The Kings: A dark college Reverse

Harem Eve Newton

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 THE KINGS

A DARK COLLEGE REVERSE HAREM

ROMANCE
KINGS OF CASTLE
BOOK 1

EVE NEWTON
Copyright © 2024 by Eve Newton
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 CONTENTS
Preface
1. Eliza
2. Raphael
3. Raphael
4. Eliza
5. Eliza
6. Eliza
7. Eliza
8. Tarquin
9. Eliza
10. Eliza
11. Eliza
12. James
13. Eliza
14. Raphael
15. Eliza
16. Oliver
17. Eliza
18. Eliza
19. Tarquin
20. Eliza
21. Raphael
22. Eliza
23. James
24. Raphael
25. Eliza
26. Eliza
27. Eliza
28. Oliver
29. Tarquin
30. Eliza
31. Eliza
32. James
33. Eliza
34. Eliza
Also by Eve Newton
 PREFACE

This is a contemporary Reverse Harem Dark College Age Romance. All main characters are 21.

The Kings of Castle are essentially villains. If you are looking for a soft and cuddly read, you will not find it in these pages.
The Kings contains adult and graphic content, and reader discretion is advised.
A full list of TWs for this book/series can be found exclusively at my website: https://evenewton.com/the-kings-of-castle
Join my facebook group for real time updates on future reads: https://facebook.com/groups/evenewton
 1

ELIZA

P ANTING .
Sweating.
Lips collide as my back hits the mirrored wardrobe door behind me.
My head’s spinning a bit too much from the champagne.
The hot stranger with inked skin and a scar that’s just begging for questions I don’t have time to ask, runs his hands up my
outer thighs and under my short skirt.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
His hands are rough as they hike up my skirt, with no pretence of gentleness, just raw need, as he wastes no time and
shoves my panties aside. It’s all kinds of wrong, this guy I don’t know, in my dad’s bedroom, but fuck me, he’s hot. Dark hair,
clear blue eyes, muscles for days. It feels totally right when he unzips his black combat pants and drags his cock out, lifting me
up so I can sink down on his cock without a second thought.
It’s all the permission I need to wrap my legs tight around him and meet each of his thrusts with my own.
The rhythm we fall into is primal, unmistakable.
He fucks me hard against the wardrobe; each slam of our bodies sends ripples through my blood that spikes quickly,
quicker than any fuck has given me since I lost my V-card two years ago.
I can feel every inch of his cock, filling me up, stretching me wide, and God, the heat. We’re creating our own inferno,
burning away any semblance of the confident, bordering on arrogant, mafia princess I’m supposed to be. Right now, I’m just
Elizabeth “Eliza” Hughes, and he’s just the guy making my head spin faster than any alcohol ever could.
“More,” I urge, nails digging into his shoulders.
By the way he groans, slamming into me with a pace that’s both punishing and perfect, he’s right there with me, ready to
burn it all to the ground.
He’s dark and dangerous, much like the ink that swirls over his arms, under his tight black tee, designs that dance with each
forceful movement. Ancient symbols of power and seduction, etched into his skin as though claiming him for their own.
I’m lost to this feeling, lost to him, my inhibitions dissolving faster than sugar in hot tea. There’s a freedom in this moment,
in allowing myself this wild abandon, and I cling to it with everything I’ve got as I clamp my thighs tighter around his rock-
hard body.
I have no idea who he is, but judging by his casual outfit, he’s one of my dad’s lackeys. There’s enough of them, and they
come and go frequently.
As he takes me to poundtown that rocks my ordered world, there’s no room for any more thoughts, only sensation, as he
fucks me harder and deeper as my pussy coats his length with juice.
I meet each of his thrusts powerfully. Our bodies are completely the opposite, me small and slender, him big and muscular,
but we fit together as if we were made for each other. The electric chemistry between us crackles, igniting sparks that lick at
my insides, promising an explosion of ecstasy.
“Harder,” I demand, and there’s a smirk on his lips as he complies, pounding into me with a ferocity that leaves me
breathless, teetering on the edge of oblivion, only spurred on by the fact that since I met him on the stairs and dragged him in
here to fuck me, he hasn’t uttered a single word.
The pleasure builds, coiling tight, and I can feel every fibre of my being straining for release.
It comes suddenly, crashing over me like a tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path. I cry out, my sharp, pointed black
nails digging into his back, marking him for whoever gets him next. I’m under no delusions that he is mine. I don’t want him to
be. He is for tonight, a last hurrah before I start my final year at a brand new university where I will be the rank outsider until I
can prove myself.
Feeling my cunt clench around his enormous dick, his movements become erratic, desperate. His mouth devours mine as he
pumps his cum into me, a hot rush with a grunting soundtrack that makes my nipples ache.
Fuck. I want to take him to bed and ride him all night, but Dad is waiting for me, and no one keeps Damon Hughes waiting.
Not even me.
He pulls out slowly, eyes narrowed as he groans softly, leaving me empty and craving more of his cock. With a slow,
sinister smile, he steps back and puts his cum-covered cock back in his pants and zips up, watching me pant and struggle to
catch my breath.
Then, he’s gone. Striding out of the bedroom like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
Moaning softly, I fling my head back momentarily before I turn, forehead pressed to the cool mirror. Adjusting my clothes, I
fix my panties, feeling his cum dampen them, and smooth down my skirt with shaky hands. Wiping my lips with a slow smile, I
gaze at my reflection in the mirror. My green eyes are bright, alive with a fire that hadn’t been there before. My chestnut hair is
a wild cascade, framing my flushed cheeks. I look powerful and in control.
Just the way I should.
Stepping out of the room, the buzz from the grand party downstairs pulls at my senses like gravity. I run my hands through
my hair and descend the staircase, my heels clicking on the marble stairs as I take them slowly, my hand trailing down the
walnut rail.
The sight that greets me is one of decadence here in my dad’s mansion. My mum died fifteen years ago, so it’s been me and
Dad for as long as I can remember, rattling around this huge mansion like the ghosts of Christmas Past. My Dad has never
moved on from mum’s death. Always alone. Although, I’m sure he isn’t ‘always alone’ if you get my drift, but no woman has
ever made it to breakfast with me on the other side of the table the following morning.
This party is like a who’s who in the English Mafia, as my eyes scan the guests, drinking expensive champagne and talking
in groups. Men in sharp tuxedos and women draped in jewels and silk glide across the marble floor of the Entrance Hall from
one room to another as they mingle, their laughter joining with the clink of crystal glasses. The chandeliers above cast a golden
glow over it all, making the diamonds at the throats of the guests glint as they indulge in the luxury.
So not my style.
Give me a wicked hunting knife over a diamond necklace any day, and I’ll show you what to do with it.
But tonight, my family’s power is on full display. It’s in the way the guests speak in hushed tones about deals and turf, in the
slight nods that are exchanged more often than pleasantries. There’s an undercurrent of danger beneath the elegance—a coiled
snake ready to strike.
I’m almost to the bottom of the stairs when the buzz of my phone, stuffed into my bra for my sexy encounter with the hot
stranger, rips through my high. I pull it out and glance at the screen.
An anonymous message flashes across it: “Trust no one. Betrayal comes wearing familiar faces.”
It’s not the first threatening text I’ve ever received, and it won’t be the last. Fuck knows, I’ve had worst said to my face. So,
I ignore it and shove my phone back in my bra. They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, but in this nest of
vipers, it’s hard to tell the difference. But the Hughes family is one of the strongest in the country, and we play for keeps.
Ruthless, relentless, and always on top.
Hitting the bottom of the stairs, I cross over to my dad’s office near the front door.
I push open the heavy oak door without knocking—a move that could get anyone else killed on a good day. But I’m not
anyone else, and the blood in my veins commands as much respect as the man standing in the middle of the office, his tailored
black suit impeccable even under the current circumstances. My father, with his cold blue eyes and iron grip on the
underworld, doesn’t even look up as I enter.
“Elizabeth,” he acknowledges, his voice void of surprise. He knew I was coming. He asked me to be here.
“Dad,” I reply, standing just inside the room. My eyes fixate on the man kneeling in front of him.
Sweat glistens on his forehead, his suit dishevelled, eyes wild with fear. He pleads for mercy, but I know there’s none to be
had.
“Please... I have a family,” he gasps.
Rolling my eyes, I stifle the urge to make a noise of disgust. Pathetic. They always say that, but they didn’t think of their
family when they backstabbed my dad, so… I shrug.
“And yet you chose betrayal,” my dad answers coolly.
There’s no more begging as my father raises a silenced gun, steady as he signs another death warrant and pulls the trigger.
A soft thump, a flash of movement, and the man collapses, blood blooming underneath his head like a crimson rose to unfurl all
over the expensive Aubusson rug.
Tilting my head, I step closer as I study the body. No guilt stirs in my black soul, only fascination and an appreciation for
the order of our world—our rules.
 “Clean this up,” my father instructs someone in the shadows, not looking at the dead man again. Power clings to him, and I
feel it ignite something dark and eager within me.
I want to be just like him. It’s what he is grooming me to be, after all.
“Will there be anything else?” I ask.
“Always be careful, Elizabeth. Trust is a luxury we can’t afford,” he says without emotion, only another piece of advice
from the king to his heir.
“Always am,” I throw back over my shoulder as I turn to leave, feeling the weight of his gaze on me as I exit into the
corridor.
A shudder slowly creeps over the back of my neck. Does he know what I was doing before I came here? It gives me a
massive ick, but it also wouldn’t surprise me. Dad knows everything. But that’s the game. Using his room to wrap my legs
around a total stranger while he railed me so hard, my body exploded in an orgasm around his cock, creaming him until he
couldn’t hold on any longer…
I bite my lip and feel my clit twitch. But there’s no time for distractions. I’ve got a legacy to claim, an empire to protect,
and, if tonight’s any indication, enemies to crush.
 2

