Page 1 of Bitter When He Begs

Sage

19 Years Old

I’mnotsupposedtobe here.

I know that the second I step into the dimly lit locker room. The air in here is thick with the scent of sweat, body spray, and athlete privilege.

Blackthorne U’s football team isn’t just a team, it’s a fucking institution. A machine built on brute force, talent, and the kind of unchecked arrogance that comes when you know the whole world will still kiss your ass no matter what you do.

And I’m here tonight because some assholes in the frat I’m pledging to thought it would be funny.

I should have known better than to go with it, but hazing is part of the initiation bullshit and it doesn’t matter if you’re a legacy or not. Usually the hazing consists of harmless stuff like stealing a mascot, running across campus naked, and all that other fun degrading shit. But tonight they decided to step it up.

Sneak into the football locker room, steal something, and bring it back. A stupid dare, a dumb fucking joke. But saying nowasn’t an option, not unless I want to spend the next year being their personal punching bag.

Not that it mattered. I wasn’t pledging to Sigma Rho Alpha because I wanted to. I was in because my father had been, and his father before him, so Blackthorne’s elite frat doesn’t care what you want. If you’re a legacy, you join. No discussion. No escape.

So here I am, knowing I should turn around, leave, and pretend I never walked in. Especially when I start hearing voices… and one of them belongs to the most arrogant athlete on campus.

Luca Devereaux. His voice is smooth, cocky, and just a little amused. The kind of voice that makes people listen, not because he’s loud, but because he doesn’t have to be. He’s the king of this place.

Quarterback. Captain. King of Blackthorne who wins games and breaks hearts with the same ease he ties his cleats.

But I also hear someone else—some older guy I don’t recognize. His tone is lower, rougher, and a little impatient.

“… don’t care how much shit you’ve gotten away with, Devereaux.Thisshit won’t disappear without work.”

Luca laughs. He fucking laughs and ignores the anxiety in the other person’s voice. “And I don’t care how much workthisshit takes as long as it stays gone. We good or what?”

There’s a pause. A shuffle and the sound like paper sliding across a smooth surface. “You had a fucking pharmacy in your system. How the hell do you expect—”

“I expect you to do your fucking job,” Luca cuts him off, his voice pissed off now. “You said you could make it go away. Make it go the fuck away.”

My stomach twists.I shouldn’t fucking be here.

I step back slowly and as carefully as fuck, but my sneaker scuffs against the tile. The sound is small, but it might as well be a gunshot in the silence of the locker room.

Shitshitshit!

“Who the fuck is that?”

I turn at the sound of Luca’s pissed off voice, my heart hammering and sweat already pricking the back of my neck. I don’t make it two steps before I hear movement—fast, decisive. The kind of movement that means I am very, very fucked.

A hand snatches the back of my hoodie, jerking me back so hard that my feet stumble, and my back slams into something solid. Muscle, heat, and the unmistakable presence of Luca fucking Devereaux.

Well, this just went from bad to worse.

“You lost?” Luca’s voice is calm, but his grip isn’t. His fingers dig into the fabric of my hoodie, then into my shoulder when he spins me, shoving me back against the cool metal of the lockers.

My mouth is dry as fuck. I don’t want to look at him, but I do anyway. Because not looking at Luca is like pretending he isn’t the most dangerous person in the room.

His face is inches from mine. And up close, he’s worse.

Blue eyes glint like frostbite—cold, and beautiful in that terrifyingI-eat-people-for-breakfastkind of way. Blond hair pushed back carelessly, like he ran his hands through it and didn’t give a fuck.

He smells expensive. Not the fake, spray-it-all-over cologne that screams high school prom. No—this is the kind that’s subtle and fucking devastating. Warm spice, clean smoke, and cedar. It’s clinging to my hoodie now. Clinging tome.

God, he’s hot. Terrifying, but hot.

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