He’s gorgeous, and the mysterious part of him would draw any woman with a pulse, but I would prefer to bite my tongue than admit it. How could I? What would that mean with everything I know about him? He doesn’t want me in a healthy way. He wants me in the way I secretly crave but cannot admit, not even to myself.
“What reason would I have to be jealous? I’m Prey just like she is. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go? As long as there is consent, anything goes. We have no say in the matter. Anyone who isn’t Prey with a larger bank account at this school can hunt us. And if we open our mouths, you send us back where we came from in pieces. And that is if we make it that far.”
“Something like that,” he replies. “But those rules don’t apply to you, Amy.”
My stomach drops. The tiny hairs on my arms rise in warning. “Why?”
“You’ll see.”
“What will I see, Saint?” I ask, trying to hide the terror in my voice.
What the fuck does he mean by I’ll see?
“How the rules apply to you. And did you actually think I was done with you? That me fucking you softly was the way it was gonna be?”
That was soft?
“I’m confused.”
He laughs. “It will become clear to you soon enough.”
And that’s it. That is all he says, leaving me in the dark with whatever he meant as he pulls up to a drive-through and orders us both food before taking me back to my dorm like it was nothing.
Amy
Victor Sokolov finds me on a Tuesday evening.
Not in a dark corner somewhere, which would honestly fit his style.
He takes the seat across from me in the quad—in the open, by the colonnade along the east academic building, at six in the evening, when students are still crossing the quad. When the lights are on, and the campus is lit, and I’m not alone.
He’s not alone either.
Two men stand behind him. They are huge and imposing, but not as large as Saint. Almost no one is. These men are chosen for situations where their height and build matter.
They wear expensive casual clothes of men whose money represents their employer. In this case, it’s Victor. He’s rich and flashy, and the way he dresses and his accent when he speaks make it no secret he’s Russian…Russian Mafia, to be exact.
Victor himself is not physically imposing. He is lean and has the kind of face that would be attractive if arranged differently. His facial features are not bad to look at, but his expression has curdled into something that looks like confidence from a distance and contempt up close.
“Amy,” he says.
“How can I help you?” All I know about Victor is what Azriel told me, which is to stay away.
“I don’t need help from you. But I want to continue our conversation since we were rudely interrupted. See, I know plenty when it comes to you. You are a scholarship student. No family connections. GPA of 3.9. Currently of interest to the campus social media page since you left Babylon with Saint Vitale last night, which is an interesting development for someone in your position.”
My position.
I keep my face exactly where I want it. Neutral. Attentive. A skill I have practiced since I learned that giving your true emotions away has consequences.
“What position is that?” I challenge.
He smiles like a predator. “Prey. That is what they call your kind. The scholarship intake. The ones with no family connections and no one who would ask the right questions if something went wrong. My family has donated its resources to this institution for generations. I’m sure you have figured out by now what it was for.”
I have.
I’ve known for weeks. I have the knowledge filed and labeled, and I have been sitting with it, turning it over, understanding it, waiting until I know what to do with it.
“What do you want, Victor?” I snap, cutting through his bullshit.
