Chapter Five

Snow

I want to know why Lyrical came by here the other night to see Irvin. When I hacked her phone, I couldn't find any conversations between them. I told all my friends to stay the fuck away from her, because they aren't good people. I'm not good either. Irvin is a psychopath who likes to use people as pawns, so he better not have Lyrical on his radar. Hell, he's the worst of the worst out of all of us.

I rush to the backyard and spot him sitting on a lawn chair, a blonde draped over his lap.

The same chick who asked to be my pet the other night. The dipshit motorboats the hell out of her tits, and she squeals. Keanu splashes in the pool playing Marco Polo with Jameson. They both watch me march up to Irvin and his tramp. I yank her by the hair and toss her to the grass.

"What was that for?"

I glance down at her sunburned face and shake my head.

She's not my problem—he is. Irvin has one chance to answer my question or he's going to meet his maker.

Ignoring her, I punch Irvin in the throat, and he places his hand over his neck, trying to breathe in air, wheezing, while I pull out my knife that's strapped to my ankle, holding the blade to his throat. "Why the fuck would Lyrical be looking for you?"

If he has any plans of fucking my girl, I'm going to cut off his dick and make him eat it.

I nick his neck, drawing blood, making it known I'm not fucking around with his ass.

"Put the knife do—"

"Shut up, Jameson," I grit, keeping my eyes glued to Irvin.

Keanu stands in my direct view with his arms folded across his chest, smirking. Standing next to him is Jameson watching me as if I lost my mind.

Irvin has no sense of bro code and sleeps with any damn body, he doesn't care who he hurts. Last year, he fucked Jameson's married mother without so much as a care in the world. I hate Lyrical but she's going to be my wife, so I have to protect her. I definitely don't want his slimy fingers near her pussy. I don't want him breathing the same air as her.

"Let me go, fucker." His voice is hoarse and raspy.

His eyes veer to Jameson and Keanu, but they stay quiet.

God can't save him for what I'm about to do to him.

"If you don't answer my question, I'm going to cut your vocal cords out of your throat." I push the knife harder, watching bright blood slowly drip down his tan throat.

"She wanted to hook her friend up with Irvin," Jameson answers.

I look over to him, and Irvin knocks the blade from my hand, placing his palms around my throat, and I laugh. "Go right ahead and do it," I taunt.

He can't hurt me. He knows it, and I know it. He needs me as much as I need him to run the American Billionaire Club once we graduate. The difference between Irvin and I, I would risk my livelihood to keep Lyrical safe even if I hate her at this moment.

"I should fuck her. Burst her cherry. I wonder, does she have a certain kink like her friend does?" he whispers in my ear, squeezing tight and cutting off my airway.

His words send me over the edge as pure rage courses through my veins.

He's saying it to get a rise out of me, to get under my skin, and it's working. I wish I didn't care if he were to fuck her.

Letting me go, he shoves me to the ground and kicks me in the chin, causing a burning sensation to shoot up my jaw.

When I jump up to my feet, my fist connects with his left eye, and I grab a fistful of his hair and drag his ass against the concrete. Irvin screams at the top of his lungs for me to let him go as he punches me in the gut, but I don't let go despite the excruciating pain burning inside of me. Forcibly, I dump his head underwater in the pool, letting the chlorine burn his nostrils.

Boy do I wish I can blow his brains out.

When I bring his head up for air, he coughs and gags, swallowing for air.

"This will be the last time you will mention ever taking my future wife's virginity," I scream in his ear, dumping his head back underwater.

He continues to fight, and several minutes later, his arms go limp.

"Let him go, Revi."

I glance up, and my father stares down at me with disappointment stretched across his face.

Jameson and Keanu grab Irvin, performing CPR on him, and several seconds later, Irvin coughs up water.

My father ushers me to his Porsche and his driver opens the car door. I slide inside, yanking the seat belt over my body.

Why is he here? I'm not in trouble with school and I'm passing all my classes with flying colors. I already bought my tux for the engagement ball, so the only reason I can conclude he's here is to make an appearance, and he wants to make sure he looks good in the public eye to keep up the image that we get along with each other.

Growing up, my father never showed me love. Bailey and my mother received hugs and affection while I was in the dark, but I see how he acts toward the other men in my family, and he doesn't show them love either, so I stopped taking it personally. I can't think of a time my father ever hugged me and told me he loved me.

I lean my head against the crisp leather seat, taking in the scenery of North Haven town. People walk the streets filled with tall palm trees and skyscrapers made out of glass fiber.

The silence stretches between us until my voice fills the car. "Where are we going?"

"Ocean Front. I'm in town for a week to check on your mom, then I'm off on a business trip in New York City."

We ride to a fancy restaurant on the west side of town. I hate being in his presence because I don't know if he's going to fly off the handle.

Once we make it to the restaurant, we're quickly seated and the waiter collects our orders.

His eyes narrow. "Have you picked out an engagement ring for Lyrical?"

I nod. "Yes, sir."

