Boys Club by Selena

eleven

Harper Apple

I get done with my report the next morning and wait for Mr. D to reply. When he does, my teeth clench in fury.

MrD: I need more than your sexual exploits, as fascinating as they are.

BadApple: u said that’s what u wanted

MrD: I indulged you.

BadApple: wtf

BadApple: no

BadApple: ive been indulging u. that’s what u asked 4.

I’m betraying Royal every fucking week, and for what? If he doesn’t want that, why did he ask so many questions the first time?

MrD: What have you found out about the Midnight Swans?

BadApple: it’s a boys club. No girls.

MrD: What else?

BadApple: been kinda busy.

MrD: Semester is coming up. Remember, I am a magician. I make things disappear.

BadApple: Like bodies? Or scholarships?

MrD: Yes.

BadApple: I just told u their dad is prob in the mafia. How is that not wut u want?

MrD: What do you think I can do with that information?

I take a breath to calm myself so I don’t go off on his ass. He’s right. I’m failing. Just like I thought, a teenager saying her boyfriend told her that his dad is in the mob isn’t enough. Even if that boyfriend is his son, it’s not like he told me his dad sinks bodies in that river, and I can have the cops go drag them up as proof.

I took a job, and the job wasn’t to fuck Royal. The job was to find out everything about the Midnight Swans. Mr. D is a pervert, but he still wants the job done in the end. My sexcapades don’t replace that info. I agreed to infiltrate the Swans, and instead, I’ve been distracted by dick. I fed Mr. D info about my sex life because it kept him satisfied while I had my fun and ignored the work I was hired to do.

Fury burns through me, but it’s directed at myself. It’s not like I think Royal knows my mission and has been intentionally luring me away with that godlike, irresistible body because he knows how the scent of money makes me weak and the feeling of power makes me wet. No, he just saw an easy lay, and he took what he wanted, like any guy would. I’m the stupid one, the one who lost my head, my heart. I’m the one who lost sight of reality. I’ve been so busy swearing I’ll never be my mother that I didn’t notice I was walking in her footsteps all along, throwing away my future and everything that matters for allure of good dick. 

BadApple: sry. I’ll do better

MrD: How? I need to know exactly what I’m getting out of this, or I’ll think of another way for you to repay me what you already owe, and I’ll find someone else to give me the information I need.

I grit my teeth. Not just because he’s being a dickbag, but because the thought of him finding some other girl to come in and get close to the Dolce boys makes me rage. And most of all, because he’s right.

BadApple: NYE party. I’ll make sure 2 get something 4 u

MrD: You do that.

BadApple: understood

MrD: And make it good. If I don’t have something on the Swans by end of semester, you can return to Faulkner High in January. I told you from the start that you have to do your part.

He also said I’d be sorry if I didn’t take the “opportunity” he was giving me. That part was a fucking lie. I’m sorry I ever engaged with his creepy ass. But now I’m in, and it’s too late to walk away. I owe him.

BadApple: I’m sorry. I will focus entirely on the Swans. I’ll have something 4 u soon. If I don’t, I’ve failed, n I will go back to FHS.

I push back the chair and let my head fall against the top of it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I have four days. It’s not just about taking down the Dolces anymore. I’m not sure that’s even a goal. Right now, I’m having a good time with Royal. Yeah, he’s treated me badly at times, and he’s done the same to other girls. But if I can keep him, he won’t go after anyone else. I can handle what he dishes out. If I was his girlfriend, I’d have sway over him. I’d keep him in check, keep him from hurting anyone. And whatever he’s done to me, it’s not bad enough for me to have called it quits. In truth, I get more of out it than he does. We both get good sex. But that’s all he gets. I get status, immunity, popularity, friends, even a fancy dinner on occasion.

While I may be wavering on taking them down, I still need something for Mr. D. That’s what I really need the secret for. If he wants to use it to take out Mr. Dolce, then I’m an accomplice. I can live with that. I don’t need to do it myself. I want zero part of the glory, the spotlight, the target on my back. I’m one teenage girl with no money or connections. What can I do, anyway?

