Page 62 of The Villain's Beast

“Scotch on the rocks for both of us,” I said to Daren.

My father almost smiled, tracing his tongue across his thin lower lip. He looked from me to Daren, to me, to Bellamy, still on the stairs, still in Gideon’s fucking hoodie.

“Bellamy Marchant, I presume?” my father said, not bothering to stand, not offering his hand.

“Yes, sir,” Bellamy whispered.

I jerked my head toward the couch, and Bellamy finally slinked off the stairs and headed to the middle of the room, stopping a pace behind me to the right.

“I’m Mr. Sinclair,” he said, as if he didn’t have a first name, as if he had no identity outside of being the piece of shit who ran my family.

“I know.”

“I imagine you do.”

Daren returned with two crystal tumblers of scotch. He set them both on the table and backed up alongside Bellamy.

“Did you share, Fletcher?” my father asked, his gaze falling to the long sleeves of Bellamy’s borrowed hoodie.

“When I was finished.”

He nodded like he was almost proud of me. “Generous to share your leftovers.”

That had to have hurt, but there was no way I could turn around to read either of their expressions. Even in our societies, to most people, my father was more of a presence than a person. Seeing him in the wild, pouring him drinks, conversing withhim…that was not a common experience for people outside of his bloodline. They didn’t know how to deal with him the way I did, how to say the right things.

“I would have preferred a woman,” I lied.

His eyes narrowed, a quiet breath huffed out of his nostrils. “Is that so?”

“I’ve…” I licked my lips, swallowing bile. “Developed a taste for it.”

“It’s fine to dabble, Fletcher,” he said, reaching for his drink. He swirled the ice, sniffed the liquor, raised it to his mouth. “As long as you know the difference between top shelf and well.”

I took a breath, forcing my mouth to find the obedient smile he expected, forcing my legs to carry me toward the couch so I could sit beside him and pick up my drink.

“Of course, Father,” I agreed, chasing bile down with thousand dollar scotch. “Now, to what do I owe this visit?”

Chapter 44

Daren

Upon the arrival of the elder Sinclair, I decided it was best to take Bellamy back to his apartment off campus. Not to stay, of course. We’d agreed around the kitchen table to move him into the house because what better way to convey his success. No one would be allowed to make Thorn Hill their home without Fletcher’s consent. Without his ally-ship. But the rules of the initiation were explicit that he come with nothing more than the clothes on his back. No phone, no identification, no keys.

Step one, we had to collect Bellamy’s things.

The walk off campus and into downtown was a quiet one, Bellamy’s fingers sometimes brushing against the top of my hand when we came too close to each other on the sidewalk, but he didn’t reach for more and neither did I. We’d talked about a lot over two bottles of wine, but never once did we discuss…everything that had happened.

“My roommate is kind of weird,” he said when we stopped in front of his third floor apartment. “My father picked him.”

I licked my lips, gears turning in the back of my mind. It was entirely possible Bellamy wasn’t the only unidentified player on the table and we all had to proceed with extreme caution.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Vince.”

“Did you know him before you came to school?”

Bellamy knocked on the door. “No.”