors are true about my size.

I step into the crowd as I descend the staircase into the dimly lit hallway. The kitchen countertop is loaded with bottles of alcohol and students surrounding it like vultures. Purple and red strobing lights pulse across the two main, large rooms at the front of the first floor.

People are dancing.

Shouting over the music.

Leaning up against the wood-paneled walls to make eyes at each other or stick their tongues down each other’s throats.

I notice a couple of guys lighting cigars by an open window, and one girl is dancing on a table wearing a sheer black bra that leaves zero to the imagination.

You’d think it was a depraved, sin-soaked place like any other fraternity, but it’s not.

Every corner of this household is safe, because I am in it.

After the ugly shit that went down last year with some of my Onyx Society brothers, we turned this place into a fucking fortress.

The house is old, but the locks are all newly installed and can’t be breached with standard lockpicking tools. We installed multiple cameras around the perimeter months ago. And between me, Hunter, Niko, Torin, and Sevan nearby at Daggers House, this place may as well be as guarded as my father’s is.

The music thrums through my body and the smell of sweet liquor fills the air.

I turn to enter the front room, and a sudden slam hits the side of my body.

I brace against a redheaded girl who is now smushed up against my arm, gripping me so she doesn’t fall.

“Holy shit, that’s a lot of tattoos,” she says, slurring some of the words as she gawks at me. “You’re tall.”

She’s a freshman, I think.