Royal has told me so much about his sister, things I don’t think he tells most people, personal shit and feelings. He’s opened up to me, been real with me in a way I think he needs, that he can’t get anywhere else. He’s told me about his family, and I’ve told him about mine. And while I love hearing it, love him being real with me so much that I might actually love him if I’m not careful, it’s not what I need to win the game. I need the Swans.

I could gather all the information in the world about his sister, and it wouldn’t bring down his family. I’m not sure anything I can do would. It’s up to Mr. D now. I tried, and I’m fucking done. I’m done being a conniving little snitch. I just need one big haul, one last con. It breaks my heart to have to think of it that way, but this is my life, and I know when Royal’s done letting me walk in his world to amuse himself, I’ll still be here. In Faulkner.

I need to focus on the real goal—getting the fuck out of this town. To do that, I need my scholarship. And to keep that, I need more than the good grades I got on finals, despite spending three nights a week fulfilling Royal’s demanding ass. To keep the scholarship, I need something to give Mr. D, something to get him off my back.

Permanently.

So I need to dig deeper, try harder, not let Royal’s dick distract me, no matter how much I enjoy the distraction. I need dirt, the good dirt, a secret worth ten thousand dollars—my first semester’s tuition. I need something that will pay off my debt to Mr. D once and for all. Because right now, I don’t have shit. Royal’s impervious to it all. He could murder someone and walk away shining like a superstar.

I’m going to get Mr. D his trophy, and then I’m tapping out. He can use the information for whatever he wants.

I sit there for a while, trying to convince myself not to dig myself in deeper, but I’ve struck out with everyone else when I dug for info on the Swans. I should have learned better than to accept favors after Mr. D. But I’m not really asking a favor. I’m taking payment for services rendered. Finally, I sigh and scoot up to the computer again.

BadApple: u said U O me a favor

SilverSwan: what do u need?

BadApple: r u going to grant me 3 wishes, genie?

SilverSwan: what?

So, he’s probably not Mr. D.

Is Silver Swan a play on silver fox? Does that mean he’s old? Maybe the grandfather Darling that Colt told me runs that side of the family? I think of Colt’s dad, the way he had a cane that made him look older than he is. But his hair wasn’t silver. Maybe one of the other Darling families. Dixie said there are five.

Silver is also an anniversary. I do a quick internet search—twenty-five years. If he’s been a Swan for twenty-five years, he’d be in his forties, which puts him at the right age to be one of the five Darling sons, who are our parents’ age.

Time for process of elimination.

BadApple: NM. Can I ask u anything?

SilverSwan: U can ask.

BadApple: u won’t tell me who u r?

SilverSwan: I said I’d repay u 4 helping L. doesn’t matter who I am.

BadApple: it might.

SilverSwan: who r u, Harper Apple? R U with the Dolces?

BadApple: r u a Darling?

SilverSwan: yes

BadApple: r u in jail?

SilverSwan: no

BadApple: Have we met?

SilverSwan: u didn’t answer my ?

BadApple: sometimes

SilverSwan: Why’d u save Lindsey if u r Dolce’s bitch?

BadApple: A bitch, yes. Dolces don’t own me

SilverSwan: r u trying 2 b cute?

BadApple: fuck u

SilverSwan: tell me what u need n we will be even. i don’t play w snakes.

BadApple: ouch

SilverSwan: I’m not giving u information on the Darlings. go tell ur bfs 2 leave this family the fuck alone. They’ve done enuf.

BadApple: I’m not here 4 them. They don’t know I’m talking 2 u

SilverSwan: If u don’t need anything else, I’m busy.

BadApple: I do need something but if u wont tell me who u r, how do I know I can trust u? u could b 1 of them.

SilverSwan: I’m not, n you can’t

BadApple: I cant trust u? or I can’t know if I can?

SilverSwan: what’s the difference?

Well, at least he’s honest. I’ll give him that. One more person I can’t trust. There are so many now, what does one more matter? I think of what to ask next. If it’s Royal, he’ll probably fucking kill me now, but whatever. Desperate times. I need info, and Royal wouldn’t give it to me. Gloria and Dixie didn’t know enough, and Mr. D has been shut out of the Swans. I don’t know who else to go to for help. I hate this. I’ve always relied on myself, and I was enough. Now I’m not enough. Now I have to rely on others, and since I can’t trust anyone, it’s real fucking hard.

