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Except then she barks, “Just fuck me already!”

I gasp at the sound, garbled but still sharp with frustration, just like I’d said it. “Oh no.”

Pace grins like the cat who caught the canary. “I’m glad she caught that for posterity.” Then, his face falls. “Fuck, that’s really going to confuse my dick later.”

“Verity has a point.” Lex’s jaw is tight as he looks between his brothers. “We’ve set an example.”

Nostrils flared, Wicker buttons his shirt. “How exactly do you plan on changing this now?”

“Controversial take,” I say, raising a hand. “How about stop being such massive dicks to me on campus?” To Lex, “Treat me like a human being?” To Pace, “Stop spitting into my goddamn mouth?”

Pace pulls a face. “Can’t we just cut off some fingers?”

“We’ve had a lot of success with that in the past,” Wicker agrees with complete sincerity.

“No,” Lex decides, sighing. He looks almost as tired as Wicker does, pushing his hair back. “We’ve decided to see this thing through, and we’re drifting around here like flotsam. If we’re going to do it, we should do it right. Our job is to protect the Princess. They need to see that she’s worth protecting.”

Harshly, Wicker adds, “Or maybe they need to see their Princes are worth obeying. We’re not the only ones setting an example here.”

That word—obey—fills my mouth with ash. Even worse is the knowledge that Wicker is right. Among the social ranks of East End, the Princes only have as much power as the frat grants them. The more I fight, the more they have to punish and force me back in line. It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle.

It’s the only reason I square my shoulders and look into Wicker’s blue eyes. “You’re right.”

He blinks. “I know.”

Nodding, I agree, “I’ll perform as your perfect, doting Princess so long as you treat me like one.”

Lex thrusts his hand out. “Deal.”

We shake on it, and before my hand can even fall, Pace’s is there, his dark eyes gazing down at me as I grip his palm.

“On campus,” he says, not releasing my hand. “But when we’re alone…” His eyebrow arches expectantly. I conjure up the feeling that overcame me that day he rescued me. The humiliation. The hopelessness. The all-consuming rage against Heather and her friends. It’s the only thing that allows me to part my lips, opening wide for him.

When Pace’s saliva hits my tongue, it doesn’t feel like that.

He pushes the tip of a finger beneath my chin, closing my jaw, and I don’t see the need to humiliate in his eyes. I see a spark of satisfaction—the ripple of possessive glee—but it’s not about me, I realize.

It’s about him.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, bending to brush the point of his slick tongue against my lips.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” comes Wicker's voice, “I’m not the one who decided to stay. And since I already know what deals between you two are worth…” He yanks Pace away from me, his tired eyes glaring into mine. “My deal with you is that I’ll treat you like any other girl I’m fucking. Take it or leave it. Anything more than that wouldn’t be convincing anyway.”

I give his proffered hand a dubious look. “That doesn’t sound like much of a concession.”

“Given that I’m not even fucking you, it should.”

Supposing he has a point there—and knowing Wicker wouldn’t budge regardless—I take his hand, shaking it.

“Deal.”

* * *

With the boy-shitput away for the morning, I get in the shower, washing off the night spent with Pace. Unfortunately, when I get out, Wicker is sitting at the dressing table, rummaging through my makeup.

“What are you doing?” I ask, hastily wrapping the towel around my body.

“You think this matches my skin tone?” He holds up a tube of concealer. When I just stare at him, he yanks at his collar, revealing a purpling bruise on his throat. “A cougar got me last night.”