Page 14 of Tell Me Why
“Where do you want these?” I’m staring down at the rug, heat blooming in my cheeks. My heart feels like a caged animal slamming against my ribs, frantically trying to break free. What happens when it does? Dying of a heart attack might be nice, honestly. Better than having to endure this humiliation.
“Walk over to the pool table,” Christian instructs.
Without lifting my eyes, I do what I’m told.
“Now, set the plate down and take the rest of your clothes off,” he says smoothly.
I glance up at him sharply. “What?” He can’t be serious. “In front of everyone?”
Earlier, when he had me strip down in the study, I got the vibe it was just to prove a point. But that point was proven. Why have me strip down again in front of all these people?
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, though his tone is more amused than threatening.
I don’t move. My mind is working furiously, trying to figure a way out of this, but as the seconds tick by and the silence lengthens, tension starts building in the room.
“Eve,” Christian says calmly. “Remember why you’re here. Do you really want to fuck up our little peace treaty over something so trivial?”
Trivial?I scoff inwardly. Of course, he’d say this is trivial—Debs probably strip for him all the time. Hell, half the girls in this room are already half-naked. For him, this is just a regular Tuesday, right?
But for me, this is beyond humiliating. For one, I don’t have bodies like these girls. I’m at least twenty pounds heavier, which isn’t a bad thing—half these girls could eat a burger—but I’m not thrilled about a bunch of random people scrutinizing my naked body.
You know what, though? Who cares. I’m never going to see these psychos again after this, anyway.
With clipped, angry movements, I remove my shoes, socks, and jeans, leaving my panties on. I expect a curt demand to remove those, too, but it doesn’t come. Thank God.
“Get up on the pool table, and place the sandwiches on your body,” he says.
The look on his face is cruel, mocking, and it’s all becoming clear to me now. He’s enjoying this. My humiliation amuses him.
Thefuckingasshole.
Right then and there, I decide I’m not giving him the satisfaction of seeing my embarrassment. Outwardly, at least.
Forcing a neutral expression, I climb up onto the pool table and lie on my back, awkwardly reaching out for the plate so I can scatter the little sandwiches on my body.
When I’m done, I lie there, stiff as a board, staring up at the crystal chandelier that hangs like a guillotine over my head. Chatter erupts all around me, and I’m sure everyone is confused as to what’s going on—or maybe not. I don’t know, maybe the Sacred Sons humiliate girls all the time. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if this were a regular thing.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to imagine I’m somewhere else,anywhereelse—Mammoth Mountain, traipsing through the fresh snow. When I was a kid, my parents used to rent a cabin there. I can still remember sitting at the window with my mom, watching the snow fall, a cup of hot chocolate cradled in my small hands. If I focus, I can still feel the warmth of the mug…
“Well, gentlemen, looks like lunch is served.” Christian’s deep baritone cuts through my little fantasy and brings me sharply back to reality. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m starved…”
CHAPTERSIX
Eve
A week ticks by,then two. Every day is a new humiliation. The first day, it was the naked sandwich buffet, which was mortifying. The worst part was when each guy reached for his sandwich, his fingertips grazed my naked skin. And every single time one of their hands touched me, it sent a chill snaking down my spine.
Day two wasn’t much better. Christian had me cook dinner, naked, while people gathered in the kitchen to watch. It wasn’t as bad as the sandwich episode, but it was glacial in that kitchen and everyone watching me was awkward as fuck. Straining a pot of steaming noodles while naked, and trying not to burn yourself, isnotas cute as you’d think it would be.
My next assignment was cleaning the bathrooms—not nude, thank God. But scrubbing drunken fratboy pee from the bathroom grout is its own kind of hell. It was slightly better than cooking naked, though, so I didn’t complain.
And Christian kept his word, allowing me to attend my classes. So that’s one point in his favor, I guess. Someone is always assigned to chaperone me, though, and I haven’t figured out why. It’s not like I’m going to run. Maybe it’s to ensure I don’t talk to anyone? Whatever. School is the only thing keeping me sane at this point, so I’d take a dozen chaperones if I had to.
But there’s one “punishment” I actually look forward to: cleaning. Not because I have any interest in tidying up after these assholes—who, by the way, never seem to have encountered a trashcan in their entire fucking fratboy lives—but because I’m left alone in the various rooms of Rush House. And alone means I can poke around freely, looking for information. But not just any information—leverage. Leverage that ensures the Sacred Sons hold up their end of our bargain once my three months are up.
Unfortunately, I heard someone mention in passing that the Sacred Sons keep all their confidential information locked away in an office somewhere on campus. Not in Rush House.
And maybe the rumor is true, because I haven’t found much. I’ve torn through drawers, rifled through closets, hunted for anything I can use—documents, passwords, names—but so far, nothing.
