Angry God

Lenora Astalis really didn’t give a fuck.

She knew I was in her school, and didn’t steal one glance at me.

She didn’t talk about me.

Think about me.

Chase after me.

And that was…new.

People cared—whether they wanted to give me head, be my girlfriend, my friend, my lab partner, associate, peer, or pet. Whatever they wanted to be to me, they always tried to make it happen. They regarded me with unwavering fascination. And me? I fed the legend. I didn’t eat, sleep, or talk much publicly. The only human thing I did in front of an audience was let girls suck my dick at parties. Even that was me proving a point to myself, more than anyone else.

I smirked, grabbing her jaw and jerking her to my body. She thought I’d retreated, when really, I just wanted another good look at that sweet ass before making it mine.

“You know, Good Girl, we’re going to see a lot of each other the next few years.”

“Years?” She let out an agitated laugh, not bothering to fold her arms and hide her tits from me. Which didn’t exactly work in my favor. I had full control of my cock, true, but the bastard didn’t deserve to be teased.

“Hold off making the friendship bracelets, Spencer. I’ve no intention of staying here. I’m moving back to England next year.”

“So am I,” I said evenly.

This had been the plan from the beginning. Get back to England once I graduated and do what I needed to do before opening a studio somewhere in Europe. A fresh start.

“You’re moving to England?” She blinked, deciphering the meaning of this. I wanted to dip a hand between her thighs and see what the news did to her.

“Carlisle Prep,” I snarled. “They have a pre-college internship program.”

“I know. I’m applying there, too.” She sucked in a breath, panic finally trickling into her system.

Finally. My blood warmed at the sight of her face draining of color. Watching her react to me was like feeling the first rays of sun after a long winter.

The internship was a six-month program, working alongside Edgar Astalis and Harry Fairhurst, on a piece of your choice. Astalis was dragging his haughty ass back from Cali exactly for that purpose. He loved Carlisle like it was his fucking baby.

You’ll wish you’d kept an eye on your actual baby like you do your prep school, asshole.

She wanted the internship at Carlisle Prep just as much as I did, but for very different reasons. She wanted it because she was born for it—a student at Carlisle since the age of six and bearer of her father’s legacy. Besides, the intern would get to exhibit their piece at Tate Modern at the end of the six-month term. It offered the kind of prestige that could buy your way to artistic stardom. And I wanted it because…

Because I wanted to feel the taste of blood on my tongue.

There were only two spots available per year, and rumor had it one was already going to Rafferty Pope, a genius, soon-to-be-alumni of Carlisle Prep who could paint an entire city landscape from memory. I’d heard Edgar was rocking the LAX-Heathrow route six to eight times a year to check up on his interns, not to mention disappearing in Europe for the summer.

“Putting the cart before the horse, I see.” I took a rolling paper from my back pocket and poured crumbled weed into it, ignoring her nudity like it bored me. “Your chances of beating me at anything are tragically slim. Hope for your sake that you’re applying to other places.”

“I’m not,” she informed me, her voice flat.

“Well, fuck if it’s not going to suck when Daddy tells you you’re not good enough,” I chirped, tapping her nose with my unlit, rolled joint.

“Says you.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Yes. The guy who deserves the internship. However, winner gets to choose an assistant from the applicants’ list. Which means…” I looked up from the joint, rubbing my thumb along my bottom lip. “You could be my bitch for those six months. I like the sound of that, Lenora. Your neck would look pretty with a leash.”

“I’m not the one who’s going to be a prisoner if you come there,” she said softly. “Carlisle is my playground, remember?”

She threatened. Me.

I was about to burst out laughing when she continued.

“Oh, and it’s Lenny now,” she hissed. “Lenora is an old person’s name.”

It was the first crack in her façade, where signs of the flaming-golden-haired girl peeked from behind the Goth, pasty chick.

“Hate to break it to you, but Lenny is a Gremlin’s name.” I stepped back, throwing the towel into her hands, finally showing an ounce of mercy. “Here. Cover up. I’m planning to eat sometime tonight. May I have my appetite back now?”

She made no move to put the robe on, likely just to spite me. I shook my head, realizing I’d been here far longer than I’d anticipated. The Astalis girl wasn’t important enough to monopolize my time. I tucked my joint into the corner of my mouth and strolled toward the balcony doors, picking up her scattered clothes and throwing them over my shoulder, into the pool. She knew my secret. She had leverage on me, and we were competing for the same spot. Seemed like pissing all over my promise to Knight was in order.