Page 41 of The Queen's Knights

Neither of them have pressured me for oral sex since we started our adventure. We established our ground rules as a threesome the first weekend after Lance spent the night. He was the one who wrote “No BJs from Gwen” on our shared list of hard limits. One of his soft limits was “no receiving analyet,” because after Percy explained the preparation needed to take it properly, he got a little squeamish. But with any kinky relationship, it’s always best to let the people involved set their own pace and shift their limits when they’re ready.

Percy pats me on the butt. “As much as I’d like to do all the things with you two right here and now, this hard floor leaves a lot to be desired. I’ve got news from Officer Lacosta to share anyway.”

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ambrose was here? What’d he have to say?”

“Let me get cleaned up first, then meet me in the kitchen in a bit. There’s a thumb drive on the counter with a list of names on it, if you want to take a peek.”

He urges me off his lap, but Lance is already on his feet, reaching for my hand, then Percy’s. We split up, Percy heading to his room while I run upstairs to put on fresh clothes, and Lance making a beeline for the kitchen.

When I come back downstairs, Lance is leaning over his laptop on the living room coffee table and scowling. When I enter, he moves over to make room for me on the sofa, angling the screen toward me.

“These names are all teachers in the sociology department,” he says. “I recognize them, but you probably know more about them than I do.”

My stomach turns a flip. But when I scan the names, none of them leap out at me as memorable. They’re my colleagues. Some of the names have been struck through, but only those of the women in my department.

“This list isn’t the entire staff roster,” I comment.

“No, these are just the names of the people who accessed the building with their keycards the night of your attack. Can you narrow it down at all?”

I frown, forcing myself to focus on one name at a time.

Wentworth Davis

Conrad Weltz

Heath Sopel

Philip MacArthur

Damon Banio

Emil Tong

My vision blurs, panic welling too fast to process. I slam the screen shut and sit back.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” I cover my face with both hands, struggling not to burst into tears at how paralyzed I am by this very simple task. One of these menrapedme. It doesn’t matter where he stuck his dick; it was rape.

A big hand squeezes my shoulder and Percy settles on the sofa next to me.

“Let me see the list,” he says. He lifts the laptop screen again while I sit back, watching his fingers swipe the trackpad. His hands, so strong, yet gentle, have been there for me through so much. I take a deep breath, inhaling his warm, freshly showered scent, and my heartrate gradually slows.

When Lance entwines our fingers and squeezes my hand, I look at him with a grateful smile.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he says.

“We can eliminate three of these names at least,” Percy says. “Damon Banio is Black, and you said the hands of the man who attacked you were white. Wentworth Davis is old as fuck and never leaves the first floor of the building. And Heath Sopel is trans—pre-reassignment. He doesn’t have a dick.”

“This is good,” Lance says. “So we just have to interrogate three assholes. I have Law in Societies with Dr. Tong on Monday. Want me to try to talk to him after class?”

I sit up, a thought occurring to me. “The department mixer.”

Both men look at me like I’m speaking in tongues. “The cocktail party this weekend at the dean’s house. They do one every year for new majors and prospective grad students to network and kiss up to the faculty. I was going to skip it, since it’s on the same night as the next Whitewood Masquerade, but all these men will be there. One thing they all have in common is that they love to kiss Dean Robertson’s ass.”

Lance’s eyes light up. “Right! I got an invitation too, since I’m graduating in May.”

“I can talk to Chloe,” Percy says. “She can adjust the schedule for us in case we need to arrive late. Or make arrangements if we need to cancel.”

He studies me with a frown, and I realize he’s trying to gauge my potential for being a basket case after we identify my attacker—assuming we’re able to figure out who it was. I shake my head.

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