Page 3 of Lords of Misrule
“Listen to your boss.” I nod to Copper Mask.
His gloved hands go to the mask, pushing it back off his face. I recognize him immediately, a whisper of apprehension tinged with want winding its way down my spine. And he knows it. A subtle smirk crosses his face despite the stress.
It’s Finn Graves—if the piercing green eyes aren’t confirmation enough, the slightly crooked nose from all the fights he gets in, on and off the ice, as the hockey team’s enforcer will confirm it. Most girls know who he is because he’s an infamous fuckboy. I know who he is because he’s in half of my art classes, including Colin’s, and I’m more than a little jealous of his talent and have been for years.
He’s also one-third of a triad of assholes on the hockey team, which means I know what lies behind mask numbers two and three.
“Rowan and Hudson, I presume?” I raise an eyebrow at Finn.
A subtle shrug of his shoulder and the slow close of his lids confirms it.
“How does she fucking know who we are? You fuck her?” Hudson asks.
“Shut the fuck up,” Rowan growls.
“We’re in the professor’s class together.”
“Apparently, there are extra credit opportunities we didn’t know about,” Hudson muses, smiling as he pulls his mask back to get a better look at me.
Rowan moves to turn around, and I grind the muzzle into his occipital bone.
“This doesn’t change anything. In fact, I’m pretty sure offing this one earns me a gold star as far as half of campus is concerned.” I offer up a saccharine smile.
I can see Rowan’s fists ball up and feel the tension rolling off him. He’s dying to take a chance and try to drop me and the gun.
“What do you want?” Finn asks, a hint of his accent breaking through the only sign he’s stressed. His eyes study me though, looking me over. He’s only ever known me as the quiet one who sits at the back of the class just like him. Both of us are apparently surprised to find ourselves facing off in this situation.
“I want you to get out of this house. Quietly. Without waking Colin.”
“On a first-name basis when you suck his dick then?” Rowan grunts.
“Does your friend want to live, or do you think he’s dying to have a bullet lodged in his jaw?” I raise a brow at Finn, and Finn’s eyes move from me to his friend. His brow furrows and there’s a slight tick of his jaw. These two are thick as fucking thieves, so I assume he’s explaining in their silent language that I might actually mean what I’m saying.
And I do mean it. I don’t want to deal with blood on the floor and cops in the house tonight. I just want to get Colin his cough medicine and go back to sleep, but if the alternative is losing these paintings—blood and cops it is.
“Charlotte?” A strained voice comes from upstairs, followed by hacking.
Fuck.
I look at Finn and Hudson, pressing my lips together in a sign for them to stay quiet.
“Be right up. Just spilled some of the cough syrup. Didn’t want to stain the floor. I’ll be there as soon as I get this cleaned up.”
“Okay.” Another cough is followed by the clearing of his throat.
I look back at Finn and Hudson, their eyes drifting up toward the ceiling, listening to his retreating footsteps.
“Leave and we can pretend like this never happened.”
“He owes us money.” Hudson frowns.
“Shut the fuck up, Hudson.” Another growl from Rowan.
“How about it, Boss?” I tap Rowan with the gun.
“I’m not making any fucking deals with someone I can’t see.”
I roll my eyes.
