Page 22 of Dark Little Game

If Roman wants someone in the group, they get in.

I don’t know how Hunter won him over. Probably with money, maybe with some other form of coercion.

A loudpopfills the air as Noah opens a bottle of champagne at the edge of the room. I walk past the rows of flickering candles, joining him.

“Welcome to another year,” he says, pouring me a small glass of champagne and holding his glass up to clink against mine.

“To you, too,” I tell him, taking a sip.

“Look at them. Next to each other under one roof,” Noah says, nodding over to the far wall.

Weston is standing next to Hunter.

“Two peas in a pod, hating each other.”

“Youlook more like Weston’s brother than Hunter does,” Noah tells me.

They’re the same height, but to me, the brothers couldn’t look more different. It goes beyond the slight difference in hair color. Weston has a thicker build. Hunter is strong too, but more like a lion than a bear.

“You know, Weston was my first real friend back in sixth grade,” I say to Noah, taking a sip of champagne. “He didn’t see me as a loser. Didn’t care that I didn’t have any other friends. He was just…niceto me. Always.”

Noah smiles. “I can’t picture you being anything but popular. Mr.Royal.”

It’s strange to think about, but Noah is right.

Being in Onyx Society has made me realize my other forms of power, even if I don’t come from money.

I actuallyama popular guy now.

I can make things happen.

I helped a friend pass his European History class last semester by sweet-talking the prof, and then he was actually able to graduate on time.

I put out a literal fire during my first Onyx party, between a Luros Sorority girl and one of our guys, because a candle caught a curtain on fire while they fucked in his room.

I even convinced Noah to give ten percent of our profits from this summer’s car wash to Double Daggers, after one guy pissed another guy off after too many tequila shots and a handful of stimulants.

Any good king needs to possess a few non-negotiable traits:

He should be liked. Beloved, sometimes.

He can handle just about any request.

He can make a good decision.

And he never lets anyone threaten his power.

I still plan on running this shit like a king, this year. I don’t care how cocky that sounds, and it’s why I earned the name Royal, anyway.

“I need about a gallon of this champagne tonight,” I tell Noah.

Already, I can’t stop myself from endlessly glancing over at Hunter.

The way his cheekbones look in the candlelit room.

The thin, black leather bracelets he wears around one wrist, peeking out from under the sleeve of his suit.

The fuckingnervehe had to push his cock against my lips the other night, just to display some sort of depraved dominance.