RAPHAEL

LEANING AGAINST A SHADOWED COLUMN , my gaze lingers on the office door where she disappeared a moment ago. There’s a
fucking heat in my veins that’s all about her.
I’m itching to know who texted her before while she came down the stairs. It caught her attention before she dismissed it
completely.
Another guy?
Or rather, a guy?
The memory of her writhing between me and the mirrored glass is as vivid as the crystal chandelier hanging overhead. The
feel of her tight cunt around me, the way she clawed at my back—fuck, I’m hard again just thinking about it.
I didn’t expect it, but no way was I telling her no once she grabbed me and gave me that look. Her emerald eyes heated up
as she took in my body, my tats, the scar under my eye. She wanted me, and I’ve wanted her for a long time. She just doesn’t
know it. Or me, for that matter.
She’s lit the fucking fuse, and I’m the dynamite waiting to blow.
Minutes stretch like hours, but patience is a killer’s virtue. Eliza emerges a few moments later, her hot body lingering
briefly in the doorway as she glances back. The dead body in the middle of the floor, there for anyone to see, causes no
hesitation in her step, no tremor in those delicate fingers with sharp nails like claws—the Hughes bloodline doesn’t flinch at
death. Eliza included.
That smile, though... slow and knowing. The thrill hits me like a shot of the good stuff straight to the vein.
Her laugh floats back as she strides into the crowd, lost momentarily in a sea of tailored suits and silk dresses as she makes
her way through the living room. Pushing off from the column to follow her before her old man catches up to me, I pause as I
recognise a second-year student from Castle University, where I’m a third year. He is with his mate, an ugly fuck with a wicked
streak, but there again, wicked is relative. He hasn’t come up against my blade yet.
They strut after her like they own the damn place—the mafia’s next gen of finest pricks, sons of nobodies trying to play
somebody.
“Shitheads,” I mutter, watching them trail after Eliza like horny fucking dogs.
No one touches her.
They don’t know who they’re fucking with, but they’re about to find out.
Moving forward again, a ghost slipping through the crowd, my steps are sure and silent. Reaching back, my hand rests on
the handle of the knife I carry with me everywhere—a gift from my dad and one that has seen more bloodshed than most.
Eliza steps out onto the balcony, her dark hair catching the moonlight. It is a picture of poise and power, and these idiots
are about to learn what it means to covet what they can’t have.
My hand wraps around the knife’s hilt. She doesn’t see me, doesn’t even know I’m here, but one day she will. She’ll know
I’m always here, a whisper away, ready to bleed for her.
“Stay the fuck away from her,” I growl, stepping up behind the leader of the two assholes and pressing my blade against his
throat. His eyes go wide, probably searching for Daddy, but even his father wouldn’t fucking dare. The laughter dies in an
instant, the air thick with fear.
I breathe it in with a slow smile.
“Touch her, and you die,” I murmur, no need to cause any more of a scene. They get where I’m coming from.
My grip shifts on the curved blade, hugging his throat. Every muscle in my body is tight, coiled like a spring. I’m a fucking
cobra waiting for any excuse to strike, to sink my teeth into their flesh.
 “Nothing to say?”
They blink at me, lost for words.
“Fair enough, but understand this: if she screams, you bleed.” My senses are electric, and every movement they make is
amplified. These boys are out of their league, and if they push it, they’ll find out just how outmatched they are.
Silence descends like a guillotine as I watch them, their bravado crumbling under the weight of my stare, the feel of my
blade. The leader swallows nervously, and his buddy shuffles uncomfortably on his feet. Once so obnoxious in the night air,
their laughter is now a strangled memory. They glance at each other—silent questions passing between them, silent answers
urging retreat.
“Fuck this,” the leader mutters. “She’s not worth it.”
“Neither are you.”
He glares at me with fury, but won’t come for me. He doesn’t have the balls.
I don’t watch them leave, couldn’t care less about those spineless shits as they disappear into the party, probably seeking
shelter from their parents. Instead, my gaze shifts back to Eliza, the real reason I’m standing out here with murder in my veins.
She’s oblivious to the scene that just went down. I have no doubt at all that she would eat those two pricks alive and then burn
them before dancing on their ashes, but a queen shouldn’t have to.
It’s just nice to know she could. A fucking turn on. Arousing as all shit. I want to see her make a man bleed, scream, beg for
his life.
“Fuck.” I shift as my cock presses against my combat pants, hard as iron.
Eliza leans against the balcony railing, a serene statue bathed in moonlight. My eyes drink in the sight of her, lingering on
the swell of her hips, the dip of her waist, the rise of her breasts with each breath she takes. I want to taste her lips again, feel
her cunt wrapped around my dick, panting, clawing, coming undone.
“One day, little killer, I’ll have you in my bed.”
She is a true queen of the underworld—beautiful, deadly, untouchable—and she will be mine to share.
I’ll let her enjoy her moment of peace because, in a few days, she won’t know what hit her.
 3

RAPHAEL

I’ M a ghost in the corner of the sprawling living room, my eyes glued to Eliza’s every move. She stares across the grounds from
the balcony, leaning on it, deep in thought.
I’m here on business, but watching Eliza, it’s fucking hard to remember that.
“Raphael.” Damon Hughes strides over, full of arrogance duly deserved. I straighten up, my instincts on high alert as the
man who commands an empire with a brutality that I aspire to approaches me. His expression is cold with no bullshit.
“You know your role?”
I nod. “Keep her safe at Castle.”
“She’s not just any girl; she’s the queen-in-waiting.”
“Understood. We’ve got her back.”
Damon eyes me, his scrutiny like a physical force pressing down on my shoulders.
“It’s her baptism by fire. She’s been sheltered, kept apart from the game, for a reason. Now, it’s time she plays for her
crown.”
My nod is barely perceptible, but he catches it, an acknowledgment of the unspoken challenge. Eliza doesn’t know it yet,
but she’s going to be plunged into a pit of vipers disguised as classmates and friends, and this is her ultimate test to conquer
them all.
“Castle University is her kingdom to claim,” he continues, “but she must seize it with her own cunning and strength. She’s
entering a clique already formed, their loyalties tested, and alliances forged. She’ll have to rise above them, make them follow
her, or fall by her own naivety.”
“Trust me, she won’t fall.” The woman might be a rose, but she’s got thorns, and God help anyone who tries to pluck her
without caution.
“See that she doesn’t,” Damon says. “But know your role. You protect her; you don’t help her. This is her fight, and you’re
just there to make sure she isn’t killed. Nothing more.”
His final command hangs in the air as he turns, leaving me to watch over the future queen—a queen who has no idea the
war she’s about to wage, and whether she likes it or not, I’m going to be right there in the trenches with her.
Protecting, not helping, apparently.
This isn’t exactly a debt owed, but the four most prominent Mafia families in the country have a grudging respect for each
other. Healthy, even if there is such a thing. That means we don’t pick fights with each other. Damon’s request filtered through
the families, and we all agreed that Eliza would be tested on her own merit, just like everyone else. She doesn’t get a pass. If
she fails, that’s on her. Nothing anyone can do about it but her.
“I’ll keep the wolves at bay, but the girl needs to feel the bite to become the leader she’s destined to be.”
Damon’s eyes, two chips of flint in the bright light, appraise me, measuring my boldness. Then, as sudden as a gunshot, his
hand comes down hard on my shoulder—a seal of approval from the don himself. His touch is heavy, laden with the unspoken
truths of our world: protect, but do not coddle; guide, but do not carry.
“Good,” he grunts, a single word that carries the weight of a thousand expectations. With a last penetrating look, he turns on
his heel and disappears into the shadows of the mansion, leaving me alone with the echo of power plays yet to come.
I stride out of the living room, my boots silent on the marble floors. This place is similar to the house I grew up in, so the
luxury doesn’t faze me. I expect it. I want it. At Castle, we are the next gen of Mafia leaders, but that respect, that place has to
be earned. Nothing is handed on a silver platter because if you can’t hack it in this business, then you will die. It’s as simple as
that.
 Something tells me the little killer in the short skirt with a pussy that will make a man beg for it, has got the stones for this. I
can’t fucking wait to see how she brings the University to its knees.
The night greets me with a chill that cuts through my tee—a welcome relief from the warmth inside.
Moving with purpose towards my car—a midnight blue Porsche 911 that gleams under the moon, it’s more than just a car;
it’s a statement, a beast of precision and speed that knows no bounds. Just like Eliza. I slide into the driver’s seat, and the
engine roars to life with a purr that promises escape and adrenaline.
There’s work to be done, and I need to get home. As the mansion fades into the rearview mirror, the game begins, and I’m
right at the heart of it, ready to play.
The city lights streak by, a hazy ribbon of gold and crimson against the night. Empty streets become my playground as I push
the Porsche to its limits, the purr of the engine a low growl in the silence. My mind’s racing faster than the car, every thought
drenched in memories of Eliza—her skin, her scent, the way she came all over my cock from only a few thrusts.
She thinks she’s seen the world, but she’s barely skimmed the surface. Next week, when she steps into our domain, I’ll
show her depths she never knew existed. It’s an addictive surge of power, knowing I’ll be the one to unravel her first.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shifting gears as I imagine the ways I’ll torment her—the challenge in her eyes when I push her too far, the
defiance that’ll break into desire. It’ll be a sweet display of discipline and disorder.
Two hours peel away as the city is left behind, and the quaint town of CastleGate, where the University is situated, swims
into view. The three-storey townhouse where we live, looms ahead, a modern fortress at the edge of Castle University’s
campus. I kill the engine and step out.
They’re waiting for me.
I stride into the living room, where they lounge like kings in their casual court—each with a dangerous glint in their eye.
But that’s what we are. We are The Kings of Castle, and Eliza will be our Queen.
“Raph,” my twin brother, Tarquin, murmurs. “We expected you back a while ago.”
“Got caught up. Aww, you missed me, you fucking prick.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” he grumbles, making me, Oliver and James laugh.
My eyes lock with Tarquin’s across the room, and with a subtle tilt of my head, I signal him. It’s the silent twin language
we’ve honed since birth—no words needed when a glance suffices. His posture straightens, the irritated mask falling away to
something more akin to the stone-cold lieutenant he is underneath.
“Here’s the deal,” I say. “Eliza needs to prove she can rule this place, carve out her own kingdom among the cutthroats and
charmers.”
They all know what Castle University means—our turf, our rules, and throwing Eliza into the mix? That’s lighting a match
near gunpowder.
“We watch her back, but we don’t help her. She stumbles, she picks herself up. She makes enemies, she fights them alone.
We are here to make sure she doesn’t die, or Damon will have our nuts to wear as a hat. Got it? She is going to rip that crown
off its pedestal and wear it with the blood of her enemies dripping down it.” My gaze drills into each of theirs, ensuring the
message hits home hard and clear. “Let her rise or fall on her own, but she stays alive.”
“Then let the games begin,” Tarquin declares with a wicked smirk.
I turn away from these men, my brother and friends, hiding the truth of the fucking I gave Eliza only a couple of hours ago.
No one will know about this. Not yet—not even Tarquin, who shares my face, my blood. The secret is a weapon; in this
world, and this can be used to torment and test Eliza.
Entering my bedroom on the top floor, I strip off to the waist, and my reflection stares back at me in the mirror—hard edges
and inked skin, a roadmap of the life I’ve led.
I hit the floor, palms flat, body taut, and start knocking out press-ups with the precision of a machine. With each raise and
fall, a silent count echoes in my head. This body is my fortress, my temple, my weapon—sharpened and ready for whatever
shitstorm is coming our way. With every flex and clench of muscle, the image of Eliza flashes before my eyes—her sharp wit,
those piercing green eyes that saw too much, and that damn tongue that could cut you to ribbons or bring you to your knees.
She’s under my skin, a constant itch I can’t scratch away. But in the game of thrones we play, love isn’t a luxury—it’s a
liability.
One hundred turns to two hundred, the burn a reminder that pain is a small price to pay for power. It’s what keeps me razor-
sharp, always one step ahead.
“Eliza Hughes, you don’t know what’s coming,” I whisper into the quiet of my room.
 4

