Page 95 of Gilded Fake

“Put your dicks away,” I said. “We’re going to talk about how this is going to go.”

Cotton rushed to shove himself back in his pants, but when Colt started toward his clothes, I aimed at him. “On second thought, don’t move,” I said. “Both of you, on your knees with your hands behind your head.”

“What are you doing?” Colt asked, slowly climbing to his knees.

“Oh, you thought your dick was the only weapon that could make someone crawl on their knees?”

“My dick isn’t a weapon,” he said, giving me a funny look.

I laughed at that. “Just because no one’s ever used one on you doesn’t mean it’s not a weapon. No one’s ever shot me, but this gun seems pretty damn effective right now, doesn’t it?”

“What are you saying?”

“You think the minute I was alone with you, I didn’t know you could hurt me? You think I wasn’t calculating my chances every step of the way, weighing how much my words mattered to you, whether you’d honor a refusal? You think every girl who’s ever been alone with you hasn’t done the same thing? Must be fucking nice.”

“I told you to just say no if you wanted to stop.”

“And you laughed at my safe word and turned it into a joke. You think that made me feel safe?”

“It wasn’t a joke,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think you needed one because I would never make you do something you weren’t into.”

“And I knew you so well that I was supposed to know that?” I asked, my throat tightening. I didn’t want to do this, but I also wanted to survive high school. I didn’t want to spend the next two years at Willow Heights like I’d spent the first month. I was barely holding on as it was. Every day was a fucking tightrope walk on a barbed wire fence over a pit of lava with alligators swimming in it. Now I’d fucked up, and either I took control now and made sure no one ever found out, or I was done. My sanity wouldn’t last through two years of the Dolce boys’ hatred. It was barely surviving their approval.

“I’m sorry,” Colt said quietly.

“It’s fine,” I said. “You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all fucking fine. I’m the queen, and you’re the leper, and Cotton’s the prince. Now you’re going to kneel and obey your queen. Got it?”

“I thought I was the creep,” Cotton said.

I gripped the gun in both hands, my palms sweating. “Here’s what’s not going to happen. I’m not going to give you my car, and you’re not going to tell the Dolces. What you’re doing to do is crawl over here and clean me up.”

“What?” he asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

“That’s right,” I said. “You wanted to see a cream pie so bad? Well, now you can see your cake and eat it too. So start eating.”

“What the fuck?” Colt muttered, glancing sideways at Cotton.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you think I was just fucked up in some cute way? You think I’ll just cry a few pretty tears for you when I don’t want to do something in bed, and otherwise I’m totally normal? You should know it doesn’t work that way, Colt. You should know what happens to a girl when the Dolces get hold of her.”

“My sister was nothing like you,” he gritted out.

“Yeah? I wouldn’t be so fucking sure. The only difference is, I couldn’t leave. So I took matters into my own hands and decided to call myself their queen. That’s the only difference between me and Mabel. A title. I’m not a victim, but I lied to you, Colt. I’m not a victor. I’m the villain, just like them.”

Cotton shuffled forward when I pointed the gun at him. I flipped the edge of my skirt at him, and he glared back. “Look, I don’t mind eating pussy, but he just came in you.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” I snapped. “Now clean it up. You’re the Dolces’ bitch. I know this isn’t your first time on cleanup duty.”

He clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. “Why?” he demanded. “You don’t even like me.”

I snorted out a harsh laugh. “You think it has anything to do with liking you? Is that why you drug girls and have sex with them—because you like them? Come on. We all know sex is currency. You steal from them, and I’m stealing from you. I’m the fucking bully bitch. Now hand over your lunch money.”

I nodded my chin down, and he glared at me with such hatred I thought he’d slap me. I raised a brow, keeping my cool, though. I had a gun. He could hurt me, but I could kill him. Slowly, he lifted my skirt and ducked under. I stared at Colt across the space, still on his knees on the hardwood, glass littering the floor like shattered diamonds. We’d had our little bubble, a fairytale suspended in time, and now it had burst. I could let that destroy me, or I could turn it into a win.

Victors always won, and sometimes, villains did too.

No matter how many times I was destroyed, stomped into the ground, I always crawled back to the top. Mom wouldn’t let me admit defeat, even when I wanted to curl into a ball and die, to give up and sink into the ground.

“You’re insane,” Colt said quietly.

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