Page 49 of Deadly Sacrifice

Can’t have that, can I?

Mark’s swollen eyes are a little hazy as he heaves in labored breaths, but there’s still a shocking amount of vile things behind his dark irises.

I narrow my gaze, making a mental note to keep an eye on the fucker. Standing, I turn away from Mark and collect my winnings from Sam. It was actually his older brother who started these bare-knuckle matches six years ago. He was in Beta Epsilon Rho, but he didn’t quite fit the frat life. He craved violence, needed a quick buck, and one too many of his frat brothers had managed to piss him off. Thus, this little hobby was created and I guess the tradition just kind of stuck.

Thank god, too, otherwise I don’t know what the hell I’d do.

“Five hundred bucks tonight,” Sam tells me with a wide grin, showing off the braces he has. Poor fucker got them put on way later than most people, but somehow, the look suits his messy blonde hair and bright brown eyes. “You keep winning and nobody’s gonna want to go up against you.”

I breathe out a laugh, wiping the blood on my hands off on my pants before taking the wad of cash. Not that I need the money, but I’ve got a sizable nest egg stashed in my room, just in case my dad ever got fed up with me and cut me off.

Pocketing the money, I give Mark one more hard stare as he finally gets to his feet and shakes his hands out. Then I give a goodbye nod to Sam and head out of the woods. I plan to get home, shower, and pass out. I’m always tired after a fight. Like I’ve drained all my pent up energy and anger, and there’s absolutely nothing left for me to give to the world until I get some rest.

But for some goddamn reason, I hesitate in the street when I reach Greek row.

Instead of going to the comfort of my house, my own room, I turn and head for the Alpha Chi Omega house. I don’t knock when I get to the door, just find the spare key around the corner of the porch and let myself in.

It’s late evening, so the common areas are mostly empty by now. I can still hear girls down the hall and upstairs chatting and singing, and I’m fairly sure I hear some noises that are awfully sexual, but honestly, this is Greek life. Par for the course in any of these houses.

My feet carry me into the kitchen to get some ice for my bruised, bleeding knuckles. Once I have that taken care of, I head up to the third floor, straight to Heather’s room.

This time, I do knock. I’m not interested in walking in there if she’s got a green face mask on like that one time. It was awful. Shit smelled like dirt and guacamole, and she still tried to kiss me. Fuck that. Thankfully, when the door swings open, Heather is without the gross shit on her face, her brown hair up in a messy ponytail, and her resting bitch face in full effect.

“Bad time?” I ask smoothly, leaning on the door frame and flashing her my best smile.

She narrows her brown eyes, dropping her gaze down to my hands and then back up to my face. Popping her hip out, she says, “Unless you’re here to tell me you handled that redheaded bitch with your fists, then yes, bad time. I’m not in the mood for you.”

“Ouch, babe.” I pout, putting a hand on my chest in mock upset. “What’d I do?”

Heather huffs out a bitter laugh. “You’ve hardly even looked my way in weeks, Asher. I’m not dumb. I know I’ve always just been an easy lay for you, but…” She trails off, blinking away whatever fake emotion she’s trying to show. “I thought maybe one day, you’d choose me. Over everything else.”

“Over The Celestials?” I counter, arching a brow.

She rolls her eyes, quickly falling back into her natural attitude. “Don’t be an idiot. Of course not. Both our fathers would have it out for us.”

I grin, leaning in and cupping her face. “Then what’s the issue here? Haven’t you enjoyed being my girl?”

She pushes my hand off, lips curling in distaste. “First of all, don’t touch me when you’ve got blood all over you. Gross.” A shudder moves down her body, like we haven’t fucked on her period before and blood is the worst substance she could imagine. Annoying. “Second, I’m not yours. Not anymore. You haven’t returned my calls or texts, and you haven’t even been by to fuck me stupid in three weeks. If you’re going to be the playboy and sleep with me because I’m available, at least commit to the role, Ash.”

Harsh. But I guess that’s why I’m not the playboy of the group. That honor goes to Creed.

“I’ve been busy,” I reply boredly.

“You’ve been distracted. And the problem is right downstairs, waiting to be dealt with. So why don’t you grow some goddamn balls and get it over with before I have to get my hands messy and do it myself?” she argues, trying and failing to keep her voice down. One of the doors down the hall creaks open, as if whoever is inside is trying to be sneaking about the blatant eavesdropping.

Gritting my teeth, I nod and stand upright. “I’ve been working on that issue,” I murmur, turning my body so that my back is to the open door down the hall. “It’s coming along just fine.”

Heather shakes her head, a cruel smile taking over her features. “Is that the truth, or just what you want me to pass along to Daddy? Because I can assure you, none of the elder members are pleased. They expected this to be a simple task, and I was confident I could leave it to you boys. I played my part; I moved some numbers around and got her banded to you three for the semester. How fucking hard is it to ruin her life already?”

I open my mouth to spew some bullshit line about ending Prudence. Now. Going downstairs and dragging her out by her hair, if that would make Heather — and The Celestials — happy. But my words get stuck in my throat when I imagine Prudence’s face etched in horror and rage. It’s never just one, never just fear or pain or sorrow. She’s always got a burning fire of hatred in her eyes just for me, and damn if it doesn’t intrigue me. She’s a little fighter.

I imagine myself finding her downstairs, taking her out to the woods, and putting a bullet in her head. Done. Simple. We initiate and move into the rich, powerful, and secret life we’ve all been promised. But I just don’t like it. I know what Prudence’s fate will be. Sooner or later, she’ll be done. Gone. Dead. All because her mom knows too much. But it’s been years.

Why hasn’t her mom come forward already if the evidence she had was so compelling? Why hadn’t they just taken her out before Prudence ever showed up at B.U.? And for the fucking life of me, I can’t understand why The Celestials would leave such a big risk up to us?

But more pressing than any of those never-ending questions is this: When I look at Prudence, why do I see old memories staring back at me?

Ultimately, I think that’s what holds me back. That unwelcome sense of familiarity. And that pisses me off. I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me. I have a simple order to break her down into nothing, and then anything I could ever want will be at my fingertips. Yet, when I think about what I have to do to her, the only thought that makes sense is that I’m just not quite done with her.

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