Page 65 of Filthy Elite

I’ve had other freedoms now, the ones Gloria mentioned. Not having any expectations on me from the rest of the school, because I’m the loser. Not having to perform or impress anyone, because no one was allowed to be impressed by me.

Now that I’m no longer the whipping boy, I don’t miss the hatred that was aimed my way, and it’s nice when people smile at me in the halls and acknowledge me, but I could do without the rest. I wouldn’t mind being a normal guy with friends and invites to parties, but now that I have a chance to start over, being elite doesn’t have the same allure it used to. I’ve forgotten plenty, but I can’t forget the price I paid for my name.

I’m sitting in the bleachers smoking a cigarette when Gloria walks around the end and stops short. “What are you doing here?” she asks. “Shouldn’t you be in there parading around telling everyone how you’re king now because Duke’s too sad to put up a fight?”

“Shouldn’t you be in there kneeling at the feet of Black Veil Bride, begging like a dog for him to give you scraps off his plate and scratch you behind the ears?”

“For the last time, his name is Rylan,” she says, rolling her eyes and sliding onto the bench seat, leaving enough space between us to fit the ghosts of our past.

“I know,” I say, tilting my head to watch her while blowing smoke out the corner of my mouth.

“So you just do it to piss me off?” she asks, rooting through her knock-off Louboutin bag.

“Can you blame me?” I ask. “You make it so easy.”

She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and sets it beside her before continuing her search. “You really think I was willingly sitting on the floor?” she asks.

“Were you?”

“I wasn’t groveling to get Rylan back.”

“Ah, so which one of the twins were you trying to lure into your web? It must be Duke, since Baron’s not here. Funny how he disappeared right after you pulled that stunt, and no one knows where he went.”

She gives up and drops her bag with a growl of frustration. “What, you think I killed Baron?”

“Praying mantisesareknown to eat the heads off their partners after mating.”

“I thought I was a black widow,” she says with a smirk.

“Yeah, true,” I say, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. “Though either one would fit your brand.”

A little grin tugs at the corner of her dark mouth. “You remembered.”

“What?”

“You remembered that I have a brand.”

“I don’t hear any arguments,” I point out, then lean back to dig my lighter from the pocket of my jeans.

Gloria watches, her throat working as she visibly swallows.

“Looking for this?” I ask, holding it up to bring her attention off my dick, where it seems to be stuck even after I’ve retrieved my Bic.

Her gaze jerks up to mine, and she reaches for it with a scowl.

I wrap my fingers around it before she can get her claws on it. “What do you say?”

“Please?” she asks, holding out a hand impatiently.

I take a slow drag, watching her watch me. Damn, she looks good, all done up in that bad-bitch style. I pat the seat beside me. “Come here.”

She swallows again, her eyes narrowing and her lips tightening. But she doesn’t argue. She scoots down next to me, placing her cigarette between her lips and angling her head. I flick open my lighter and watch the flame dance over the tobacco. It glows orange as she sucks, igniting the ember, and something inside me along with it. Suddenly all I want is to puther on her knees in the dirt under the bleachers, watch those pretty lips beg.

“You brought your own cigarettes this time,” I say. “Does that mean you’re not worried about what anyone thinks anymore?”

“Why would I be?” she asks, blowing out that first glorious lungful of smoke. “Everyone thinks I’m a slut because of your girlfriend, and a whore because the Dolces said it. They saw me sit on the floor at their feet like a dog, pretend I was begging for their dicks.”

“You weren’t?” I ask, cocking a brow.

---