ELIZA

TWO DAYS after the one-nighter that has left me panting at the thought of that guy, my black Mercedes SLK purrs like a panther
as I glide past the imposing iron gates of Castle University. The prestige of the place screams elite. Oxford was just the
overture; now comes the crescendo.
“Welcome to your new hunting ground,” I murmur, pulling up curb side to give it a raking once-over. “You’re pretty, I’ll
give you that, but I wonder how much more beautiful we can make you bathed in blood, hmm?”
My gaze lingers on the contours of ancient stone and ivy that cling to the university buildings. Each one whispers tales of
power, secrets, and the kind of cutthroat ambition that would make Machiavelli sit up in his grave and take notes.
Castle will forge you, Eliza. It’s time you stood among peers who understand the weight of empires on their shoulders.
Well, Daddy dearest, challenge accepted.
This is all part of the game, and I’m fully aware that I’m going to have to earn my place here. Well, take it by force if it
comes down to that. Which I assume it will. Dad has kept all this under wraps, sending me instead to Oxford for my first two
years and then throwing in the deep end with the great whites.
Fun? Oh yes.
Dangerous? Fuck yes.
But never let it be said the Hughes heiress wasn’t up for it.
Kill or be killed, dog eat dog, they’re all cliches that apply here.
Setting off again, I round the corner as the GPS instructs, and the townhouse where I’ve been boarded looms ahead,
grandiose and unapologetic in its luxury, just as I’m used to. This is where I’ll lay my head and plot my moves, surrounded by
those who think they can dance with danger as well as I do.
Pulling up on the massive driveway, already filled with expensive machines, the Mercedes purrs to a stop. I lift my
sunglasses onto the top of my head and stare up at the three-story building. Climbing out, I yank my bags from the boot with
more force than necessary and stride up to the townhouse.
With one sharp rap on the door, it swings open before I can even consider a second knock, revealing the man who might as
well be the embodiment of every dark fantasy.
Well, hello there, gorgeous.
“Eliza Hughes?” His voice is a low rumble, a storm cloud on the horizon promising havoc.
“None other.” I tilt my head, eyes dragging over him appreciatively—brooding stance, chiselled jaw, and eyes a delicious
hazel that I already know will change colour with his moods.
“Welcome to Castle Manor.” He steps aside with a gesture that’s part invitation, part challenge. I step into the entrance hall,
my senses on high alert as I take in every inch of it.
“This way.”
Narrowing my eyes at the hot guy who hasn’t even given me his name yet, I shrug and follow him into a living room with
casual furniture, which throws the expensive decor into disarray.
As I pause in the doorway, I get the distinct impression that I’ve just walked into a den of wolves, each lounging with
deceptive casualness. They’re dangerous; it’s in their blood. I can tell that just by breathing the same air as them. But it’s the
guy nursing a daytime scotch that grabs my attention as he reclines in an overstuffed armchair.
He’s a canvas of ink and that distinguishing scar, a walking story of violence and vice, and I know him—intimately.
Interesting. So not a lackey after all.
I arch an eyebrow in silent recognition. He looks back at me, the scar under his eye pulling taut, and my pulse kicks up a
notch at the blank stare he throws my way.
If that’s the way he wants to play it, fine. I won’t be the one drooling all over him if he can’t even give me the courtesy of
remembering he rammed his impressive cock in my pussy the other night.
My gaze slides past him, settling on the guy next to him in a matching chair. Fuck me.
My tongue darts out, wetting my lips with surprise and more than a flicker of heat. Did I just hit the jackpot?
Twins.
“Eliza Hughes,” I say. “And you are?”
“Raphael Carver,” my one-nighter states, his voice as dark as those swirling patterns on his arms.
“Tarquin Carver,” his twin introduces himself with his full name as if that wasn’t obvious.
“Carver,” I repeat, letting their names roll off my tongue like I’m tasting a fine wine.
Carver. Fuck me again. Now it all makes sense why I’m here in this house. I should’ve known. The Carvers are one of the
most feared families in our twisted society, second only to my own.
Oh, Daddy, what have you done?
Dropping my bags, I cross over to the sofa and sit, leaning back and crossing my black leather-clad legs while keeping my
expression schooled in impassivity. They’re both watching me now, probably trying to figure out the game I’m playing. Little
do they know, I’ve been bred for this, shaped into a weapon disguised as a woman.
Raphael gives me a cool stare, still devoid of any recognition. It stings, an itch under my skin that says I should be
remembered. A few moments in time as hot as ours isn’t something that usually slips a man’s mind. Unless you’re playing
games.
But then I let my gaze drift, landing on the guy lounging across from me with slate grey eyes and brown hair. He’s a looker
and he knows it. He’s been quiet—too quiet—and it’s about damn time I find out why. “You going to make me guess?” I ask,
allowing curiosity to tinge my tone as I take in his rugged features and those piercing blues.
“Oliver Sterling,” he says, extending a hand I don’t take. Not yet. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Hope it was all bad,” I retort, letting my smile play at the edges of my lips. Oliver’s chuckle rumbles through the space
between us.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says, holding my gaze with an intensity that promises secrets and sins.
“Good,” I reply, leaning forward to grip his cool fingers tightly in a silent dare. “Because I plan to live up to every word.”
My eyes flit from Oliver’s amused expression as I let go of his hand to the guy who opened the door. I’d bet my last pound
he’s the Blackthorne heir. The Sterlings are second to the Carvers, with the Blackthornes close behind.
He hovers like a shadow at the periphery of the room. He’s a storm cloud in human form—dark, brooding, and utterly
majestic.
“James Blackthorne,” he replies, voice low and controlled. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Bingo!
Our gazes lock, his dark eyes a fortress of secrets. The silence stretches between us, a tightrope I’m all too willing to walk.
The challenge in his stare is a puzzle to solve and damn it all if I don’t love a good mystery.
Breaking eye contact first, I inwardly smirk.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
Turning away, I feel the weight of the situation settle on my shoulders—the significance of sharing this space with the heirs
to empires built on sins and blood. This isn’t just a townhouse; it’s a lion’s den where I’m both hunter and hunted.
A thrill shoots through me at the thought of being surrounded by this darkness. The dangerous dance of power and
seduction.
“Looks like we’ll be spending quite a bit of time with each other,” I muse aloud, the words laced with double meaning.
“Seems so,” Raphael murmurs.
“Should be interesting,” Tarquin adds, his tone lighter but his eyes just as sharp, making me wonder which one is older. I’m
betting it’s Raphael.
“Interesting is one word for it,” Oliver says, shifting on the sofa.
James remains silent.
“Well, gentlemen, let’s keep this entertaining.”
As they offer nods and murmurs of agreement, I know the game has already begun. It’s a deadly board we’re playing on,
and I intend to checkmate them all. Rising, I stalk over to pick up my bags, their gazes following my every move, some
calculating, some intrigued.
I stride through the vast hallway, the high heels of my black boots clicking on the marble floor, my head held high. Tarquin
falls into place beside me, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he guides me to my room.
“Quite the entrance back there,” he says, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey.
“First impressions matter,” I shoot back, my lips twitching into a smirk. I can tell he’s trying to get a read on me, but I’m not
some open book for him to thumb through. He’s going to have to work a fuckload harder than that. I’m guessing he’s used to the
easy road, so the rude awakening is going to make this even more fun.
He leads me to the second floor and down the corridor past three doors before he stops outside a closed one and pushes it
open. Stepping inside with him watching me, I take it in. It’s spacious, with a king-sized bed and windows that offer a view of
the manicured campus. Tarquin leans against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, those shrewd eyes tracing my
movements.
“Comfortable?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“Looks like it’ll do,” I reply, dropping my bags on the bed with a soft thud. “Thanks for the escort.”
“Anytime.” His voice carries a hint of something darker, a promise or a threat—I can’t quite decide.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
I wave him off, already turning away from him. As the door clicks shut behind him, my mind dances with thoughts of the
men outside these walls.
I’m alone now, but not for long. These guys, they’re all pieces on the board, and I need to know every move they might
make. Dad’s right—this year’s the crucible. It’s about more than grades and diplomas; it’s about power plays and survival.
I unzip my bag, my fingers brushing against cold metal—the reassuring feel of the compact pistol nestled among silk and
lace. A girl’s got to have her secrets, after all.
“Queen of Castle,” I whisper. I will reign supreme, by cunning or by force. Whatever it takes, I’ll be the last one standing,
because in this game, you win, or you die.
And Eliza Hughes doesn’t plan on dying.
 5

