I don’t understand my feelings for her.
I leave the classroom and exit the building, heading for the junior and senior dorm building. I don’t have a room there. As a Lancaster, I automatically get one of the private suites in another building that once housed staff when they lived on campus. But I hang out here sometimes, usually in the common room.
Where I’m headed right now.
I find a chair and settle in, waiting while I scroll on my phone, my gaze going to the door, knowing eventually I’ll see him appear. He’s so damn predictable. His favorite place to hang out after school is in this very room. All of his followers surrounding him, waiting for another story about yet another innocent girl who gave it up to his douchey ass.
The problem with the girls not talking about what he does is they don’t warn the others who follow after them. It’s like this weird secret that grows and grows. Everyone knows it’s happening, but no one admits it’s actually happened to them.
It’s kind of fucked. Someone needs to call Larsen out for his shit.
Maybe that someone should be me.
What does it really matter, what Larsen does with other girls? We’ve let it happen for the last couple of years, so what’s the difference now?
Wren.
She’s the difference. I can’t stand the thought of him even looking at her, let alone touching her. He’s a piece of shit creep who doesn’t deserve even an ounce of her attention. Wren is so damn sweet and pure and good.
I barely deserve her attention, and I’m ten times the man that Larsen the fuckhead is. And if he were to do something that would devastate her completely, like film her while he took advantage of her after slipping a drug in her drink? Holy shit.
I’d probably kill him if given the chance.
It takes him a solid twenty minutes, but he finally shows up. Larsen enters the common room with a smile on his face, high fiving a couple of dudes who greet him like he’s their long-lost leader.
Such a bunch of shit. That they even look up to this supreme asshole says a lot about them.
He spots me, surprise on his face since I’m sitting in the chair he usually occupies. See, I know what he’s up to. I know how he operates. And I can tell by his grim expression that he doesn’t like me sitting in his chair.
My family owns this place. Technically it’s my mother fuckin’ chair. I can sit wherever the fuck I want.
“Hey, Crew,” Larsen says, stopping directly in front of me.
“Hey.” I indicate the empty chair across from me. “Have a seat.”
He reluctantly sits down on the edge of the chair, looking ready to bolt at any second. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. How are you?” I could give a shit how he’s doing, but I’m not going to be an idiot and attack him at first sight.
I need a quiet approach. Lull him into thinking everything is fine before I lay down my threat.
“I’m good. Ready for the weekend.”
Damn, he walked right into it.
“Got plans?”
He nods, relaxing slightly. “Headed to the city. Not till the morning though.”
Good to know. I’ve already done a little research. Figured out exactly where this exhibit is happening that Wren is planning on attending.
“What are you doing while you’re there?”
“Staying with the family. They’re having company for dinner, and my mom wanted me there.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s coming over?”
“The Beaumonts.”
“As in Wren Beaumont?”
He nods. Grins. “Hoping to spend a little one on one time with her, you know? She’s the ungettable girl.”
Is that even a word? Ungettable? “You really think she’ll go for a disgusting pervert like you?”
His grin fades, replaced by a scowl. “What the fuck, Lancaster?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I glare him. “You’re a scum sucking piece of shit who makes videos of girls you fuck. The only reason you fuck them is for the videos, so you can share them. Make money off them. You don’t give a shit about the fact that those girls are devastated by what you do. Some of them have even left school over it. They never come back. And you keep doing it because not a one of them tell anyone what’s going on. They’re too embarrassed. They believe their lives are over. I’m surprised you haven’t received a therapy bill from one of them yet.”
“I bet you’ve watched a few of those videos,” Larsen says, his expression surly. I’m sure it never feels good to have your dirty shit explained to you.