BadApple: R u a member of the Midnight Swans?

SilverSwan: yes

BadApple: Ur still a member?

SilverSwan: Once a Swan, always a Swan.

BadApple: do u know whose username is Mr. D on this app?

SilverSwan: ???

Oh, well. That was a longshot and random, but I had to ask.

BadApple: This is what I want 4 pymt. I want 2 kno how 2 become a Swan.

SilverSwan: it’s a gentleman’s club.

BadApple: could a girl become a member?

SilverSwan: no

BadApple: I don’t believe u. It’s in the rules. Royal wouldn’t tell me. But I think there is a way. N I think u know.

SilverSwan: let me look. But I want something from u.

BadApple: pls don’t turn into yet another internet perv

SilverSwan: if u ever c L in danger again, I want u 2 help if u can n msg me if u can’t.

BadApple: ok

SilverSwan: you’ll do that?

BadApple: yes. She didn’t do anything wrong.

SilverSwan: she carries our DNA

BadApple: so what’s the initiation?

SilverSwan: theres actually nothing that says a girl can’t join. I think it was assumed. WHPA was a boys school when it was founded. So no girls.

BadApple: knew it!

SilverSwan: entry requires fulfilling challenges, a gauntlet, n swearing in

BadApple: that sounds like a gang

SilverSwan: Maybe on the other side of town

I’m finally fully convinced he’s not Mr. D. It’s a relief that for once someone doesn’t know my whole life, where I live, that I’m poor trailer trash. This guy thinks I’m some good Samaritan who helped Lindsey, but he also thinks I’m a Dolce girl, some rich bitch who parties with Willow Heights kids because I’m one of them, not because I’m Royal’s plaything.

BadApple: n why can’t a girl do that?

SilverSwan: there r certain things u have 2 do that most girls wouldn’t do

BadApple: I’m not most girls

SilverSwan: its not fun. Just fyi

BadApple: wait that’s it? Ur not going 2 tell me what I have 2 do?

SilverSwan: can’t. swore an oath.

BadApple: u just told me about the initiation

SilverSwan: ur allowed 2 tell prospective recruits what it takes 2 become a member. The challenges used 2 b chosen by the alumni members, tho it was pretty much the same sorts of things 4 each recruit. Not allowed 2 tell u what they entail.

BadApple: who chooses now? D boys?

SilverSwan: Dolces exiled all the Swans n put their friends in place. We don’t attend the meetings or initiations anymore. I couldn’t tell u what they’d make u do even if I hadn’t taken an oath of secrecy.

BadApple: ok. thank u. this was really helpful. I appreciate it.

SilverSwan: it was a debt.

BadApple: debt paid.

Even though it’s Sunday, and Royal doesn’t do Sundays—at least not with me—I head that way later. I try not to think about what Dixie said, that he takes Lo to the Hockington on Sunday afternoons, spoiling her with a fancy hotel. Because I went and let myself care, my ridiculous heart keeps sending pictures to my brain that mostly feature bubble baths in heart-shaped tubs with champagne and chocolate covered strawberries that they’re feeding each other.

Meanwhile, I get fucked in the ass in a ditch on the side of the road.

This is why I don’t date. My heart has zero chill and even less coping skills.

But I’m a girl on a mission, defective heart or not. So I take Mom’s truck and head over that evening, though I’ve also been told I’m not welcome at their house. I park by the side of the road, scale the fence—making sure to smile and wave at the camera—and drop onto the gravel on the other side. Then I head for the Dolces’ white mansion.

The house beside theirs, which was mostly still standing last time I came, is now a charred pile of rubble. Guess someone decided to finish the job of burning it down once and for all.

I shake my head and jog up the Dolces’ drive to the front door. When I knock, a stranger opens the door, an older guy in a suit who I’ve never met. “Um, hi,” I say, suddenly wondering what the fuck I’m doing. “Is Royal in?”