ELIZA

THE DAWN LIGHT creeps through the open window of my room as I flop back to the soft carpet, panting and sweating like I’ve
just had the fucking of a lifetime.
No such luck.
My abs ache from the sit-ups, but this is necessary to keep my mind focused and my body toned. I will not throw myself
into dangerous situations and rely on weapons to get me out of them. Sure, they’re handy and have their uses, but so does my
fist, and I won’t allow anyone to catch me off guard.
Groaning from the workout, determined to find the campus gym as soon as possible, I stroll out of my room, still dressed in
my yoga pants and sports bra.
The scent of coffee lures me downstairs, and I follow the scent to the kitchen. Tarquin is at the espresso machine, a smirk
on his chiselled face as he rakes his gaze over my body. “Morning,” he says, handing me a steaming cup, which I think he made
for himself but is offering me in some sort of old-timey, chivalrous way. I can make my own coffee, but I’ll take it this time.
“Thanks,” I murmur, feeling the warmth seep into my hands. The guys are scattered around the kitchen—Raphael flipping
through a newspaper with unreadable eyes, James tapping away at his phone, and Oliver eyes me up like I’m his next meal.
“Big day today, Eliza,” he teases, his voice smooth as silk. “Ready to knock ‘em dead?”
“Always,” I reply, sipping the bitter liquid. “I’ll see you around.”
Not wanting to linger and make small talk, I head back upstairs. The shower’s embrace is as scalding as the coffee, steam
swirling around the bathroom as I scrub away the sweat from my workout.
Wrapping myself in a fluffy towel after I’m finished, I sort through the clothes I’d meticulously unpacked last night.
Black jeans, a tight black top with a low cut back to show off the skull and rose inked on my skin, and combat boots are my
choice for day one of this shitshow.
Go in like you mean it. Hardcore, badass and whatever else they call me.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I head out and descend the stairs again, each step measured and deliberate. Slipping out
the door before anyone notices me leave, I cross over the road and step onto the campus. The university looms before me, a
fortress of knowledge and secrets. The old buildings stand proud, their spires piercing the sky—a playground for those who
dare to rule. Whispers cling like ivy to the walls, and I can only wonder what they’re saying.
Moving across the quad to find my way to the Student Office for my timetable, students part like the Red Sea, eyes wide,
mouths agape. They’ve heard the stories, the legends of my family, of my dad, and now they see the embodiment of their
wildest speculations.
“Eliza Hughes,” someone breathes, sending a tingle down my spine.
My stride doesn’t falter; it’s as if I’m walking on air, claiming every inch of ground I step on.
The grandeur of the university can’t overshadow me—I’m the one they’ll remember. Not just another student, but a force
unto myself, wrapped in allure and the unspoken promise of danger.
“Eliza Hughes,” a voice calls out, confident, almost challenging, making me take notice this time.
A sneer curls on my lips as I turn to face them, a group of third-years with postures that scream entitlement. There’s no fear
in their eyes, just curiosity and a silent challenge.
A tall guy with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass steps forward. “We know your legacy,” he says, his tone even, “but
Castle isn’t conquered by name alone. You’ve got to earn your place here.”
“Is that so?” I tilt my head, feigning thoughtfulness.
“We’ll see if you live up to the Hughes name.” A fierce glint in this woman’s eyes tells me all I need to know about her.
Ruthless and bloodthirsty. My kind of girl.
I nod, accepting the unspoken challenge. Class timetables can wait. This is what I’m here for, not lectures on
Shakespearean plays from yore. Besides, it’s not like I have a choice—the game is already in motion, and I either play or get
played. But I didn’t come here to be a pawn; I came to rule.
You’re a Hughes, Eliza. Always be two steps ahead.
I close my eyes for a second, hearing my dad’s voice echo in my thoughts, letting the noise around me fade into the
background. My breathing steadies, my heart rate slowing down to a predator’s calm rhythm. Each skill I’ve mastered, every
scar I’ve earned, has led me to this moment. The fights, the strategy, the art of deception—I’ve learned from the best.
And they fucking know it.
“Follow me,” another guy murmurs as I open my eyes, and as one, the group turns and expects me to follow.
This time.
After today, they will be lapping at my heels.
With a determined stride, I follow them, and it appears we are heading towards the old library building, the site of my
impending trial by fire.
Slipping through the ancient doors, the scent of mildew and dust assaults my nostrils, but I ignore it, stepping into the
bowels of Castle University’s old library. Its emptiness is a maw of depressing sights, its former grandeur lost to time. But it’s
the heart of the underground challenge—a rite of passage whispered about in hushed tones among the student mafia.
“Welcome to the gauntlet, Eliza Hughes,” a voice echoes through the gloomy building. No face accompanies it, just a
disembodied taunt bouncing off the stone walls.
“Thrilled to be here,” I shoot back, my boots silent on the cold floor as I move forward. This is where reputations are made
or broken. Where you prove you’re not just some posh twat with a fancy last name, and I’m ready for it.
“Descend.”
The order is accompanied by a flashing light off to the side. Pushing open the creaky door, I take the dark steps as I would
if there was light. Confident and arrogant. If I fall on my ass, well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. These next-gen
students can smell blood in the water, and I won’t be the prey.
The basement is a labyrinth, the air thick with secrecy and history. Arches loom over the uneven ground. It’s like stepping
back in time—if that time were designed by someone with a penchant for sadism.
Which, let’s face it, it probably was.
It’s said that the founders of this twisted game were from the oldest families—mafia royalty who needed to test their heirs’
mettle. Now, it’s my turn to face their legacy. To show them that Elizabeth Grace Hughes isn’t just whispers and rumours. I’m
flesh and blood, and I plan to leave my mark.
“Let’s see what you’ve got then,” says another voice.
With a swift nod, I scan the room, taking in the winding pathways that splinter off in every direction. There’s no telling
what lies around each corner, but I trust in my training. Dad always said to expect the unexpected.
“Time starts now!”
The announcement is abrupt, jolting me into action for a test of which I have zero clue what I’m supposed to be doing. But
my instinct drives me to drop my bag and move forward, and I soon fall into it as I’m led where they want to go by intermittent
lights flashing like they did above the door that led down here.
I sprint into the maze, my senses heightened. Somewhere in this tangle of stone and shadow, there are traps waiting, puzzles
designed to break the unprepared. But I’m not one of them. I weave through corridors, each step calculated, my mind racing
ahead.
Here, beneath the weight of centuries-old academia, I forge a path that is definitely not going to be the one they want me to
go down.
“Not a fucking idiot, you assholes,” I murmur as I lunge left instead of right and hear the twang of a crossbow behind me.
Laughing manically, I snap my fingers in a self high five.
“Ooh, that would’ve hurt, you dicks. I’m impressed.”
A low chuckle echoes all around me, but it’s not mocking. It’s appreciative.
The cold air of the basement bites at my skin as I dart around a corner to face the first obstacle. It’s a wall—a massive one,
slick with moisture that seeps from the old stones. I size it up in a heartbeat, noting the old rope that offers a treacherous grip
and the uneven bricks that beg to be foot and handholds. My muscles coil like springs, and I leap, catching the edge of a
protruding stone with the tips of my fingers.
“Come on, Eliza,” I hiss through clenched teeth, hoisting myself up. The slimy rope slips in my grasp, but I don’t fall. I
never fall. Dad would have my hide to wear as a cloak if I did. Up, up, my muscles straining as I haul ass over the top. I land
on the other side with cat-like grace, barely a sound as my boots hit the ground, and I land in a crouch as something goes flying
over my head where my face would’ve been had I not ducked.
“Too easy,” I pant with a grin.
 “Nice jump,” someone sneers from behind me. I glance back to see a lanky bloke with eyes that gleam too much like a
snake’s for my liking. “Watch and learn, sweetheart,” he says, but I’m already gone, leaving him to eat my dust.
The next test is cunning—a warren of mirrors designed to confuse and disorient. But I know a thing or two about deception.
Dad taught me well: never trust your eyes alone. I move instinctively, marking each false turn with the faintest scratch from my
diamond stud earring. Hard and unforgiving.
“Lost, princess?” A woman’s voice drips with disdain. I recognise it from the quad.
“Nope,” I murmur, finding the exit before she can blink.
The corridor opens up to an atrium filled with shifting shadows and the hushed whispers of those who think they’re unseen.
But I feel their eyes on me, tracing the skull and rose tattoo that peeks out from my top as I twist and weave through the close-
knit tripwires.
Reaching the end of the gauntlet, my chest heaves with exertion, sweat trailing down my spine, as I lunge forward through a
black-painted door at the end of a narrow corridor.
“Looks like Hughes has set the standard,” someone calls out, and a murmur ripples through the crowd of watchers as I burst
into a brightly lit room set up like a bar with TVs watching the moves of everyone going through the test. Regaining my
composure quickly and sweeping my hair over my shoulder, I press my lips together.
Was that it? Guess so.
A round of applause breaks out, and I grin, only slightly out of breath.
They know now—if they didn’t before—that I’m more than a name. I’m a force, and this is just the beginning.
“Better luck next time,” I toss over my shoulder, striding past my rivals with a smirk as they launch through the door to the
baying of the crowd. Their skills might be formidable, but I am relentless. This underground realm beneath Castle’s hallowed
halls will remember my name and fear it.
I glance over to the bar briefly, catching sight of Raphael and James leaning forward, their expressions unreadable. Are
they impressed? Intimidated? I can’t tell, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Let them brood. I’m not here for their approval; I’m
here to conquer.
As I weave through the tables, leaving whispers and awed looks in my wake, I know this isn’t the end, but only the
beginning. I’ve earned my place to fight for the throne, not the throne itself.
Big difference.
But it’s a start.
Before I can take another step, someone comes up behind me, the subtle scent of expensive cologne preceding him.
“Eliza Hughes,” he says, his voice a low hum that vibrates across my skin.
Turning, I give him an uninterested once-over. “Yeah, who are you?”
“David Grenville. You’ve heard of me?”
His expression is smug and arrogant, and it irritates me. I have heard of him. He’s a third-year with more connections than
the London Underground if his dad is anything to go by.
“Can’t say I have,” I murmur, eyes lingering on his full lips as he lets out a hiss when I bruise his ego.
He rallies quickly, as expected. His eyes roam over my dirt-streaked face and sweat-dampened clothes. “You’ve made
quite the impression this morning.”
“Always do.”
“Which is why you’ve been invited,” he continues, ignoring me, and hands me a black envelope with a gold seal. It’s
unspoken, but we both know what it is—an invite to an affair where only the elite rub shoulders. “Tonight,” he adds. “Don’t be
late.”
Taking it, I tuck the envelope into my back pocket. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
When I turn back around to find my way out of this room and back to my bag, I come up short as James is standing right
behind me, having somehow snuck up on me while I was talking to David. Going to have to watch for that.
“You did good,” he murmurs, holding out my bag.
Eyeing it up suspiciously, it appears as I left it, but if he went rooting through it, he would only have found a few loose
tampons, my purse and basic handbag junk that every woman tends to carry around.
“Thanks,” I say, taking it and slinging it over my shoulder. “Better go get that class schedule.”
He nods and steps aside to let me go. I’m a fucking mess, but Dad was quite explicit. Grades up or else.
Personally, I’m not a fan of the ‘or else’ portion of this threat.
 6

