There is no way I can beat him in strength. He’s a monolith of muscle and will. Even with me fighting, he is moving us so smoothly, a third eye may perceive me as a willing participant.
“This is my club, princess,” he hisses, his warm breath washing my face. “You’ll dance if it pleases me.”
He spins me around, my heels clicking like gunshots on the marble floor, before he reels me back to his chest.
“It’s that easy for you, huh?” I quip, abandoning the fruitlessstruggle and letting him sway us. “Just order girls around, and they fall into line to do your bidding?”
“I’ve never had to ask.” He lifts a shoulder. I resist rolling my eyes. “You wouldn’t have to do my bidding if you had heeded the warning and stayed in your cage, but someone got restless tonight.” He reaches for my cheek and strokes it with the back of his hand. I slap it away. But that just makes him grip my waist tighter.
“Obviously, I didn’t know this club was a front for the mob,” I snap.
A devilish grin spreads across his rugged, bronze-kissed face. No deflection. No excuses. For him, my acknowledgment is not an insult; it’s a recognition of power.
“Maybe you should have chosen a different university to transfer to,” he offers. “I’m guessing you had little to do with that decision, given your brother runs your life now. Though I’m surprised someone with your tongue went along with it.”
My feet pause. Or they would have if he weren’t moving me entirely himself. Goosebumps pebble my nape as I realize my phone isn’t the only thing he wants. This is a fishing expedition.
“Funny you’d assume that,” I mock. “Is that how it works with the Grants? Men run the show, and women do as they are told.”
He lets out a dark laugh, but doesn’t respond. His eyes bore into mine, turning severe. “Answer the question. Your grandfather could have bought you a place at Oxford or Cambridge or both. Why the fuck are you at Kingsden?”
That’s a good question.One I have been asking myself since Dan and Grandpa insisted I move my studies. I didn’t want to return to Manchester. That would have been too devastating. But I could have transferred to one of the other red-brick universities. My guess: they want me here for the same reason my mum came here. What’s better than guards? Constantsurveillance from students whose families are knee-deep with Etheridge Enterprises and a vice-chancellor on speed dial.
“My parents studied here,” I give him the bare minimum.
“That’s interesting,” he mutters.
“What is?” I squint.
“Your family. You're a strange bunch.”
“Strange?”
“Yes. Tell me—why are you an Etheridge, when your father was a Rycroft?” He cocks an eyebrow.
I hold my face steady, refusing to let anything slip. He’s obviously done his research. Not that I have the answers he’s looking for. My brother and I were Rycroft. Then one day, years ago, Mum and Dad decided to switch our surnames out of the blue. Dan and I assumed Grandpa finally got his way, like always.
“No idea.” I shrug. His eyes narrow to slits as he scans my face.
“Hmm… maybe you’re right. You’re not that important an Etheridge,” he taunts, a smirk lifting one corner of his lips.
I clamp down on the venom burning my tongue.
“So, your parents would be happy you’re at Kingsden?” he asks.
“Probably not. But I guess they forgot to warn me about the devil’s nest at Fort before they died.”
“Careful, sweetheart.” His voice rings with warning. “Let’s not say things that risk shortening your lifespan.”
“If threats are all you’ve got, you are going to have to get in line. Apparently, I’m already an amber risk. Hence, the guards, who will find me, sooner or later.” His right eye twitches, which makes me smile. “From the look on your face earlier, I am guessing that will get in the way of this little power show?”
And then it’s his turn to pause. He stops swaying mid-step, drops my hand, and reaches for my face.
“You have quite a mouth on you, for a princess.”
His gaze locks on my face as his thumb brushes my lower lip, back and forth, his touch rough against my soft skin. It takes all my will not to pull away when he smudges my gloss with every stroke, meticulously working to rub every ounce of pink from my lips, smearing it over my cheeks and chin.
I stay still, waiting for him to stop.
