Page 2 of King of Liars

“I figure the only reason I’m here is because I’m a worthy opponent.”

“We’ll see.” He started down the stairs leading to the basement.

“Close the door behind you, Boss.”

Boss.

That was the name Sy had called me, kept fucking calling me since we met. Had to admit it was the kind of nickname that could keep me talking to a guy who I thought was trying to pull me into some bizarre-as-fuck orgy.

As we descended the stairwell, illuminated by an incandescent bulb hanging from a fixture against the wall, I braced myself for whatever was waiting for me at the bottom. What sort of fucked-up Wonderland were Sy and his crew into? Images played through my mind, the sort that might have come from a movie. Could have been a bunch of guys stoned out of their minds or in the middle of an orgy… Both, perhaps.

I had a sneaking suspicion this was all a trap and I’d end up in the middle of some fraternity haze, something to torment the new transfer student.

When we reached the door at the bottom of the stairs, Ass opened it and waved for me to head inside. I stopped for a moment, taking in the unfinished basement—concrete walls and floors, exposed wooden beams, a light dangling from a cord in the middle of the room—then entered Wonderland. I saw Sy standing on the other side, two guys already in front of him, in a semicircle, each down on one knee. They were bare-ass naked, no one seeming to give any shits or think it was weird or scary to be walking into what appeared to be very much the sex cult the rumor mill claimed their crew to be.

I chuckled, not so much because it was funny, but because it was a room full of naked guys on their knees for a guy who had his cock and balls hanging out. I was like an American Eagle model stumbling into an Abercrombie & Fitch billboard.

Sy was a hot guy, thick with muscle. Apparently, these guys lived for bench presses and protein shakes. A few brown-and-blue spots scattered across Sy’s beautiful flesh suggested injuries, like he’d gotten into a fight or played a sport.

While Sy’s physique wasn’t as impressive as Ass’s, it was clear he spent a lot more time sculpting himself at the gym than I did. Not that I didn’t feel confident with what I was working with.

I heard the door shut behind me and turned sharply as Ass, no longer in his boxers, headed past me. He joined the other guys, choosing his place in the semicircle and bending to one knee.

Ass hadn’t seemed the type to humiliate himself by fucking cowering before some kid he’d have no problem kicking the crap out of. Hell, none of these guys were small. Still, Sy had some sort of power over them.

And it wasn’t just these guys either—it was me as well. I wasn’t dumb enough to believe I’d have come all the way to his house if I hadn’t been enchanted by this charismatic kid.

The faintest trace of a smile played across Sy’s lips. He made his way toward me, stepping between his knights, his calm walk seemingly as calculated as everything that came out of that beautiful mouth.

He was a little shorter than me, probably around five feet seven. He and I were Davids to the Goliath-Ass. Like his height, Sy’s features were more similar to my own—rounder than Ass’s—and he had nearly black curly locks. Having the most average, plainest, straightest brown hair, I couldn’t help but envy a guy who appeared to naturally have what for me would have required some dye and effort to get anything close to that look. Golden eyes, like honey, fixed on mine, as though he was probing for something in my mind, searching for psychic answers to questions I wasn’t privy to.

“Welcome to my playground, Boss. You’ll go by whatever nickname I choose for you. It could change, as I find your weaknesses, the ones I care to exploit.”

I winced. “Wow. That’s fairly ambitious. I agreed to a meeting, not to become one of your…”

I hesitated to call any of these big-ass guys anything derogatory, considering they could simply push to their feet and come for me, but Sy did so for me: “My drones?”

I inspected the guys, who didn’t look at us, waiting for one of them to say something, to object. Hell, maybe they enjoyed this guy giving them hell, but surely some part of them would snap out of fucking pride.

“I think you’re more interested in becoming my sexual servant than you’d care to admit.” He crept a little closer, until I could feel his body heat pushing against me. Or was that just how hot I got when he was inches from me?

I didn’t deny there was chemistry. I’d felt it as soon as our gazes met at that house party a few weeks earlier, when he’d caught me in his sights. I’d already heard about him, seen him and his gang around, but he hadn’t seemed to even notice my existence. Then one night, his eyes were right on me, like some predator who’d just discovered his prey. He wasn’t quick to pounce, either. He’d taken his time, but before I knew it, he was slipping alongside me by the bar, chatting me up and encouraging me to drink shots with him. Inching closer and closer, touching my chest and side in just the right way, enough to know there was a spark. He’d courted me at a couple of more parties as we discussed everything from my time running track and playing football in high school to my floundering around in community college before following my talent in mathematics to one of the universities with the best math department in the country.

The more we chatted, the more I wanted to try him out. However, unlike the rest of these guys, I had some goddamn self-respect.

Sy’s gaze locked on mine, in some sort of staring contest I wasn’t interested in playing with him, so I averted my eyes briefly before looking at him again, wincing. “What the hell makes you think I’d be down for this?”

“I have a talent for knowing what guys like you need.”

“What is it youthinkI need?”

His lopsided grin expanded. “That’s my business to know, not yours. You’ll find out more about yourself as you spend time with me. All those things you hate about yourself…all those things that make you so fucking human, it’s disgusting.” The way he cringed at the end of his sentence made me feel like he was moments away from spitting in my face.

“I guess you aren’t a public relations major,” I joked, which made the other guys chuckle. His gaze shifted to them. He was definitely irritated they’d responded so well to my tease.

“Ah, my little fucking clown. Maybe I’ll call you Bozo. You like that?”

He assessed my expression, as if waiting to see if it bothered me. I could tell, just like when he’d first approached me, that he was always searching for something, always carefully calculating my every move. What was he looking for? What was he trying to see?

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