Page 49 of Caged
“Monroe, please,” he pleads. “It’s a pretty big deal to turn twenty-one. Plus, I wanted to make it up to you for being such an ass at the last Ceremony. You’ll participate in the next one, right?”
“Yes, of course.” My voice shakes as I pop open the teal jewelry box and gasp.
“Kieren, I can’t. I can’t accept these! It’s too much! I don’t deserve this.”
He leans forward and gives me a lingering, sensual kiss.
“I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you in nothing but these diamond earrings for weeks,” he grins against my lips.
“Oh my God, Kieren,” I stammer, wiping away tears. “Thank you. No one has ever given me something so nice.”
Kieren tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Put them on, baby. I want to watch them sparkle while I fuck your mouth tonight. Unless, of course, you’re still mad at me.”
I huff a breathy chuckle as I secure the first earring back. “When has that ever stopped you?” I slide the stem of the second diamond earring into place, tilting my head side to side for his approving grin.
“That’s true,” Kieren says, rising. His thumb parts my lower lip, his gaze turns lust-filled, and with an upward quirk of his lips, he answers, “Never.”
“Kieren, are you getting a pet?” I ask, just now noticing the large animal cage in his room. I’m not sure how I missed such an eye-soar. Kieren, of all people, should not be made responsible for the life of an innocent animal, but maybe Sigma is planning to get a house dog that is looked after by all members.
“I already have a pet, baby,” he smirks. “It’s you.”
22
GABI
Present Day,
Mid-September, Senior Year,
Dornell University
Behavioral Economics is not my favorite class by any stretch. And I get it, the professor is highly acclaimed, and fan-boy students jockey over who gets to sit in the coveted eye-level seats in the first few rows of the auditorium, but I just don’t care.
I’m here simply to check a required course off my list so I can graduate. It aggravates me how economics classes in general tend to be dominated by students of the opposite sex. Even if the class roster is evenly distributed among genders, something about the subject of economics makes the men go feral. Once they step foot into the auditorium and the lecture begins, they morph into the most aggro, masculine version of themselves; it’s bizarre. Like chill out, Adrien, we all know you know the answer, okay? We get it. Stop debating with the professor as if you know more than he does. It’s obnoxious.
I flip open my laptop and scan through recent, unread emails. Sometimes, if I’m feeling particularly bored and am in the mood to depress myself, I’ll open up my text message history with Monroe on my computer. The photos are especially torturous.
My fingertips hover over the mouse trackpad as I debate what amount of memory lane I can stomach today, when I sense him. The heavy aura of Jace’s presence settles around me like an ominous cloud as I hear him take a seat directly behind me. Every train of thought I had prior to this moment vacates my brain. I knew he was in this class, but he’s never sat anywhere near me. To sit this close feels deliberate.
His shins press into the back of the plastic auditorium seat, and even though I can’t feel it, I imagine strands of my long, dark brown hair skimming the tops of his knees.
I swallow, motionless with anxiety. With shaky fingers, I navigate through browser tabs until I get to the document I use to take class notes. Picturing him staring over my shoulder, scrutinizing each word I type, renders me immobile, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it through a ninety-minute lecture under such extreme tension. I debate turning around to scowl at him, but I know that would only satisfy his already overinflated ego.
The minutes painfully tick by, and I’ve managed a few lines of pathetic notes by the time class ends. Standing, I force myself to methodically pack up my belongings, refusing to glance in his direction. It’s obvious to both of us that I can see him. He’s close enough that I can see the thread pattern of his jeans. Of course, I know he’s there. I can feel him glaring at me, as he likes to do, and as I like to do, I choose to ignore him.
When he has yet to move by the time I’ve returned my laptop to its sleeve and zipped my backpack closed, my annoyance gets the best of me. The auditorium is nearly empty save for theregular crew of sycophants accosting the professor after class as he tries to leave.
“What?” I snap at Jace, finally indulging his bullshit standoff.
He blinks slowly, looking up at me with only his eyes. I’m not sure if he thinks the look he’s giving me is intimidating, but it’s not. It’s comical.
“Whatever,” I huff, tossing on my backpack. I begin walking to the end of the row, and he jumps to his feet, trailing me like a shadow. I quicken my pace, my stride almost a jog, as I make a beeline for the auditorium door.
The clang of the metal push bar reverberates loudly as I slam myself against it, throwing open the heavy exit door with what I hope is enough force to bounce off the wall and hit Jace in the face when he tries to pass through. I hear the same loud clang three seconds later and know I’ve only got a five-step lead on him. I’m practically running when I reach the exterior building doors, and race down the short flight of stone steps as fast as I can without tripping. I veer off to the right, convinced I’ve successfully escaped, when his large hand snags the strap of my backpack, and I’m yanked to a stop.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I shout, whirling around.
“You’re my problem!” he sneers, tugging me into him by the strap of my backpack.