ELIZA

HOURS LATER, I’m back on campus after scrubbing away the grime and dressing in a sharp, black dress that hugs every curve
with my hunting knife strapped to my outer thigh. The university’s grand old buildings are now a backdrop for something far
more clandestine—the mafia’s playground.
Striding across the campus in the dark, I shiver at the slight breeze that picks up, puckering my nipples and sending
goosebumps over my skin.
“Eliza,” Oliver’s voice sounds behind me, and I smile, turning to him.
“Hello.”
“You weren’t going to wait?” he asks, falling into step beside me, looking hot as hell in a black shirt with the sleeves
rolled up and black pants.
“Didn’t think I had to.”
“Would’ve been nice.”
I snort. “Nice? Have you met me?”
He laughs; it’s humorous but also full of darkness. “You’re a delight.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, not quite sure what to do with that. I’ve been called many things, but ‘delight’ has never been one of
them.
“You’re intriguing. I can’t wait to find out more.”
“Back at you.”
He leads me to a side entrance in the PE building, I’m guessing, as we walk into a gym with all the equipment pushed back
against the wall. The music is thumping, and the drinks are flowing.
Too many of these idiots are already plastered. Not a good way to keep your ass safe. I like a good drink as much as the
next girl, but getting drunk isn’t really my style.
It’s all about control.
My gaze drifts, searching the crowd until I find who I’m looking for—Raphael.
He’s leaning against a wall, a bottle of beer in his hand, looking as gorgeous as he did on our very first encounter. I flash
back momentarily, tipsy and horny. It’s a dangerous combination when hot guys are lurking around the upper floor of your
home. Guess I know what he was doing there now. He was waiting for my dad. Our eyes lock for a fraction of a second, and I
wait for that flicker of recognition, but there’s nothing. He either has an epic poker face, or he is the biggest douche on the
planet. Either way, it doesn’t stop me from enjoying the view, but it irks me more than I want to admit.
“Congrats, Eliza,” Raphael finally says, sauntering over and raising his bottle in a toast before turning away to engage
someone else in conversation.
“Asshole,” I mutter.
“Tonight’s your night, Eliza. Don’t let him get under your skin.”
I look up to see Tarquin hovering in view. I would love nothing more than to get his cock between my thighs to ride him
until he broke. And if Raphael happened to walk in on us, well, even fucking better.
“Right. My night.” I accept the bottle he hands me and take a gulp, scanning the area and deciding this scene is not for me.
Rowdy, drunk assholes and shrieking girls are causing my nerves to flare up. It’s too casual, too lax. Where is the security?
Where is the control?
Giving them all a look of distaste, I turn on my heel and head out, knowing I’ll be called a stuck-up bitch or something
equally as hateful, but I’m not a faker. Not when it doesn’t suit me, anyway, and this situation doesn’t call for it.
 The cool night air is a welcome relief as I slip back outside and stride over the quad.
“Leaving so soon?” a voice purrs, and I turn to see a group of well-dressed underlings parting to make way for David.
“Yeah, it’s not my scene.”
He chuckles, low and dark, as he stops right in front of me and reaches out to twirl a lock of my hair around his finger.
My eyebrow goes up as I let him think he has me right where he wants me. He’s beyond a douche who thinks he can have
everything he wants, including me.
His eyes hood as he tugs gently, a slow, sinister smile curving up his too-full lips. He’s not good-looking in the sense that
he’s hot, but he’s got charisma coming out of his ass and that whole danger thing going on. Too bad, I like my guys rough,
gorgeous and savage. David strikes me as the type who would let others do his dirty work. Not my kind of guy at all.
When I fail to react, he tugs harder, his eyes almost gleaming as he thinks he has some control over me.
Hard no.
Like lightning, my hand grips his finger, and I yank it out of my hair before I bend it backwards, snapping it.
He yelps like a stuck pig, and I give him that sinister smile back.
“Touch me again without my consent, and I will gut you,” I say pleasantly, ignoring the sting on my scalp. Pretty sure I
managed to pull out a clump of my own hair while I was proving a point—tough shit.
His eyes flash dangerously as I bend his finger back even more as he slams his lips shut and glowers at me with a ferocity
that would make a lesser woman quake in her designer heels.
Not me, though, and now he knows it.
“You’ve made a fucking enemy,” he snarls when I let him go, and he tries not to nurse his poor, little boo-boo.
“So have you, asshole, and to be quite frank, you should be way more scared of me than I am of you.”
“Fuck you, cunt,” he growls as a man steps up beside me with a bright smile that reads anything but happy-clappy.
“Everything okay here?” James asks.
“Wonderful. David and I were just getting to know each other’s strengths, weren’t we?”
In pure low-class fashion, which shows him for who he is, he spits at my feet. He’s lucky it didn’t hit my shoes. He’s even
luckier he didn’t aim for my face. My hand itches to reach for my knife, but it’s overkill. He’s strolling away with his
followers, who have probably lost more than a bit of respect for him now.
“You don’t waste time making friends, do you?” James murmurs, tilting his head at me like an inquisitive puppy as he sizes
me up.
“Friends are hard to come by. Enemies, on the other hand, are a dime a dozen. Bring it.”
He chuckles darkly. “Couldn’t agree more. So, which I am, Blood Countess?”
Taken aback for a microsecond at the nickname, I laugh, a thrill shooting over my skin. “I’ll take that and wear it with
honour. But as for your question, I guess we’ll find out.”
He raises an eyebrow, giving brooding a whole new level to live up to. “Smart,” he murmurs and moves in a bit closer, as
close as he can get, without touching me.
I’m forced to tilt my head back to gaze into his remarkable eyes, which I knew would change colour.
But whatever he was planning on doing or saying next is lost to the wind as the side door opens, spilling out a crowd of
drunk students, some of them already half-naked and streaking across the quad.
 7

