Make You Beg

“I told you,” Lacey growls at her. “I believe her.”

Natasha snorts. “She’s just as crazy as Brenda was.” She juts her chin toward me. “Just ask Datson.”

The news of what happened didn’t take long to spread in school, especially when there is a video of the guys running up to Law’s spare bedroom and Datson running out with a bloody nose. One idiot said that they each took their turn fucking me, which is stupid. Sex takes longer than five minutes. Especially if it was with three guys. Like who the fuck is that girl sleeping with who started that rumor?

“Not only are you a liar but you’re also a whore,” she says sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

I grip my spoon in my hand, thankful it’s not a knife. I’d stab her eyes out. “You …”

“Ah Satan.”

My heart picks up at the sound of Dax’s voice as he enters the cafeteria, and my eyes go to him without thought. His white T-shirt fits him like a glove and shows off every muscle with his ripped jeans and tennis shoes. His Gucci sunglasses shield his eyes.

I figured they would stay away from me for a few days after Law’s party. But I guess my time is up, and my actions have granted me their undivided attention. The doll was the warning.

Lucky me.

He, Scout, and Law may have interrupted my night with Datson, but he let Scout do all the talking. Until now. He’s planning something. My palms begin to sweat. I quickly look around for the other guys, but they’re not present.

“Fuck off, Dax,” she spits.

My brows lift. She said it with so much hate, yet she believes he’s innocent. Why does she hate him so much? Maybe she made a pass at him, and he turned her down.

“I’d fuck anything but you,” he replies smoothly, confirming my thoughts.

She lets out a growl, shoves her tray across the table, then stands and stomps out while the other kids laugh at her.

He’s such a dick. He used to be charming and sweet and made everyone laugh.

Thanks to this unlucky day, he plops down at our table across from me. “Good morning, gorgeous.” He runs his tongue along his upper lip, the ball of his piercing peeking out from underneath it.

“Why do you call her ‘ah Satan’?” Lacey asks, genuinely curious.

He smirks. “’Cause that’s Natasha spelled backward. It fits her perfectly.”

“Oh.” She frowns.

“What do you want?” I ask, getting to the point. The cafeteria is packed, and everyone has their eyes on us. No one says a word because they’re too busy watching our exchange.

He pushes his shades up to reveal his eyes. They’re the lightest brown I’ve ever seen with specks of green in them. Absolutely stunning. It’s a shame he’s such a dick as well as a rapist and a murderer.

“We have a home game this weekend. This is me extending an invitation.”

Lacey stiffens, and I just stare at him.

“I’m serious,” he adds.

I lean forward, lowering my voice. “No, you’re not.” I used to actually love football. Now I fucking hate the sport. Just because you can throw, catch a ball, and tackle someone should not give you a pass not to be a decent human being.

“Come on, Henley.” He leans back, and I stiffen, knowing he’s about to allow the entire room to hear what he has to say. “It’ll be like old times. You can wear those fishnet tights for me again.” He winks, and my stomach drops when the students snicker. “I know you remember that night.” His eyes drop to my chest. “I know I haven’t forgotten it.”

Blood rushes in my ears, and my cheeks heat at the memory.

Junior year

I look at myself in the mirror and smile. A soft laugh bubbles up as I run my hands over my massive cleavage. Who knew you could get these puppies this high? My chin practically sits on them.

Turning around, I pick up the heels off the end of my bed and slip my feet into them. Then I bend over and buckle the leather strap around each ankle. I turn back to the mirror and line my lips with Roussy by Chanel.

I pick up my phone, debit card, and license ’cause that’s all I have room to carry.

As I walk down the stairs, my heels sink into the plush white carpet. I can hear the boys’ voices travel from my father’s den that leads to his library. Somehow, I trip over the last stair but manage to catch myself with the banister. As pretty as these heels are, I hate wearing them.

Taking in a deep breath, I strut down the long hallway and right into the open den. Monroe sits on the couch with his right hand lifted as he changes the channel on the TV. His signature Gucci shades sit on top of his head in his dark spiked hair. He’s dressed in a shredded pair of jeans and a black Armani T-shirt with his Rolex watch. And of course, he has his diamond studs in his ears. He flaunts his expensive taste every chance he gets.