“I’m sorry, miss, is he expecting you?” the man asks. I realize with a start that he’s not just a friend of Mr. Dolce’s who’s so close that he feels comfortable opening the door. He’s some kind of servant. My head swims. I’ve been here before, but it was probably midnight by the time we showed up, and I didn’t see anyone who wasn’t part of the family.

“I… No,” I admit, totally thrown off my game by seeing someone who probably lives on my side of town working for Royal like this. Shit. Is that how he sees me? I’m just another servant, except my job is to service his dick.

A guy strolls by behind the worker, and I crane my neck to see past and into the house. A second later, the guy steps up behind the one who opened the door. I stare at him, blinking a few times to get my brain functioning right. He looks just like Royal but thinner and… Colder. Just meeting his gaze makes me shiver.

“Who’s at the door, Jones?” he asks, staring down at me.

I drop my gaze, taking in his tailored black slacks, caramel-colored shirt, and black tie. My brain stutter-steps when I take in what he’s holding. A baby name book. It’s so disconcerting in the hand of a guy who looks like he should be holding a gun that it somehow jerks me back into reality.

“You must be King,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that right?” he asks, one thick, black eyebrow rising slightly on his forehead. He has the same mobster accent as the rest of the family.

Randomly, I wonder if he’s a Swan, too. Or… He lives in New York. Would he want to know what his brothers are up to while he’s gone? Is this Mr. D?

But no. Mr. D is a disgruntled Swan. So, that rules out King.

“Who is it?” a voice calls from inside the house. And then another Dolce joins us—Daddy Dolce.

“Howdy,” I say, giving him my fakest smile. “Sure is lovely to see you again, Mr. Dolce.”

“Tony, please.” He holds out a hand. I hesitate before taking it. He gives my hand a quick shake and drops it, to my relief. He’s wearing a tie even at home on a Sunday night. One look at him, and he looks all pleasant and cordial. You’d never know he was a lush who hits on teenage girls just like Mom’s sleazy boyfriends. Guess the clothes really do make the man.

“This is Harper Apple,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder and turning to face King, pinning me to his side. “Royal’s latest squeeze.”

King’s hooded eyes rake over me. “I’ve heard about you, too,” he says.

“I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“Just in town taking care of some… Business.”

The combination of his accent and the way he says the last word makes me instantly picture bodies being tossed in the river with cement shoes. Apparently I watched too much TV over the break. But seriously. Royal said King works in security. What kind of shady answer is that?

“Who you talking to?” calls a familiar voice from inside. Duke’s head pokes under King’s arm, and he grins up at me before straightening, keeping his big brother’s arm over his shoulder. All I can think is that he looks like a seal or a puppy playing with his siblings. Baron appears on King’s other side, throwing his arm around his shoulder so they’re all packed into the doorway together. Something in my heart twists tight the way it always does when I see their family, how close they are, how tight. Apparently the dress code doesn’t apply to them, as the twins are wearing shorts and t-shirts.

“Look who it is,” Baron says. “Our stalker.”

“Guess you had to come to the door this time, since I burned that motherfucker to the ground,” Duke crows.

King frowns at him.

“What?” Duke asks. “Harper’s cool. She won’t snitch to the Popo.”

I swallow hard. The whole reason I’m here is because I am exactly that. A snitch.

“She did get arrested for your ass,” Baron says.

“Because she knows how to take one for the team,” Duke says, grinning at me. “Don’t you, Cherry Pie?”

I glare at him, not sure if he’s oblivious or intentionally ignoring the fact that I’m clearly, incredibly uncomfortable with four Dolce men surrounding me, including their dad, who still has his arm around me. It doesn’t feel gross and pervy this time, though. It feels like a threat, an iron band holding me in place while his sons look me over and talk about me like I’m not here.

“I just came to see Royal,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry I interrupted your family time. If he’s not here, I’ll just go. And if he is, and you’re trying to intimidate me with your whole, ‘what are your intentions’ thing, you should have just come out with a shotgun. That’s what overprotective daddies do around these parts. And it doesn’t require four of you.”

“You know what happened to him?” King asks, jerking his chin at me.

“You think I’m going to kidnap Royal?” I ask, planting a hand on my hip and giving him a look.