ELIZA

S TEPPING BACK from James as Raphael, Tarquin and Oliver join us, the cool evening air does nothing to chill the heat that’s
building inside me.
“You ready to go already?” Oliver asks me.
“Yeah, I’m not a big fan of student parties.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” Tarquin murmurs. “These guys can get a bit too asshole-y when pissed up.”
“Only when pissed up?” I giggle, gazing into his clear blue eyes, and then stop myself with a blink.
What am I doing?
Not that Tarquin seems to have a problem with my little flirt. He gives me a sexy half smile that seems to intrigue Raphael
as he glares at his twin before turning that scowl on me.
“Let’s go,” he mutters and stalks off under a bit of a cloud.
Falling into step with Tarquin and James flanking me with Oliver slightly in front, my fingers itch with the urge to trace
those tattoos on Raphael’s and Tarquin’s arms.
We’re almost home, just a few steps away, thankfully. I won’t touch Raphael, especially not after he’s either playing dumb
about our night together or having just forgotten completely. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Tarquin, on the other hand, is fair game, but maybe not yet. I’d rather play the long game and stretch it out. Torture us both
before we give in to the lust simmering between us.
We step into the townhouse and head straight for the living room, where Oliver pulls a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet
with an ease that speaks of habit. At the same time, James gathers glasses, clinking them onto the coffee table as if he’s
preparing for a toast to our collective damnation.
“Pour me one,” I say, sinking into an armchair, trying to appear nonchalant despite the electric tension zipping through my
veins.
“Didn’t take you for the whiskey type,” Oliver replies, pouring amber liquid into a glass and handing it to me.
“Got a lot of secrets, Ollie,” I shoot back, snatching the drink from his grasp. The burn of the whiskey as it slides down my
throat is welcome.
He snickers as I shorten his name but doesn’t correct me, so now he’s opened that floodgate.
“Secrets have a way of getting one killed in our business,” James murmurs.
“Good thing I’m not scared to die then,” I retort, locking eyes with him, letting the challenge hang heavy between us.
“Cheers to that,” Tarquin says, raising his glass in salute before downing his drink in one go.
Raphael remains quiet, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long before he takes a sip, and I feel that stare like a touch
against my skin. I shiver from raw desire, cursing myself for being so affected by him, by all of them, it seems.
I need to get out of here. Fast. “I need some air,” I mutter, pushing myself up from the plush armchair. The guys don’t protest
as I slip away.
Taking the stairs two steps at a time, my chest tightens with every step from the raw craving roiling inside me.
Once I reach the sanctuary of my room, the click of the lock behind me is a definitive sound of seclusion. I lean back
against the door, sucking in a deep breath. The silence is deafening.
A hunger gnaws at my core. I stand there for a second longer, the image of the guys etched into my mind—those matching
tattoos on Raphael and Tarquin, Oliver’s smirking confidence, James’s brooding intensity.
“Fuck it.”
With deliberate movements, I peel away the layers of my clothing, fabric whispering to the floor until I’m naked and on
fire.
The sheets are cool as I slide onto the bed and inhale deeply. My hands roam over my skin, tracing the path I imagine theirs
would take. Shoulder to hip, collarbone to thigh.
Eyes closed, I let myself drown in the fantasy. My breath hitches as I savour the thought of their hands, their lips, their
unspoken pledges of pleasure and devotion.
A slow burn sizzles through every nerve ending. My fingers edge lower while the guys downstairs fill my thoughts.
One hand slips over my pussy, my fingers finding my clit. I’m wet as I arch my back, pinching and twisting as I let out a soft
moan.
My pussy clenches at the thought of the guys touching me, and I rub my clit faster, imagining it’s not me touching me but
instead Oliver’s strong hands, James’s skilled mouth, and Tarquin’s playful nips on my neck as Raphael slides his enormous
cock into me.
Heat pools low in my belly as I picture their bodies entwined with mine. My other hand skates to a breast, squeezing and
pinching my nipples as the images become hotter and more vivid in my mind’s eye. I edge myself, drawing back, panting as the
climax recedes, only to be stoked again as I thrust my fingers inside my pussy, coating my fingers in my juices.
“Fuck!” I cry out softly as I edge myself again, needing this sweet torture, craving the drawn-out orgasm that I know will
scratch the itch for now.
 8

TARQUIN

ELECTRICITY SIZZLES THROUGH MY VEINS , the kind that only comes from doing something you know you shouldn’t. I’m leaning
back against the hardwood of the headboard on my bed, laptop open, the glow from Eliza’s bedroom filling the darkened space
around me. My eyes are locked on the screen where she’s sprawled across her sheets, a vision of forbidden desire.
“Fuck,” I whisper to the silence, a voyeur to her self-pleasure. The sight of her, all soft skin and sharp moans, is more
intoxicating than feeling blood coat my hands after an all-out brawl where victory is mine. I’m unable to look away, captivated
by her raw sensuality.
My hand drifts lower as I watch her slide two fingers deep inside herself, her green eyes shut tight in bliss. She is edging
herself, and it’s possibly the hottest thing I have ever witnessed in my life. My cock is raging, straining against the confines of
my pants.
She’s untouchable, meant to be kept at arm’s length for the sake of an alliance as fragile as glass. But she is unravelling
every thread of control I possess with every thrust of her delicate fingers inside her pretty little cunt.
“Yes,” I murmur, my voice rough with lust as if she can hear me, as if she’s doing this for me. Unzipping my pants, I pull my
cock out and tug it roughly, my movements falling into sync with hers, and I chase the edge right alongside her. This game we’re
playing is more than just power; it’s pleasure, it’s possession, it’s a dance with danger—and I’m too far gone to step back now.
Every gasp and moan filters through the speakers, wrapping around me like velvet chains, pulling me deeper into her
world. The sight of her back arching, her body bowing to the pleasure she gives herself, is more than I can bear.
“Fuck,” I hiss. It’s an exposed, almost feral reaction to the primal display on my screen. Her rhythm is erratic and
unpredictable, yet I find myself matching it stroke for stroke, lost in her self-satisfaction as I create my own.
Sweat beads on my forehead, the room suddenly feeling too hot, too small. She’s fire, and I’m willingly throwing myself
into the flames, letting them lick at my skin, consuming my senses.
Jerking my cock with an urgency that borders on desperation as she edges again, panting and sweating as she gives herself
this torture. Sweat trails down my spine, but I barely notice, too consumed by the sight of Eliza spread out before me.
She’s every inch the Queen of our twisted world. Her legs are wide, her clit glistening as her climax draws closer. I can
almost taste her on my tongue. The pressure builds inside me, my cock grows harder, my muscles tauter. I watch, fixated, as her
body tightens as she teeters on the edge of her release.
Then she lets herself go, shattering into a climax, her muffled cry piercing through the silence of my room like a bullet. I
feel it in my bones, the echo of her pleasure, and it’s the final push I need.
“Fuck, Eliza!” My voice is a growl, torn from deep in my chest. My strokes become frenzied, rougher, as I chase my high.
My body trembles, strung tight as a wire, and then it snaps—I come undone, pleasure ripping through me with the force of a
gunshot.
I’m chaos and ruin, breath ragged, pulse racing as my cum shoots out of my cock, all over my hand and pants. It’s the best
masturbation I’ve ever had with Eliza Hughes as my live porn. I’ll never be able to go back now.
Her eyelids flutter, her lips parted in the aftermath of her climax. It’s a sight that sears itself into my memory—the untamed
beauty of Eliza lost in her pleasure.
The power of watching her unseen sends a surge of adrenaline through me—elation clashing with a dark possessiveness.
Fuck, when I finally get my hands on her, it’s going to be explosive.
With effort, I regain control of my breathing, my hand lingering on my cock. Did she feel me watching her? Did it heighten
her pleasure, knowing I was there in the shadows?
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, the possibility too tantalising to ignore.
 I reach over, fingers still trembling slightly, and kill the feed. The screen goes black, cutting off my view. The abrupt loss is
like a punch to the chest, leaving me feeling strangely hollow. But the silence also brings clarity. I need to tread carefully.
Tonight was a revelation—a glimpse of something pure and wild. In her element, Eliza is a force of nature, and I am
irrevocably drawn to her. Whatever this is between us, it’s uncharted territory. I’m both hunter and prey, captivated by the
game, which is far from over, and I’m already itching for my next fix of Eliza’s intoxicating brand of chaos.
The door opens and I quickly throw the sheets over my lap as Raphael leans on the doorframe. “You fucked off quickly.
What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I lie, and he knows it. He knows me better than I know myself.
“Be careful with her.” His tone screams caution, but I know better. He is as enraptured with her as I am. We all are.
“With who?”
He shakes his head with a snort. “You can’t kid a kidder, our kid.”
“Fuck off. I hate it when you call me that. You are two minutes older than me. Two fucking minutes.”
“And yet sometimes it feels more like two years. Like right now. You’re mooning after Hughes, and you need to pull it back
before she burns you so badly, Mom won’t be able to recognise you.”
“Like you aren’t?” I snap, getting pissed off. “You’re completely avoiding her. You might know me so well, but you forget I
know you too, asshole. You’re avoiding her because you want her.”
“Whether or not I do isn’t the issue here. She is off-limits right now.”
“Right now.”
“Yeah, Right now. Unless you want not only our father to kick your ass but hers, too.”
“Whatever,” I grumble, but I know he’s right. This could all blow up in our faces if we don’t get our heads out of our asses.
“Good boy,” he says with a laugh. “You know it makes sense.”
“Oh, fuck off, you cunt.”
“Bye now.” He ducks out of the room as I give him the finger, his laughter echoing down the corridor as he makes his way
up to the main bedroom on the top floor.
Glaring at the laptop, I pick it up and fling it across the room like a frisbee. It hits the wall with a loud thunk and drops to
the floor uselessly.
“Hey!” a loud shout comes through the wall, and I snort.
“Sorry!” I call back to Eliza, wondering what she thinks that was.
“Tarquin?”
“Yeah!”
“You got a temper on you?”
“You always shout at people through walls?”
I wait and I’m not disappointed. Seconds later, there is a sharp rap on the door. I leap off the bed, ripping my pants and
shirt off, answering the door completely naked.
Her eyes go wide as she blinks and takes in my body slowly from the top of my head all the way down to my cock, where it
lingers for just long enough to make it stir.
“Do you always lounge around naked?” she asks, drawing her gaze back up to my face.
I rake my gaze over her, dressed only in a white satin dressing gown that shows off the curve of her luscious tits.
“Mostly. It is my room, after all.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Who is on the other side of you?”
“James.”
“Next time, throw your shit at his side.”
“Will do.”
Our gaze holds, and it’s like being struck by lightning. Untouchable or not, she is mine, and I want to pin her to the wall
while I fuck her senseless, letting her know that she can never escape me.
Slowly, she turns away, crushing my soul with her actions. “Night, Tarq.”
“Night, Eliza.”
I shut the door and lean against it, wondering if she is doing the same on the other side of the wall.
 9

