Page 106 of Ruthless Raiders

I know we hate her, but there is a thin line between hate and lust, and fuck does she not teeter on the line of making me want to fuck her every day.

When we first met her, she had been sick for three years prior, and she looked hollow and broken, just like Rosemary looked the last time I saw her. She was a shell of a girl that I wanted to fill.

I wanted to make her our little slave for the rest of her life for taking away the only woman who has ever loved me, but Damien wouldn’t have it.

Just looking at her made him sick, and since he was the one left alone in a broken-down apartment in the shitty part of town, he made the call on what we would do to Willow.

He decided we hated her, that we would make her wish she died instead of Rosemary, and while I think that’s a waste of a perfect ass and hourglass figure, I wasn’t the one who lost their biological mother.

I watch her from the balcony, shrouded in shadows, leaning forward on my throne with a joint hanging out of my mouth. I’m up here away from everyone because I’m not likable like Juan, or in love with the limelight like Damien.

I hate parties.

I only have this fucking party to reestablish what everyone knows: I am King of Thornhaven, and I keep my subject satiated. At every party I make a grand entrance, pick the girl I want in my bed tonight, fuck her and then go to sleep.

Willow whispers to her friend and then snakes her perfect ass through the crowd, looking cautiously over her shoulder when she reaches the grand staircase leading up to the private rooms upstairs. She slides past the velvet rope with a distinct ‘Do Not Enter’ sign hanging on it.

A low chuckle rumbles through my chest—naughty girlsneaking into forbidden areas. She will need to be punished, and I know the perfect way to do so.

I stamp the joint out on the railing and move through the dark hallways to the other side of the house, which is too fucking big for me, my stepmother, Angie, and her two children, both under the age of ten, both in boarding school.

My father and Angie are on their annual February trip to England on my birthday, and unless you count the silent servants, I live here alone most of the time.

I have twenty-five bedrooms, fifteen bathrooms, six half-bathrooms, three pools, a music room with a professional-grade recording studio, a tennis and basketball court, a mini-museum, Rosemary’s untouched art studio, a library, and, of course, a greenhouse all to myself.

I would like it if Damien also lived here, but he refuses to leave the apartment he lived in with his mother. Juan and I take turns paying the rent, and sometimes we stay there, too, because it feels more like home than either of our houses.

I keep walking until I see a tiny sliver of light flooding the hallway, and my lips quirk because the little devil found my room out of all the rooms in this house.How lucky am I?

I lightly push the door open, and she doesn’t notice. Her body is hunched over the glass case in the corner, filled with watches, cufflinks, diamond earrings, and a platinum, diamond-encrusted, Jesus-piece chain Cast got me as a joke. I may be old money, but …