“You can understand why we’re protective of him,” he says, leveling me with those cold eyes. They’re not dead like Royal’s, but they’re just as heartless.

I tamp down my defensiveness, feeling like a brat, and nod. Because I do know. Royal is special, and he’s already broken in a thousand little ways. They don’t think I’m going to fucking kidnap him. They think I’m going to hurt him.

And they’re not wrong.

“What the fuck is going on?” Royal’s familiar voice demands from somewhere behind his wall of brothers.

His tone is sharp and pissed off, but it fills me with relief and… Other things I don’t want to think about right now.

“If that asshole fucked with our house again, I’m going to gut him like a fish and hang him by his intestines,” he says, wrenching Duke backwards. “I don’t care if he is a Del—”

His voice cuts off when he sees me, and his expression darkens. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I told you, I have family shit on Sundays.”

“I forgot,” I say with a shrug, but my throat feels all thick. Seeing his family, their protectiveness and love for him, has me all turned around. I need to regroup. I’m way too fucked in the head to deal with Royal’s anger right now. But I charged in like a battering ram, the way I always do, and now it’s too late to back out.

Royal shoves past his brother and grabs my arm, wrenching me away from his father. “Don’t fucking talk to my girl when I’m not around,” he says, yanking me down the steps and away from the house.

“Let me go,” I say, jerking to free myself.

“You know exactly the chances of that happening,” he growls, marching me along the driveway like a kid getting shoved into the closet for not listening to Mommy. Evening falls fast in the winter, and it’s almost dark, though each house is lit up in every window like a fucking Jack-O-Lantern. People out here don’t need to worry about their electric bills, after all.

My own temper is boiling, but I focus on why I came here instead of the way he’s manhandling me. “I want to join the Swans,” I say. “There’s no rule against girls joining.”

“Bullshit,” he says. “And no fucking way.”

“I know someone who has the rulebook,” I say, twisting at my arm and digging my heels into the road. “I know that’s not a rule.”

“Who?” he demands, jerking me to a stop. His eyes narrow, rage burning in the slits between his lashes. “Colt?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I want to join.”

“No.”

“Why?” I challenge. “You think one little girl can destroy your whole male chauvinist club? It must not be very strong.”

He lets out a snort of breath. “You’re not strong enough.”

“Fuck you,” I snap. I may be a lot of things, but weak is not one of them.

“Fine,” he says, a smirk twisting the corner of his lips. “Take me down, then. Right now. Pin me for the count of ten.”

I stare up at his impossibly huge, muscular frame. I could probably take down one of his brothers, maybe even both of them. But Royal’s not just bigger. He’s a fighter, like me. He has moves.

But I’ve got moves, too.

“Okay,” I say, stepping back and raising my fists. “If this is my first challenge, I’m ready.”

“I’m not going to fight you in the middle of the road.”

“Why not?” I taunt. “Afraid I’ll kick your ass?”

“Stop acting crazy,” he snaps, turning and stalking off toward the gate.

I hurry after Royal, too pissed to care about making a scene. “You’re the one who told me to take you down right here,” I say. “Is this part of the challenge? Getting you to actually fight me?”

“I don’t hit girls,” he says. “And tempting as it is, I’m not going to start now.”

“Fine,” I say. “Makes it easier for me if you’re not fighting back. I don’t mind stomping your ass.”

He just scoffs and keeps walking. I take it as part of the challenge. It’ll feel good to pound on him for a minute, get my frustrations out. I’ve missed too many fights lately, and the crunch of bone is like a siren song echoing in my muscle memory, calling me back.

I run up behind Royal. I may not have professional training, but I’ve figured out a few things on my own. I’ve fought bigger opponents enough to know I’ve got to use his weight and size against him. I go for his legs, catching the back of his knee midstride. He curses and stumbles, but before he can get his balance back, I drop onto my hands, locking my legs with his—one behind his knee, the other in front of his other ankle.

His knees hit the road with a satisfying crack.

Only one of my feet is trapped under his ankle, and I roll free before he can catch it. Then I’m on my feet, dancing back, my fists raised.

