Savage Sinners (Elites of Macedon High 3)

“I don’t even know what you mean by that.”

“I regret telling you any of it, Demetra. If I knew you were going to be this stingy about me embracing my new role, then I wouldn’t have leaned on you so much.”

Her eyelids flutter with disbelief as she leans back. “I see.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” I suggest while pushing the rest of the flyers toward the edge of the table. “It’s just the truth. You’ve been pulling away from me for a while.”

“Well,” she says pointedly while standing and grabbing her things. Her upper lip twitches while she says, “I guess that makes two of us, huh?”

The isolation I felt before Demetra sat down worsens when she’s gone. Most of the students that have passed through the loft are gone, and I’m left with a small stack of party invitations, the brightly colored paper contrasting with the dread I feel in my gut.

It doesn’t matter if I wear the crown. People aren’t going to like me for one reason or another. Running an empire requires sacrifice—and sometimes, that means hurting someone’s feelings. I can’t worry about every little emotion I might inspire while trying to keep my head above rising water.

The sound of shuffling feet echoes through the lunchroom. While students return to class, I slowly gather my things and disappear into the stairwell, taking my time to get to my next destination.

Which happens to be nowhere in particular.

Demetra is right about one thing: I am ditching class regularly. What’s the point of going to class and graduating when I have a grimy invisible city to run by myself? Almost seems pointless. I can’t imagine how any of my classes are going to help sharpen my skills as a crime boss.

Well, maybe math wouldn’t hurt.

The hallways are empty when class begins and I meander lazily, dragging my fingers over the lockers as I head toward the auditorium. Though it’s terribly lonely being by myself, it seems to offer me time to reflect on my plan, to develop it properly. Everything I learned from my mother swirls in my head as I realize I’m the only one I can truly rely on.

Other people might offer help, I think as I cut through the auditorium toward the stage. But they can’t keep me safe. Only I can do that.

Memories flood my mind as I wander across the stage and study the rows of empty seats expanding in front of me. Like a hawk locating its prey, I zero in on the seats where Tomas and I once sat, his cock pulled out for me to touch. It seems like it was so long ago, and yet it wasn’t at the same time.

Thinking about how much he enjoyed me calling him names sends an electric ping down to my pussy and inspires me to shiver. While I miss his touch, I’m too upset about recent events to reach for him. Sex is only a Band-Aid to the wounds I carry, yet it’s sufficient to make me forget.

And since I’m pissed at the guys, I don’t want to reach for them.

A door wheezes shut somewhere backstage and I slip behind a curtain, eyes and ears sharpened from recent experience. When I notice Parker slipping between sets, I sigh and shake my head, revealing my hiding place.

“It’s not safe to sneak around like that,” I warn while adjusting my bag. “Seeing as people are dropping dead left and right.”

“I could say the same about you, precious.”

A nonchalant shrug and a small smile later, I’m sauntering past him toward the dressing room where he fucked me in front of Tomas. Why did I pick this place to hide? Am I instinctively drawn to it because of what’s been done to me within these walls?

Parker studies my reflection, hands at his sides. “We didn’t get married.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“I told you we should have done it immediately.”

I grab one of the wooden props from the vanity and squeeze it, knuckles turning red with the motion. It’s a whittled statue, one of those generic ones anyone could find at a dollar store. “I told you I needed to grieve.”

He growls. “You can have anything you want for your wedding. I can edit the guest list. I can change the colors, the gown, the location, and the fucking food. What more do you want?”

“I don’t want it at all, Parker.”

“We’re engaged. How can you not want it, Alex?”

I snort. “Maybe you hit your head during that sniper situation, because I don’t think you remember how none of this was my fucking choice.”

“Choice or not, it needs to happen. You need to be protected.” His features darken as he stares at the ground. “I need to protect you.”

The conviction in his voice astounds me. I heard that tone before from Lev, the agitated commitment he showed about staying by my side. Is Parker showing me that he cares?