But those who appear to be the least dangerous are the ones we should look out for the most.
The Elites might not belong to any mafia, but they remain a secret order of a greater game. Something nefarious happens behind the scenes of that club, and it’s only a matter of time before I find out what it is. I’ll uncover their plots and why they antagonize both the Heathens and the Serpents for sport, despite knowing our background.
They’re too cunning for their own good. Or their leader, Landon, is. Which is why I’ve been keeping him in my sights for years.
It’s been fucking years and I still know next to nothing about him aside from his family background and that he’s obsessed with sculpting.
From the outside looking in, he’s a respectable man with genius artistic skills and a bright future ahead of him. He’s perfected that image so well that no one dares to suspect he’s hiding a much darker version of himself.
Since I haven’t uncovered anything about him, I’ve been watching the weakest links in his life.
His siblings.
That hasn’t produced anything either since they stay as far away from his business as possible. I had to gradually back off from Glyndon since Killian is sort of obsessed with her.
His twin brother, Brandon, is useless. For now. That might change, which is why I’m not letting him out of my sight.
As a last resort, we sent invitations to the initiation to those in his closest circle in an attempt to get them into the Heathens and then use them against him.
As expected, none of them showed up.
However, I was informed by security that Creighton King’s invitation was scanned.
As in, Landon’s second cousin, Creighton, who’s a fighter and never wanted to join the Elites.
But Creighton was nowhere to be seen. The one who used his invitation was none other than an annoying existence.
A boring existence.
An existence that shouldn’t have gotten my attention.
And she didn’t.
Until she thought she could get under my roof unnoticed, with her wig and attitude that doesn’t fit with the scene she walked into.
The initiation isn’t for little girls like her.
And yet, she ran for it, and she fought, too.
It was useless, and I put an end to it before it properly started, but then she asked me to fuck her.
I don’t want to die a virgin, is what she said.
I can almost hear the tremor in her soft voice and see the quiver in her velvety pink lips when she said that. I can smell the desperation behind the words. Whether it was to stay alive or be fucked, I had no clue.
My cock chose to believe the second.
I meant it when I said I don’t fuck virgins. They don’t tempt me, and I don’t have a broken hymen kink.
But at that moment? I was so close to tearing into her virgin cunt, just to see the dull girl with rigid morals and judgmental stare cry.
I got my chance when she made the mistake of coming to my house and wandering into my forest. Right after she gave me a glance at her deepest, darkest fantasies.
Right after she ran away from the initiation, I hacked into her phone, then saw the site she visited and the kink she signed up for.
I also saw her pictures.
The screenshots upon screenshots from Landon King’s Instagram account and any other pictures of him posted by others.
She had them in a secret folder called ‘My Prince.’
And surprise, surprise, her prince was enrolled in that club she signed up for. He’s been in it for years. I know because I’m in it, too, if not for anything else, than to keep an eye on him.
Cecily put in all the right answers to get her so called prince to ravage her in an unknown place.
The proud, stern girl actually has a kink.
And not just any kink.
It’s the kink of all kinks.
One that good girls like her shouldn’t go anywhere near, let alone sign up for.
As soon as she hit Submit, I scrolled to my notifications and hit Accept.
She wasn’t offering herself for me, but I took her anyway.
If Landon didn’t want me to mess around with her, he should’ve put her on a leash.
I glance behind me to find that I lost Nikolai at my high speed. Either that or the motherfucker actually got himself killed.
A familiar sight at the building in front of me makes me slow to a halt beneath a large tree that camouflages me and my bike.
It’s an animal shelter. The one my sister volunteers at because she’s an advocate of everything pretty and small.
But it’s not my sister I’m looking at.
It’s the annoying existence.
Cecily Knight.