Page 15

E yes burning with frustration, I grip Briar’s arm and guide her out of Jace’s room before the powder keg situation erupts further. The shirt she clutches flutters around her thighs with each hurried step, revealing glimpses of shapely legs and her state of undress.

Briar offers no resistance, falling in step as we exit the bedroom. Arius and Jace stay behind, tension crackling between them like live wires. Smart money’s on those knobheads squaring up for a pissing contest the second my back is turned.

Pushing that inevitability aside, I steer Briar towards the living area where a garment bag lies draped across a plush sofa. Arius must’ve had staff retrieve clothes for her in anticipation of whatever fresh hell that’s been concocted next.

“Right, let’s get you decent,” I mutter, nodding at the beckoning outfit before releasing her arm.

Rather than complying, her eyes blaze with indignation as she bristles, spine stiffening and chin canting up defiantly. “Like fuck I’m wearing whatever that controlling prick picked out,” she snaps, flourishing a hand at the garment bag, snarl twisting full lips. “I already told Whitlocke, I’m not his dress-up doll.”

My brows furrow at the vehement refusal, gaze flickering to her face in askance. The raw fury etched across delicate features halts any rebuke, her lithe frame practically vibrating with outrage. Christ, even stripped bare except for the shirt, she brims with a scorching passion—a tempest roiling beneath the surface, begging to unleash its fury.

The spark of attraction I’d felt at the frat party reignites, thrumming along my nerves. Not towards Briar per se, but that fiercely rebellious spirit encased in such an alluring form. If not for swinging the opposite way, even I wouldn’t be immune to her brand of temptation.

Exhaling a snort, I shrug a shoulder nonchalantly. “Dunno what visions you’re having about Arius being some deviant salivating over dressing you like a Stepford wife, but none of that’s going on here.” My tone is intentionally mild. Tread carefully, no need to pour petrol on simmering embers.

Briar doesn’t dial back even a notch. Baring teeth in a sneer, she whips around, tawny tresses whirling. “You’re a right prick, you know that?” she hisses, eyes glinting with vitriol. “Bet you think it’s a lark, giving me something that set me on my arse. Where’s Sid? Clearly you wankers already had some sick plan in motion before I even showed up. Did you know I would be at that party?”

Outrage roots me in place, stunned by the blistering accusation. Before I can muster a response, Briar presses on. “Let me guess, you arseholes got your kicks having your way with me while I was out? Couldn’t resist taking advantage once I was at your mercy? Nothing but predators looking for a helpless victim to—”

The tirade cuts off in a gasp, hand clutching the shirt as if realising the scope of her words. Pupils dilate with shock and horror, mouth working silently as the fight drains from her.

Seizing the opportunity, I surge forward, gripping narrow shoulders. “Listen to me. I don’t know where you got these wild notions about us being some depraved gang, but you couldn’t be further off base,” I growl, pinning her with my stare. “Not one of us would stoop to those vile behaviours willingly, and if you think for a second that—”

“Oh, she shouldn’t count her blessings too quickly, ,” a silken voice cuts across mine, dripping sardonic amusement. “Everyone knows Arius prefers them conscious when he fucks—the thrill’s ruined if the poor dear’s passed out.”

I whirl to find Rhys lounging against the wall, eyebrow arched mockingly. Of course that insufferable shitgibbon would pipe up with an inappropriate zinger at the worst moment.

“You’re supposed to be helping Rhys, not stirring up more shite!” The reprimand rips out savagely, anger reddening my vision. Of all the fuckwits to be left unsupervised, Rhys ensures he’s first on the list.

A harsh laugh greets my outburst. “Relax, you miserable pillock,” he drawls, smirking infuriatingly. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist over this trollop acting out because you and Arius are too soft to establish control. She’ll be dancing over all of your corpses before the month’s out.”

With a scathing scoff, Briar throws up her hands in exasperation, tugging the shirt from her torso. Pert breasts sway enticingly, nipples pebbling into stiff peaks. Not that I’m gawking at the blatant show. No, my focus remains on Rhys, his eyes skimming Briar’s slender frame.

A hitch stalls the bastard’s breath—one I’m certain anyone lacking my keen skills would’ve overlooked. Jade irises darken, pupils dilating with unmistakable interest before he can leash the response.

Of course, the sly git catches himself, visage smoothing into sardonic disinterest. Still, the glimpse of want simmering in inscrutable depths confirms what I’ve suspected about his proclivities. Briar has the raw allure to ignite that possessive streak in any red-blooded male.

Factoring in Rhys’ penchant for viewing depraved facets of human nature as grist for sadistic appetites, our ice queen seems destined to set his sensibilities ablaze. Ironic, a harpy from the wrong side of the tracks rousing his thirst for understanding the intricacies of the psyche where highborn debutantes routinely fail.

I’m uncertain which arrogant git is more hopeless in this compulsion: Arius with his borderline-pathological need to seize control, or Rhys and his ingrained need to pick people apart on a clinical level. Whichever indulges first, Briar stands to be their cherished conquest or greatest undoing.