ELIZA

HIDDEN BY A BUSH, as I do a bit of snooping the following day, I watch and learn. Despite my success at the lame-ass trial and
my family name bearing down on me, I’m still the outsider. The underdog with zero friends, only enemies and the guys I live
with, whose statuses are still undetermined. A couple drifts by, looking dodgy and secretive, so I lean in closer, ignoring the
scratch of a thorn against my cheek.
“The meeting is set for midnight; no outsiders,” one of them murmurs. “The families will finally prove their worth.”
Intrigued, my eyes narrow. I can’t believe they’re planning this without me. Where the fuck was my invite? But I’m not just
going to stand here feeling snubbed. No, this clandestine chat is about to become my ticket into the belly of the beast.
Or maybe that’s the test. If I don’t show, I’ve failed.
“Knew that trial yesterday couldn’t have been the whole shebang,” I mutter, but then second-guess myself in a moment of
weakness.
I’ll get in that meeting and unmask the hidden alliances and feuds that are festering beneath the surface.
Knowing I have my work cut out for me to uncover this secret meeting, I slink through the bustling corridors of Castle
University, each step calculated, blending into the hum of student chatter. The air is thick with secrets, ripe for the plucking—
I’m on the prowl, ready to sink my teeth into every whispered word that floats my way.
“Eliza, hey!”
Turning, I see Imogen—the girl from the quad and yesterday’s test, looking all casual and a lot more friendly than she did
when she heckled me yesterday. A key player, if my instincts are worth a damn.
“Imogen, right?” I greet her smoothly. “What’s up?”
Her eyes dart around, ensuring our privacy, as she indicates I follow her back outside. “I was impressed with your shit
yesterday. I had assumptions, we all did, that you’d be some pretty little flower banking on your name to get ahead. So not the
case. You kicked major butt. No one has ever run the gauntlet in the time you did.”
“Funny how everyone heard I was coming and didn’t do any research on me,” I mutter.
She snorts into her hand. “Oh, we did. We assumed it was fabricated. It happens.”
“Like David Grenville?”
She presses her lips together in an attempt not to laugh, but she can’t hold it in and erupts in a noise that sounds like a
donkey dying.
I like her.
“Exactly like David Grenville. I’m impressed you got his measure and heard it was you who broke his finger. He’s telling
everyone it was some thug who he beat into the ground.”
I roll my eyes. “Crybaby.”
“Totally. He thinks he’s a big shot, but we all know he’s no match for The Kings. He’s a wannabe, nothing more.”
The Kings. I’m guessing that’s my guys. Or the guys I live with, rather.
“Hmm.”
“But listen, I overheard something—you might want to know about it.”
“What is this? Forging alliances?” I ask, crossing my arms and giving her a glare.
“Yeah. You’re going to be Queen around here, and it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure it out. You’re still being tested,
so do you wanna know what I’ve got to say, or are we going to fight about it, and then I’ll end up telling you anyway?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Told you, you’re going to be Queen.”
 “And you want to be my lady-in-waiting?”
“Something like that. But I like you. You’ve got grit and guts, and something tells me we would be awesome together in a
fight.”
Laughing at her enthusiasm, I nod. “Something tells me the same. Okay, Imogen, you’ve got my attention.”
She inches closer, her following words low and urgent. “There’s a power shift coming. Some families are getting too
comfortable, and others are planning moves.”
“Moves? What kind of moves?” I prod, intrigued.
“Big ones. Alliances are shifting, and some reckon you and those hotties you’re shacking up with might be in for a
surprise.” Her gaze locks onto mine, serious as a heart attack. “Midnight, the North Castle.”
“Is that so?” My voice is steady, but my mind races. This is more than just idle gossip—it’s the currency of our world.
“Thanks for the tip-off.”
“Careful though,” she adds quickly. “If they sense you’re onto them⁠—“
“They won’t, and they won’t hear it from me,” I cut in. “But cheers for the concern.”
“Anytime. You and me, we have each other’s back, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I murmur as she nods and hurries off. The cautious part of me screams at me that this is a set-up and that she’s
baiting me, but the other part, the part that is always one step ahead, tells me she is in this with me to win. She’s not dumb. She
knows I’ve got what it takes to rule this University, and she wants in. However, Dad always drummed it into me that those you
consider friends are in a prime position to stab you in the back, so I’ll head to the North Castle at midnight, but I won’t be
going alone.
Moving through campus like a wraith, I keep my ears open, gleaning snippets of conversation—each one a fragment of the
larger puzzle that is Castle University’s secret society. It’s a tangled web, and I’m the spider expertly navigating its threads
even as I keep one ear on my classes, one is listening to the chatter and hushed conversations all around me.
“Eliza.”
The name rolls off his tongue, and I turn in my seat in Medieval History to meet the gaze of Ryan Hargreaves—the youngest
son of the Hargreaves clan and notorious for his silver tongue and steel fists. A rival, yes, but also devilishly charming.
“Ryan,” I acknowledge, my voice neutral.
“This isn’t a game.” He leans closer, his blue eyes intense.
“Isn’t it?” I counter, keeping my composure. “And here I thought we were all just playing our parts.”
“Watch your back,” he warns before rising and disappearing out of the lecture hall.
As I turn back to my textbook, weirdly staring down at a picture of Elizabeth Bathory, The Blood Countess, a ripple goes
over my flesh, and I look up to see James stride in and take the seat next to me with that slow smile of his.
“Countess,” he murmurs.
Deciding to play with the fires he’s holding, I lean forward. “You’d like to see me bathed in the blood of innocents,
wouldn’t you?”
His eyes heat up, sending rockets of lust straight to my clit. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be the one to bathe you.”
“You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?” I state in a normal tone with a smile that definitely tells him I wouldn’t say no to his
offer.
“Maybe.”
Our conversation is cut off as the Professor starts droning on, but I make a mental note to ask him about this North Castle
meeting after the lecture.
But he’s gone before I’ve even packed up an hour later, ducking out and disappearing into the crowd of students. It doesn’t
matter; I’ll catch up with him later. I slip out of the lecture hall, a ghost among shadows. The murmur of conversation cuts off as
I appear like they’re trying to keep a secret.
Fucking idiots.
“Connor,” I acknowledge the guy who steps up in front of me with a sly smile. “How’s your dad?”
“Better, thanks for asking.”
“Anytime.
“Listen, I can’t say much,” he admits, casting a wary glance around. “But we’ve known each other since we learned how to
walk. Be ready for anything. Castle’s about to get a whole lot more interesting.”
“Vague much?” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“Guess you’ll have to figure it out, won’t you?” he teases, turning to leave. “But watch your back, Eliza. Not everyone’s as
charmed by you as I am.” He saunters away as I follow him with narrowed eyes. It appears little alliances are forming. There
are those who want to be my friend and those who definitely don’t.
But this is good. It’s weeding out the fuckers who I need to take down.
I don’t have time for this cat-and-mouse bullshit. I need action.
 10