“Crazy bitch,” Royal growls, snatching for me.

I duck out of the way and swing, but he’s ready this time, knocking the blow aside. I use the momentum to spin around, coming in with a foot to his lower back. Kidney shot. Royal grunts, but when I make a jab for his face, he grabs my arm and spins me around, pinning me to his chest.

“Stop making a fucking scene,” he snarls, sounding well and truly pissed.

I tense up, making myself as big as possible so I’ll have room to maneuver when I need to struggle. Royal starts to climb to his feet, which is a clumsy move for anyone. I bend my knees and then kick off the ground before he can get to standing, throwing my weight into his shoulders to knock him back.

He stumbles back a step but gains his feet, anyway. My feet are dangling a foot off the ground, and I’m caught in his iron grip, his arm as big as my thigh as he pins me against him. I have way too little practice fighting guys. Merciless probably knows how to fight a guy. She probably trains for it with her martial arts masters. Me, I train using a bag in the basement. I’m good with my fists, and I can land a kick when it counts, but I’m no match for Royal’s strength. Before I can squirm free, he tosses me over his shoulder and heads for the gate.

“Put me down,” I bark, thrashing on his shoulder. I elbow his neck, then twist around to land a series of blows to the back of his head. It feels like a fucking brick. I struggle harder, frustration and anger and helplessness raging inside me. I hate how he overpowers me, how there’s nothing I can do to win against a fucking giant. I hate that he always gets what he wants. I hate that he has a big, loving, protective family and a mansion and a new car the week after his was wrecked, and that no matter how many times he allows me to look inside that world, I’m never truly in because I don’t belong there. I hate that all along, I thought he was opening up to me, but he was just toying with me.

And most of all, I hate that I fell for it. He takes me to the river and fucks me and tells me about his family, but he didn’t tell me about his brother visiting. He only tells me what he wants me to know, the abstract, not what’s real and concrete in front of us. He’ll never tell me what I want to know, because no matter what I do, he won’t let me be a real part of his life.

As if to prove my point, he delivers me to the truck. “Get the fuck inside and drive home,” he snaps. “And don’t come back here. When I want you, I’ll come get you.”

“Fuck you, Royal,” I say, shoving his chest when he sets me down. “You can’t just come over whenever you’re down to fuck, and then chase me off like a stray when I do the same.”

“And you can’t come to my house when I’m with my family and then throw a tantrum outside when I tell you to leave,” he snaps back. “Stop acting like trash.”

“I am trash,” I yell at him, completely losing my shit. “Don’t you remember? You’ve told me that since the day we met, and you’ve never stopped treating me like it, so how else am I supposed to act?”

“Shut the fuck up, Harper,” he growls, yanking the back door of the truck open and stuffing me inside. “It’s over. You lost. You’re not strong enough to take me down, and you never will be. Go home.”

“Fuck you,” I yell. “I’m not giving up that easy.”

I hurl myself back out, but he catches me, tossing me across the seat and jumping up in, blocking the way out. I reach for the other door, but he grabs my knees and pulls me back, and suddenly I’m on my back on the seat, and he’s yanking at my jeans. Tears of fury burn my eyes, and I twist away, but not before I see him yanking at his belt with his other hand. He flips me onto my back again and dives onto me, wrestling my thighs open and plowing into me.

I cry out in fury, pounding at his shoulders as he buries his cock deeper, swearing at me as he grinds himself up to the hilt inside me. We’ve been fucking for over a month, but he’s so big it still hurts like fuck when he doesn’t prep me. The fucked up part is, the pain is starting to turn me on as much as everything else he does.

“Let me up,” I snarl. “You don’t deserve to fuck me after you threw me out on my ass in front of your family.”

“You crazy bitch,” he growls, gripping my hands and linking his fingers through mine, pinning them to the seat as he grinds his pelvic bone against my clit. “Is this what you wanted? Is this why you came over? You need a good pounding to knock some sense into you?”

A shudder of pleasure rocks through me, and I want to deny it, but he can feel how wet I am, so wet it makes me furious.

“So what if it is?” I snap, bucking my hips, not sure if I’m trying to throw him off or push him deeper, push him over the edge, watch him lose control the way I love to do. “Why shouldn’t I be able to come over when I want some, just like you do?”