Sighing, I redirect focus to the spitfire vibrating with ire. Briar shakes her head, hand yanking the garment bag open savagely.

“You’ve gotta be bloody kidding!” The shriek sears the silence as she wrenches the top garment free. A burgundy lace corset tumbles into view, followed by a cloud of sheer lingerie. Stockings, garter belt, scrap of lace panties—all crimson shades.

I can’t stifle the bark of laughter erupting from my chest, amusement sweeping through me. Hand scrubbing my stubbled jaw, soft peals subside enough to address the situation.

“Rather ambitious of Arius, this getup,” I chuckle, shifting my stare to Briar. Her teeth gnaw at her bottom lip in consternation, wary looks cast between the ensemble and my form. “Think he expects you to strut as his secretary dressed like a tawdry centrefold?”

Rhys snorts disdainfully, slicing through the pause. “As if Arius’ tastes could be accused of such gauche tackiness,” he sneers, prowling forward to trail a pale finger along frothy lace. “More likely he needed something to placate Hansley’s need to control Briar through proxy. Though I wouldn’t put it past him to enjoy the show.”

A harsh exhale punches from Briar’s clenched teeth, eyes searing with revulsion as she tosses the lingerie onto the sofa. “You’re both sick, twisted wankers!” Accusations slice the air, hand flourishing dismissively. “Keep your perverted fantasies about trussing me up like a depraved whore to yourselves.”

Shaking my head in bemusement, I stride to my bedroom without reining in the mirth suffusing my expression. Laughter dances at my mouth’s corner, unwilling to abandon me despite the trainwreck scenario.

Briar exudes an ability to shatter tension through sheer indignation. An enviable gift if she learns to harness it rather than lob it like a grenade at every offence.

Inside, I slide a palm over lacquered wood, tugging open the dresser drawer. Rifling through neat folds, I locate a slouchy band tee and threadbare gym shorts.

Bundling the items into the crook of my elbow, I pivot and stride back purposefully. Briar and Rhys have engaged anew, storms of clashing wit swirling around combative stances.

“—sists on dressing like she rolled out of a lorry stop glory hole, I’ll gladly oblige.”

Rhys’ low rasp slices through as I approach. Whirling to face me, Briar snarls, prepared to unleash hellfire my way. Yet the sight of the shirt and sweats in my hands penetrates simmering rage, scattering ire on a startled exhale.

“Here, no point riling yourself over what’s been picked,” I murmur, letting the garments tumble into her arms. Briar angles me a rare, unguarded look, stormy eyes softening as she clutches the clothes.

For a heartbeat, I glimpse the woman beneath the scorching bravado and hostility. A sweet creature mastering the art of keeping the world at bay through barbs and armour. The moment passes in a whirlwind, porcelain mask clicking into place. But not before a ghost of a shy smile plays about full lips in sincere gratitude.

“Your turn to play dress-up then?” Briar quips, tossing the clothes in a heap across the back of the couch.

My gaze tracks lush curves instinctively, committing every inch to memory. She’s petite, by my own bulky standards. Caramel skin dappled with freckles stretching across high breasts and trim waist tapering to sinuous lines. Toned abs, sloping to intimate regions nestled between the lush vee of thick thighs.

An appreciative hum resonates in my throat. Not raw lust visibly simmering in Rhys’ molten stare, but detached appreciation for elemental beauty.

Briar snorts disdainfully, snatching the shorts and wriggling toned legs through faded cotton. “Take your ogling and shove it,” comes the retort as she yanks the waistband over trim hips. “No need pretending you’re different than Arius when you’re all tarred by the same brush.” Plucking up the shirt, she whips it over her head before flipping us a crude gesture.

“Right, what next?” The abrupt question takes me by surprise, brow quirking as I study her rigid posture. Her eyes meet mine before sliding to the lightening sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Seeing as morning plans are fecked,” she continues after a steadying breath, “what’s say we order upscale brekkie to-go and take it off campus before this disaster spirals further into the sewers?”

Rhys remains inscrutable, pinning me with an unreadable look awaiting my response. But the flicker of hope in Briar’s gaze sparks surprising fondness for this contrary woman, masked with an eye roll.

“Is that your subtle way of requesting we take our rowdy arses elsewhere before that stuffy warden cottons on and detonates another scene?” The wry observation earns a huff, laced with chagrined amusement.

“Figure if we’re blazing this trail to the Ninth Circle after mucking up impressions, may as well lean into the descent,” she shrugs with forced indifference. “A change of scenery might make a decent palate cleanser.”

Silence drags out, Rhys scrutinising my face with preternatural intensity. Whatever the smug bastard observes seems to satisfy fleeting curiosity.

A low hum precedes his response, already turning away. “Whatever, it sounds like more bother than it’s worth,” he tosses over a shoulder at Briar, prowling towards the door. “Your peasant excursion can suit itself. Just be back with your working-class revolution completed in time for the evening’s agenda, lest our Duke starts baying for blood over truancies.”