Page 558 of Filthy Elites

If Erica had done or said anything to upset my mother, I would have wrung her pretty little neck. I already suspected she didn’t, though; that’s not her style. Erica likes to make the men under her spell suffer. She came here to make a point, to show me she could strike a blow in my home, my safe space. Devious. Cruel. Efficient. I backed her into a corner multiple times this week. This is her retaliation.

Ballsy, I admit, but she should have known better. She doesn’t get to mess with my mother. No one does. Torn between heading over to the brownstone right this second and attending to my guests, I hesitate in the entryway.

Mom puts a hand on one of my shoulders to get my attention. “I don’t know what you’re doing with that girl, but be careful, son. She has claws.”

I force a smile. “Why would you think I’m doing anything?”

My mind goes back to Monday afternoon, when I looked down at her straddling my legs and wrapping her red mouth around my cock. I feel my dick harden, like it does every time I remember her out-of-this-world blowjob. It wasn’t the first time a girl took me in her mouth, not by a long stretch. But she’s so fucking good at it. I wanted her more than anything in the world. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything as hard as making myself leave her room, when all I wanted was to bend her over and fuck her into oblivion.

“Because I know my own son, Chase.” She pats my cheek and leads the way onto the veranda. “I’ve seen how you look at her.”

Oh for fuck’s sake!“I don’t look at her any differently than anyone else.” I start to make my way through the house to end the conversation.

My mother laughs. “Whatever you say, Chase. I do hope—” She bites her lip and shakes her head. “Never mind. Now’s not the time. I have to get to work. Let me just say a word to your friends before I head out, hm?”

The guys are already seated in front of a spread worthy of kings, waiting for us.

“You guys dig in, I’m about to head to the hospital,” Mom announces to the crowd. “Now, be responsible—if you happen to find the keys of the liquor cabinet,no onedrives drunk this afternoon, understood?”

“Yes, Mrs. Archer,” my friends chant.

My parents know better than to try to force sobriety on teens, but their take is, if I am going to get drunk, they’d rather I do it safely, either under their roof or at my friends’.

She marches on. “If you’re tipsy, sleep it off in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs.”

“You’re the best, Mrs. Archer.” Camden flashes her the smile he reserves for parents, one so full of shit I have to chuckle. “I hope your shift will be entirely uneventful.”

My mother’s a surgeon; she works part time at the ER. “Thanks, Cam. I’m afraid my work is never uneventful, but I appreciate the sentiment. Have fun, guys.”

She leaves us to ourselves, passing the host hat to me. I sit and pretend I’m not counting the minutes until they leave, so I can cross the lawn and remind a certain brunette where her place is.

ChapterSixteen

Morgan Brown’sthe best computer whiz I know. Well, the only one I know, I guess.

She used to use those skills to make a living, before her father was sent to jail for dealing, two years ago. Then, she figured she should keep her hands as clean as she could, to avoid ending up sent away. Someone has to take care of her little sister, Willow, and that won’t be her parents. So she started to wait tables at a strip club—the tips are much better than anywhere else in town. She lied about her age and used Lola’s ID, so it’s not exactly squeaky clean, but it’s less likely to result in a prison stint than her previous occupation.

I provide refreshment, ensuring I keep the genius fed and watered, and I let her work.

“She’s basically a robot when she gets like this,” Lola remarks, lying next to me on my bed. She invited herself today, and I’m glad to see her. She graduated in the summer, and she’s saving up to move, working a register at the local drug store during the day, and fucking whoever has enough cash to pay for a round at night. At least she’s telling herself she’ll move, but let’s face it, she has three younger siblings, and her parents haven’t paid a bill since she was fifteen. She’s stuck here, like so many kids from Westside.

“She’s too hot to be a robot,” I reply. Morgan’s a blonde with a statuesque body, and a mind to match it. Her fingers are flying over the keyboard at a speed that shouldn’t be possible.

“She still has ears,” Morgan quips, shooting a glare at Lola before focusing on the screen of code. “I’m almost through. Those rich kids’ networks are always tricky.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Mommy-Daddy hooked them up on the company’s system.”

“I know you’ll get through,” I say confidently. I’ve seen her hack into secret government systems for kicks. Chase’s computer doesn’t stand a chance.

She already copied and wiped his phone of everything, picture of me included, but she wants to erase the backups, too, just in case.

I scroll through the folder including all of Chase’s old phone data, and sigh in disappointment. There’s nothing I can use, nothing compromising—other than that damn picture. I guess Chase hasn’t made a habit of recording his sexcapades.

There are memes, selfies, and goofy videos with his football pals, pictures of food, and wondrous, exotic sights. He’s obviously traveled a fair bit. I feel like a creep, looking into his life from the outside, but hell if I can stop. Know thy enemy and all that, I guess. I’ve scanned a couple of years when a picture makes me coo.

Lola scoots over to spy on my screen. “Have you ever seen anything cuter?”

A younger version of Chase holds an adorable, tiny puppy so fluffy I want to squish it.

I check the time stamp: 2019. He was sixteen, or somewhere around that, then. I can’t see it. The golden-haired boy in the picture is cute and sweet. What the fuck happened to make him this twisted?

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