Ruthless Secrets (Elites of Macedon High 2)

Prologue

Alex

The late hour sends a wicked chill into my bones as I quietly let myself into the foyer. Mom and Amos are likely awake despite the time, and I do everything in my power to avoid them. They’ve been at odds lately, tearing into each other every chance they get. The tension in the house is thick enough to clog my pores, rendering my acne scrub utterly useless against new breakouts.

I slip up the stairs unnoticed and sidle down the hallway, carrying my boots in my hands to keep my footsteps quiet. Once I’m safely locked inside my bedroom, I sigh, leaning against the sturdy door to gain strength. When I close my eyes, I see every encounter that led to this moment in vivid detail. My downfall, humiliation, and shame are at the top, trickling into the events that should have destroyed me.

But they didn’t.

Every moment alone with those boys is as confusing as when this entire affair began. Behind closed doors, they’re sweet—almost kind—but when they’re with each other, they turn into wretched creatures. Losing my virginity to an unknown character who I desperately hope was Lev only makes my connection with them worse.

Because now, I’m cemented to them. Part of me belongs to them. I’m the alphas’ slut in every way, and I won’t easily escape my fate.

After a cleansing breath, I open my eyes, drop my boots, and wander into the bathroom, stripping my clothes off on the way. I bypass the mirror, doing my best not to make eye contact with my reflection. Do I look different? I wonder as I turn on the shower. Water sputters from the showerhead and sprays the tile, creating a soft white noise that puts me in a meditative state. Are my thighs wider?

What silly thoughts surface from a naive little girl. Of course my thighs aren’t wider. Why the hell would I even think that? All the rumors from middle school surface in my mind, reminding me how inexperienced I am. Sex was far more painful than I anticipated, and I now feel so woefully unprepared.

And yet there’s something about having sex that makes me feel…hardened.

Because I have nothing left to lose.

With a curious hum, I step beneath the warm stream of water and sigh. Tilting my head back invites the water to trickle down my chest, warming my muscles. The frigid cold that came with me from outside disappears into the background as I let my hands wander over my body.

Everything feels the same as before, I reflect. But I don’t feel the same. Something inside me broke that night.

It’s hard to admit my complicated feelings, yet I can’t deny the pleasure I felt during the main event. The boys fell on me like ravenous beasts—finally, the predators caught their rabbit. They feasted on my flesh and turned me into their whore. One by one, they claimed me in a visceral way that will forever change our dynamic.

I wonder what they think of me now. Am I still innocent to them? Do they still think I’m going to tease them senselessly?

I mean, I’ve considered it.

Why not? Now that they’ve had a taste, I can easily use that to my advantage.

The shower grounds me in my body, and I go through the predictable motions of my routine. I scrub my body with the almond butter soap bar, taking my time over the extra sore places. The tips of my fingers graze a couple of bruises on my inner thighs and I wince, inspecting the flesh that’s since turned yellow. Tomas’s bony hips did a number. And as I trace with my nail the puddle impression he left behind, I recall the way he held my knee to my chest as he pounded me.

A shiver races through my chest and settles in my gut. Arousal stings my core and I fumble the bar of soap, guilt slowly sinking into my bones when the recollection dissipates. That’s been happening too. Every time I think about them fucking me, my body responds as if it’s happening—like it’s not a memory at all.

How can fantasy be so appealing when reality is so hard?

Shaking my head, I resume my shower, lifting the soap from the ground to scrub my face. I lather vanilla shampoo into my hair, massage my scalp, and then apply the matching conditioner to leave in for a few minutes. Steam rises in waves from the tile floor, spilling over the glass walls separating me from the main bathroom. I watch the clouds roll over the panes and will my body to relax.

Just breathe. That’s all I have to do.

After rinsing my hair, I shut off the shower and step into the warm bathroom, grabbing a towel from the shelf on the right. The mirror is clouded with condensation, a relief for me since looking at myself hasn’t been easy lately. I can do just enough to manage my appearance, but beyond that? Nope. I’m not sure I want to look at myself right now. Not after what I was just thinking.

My bedroom is slightly cooler than the bathroom, but it’s a comfortable temperature that soothes me. I pull on a pair of cotton panties with a large T-shirt, sighing as I sit on my bed and towel-dry my hair. Parker hasn’t said anything to me since the boathouse. He knows what I did—he knows I took a life—and I can’t handle the possibility of him telling anyone about it.

But then he instructed me on how to deface a body, I think as I drape the towel over my knees. He knows what he’s doing. And he shared his knowledge with me. Is that his way of showing affection?

While Parker intrigues me, he also frustrates me. His idea of being sweet is a blow job in an abandoned building while his ex-girlfriend gets violated on the floor below. Sure, it was hotter than hell to hear her moaning like that, but it’s strange. He still doesn’t know how to express what he wants from me, but I can tell he wants something.

Tomas holds me. Soren kisses me like he means it. And then Lev…Well, Lev has always been an enigma, but he’s speaking less with his eyes and more with his body these days. The way he watches me makes me think he’s about to jump to my rescue while also devouring me quietly in his mind. Just thinking about their betrayal makes me want to scream.

And yet I still want to trust them.

Huffing, I rise from the bed and take the towel to the bathroom. I shut off all the lights, pull on a pair of thick wool socks, and slide into bed, hoping that sleep might fix things. If I turn it off and turn it back on with sleep, that should reset my emotions, right?

Shit, I can only hope.