Page 12 of Wild Elite

4

Elias

It wasthe night before Christmas, but I wasn’t exactly in the most festive mood. I already knew I wouldn’t be receiving the one and only gift I craved from the world this year.

Tatum Marris.

No, I couldn’t have her just yet, as much as I craved her soft curves under my hard grip and her plump lips under my teeth. As much as the thought of her echoing screams sent a heady rush down my spine.

There was a protocol in our society, and we had to stick to it, as fucking wild as it drove me in the meantime.

I clenched my jaw and strode over to the fireplace in my father’s study at our winter house in Aspen. Striking a match, I set the kindling alight, watching the obedient flames flicker and grow, transforming the wood to charcoal at my command.

Faint voices drifted through the open door. Outside, my father, uncles, aunts, cousins and other distant relatives were drinking mulled wine and cozying up on the wooden deck around the outdoor heater as if they were a totally normal family. The staff were busying themselves downstairs in the kitchen, doing all the prep work for tomorrow’s Yuletide spread.

And here I was, all alone on the second floor.

I preferred it this way. The East Coast and all its problems should’ve been left behind when we all came out here, but as usual, they hadn’t, and they were playing on my mind with increasing frequency. I couldn’t be bothered socializing with my preppy little mean-girl cousins or my overly-Botoxed aunts who coasted through life on our family’s dime. Not when I had so much shit on my mind.

A moment later, a gravelly sound from somewhere to my right drew my eye to the door. My father was standing there, clearing his throat. He didn’t look pleased. “What is it?” I asked.

There was a short, twisting silence. “I just heard from your cousin that you attended a little party a few weeks ago in Greenwich. Tatum Marris was there, and rumor has it you spent some time with her. May I ask what you were doing, getting involved with her months ahead of time?”

The mention of her name sent a hot red sensation crawling up my neck. My upper lip curled slightly. “I wasn’t getting involved with her. She just happened to be there. I had no idea she’d be invited to a party like that.”

Dad’s eyes turned dark. He despised Tatum as much as me. I could feel the hatred rising off him like cold off ice whenever he spoke about her. “I heard you saved her from that gun-toting lunatic. Not getting soft, are you?” he asked, his voice crisp and dangerous.

I scoffed. “I didn’t do it for her sake. I did it for ours. What if that girl lost it and shot Tatum in the face? I had to protect our investment, didn’t I?”

“Hm. I suppose that makes sense,” he said slowly. “Why did she go to the party, anyway?” He crossed the room as he spoke, heading for his desk. He opened a drawer, then raised his eyes to mine in an expectant gaze.

“How the fuck should I know? I don’t care about her or why she does what she does.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but somehow, it was a satisfying enough answer. Dad smiled and pulled something out of the drawer. A black folder. “I know you’re feeling impatient, so I’ve been saving this for you. Merry Christmas.”

“Not gonna wait for tomorrow when it’s actually Christmas?” I asked with an arched brow. I was deeply curious about whatever was in the folder, but I didn’t want to give my father the satisfaction of knowing that just yet. He loved being right about absolutely everything, and it drove me up the fucking wall.

He let out a short bark of laughter. “I can hardly show you this in front of your aunts and young cousins,” he said. “Take it.”

My curiosity finally won out, and I strode over to him and opened the folder. It was filled with photos of Tatum, each one obviously taken without her knowledge. There were some of her during her campus tour of Roden a couple of weeks ago, a few of her going for a jog through a wooded area in tight yoga pants, and even a few taken through a window of the little house she shared with her parents, stripping off her winter clothing in a steamy bathroom before stepping into a grimy-tiled shower and scrubbing away at her tight body.

The rest of the photos were taken during other mundane activities in her life: walking around shops with a friend, driving through town with her parents, reading a book in her local library, studying at her rundown school. She never did anything risky, and to a casual observer, she probably came across as dreary and dull.

Still waters really do run deep.

Heat rushed through me as I stared at the pictures, taking in Tatum’s wide blue eyes and delicate features. She looked so sweet and innocent. However, I knew she was anything but fucking innocent.

Lurking under that beautiful, sweet-natured façade was a conniving little witch who deserved every single bit of what was coming to her. She didn’t know this yet, didn’t know me, but in under a year, she would be given to me. I would own every inch of that lithe body, and I would do whatever I wanted with it. I would corrupt it, break it, destroy it. Destroy her.

I raised my eyes to my father. “She doesn’t know it’s me yet, right?”

He shot me a look of pure incredulity. “Of course not. The girls are never told who they’ll be given to before their arrival. Sometimes it’s not even decided until after they’re broken in. The selection party, remember?”

“Right. Of course.”

“Their reactions are far better when they have no idea who their new master will be. The fright and wonder in their eyes is real.”

I smiled thinly. I already knew what Tatum looked like when she was frightened. I saw it weeks ago at Willa Van der Veer’s stupid masked party, when that crazy woman with the gun showed up to disrupt things. I wasn’t afraid—King men never were—but Tatum was scared witless.

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