Page 7 of Wicked Games (Silvercrest U #1)

KILLIAN

I’m pissed off and more than a little drunk as I unlock the door to my room.

The party at King House was exactly what I expected it to be—stuffy, boring, and a complete waste of my time.

I’ll never understand the appeal of themed events unless it’s a masquerade or costume party.

Having all your guests show up wearing the same colors and coordinating their outfits like an old couple on vacation is boring as fuck, and just a lame excuse for people to show off their latest fashion hauls.

The only saving grace of the night is that the Kings know how to put out a spread.

The food is always top-notch, and the drinks are the best money can buy.

So is the selection of recreational drugs they always have available.

I might have been able to enjoy myself and get lost in the familiar haze of getting high and shutting out the world, but fucking Felix’s words from earlier kept ringing in my ears every time I found myself relaxing.

Then maybe you should ask your girlfriend why she goes to the lower library stacks every Wednesday at four o’clock .

What did he mean by that? Is it really something I need to be thinking about, or was he talking out of his ass to fuck with me?

The thought of Natalie cheating on me fills me with an acute feeling of rage and makes me want to put my fist through a wall—or someone’s face—but not because of Natalie. Not really.

It’s what she represents that makes my blood boil. She’s my girlfriend, and anyone who touches her is choosing to disrespect me.

Natalie used to understand why I agreed to date her.

I give her the lifestyle and prestige she craves, and she gives me a shield from every other girl like her.

It also keeps both of our dads off our backs, and in exchange, I pay for her expensive habits and she provides me with a body to lose myself in when the desire strikes.

That hasn’t happened much recently. In fact, it hasn’t happened at all in the last few weeks.

Normally my sex drive is something I have to actively repress, but I haven’t felt even an inkling of desire for Natalie, or any girl at the school, in over three weeks now.

I don’t want more of the same song and dance where I play the seducer and they play the unwilling debutant I have to coax into giving it up.

We both know it’s just a facade and they want my dick as much as I want to give it to them, but like everything else in my life, it’s all about appearances and playing parts.

I thought I could get over my slump tonight with the familiar mix of weed and booze that usually acts like an aphrodisiac and gets me raring to go before I’ve even finished the blunt.

I figured I’d be able to get my dick interested enough to fuck her, or at least get blown, with the drugs, but that didn’t happen either.

Instead I left a pissed-off Natalie in her bed after some halfhearted making out and using my hand to get her off as quickly as possible while my dick stayed down for the count.

God damn Felix isn’t just invading my room; he’s taking over my thoughts and messing with my life. And he’s doing it all with a fucking smile.

It’s almost three in the morning, and the room is dark when I finally get the door open.

I don’t bother being quiet as I close the door behind me and stomp into the room.

I hope I wake Felix up. He’s the reason I’m in this mood in the first place; he should be uncomfortable and inconvenienced because that’s exactly what he’s been doing to me since we were introduced by our mothers almost a decade ago.

Making as much noise as possible, I snap on my bedside light and glance over at his side of the room.

I’m not sure what to do with the surge of anger that tightens my chest at the sight of his empty bed, and I roughly strip off my suit and toss it on my desk chair.

Is he at Eden’s? She lives in Belmont, and they have strict rules about overnight guests in the rooms. They’re one of the few houses that enforce a curfew for visitors, and every guy on campus knows that fucking a Belmont girl means putting in the extra effort to get around their obsession with keeping their residents pure, or at least maintaining the illusion that they are.

The Belmont girls might live in a house that was founded by people who take purity culture to the next level, but that only makes them even more eager to spread their legs and explore the things they’re told they shouldn’t want.

I can’t see Felix somehow getting permission to sleep in her room, and there’s no way in hell he’d risk breaking their rules. Not only would he get in trouble, but his bestie would be forced to find another place to live when they kick her out.

And on a closed campus in the middle of fucking nowhere and surrounded by the best security that money can buy, there are zero options for living arrangements outside of the dorms.

Felix might be annoying as fuck and way too arrogant for someone whose mother is a notorious social climber, but he wouldn’t put Eden at risk of being kicked out like that.

That doesn’t mean he’s not fucking her; it just means he’s not doing it at night when he’s supposed to be sleeping in my room.