This is how our relationship has been. He asks me questions and I answer them. He doesn't ask me how school is going. He doesn't ask me about my social life. Hell, I almost ended Irvin's life and he still didn't ask me about it. My father never cared for me and he never will.

The waiter brings our drinks and I sip my beer slowly, drowning out the noise of the restaurant.

My father sips his scotch and sets the crystal glass onto the cloth covering the table. "Your sister would have been excited about your wedding, planning everything right down to the flowers, and if you had been watching her and protecting her, she would still be living right now."

The guilt I feel eats at me every day, and I try not to blame myself. Ever since Bailey passed away, my father has always been on my case, reminding me how much of a fuckup I am. I don't respond, I never do, because sometimes I do believe it's my fault.

"Have you checked on your mother?"

I shake my head and watch the waiter wearing a suit and tie set our food in front of me, but I'm not hungry, though I know if I don't eat, my father will find another way to pick on me about something. I pick up my fork and dig into my sweet peas, but it tastes like dry wood.

"Your mother's depression has gotten worse since Bailey has died, and yet you didn't check on her?"

It's not that I don't love my mother, I do. I can't handle seeing her so sad. I'm the one who made her depressed.

I continue listening to him tell me how I should be a man and stop acting like a boy. It's why I kept to myself because I'd rather be alone than deal with people. My father cares about me as long as I'm making him look good. I killed people for him, just for him to give me a pat on the back, but it's never enough.

By the time lunch is over with, I'm not in the mood to attend my evening class for my master's degree and I don't want to go back to the mansion, so I walk the trail and end up at the back of Lyrical's apartment complex.

Of course I would end up coming here, because whenever I used to have a shitty day, I'd show up at her place and she would comfort me. Lyrical had been my go-to person when I felt like my back was against the wall.

I climb an oak tree that's close by her bedroom and sit on a thick branch, watching her concentrate as she draws something.

She scrunches up her cute button nose and sticks her tongue out.

This is my favorite part about her, how she has a passion for the things she loves. Sometimes, I miss her. Other days, I don't want to have anything to do her, but the one thing that hasn't change is my obsession with her. I miss her stealing all my hoodies, I miss her showing up at my place unannounced with a bag of popcorn and liquor so we can have movie nights. I miss her spending the night at my place even though it took me every ounce of self-control to not fuck her.

I watch her get up from the desk. She removes her shirt, then her bra, both items hitting the floor. Her tits are on display, though I've seen her naked before, accidently walking in on her in the shower, but I only got a glimpse. Her small breasts are the size of apples and her nipples are a dark pink. My dick hardens and aches in my pants.

I don't bother to readjust myself.

She removes her leggings and panties, tossing them to the floor, then she bends over. Her ass is on display, and I want to shove my dick inside of her. I can feel the tip of my dick leaking with pre-cum. I've never wanted to fuck anyone like I want to fuck her.

I watch her as she moves to the bathroom and I take that as my cue to climb inside.

Loud music blasts from the bathroom, but she leaves the door open, so I watch her step into the shower. She has always been an artsy person, while I have always been into reading nonfiction, history, and business. But somehow, we meshed—until the accident, of course. But now I don't want to marry her and I don't want to be tied down to her for the rest of my life. Looking at the girl I hate, whose smile used to light up my day, I want to hurt her.

The room fills up with her apple soap scent, so I sneak into the bathroom cabinet, grab an extra bottle, then slip it into my back pocket while she's unaware. I go back to her room, glance around, noticing nothing has changed. Lyrical still has the comic books I bought her for her birthday last year. She's still a messy person, leaving her clothes everywhere.

I search through her drawers, trying to find something I can use against her to keep her ass in check, to get her to do what the fuck I want her to do. I find a small clit stimulator and I tuck it in my pocket because her pussy is mine, and I don't want her getting herself off either.

Not without my permission.

When I search through her drawer, I find a leather sketchbook which I've never seen before. I know she has another one which she uses for inspiration to paint, but this one looks old, the edges worn and torn a little bit.

I open the book and scan the pages, and I can't believe what I'm seeing.

She has a picture of herself and my hand around her throat as I'm fucking her.

This shit is hot as fuck.

I look at another picture, a sketch of me chasing her in the woods. There are so many graphic sketches of me fucking her in different ways. I thought I would have to force her to crave me, to kneel before me, to force her to like what I like, but it seems I don't have to. She wants me to fuck her against her will, she wants me to have complete control over her, and it makes me want her even more. Making her my toy is going to be so much fun and easy. I can't wait to fuck her until she's crying, begging me for more.

I tear out the picture of my hands around her throat and my dick in her mouth, then I snatch tape from the drawer, stroll into the steamy bathroom, and write a message in her black lipstick.

Once I'm home, I hop in the shower, jack off with her soap and to the pictures she's drawn of us, and I come so hard my dick aches. I watch my cum drip down the tiles.

I've got to have her.

I need to fuck Blue.

After I dry myself off with a towel, I put on a pair of pajama pants and sit at my desk, getting ready to write my term paper for my business class.

My phone dings with a notification, so I swipe up, a message from Lyrical appearing on the screen.

Blue: Where is my goddamn sketchbook?