Page 25 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

So I exposed my breast in front of the entire Senior and Junior class of Thornhaven, they are my breasts to expose, right?

I raise my hand to knock on the door just as it opens with a soft creak. Vincent stands in the doorway, his tall figure fills the entrance, his sharp, piercing blue eyes scanning me from head to toe with a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, naughty girl,” he greets smoothly, his voice low and rich. He leans casually against the doorframe, his gaze never leaving me as he watches my reaction.

My breath catches in my throat, my heartbeat quickening. I force myself to meet his gaze, but it feels like he's peering straight intomy soul. His smirk widens slightly, knowing the effect he has on me.

"Vincent," I whisper, struggling to regain my composure, but I know I’m failing. The more I’m around the Chessmen, the stronger their effect on me becomes.

I can admit that to myself, even if I can’t say it to them. Each of them carries a different weight. Damien is unsettling, Vincent is intoxicating, and Cast impossible to ignore.

“Is she here?” Someone asks, and despite me not being able to see him, I know it is Damien.

“She’s here!” Vincent calls back as he steps aside, his arm motioning for me to come inside. My boots squeak against the polished floor, as I look around at the house in daylight, without decorations or aerobatics doing tricks above my head.

The inside matches the outside perfectly, with a mix of old and new. The walls are mostly white, giving the place a clean, airy feel, but there’s a worn-in charm to everything, like it’s been here forever.

Small touches of gold and black pop up here and there—light fixtures and furniture that feel a bit more modern, but they still fit with the overall vibe of the place.

“Shoes off, Princess.” Vincent murmurs, his fingers snaking over my shoulder and removing my backpack for him to carry. I shift deeper into the foyer and he shuts the door behind me with a soft click, locking me inside his house that feels more like a cage with every passing second.

I bend down, pulling the zipper down from both of my boots, and kicking them off, revealing my pink unicorn socks. Vincent chuckles.

“What?” I question, narrowing my eyes on him.

Vincent slides my backpack on his shoulder and throws both of his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.” He smiles. “I just think you're adorable.”

“And I think you are the bane of my existence.” I murmur.

“It’s only right when you are the source of my suffering.” He muses, and my heart does a backflip in my chest.

He doesn’t mean that. I roll my eyes, “I cause you no stress, yet you cause all of mine.”

“Your little stunt today had me get into three fights, little devil.” Vincent’s eyes turn into that ocean blue that erupts all of my butterflies and when he calls melittle devil,fuck; it almost makes me want to pant like a bitch in heat.

My eyes flicker down to his knuckles wrapped around the strap of my backpack, each one is marred with dried blood and the slow build of purple bruising. On instinct I reach out and pull his hand into mine, guilt rushes through me and my skin goes cold as I inspect the bruises.

“Oh my God. Vincent, what happened?” I gasp.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just some assholes.”

I look at a particularly nasty cut across two of his knuckles. My voice coming out in a squeak. “Nothing, my ass! You may need stitches!”

“You see what happens when our pawn doesn’t do as she is told?” Cast’s voice pierces through my panic, and I look up at him, leaning against the wall down the hallway staring at us. “Our King gets hurt.”

I scoff. “You cannot blame this on me.”

“They took pictures of your tits, Trouble.” Damien scowls as he enters the hallway, his jaw a deep shade of purple.

I gasp, walking over to him and without thinking, because for some reason when it comes to the Chessmen, I cannot think like a rational person who is being blackmailed by her tormentors.

My hands cup his face, pushing his head to the side as I get a closer look at the bruises. Damien’s grey eyes narrow on me but he doesn’t move, or breathe for the matter, standing almost statue-still while I touch him. I turn, narrowing my eyes on a perfectly unbruised Cast.

“Cast?” My voice comes out shaky, but he just smirks.

“I don’t fight fair, cariña,” he teases, sliding a razor blade from between his teeth. “You should know that.”

A whimper leaves my lips, as I press my legs firmer together.Fuckis there anything hotter that Cast’s tongue must be the most skilled instrument on the planet since he holds a razor blade in his mouth and there doesn’t seem to to be a cut in sight.

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