I shake my head at that weird thought and tear my eyes from his perfectly made bed. How long have I been staring at it? Maybe I’m drunker than I thought if I’m glaring at a piece of furniture and tripping over myself trying to figure out where my stepbrother is spending his nights.

Angrily, I stomp over toward the bathroom in only my boxer briefs.

“Jesus Christ,” I exclaim, almost tripping over Felix’s leg as I step into the dark bathroom.

Snapping on the light, I instinctively look around for any signs of danger.

Felix groans and covers his face. He’s lying on the floor in the fetal position, his arms over his head and his knees pulled up near his chest.

“What the fuck?” I shake my head, my fight instincts fading, along with some of my buzz, at the sight of my stepbrother on the floor.

His voice is muffled by his arms and laced with pain when he answers. “Killian?”

“What the fuck happened?” I turn off the light and kneel next to him. I don’t see any blood, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt.

He uncovers his face and blinks at me in confusion.

Jesus, he’s in rough shape. His skin is chalky white, his lips are almost colorless, and his eyes are red-rimmed. He looks drunk, but the dark bruise on his forehead tells me that whatever is going on isn’t from drinking.

“I hit my head,” he mumbles. “Almost drowned.”

“What?”

If there’s one thing Felix can do better than anyone I’ve ever met, it’s swim.

I’ll never admit it, but he’s poetry in motion when he’s in the water, graceful and confident and so precise and perfect his strokes look like he’s in an instructional video teaching Olympians how to level up their skills.

Someone like that doesn’t accidentally hit their head and almost drown.

“In the pool.” He grimaces. “I swim when I can’t sleep.”

The scent of chlorine hits me, and that’s when I notice his clothes are haphazardly pulled on, like he got dressed in the dark.

That makes my hackles rise. Did this happen here in the house, or was he at another of the school’s many pools?

“In the basement?” I ask, absently running my hands over his chest and arms to check for injuries.

He nods but doesn’t otherwise move as I smooth my palms over his stomach and hips, then thread them under his lean body to check his back. When I’m satisfied his upper body is fine other than the bump on his head, I slide my hands over his ass, then check his legs one at a time.

“Did you black out?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. Maybe for a second.”

That’s not a good sign. He could have a concussion.

“Did you puke?”

“Does hacking up half the fucking pool count?” He groans and presses his palms against his eyes.

“Did you puke?” I repeat, trying to assess if his head injury or almost drowning is the bigger concern right now.

“No.”

“Can you get up?”

“I…I don’t think so. I barely got myself in here.”

“How did you get up here?”

“Not really sure.” He grabs my offered hand and lets me pull him so he’s sitting. “A lot of it is a blur.”

“Did you see anyone on your way up?”

The house members might not be all that jazzed at having an outsider in our midst, but I can’t see any of them ignoring him in this state. Even if they don’t give a fuck about him or his well-being, they’d at least recognize that an attack on one person under our roof is an attack on all of us.

“Not that I remember.”

He groans when I get my arms under him, and his body is limp and heavy as I carefully get us both on our feet.

“Ow,” he half moans, half whimpers as I tuck him against my side and wrap his arm over my shoulder.

“I’ll drop you if you puke on me,” I warn as I hold his waist and lock him against me.

“Noted,” he mumbles, stumbling clumsily along as I drag him out of the bathroom.

He can’t seem to get himself together enough to help me, but I get him to his bed and sit him on the edge. He immediately puts his head in his hand and slumps forward.

I kneel in front of him. He doesn’t resist as I push his hands out of the way so I can see his injury.

“Why are you being nice to me?” he asks in a breathy voice I’ve never heard him use.

“Because being a dick right now would be like kicking a kitten.” I tilt his head toward the light so I can see his injuries better. “It’s not fun when you can’t fight back.”

The bump is bigger than I thought since most of it is covered by his thick hair. The bruise is big and angry looking, the dark stain stark against his chalky skin.

Gently, I run my thumb over it. His skin is warm, and the bump is hard and pronounced, but he doesn’t wince or pull away.

“Who did this to you?”

“Why do you think someone did this?”

I shoot him a flat look and drop my hand. “You swim like you’re half fish, and you have more swimming trophies than Jace has knives.”