“I told you what would happen if you came over,” he says, thrusting into me hard and fast, each movement punctuated by his harsh words. “Is that what you wanted? You want me to watch my brothers to wreck this sweet cunt like I do?”

“You’d never,” I swear at him, my knees gripping his hips as I wrench at my hands, trying to free them from his grip. He only fucks me harder, pounding me into the seat like he’s trying to tear me in half. He bares his teeth in a feral snarl, but I don’t drop his gaze. I slam my hips up against his so hard I hope it leaves bruises, meeting each punishing thrust with my own.

Last time, he told me he’d let his brothers run a train on me if I came over. But that was before. Things are different now. Maybe before I came along, he and his brothers did their thing to all the girls. But now he cares. And when he cares, Royal doesn’t share with anyone, not even his brothers. I know him well enough to know that.

And he looks fucking pissed about it. He grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head back until I cry out, my body arching automatically, my knees spreading wider. He yanks my leg up with his other hand, hooking it around his hips, the force of his movements positively savage as he slams into me so hard I know I’ll have bruises on my hips tomorrow from where we collide, bruises on my leg from where his strong fingers bite into me, crushing my muscle until I cry out.

“That’s right, baby,” he says, his voice coming in quick bursts between the crushing blows of his hips. “Let me hear you use that loud voice now. I know you want to. Let it out. Scream for me, Cherry Pie.”

“I fucking hate you,” I snarl.

“I hate you more.”

“I’m so fucking close,” I say through panting breaths, my nails raking down his back.

“Scream and I’ll cum so deep inside you that it changes your fucking DNA,” he growls.

I drop my head back and let go, let myself scream all the fury and pleasure and frustration until all I feel is relief at the sensation of our bodies joining, even if we’re still warring with our hearts. Royal lets out a guttural groan, his cock throbbing thick inside me as he locks his hips to mine, forcing me to take every inch of him, every drop of his cum as it floods into me in a rush of wet heat.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmurs into my neck. “If I came any harder, I’d stroke out and die inside you.”

I shove at his shoulder. “Let me on top. I didn’t cum yet. And you better stay fucking hard while I do.”

He rolls us over, sliding his big hands up my thighs and helping me find my rhythm. His eyes are so full, brimming with dark heat, that it just about devours me. I throw my head back, riding him while he grips my hip in one hand and slides the other up the front of my body. He wraps his fingers around my throat, his touch rough but not violent. His grip on my hip is punishing, but his hand on my throat is commanding but almost tender. The contrast makes me come undone.

My walls clench around him, the orgasm gripping me from head to toe, making me jerk on top of him uncontrollably, my body taking over. I know what he means about stroking out. Before him, I didn’t know it was possible to cum so hard. When the climax releases me, I collapse onto him, sliding my palms up his forearms to grip his hands the way he did mine, with my small fingers laced between his long, strong ones.

“Holy fuck, I could watch you ride me until the day I die and never get tired of it,” he murmurs into my hair, kissing the top of my head.

I catch my breath for a minute before sitting up and pressing his hands into the seat. “I think that was more than ten,” I say with a smirk.

“What?” he asks, staring up at me in the darkness.

“I pinned you,” I say. “For ten minutes.”

“Fucking snake,” he says, shoving me off him.

I grab my jeans and slide over the console into the front seat, putting some distance between us before I pull on my clothes. “I told you I wasn’t done fighting,” I say. “I don’t give up, Royal. It’s not in my blood.”

“You’ll never be a Swan,” he says, pulling up his jeans and swinging down out of the truck. “Swans have class.”

He slams the door and walks away, but I’m smiling when I turn the key. I completed the first challenge. Whether he wants to admit it or not, I did. Maybe I had to use some different tricks than the guys he’s used to initiating, but I still did it. And I’m going to keep passing all the tests until he has no choice but to let me join. If Mr. D thinks that’s where the secrets are, then he should be happy enough with my progress to let me keep my scholarship through whatever hazing period the society has. Now I just have to figure out what the next challenge is and hope I survive it.