“Oh, Riri, if I always get to see the heat rise in your cheeks and your beautiful gray eyes dilate any time one of us catches you off guard, we’ll never stop hunting you,” his words snaking up my skin, amping up my excitement. The idea of being chased by him or Owen causes my pulse to race.
“There. That’s the look,” he whispers, leaning in, nipping the corner of my lips before licking the same spot. “The one that releases a siren’s call and drives unsuspecting men wild. Priming our baser instinct to chase.” His hand wraps around the softness of my middle before sliding down to my pussy and grabbing. “The one that makes us want to claim and leave our mark so no one else would ever dare to touch you.” He bends, leaving a trail of light kisses, nibbling a path to my ear and growling, “The one that lets you know once you’re captured, you’ll never be let go.”
With his final words, his lips descend, engulfing my own, and I return his fervor. Lost in the softness of his lips, contrasting with the dominance of his kiss. In this moment, I can almost feel my surrender.
“Ewwww, stop doing that,” twin cries of horror clear the lust from my head in time to hear feet rushing down the hall.
“Hey, get away from our sister with your cootie lips,” Ky yells, launching himself at Wyatt, his little fists raised.
“Yeah,” Kell shouts in agreement, kicking poor Wyatt in the shins. “Don’t put your germy hands on her.”
Wyatt’s hazel eyes fill with amusement when they land on me, and we both laugh.
Throwing his hands up in surrender, he jokes, “I’m sorry. I’ll keep my germs to myself.”
He snatches Ky up, tickling him until he’s gasping for air from laughing. Then he chases them both down the hall.
I smile at their antics and head for the dining room, appreciating the sound of their joy, reminding me why I’ll put up with whatever bullshit games are required of the selection process.
41
LEV
Bethany’s body turning up in the school tells me someone in this town is working with whoever this group is. This has plagued me for the last three weeks since she turned up in pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle.
There’s no way people can consistently get into our school, never be caught on camera, and bypass every other security measure without help.
Luckily it’s been radio silent, nothing new is happening, and Ariah hasn’t received any new packages with miscellaneous body parts.
“That stupid bitch will ruin everything, Wes, and you can’t seem to leash her!” I hear Wyatt shout from down the hall, and Wyatt rarely raises his voice.
While this shadow organization has been quiet, Samantha’s scheming has not.
She’s determined to be a selection choice, going as far as offering to pay Trisha to leave, trying to force our hand.
The guys enter the room still in workout clothes and drenched in sweat. Owen grabs water bottles for everyone while Wyatt and Wes take a seat.
Wyatt is still visibly seething. The muscles in his jaw flex from him grinding his molars, his leg bouncing up and down as he tugs on the strands of his fiery hair.
“What did she do now?” I ask, afraid to know the answer.
Still too pissed to speak, Wyatt jumps up from his seat and starts wearing a hole in the ground with his pacing. On his second lap, he finally yells, “She had some soon-to-be dead boys record a video of Riri in the shower. They photoshopped out her nose, replacing it with a pig snout and making squeals whenever the video plays.”
Of course she did. I hope the boys enjoyed their lives while they lasted. They’re essentially dead.
Ariah and I have our differences, but no one should have their privacy violated and released for public consumption.
I can’t lie, though. The thought of her naked in the shower is a hot one. Let’s face it the girl is stacked—her body curves like an hourglass.
I still don’t trust her. The timing of her arrival is too convenient. I absolutely agree with Wes on that point.
No matter how hard I dig, I turn up nothing, but we know there’s more to her story. Why else would this Filiae Bellonae be trying to take her? So, while I feel for Wyatt, a naked video of Ariah isn’t the pressing issue here.
“Try not to make too much of a mess. It’s hard enough dealing with our dads as is,” I say.
Wes’s phone ringing cuts off my following words. He groans, and I know that means it’s his dad. He’s the only person Wes loathes but can’t ignore.
He answers and whatever his dad is saying has his already tense posture grow even tighter. Pulling the phone from his ear, he connects it to the Bluetooth speakers so we can all hear.