ELIZA

MIDNIGHT LOOMS , and I’m pacing my room like a caged animal, the second hand on the clock ticking away.
Tonight’s meeting could shift everything—power, control—all poised on a knife’s edge.
“Fuck it,” I mutter. I can’t do this alone. Not tonight. I don’t know these players, and everything my dad taught me to hone is
screaming at me that this is a trap. But whether it is a trap or test, my best move is to take back up right now. It’s smart, and I’m
not afraid to ask for help.
But who?
No way am I going to Raphael. He can swivel for being a major pain in my ass. Out of Tarquin, James and Oliver, I feel the
closest to Tarquin after our little whatever the fuck it was last night.
Decided, I stalk down the hallway. Reaching Tarquin’s door, I don’t hesitate, rapping sharply on the wood. He opens it
immediately, as though he’s been waiting for me, his baby blues eyes assessing me inquisitively.
“Eliza? Sad to see I’m dressed?” His cheeky smile tells me I’ve made the right choice in knocking on his door.
Arching an eyebrow and raking my gaze over his partially dressed body with a smirk, I pout. “Naked suits you better.”
“That can be arranged,” he murmurs.
“Pass right now. I need your help.”
“Oh?” He’s upright and comes to attention immediately. Nice. He’s got the control to separate lust from business. Not many
men do, in my experience.
“There’s a meeting at North Castle Tower,” I say, cutting straight to the chase. “Midnight. I need you with me.”
Tarquin doesn’t flinch; he nods, a fierce protective glint in his gaze that does things to the woman inside me. “Of course.
Should I get the others?”
“No.” I shake my head, resolute. “Just us.”
“Whatever you say,” he replies with a hint of a smile. “I’ve got your back, Eliza. Always.”
“Good.” I’m ready for what lies ahead. “Let’s gear up. We’ve got a trap to spring or a test to pass. You know anything
about it?”
He shakes his head solemnly, a fierce frown on his handsome face.
That does not bode well.
“So definitely a trap, then.”
“Who told you about it?”
“Well, I overheard it being talked about, and then Imogen came over and told me where it was. She said she wanted to
forge an alliance, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Imogen is solid. I don’t think she would lead you into a trap.” Tarquin’s frown deepens.
“Sorry, but I’m not taking your word on that. She specifically told me where the meeting was.”
“That doesn’t mean she is part of it. It could mean she is being played as well if whoever is behind this knew she’d come
to you.”
“You seem to be quick to defend her,” I murmur, feeling a flash of jealousy, which he notices and smirks at.
“She’s a distant cousin, so eww, but it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside that you’re jealous, petal.” He ruffles my hair as
I slap his hand away.
“Fuck you. Jealous,” I scoff and turn away to stalk back to my room to gear up.
The sound of his snickering behind me is annoying as fuck. He thinks he has me pegged, but he can swivel as well now.
Unfortunately, all that thought does is make me think about swivelling on his cock, and I clear my throat as I grab my thigh
holster and strap it to my right thigh before I shove the hunting knife into it.
“That’s wicked,” Tarquin says, coming into my room, pulling a long-sleeved black tee over his head to accompany the
black combat pants that are undone at the fly. Is he trying to make me lose my mind?
Call me crazy, but this tease is even hotter than seeing him starkers.
“My dad gave it to me. I call her Felicity, or Flick for short.”
He smiles. “I adore that you gave it a nickname.”
“Her,” I snap. “She is a she, and she enjoys the taste of blood, so watch your mouth around her.”
He holds his hands up, trying to hold back the smile. “Noted. Sorry, Flick. I’ll do better next time.”
“Ready?” I ask as he does up his pants and then sits on my bed to do up the laces on his boots.
Rude, much?
Or possibly he knows exactly what he’s doing to me because all I can think about is slamming him back to the mattress and
riding him until dawn.
Fucking prick.
I turn away as he replies, “Born ready.”
He secures his own blade, a seriously evil looking thing with a double curved blade, both with jagged edges. Nice.
We don’t need any more words as we move as one, slipping out of the townhouse into the inky darkness. The campus
sprawls in front of us, a course we navigate with ease. My eyes scan the surroundings, every rustle of leaves, every flicker of
light scrutinised.
Tarquin keeps pace beside me, his presence a solid reassurance. Our footfalls are soft on the dewy grass, our passage
through the night soundless.
The North Castle tower looms ahead, a monolith of dark stone against the starry sky. The history of this place is that the
main building was a fortress, a Castle, in the 13 th century, meticulously upheld by billions of pounds worth of donations over
the years from the largest mafia families in the country so the next gen could battle it out in a playground safe for clandestine
activity. All four towers are still standing, giving it an eerie air in the dark of midnight.
We approach with caution, senses on high alert, ready for whatever hell might be waiting to break loose.
As we approach, I halt, feeling the prickling sensation at the back of my neck. Something’s off. I take a breath and push the
heavy door open with my left hand, my right dropping to the hilt of my knife.
“Careful,” I breathe out to Tarquin as we step inside, even though it’s a pointless command. He is like a panther next to me,
stealthy, dark and dangerous as all fuck. The darkness is thicker here, clinging to the ancient walls like a warning.
The air is still, too still. My skin crawls with the anticipation of danger, every sense alert for the trap I know must be
waiting. We ascend the spiral staircase, our booted steps muted against the stone.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath as we reach the top. It’s quiet, but the silence feels like a scream.
“Eliza,” Tarquin murmurs, and in that second, the world explodes into chaos.
Figures emerge from the hidden recesses of the room, surrounding us. David Grenville steps forward from the shadows, his
sneer a slash across his face. “Well, well, Eliza Hughes, you walked right into my little parlour.”
“David,” I spit his name out like poison, my hand tightening on the knife as I draw it ready for action. “Actually, I was
expecting this. You take me for a fucking idiot. But whatever. I brought back up.”
I see Tarquin shift slightly, a silent predator ready to strike.
David’s eyes shift to the Carver twin and tighten. He wasn’t expecting that. He thought I’d be arrogant and stupid enough to
come on my own.
“Did you really think you could play in this game and not get bitten?” David taunts, regrouping quickly, his lackeys inching
closer but eyeing up Tarquin with something akin to fear. Don’t blame them. He looks ready to murder the lot of them with his
gaze alone. Definitely brought the right guy to have my back.
“Playing’s one thing,” I shoot back, “Winning’s another.”
The standoff holds for a heartbeat, then all hell breaks loose.
 11

ELIZA

TIME SLOWS , but my instincts that have been disciplined since I was old enough to walk and talk kick in. I launch myself at the
nearest asshole. Flick, an extension of my own lethal plan, flashes in the dim light as she arcs toward my attacker.
“Eliza!” Tarquin’s voice is a low growl, but I’m too busy to look his way. His presence is a solid force at my back; his
movements synchronised with mine as if we’re two parts of the same deadly dance.
It’s fucking magic, and I grin as I duck, weave, and pivot, each strike calculated, each block instinctual.
The sounds of combat fill the air—grunts of exertion, gasps of surprise, the sharp ring of metal on metal echoing off the
stone walls.
“Nice try,” I snarl as I sidestep a sloppy punch, rewarding the effort with my blade dragging across the assailant’s arm. He
howls, clutching the wound, blood seeping between his fingers.
“Keep up, boys, you’re lagging,” I taunt, even as my muscles scream and my mind races. This is no sparring match; this is
survival.
Tarquin is beside me now, fighting with a ferocity that thrills me. He is proving his loyalty to me, no problem. He moves
with a grace that contradicts his size, every action purposeful and devastating.
“Eliza, left!” he barks, and I spin just in time to dodge a vicious strike. Our enemies are relentless, but they don’t know
who they’re dealing with.
Clearly.
But then my confidence gets the better of me and as I see an opening to get to David, standing on the sidelines, watching this
with a smug grin, I dive for him, not even seeing the guy moving as quickly as me. He sends his fist flying into my face; I grunt,
staggering back, licking blood from my lip.
“You cock. You’re gonna pay for that,” I growl, lunging towards him. He is huge. Bigger than Tarquin and a giant compared
to me. He isn’t a student. He is older, wiser, more hardened—a professional.
Grenville isn’t playing fair, and that just shows him for the cowardly asshole that he is.
The giant takes another swing at me, this time knocking me flying into Tarquin, who grabs me and steadies me with one arm
while the other sends a fist flying towards someone’s face.
“What now?” he asks with a sexy smirk that fires up my engines. He’s taken a few hits. His tee is torn, and his lip is split
like mine.
“In your dreams,” I snarl and disentangle myself as I grip Flick and duck past the giant to get to David. My litheness is a
weapon, and David’s face goes pale as he sees me coming for him.
“Fuck you, David. You’re a cowardly piece of shit; you know that? Come at me yourself.”
“Still got that mouth, Eliza,” he sneers, getting his shit together and knowing he has no choice but to face me. He moves
forward as Tarquin crosses to have my back against the giant.
David and I collide, his strength against my speed, and it’s a deadlock for a moment. The pain explodes in my side as I take
a hit, but it only angers me more, like a wasp being poked at. I twist away, and with a swift, precise motion, Flick finds her
target—not a killing blow, but one that sends a clear message as she slices into David’s flesh.
He stumbles back, his hand clamping over the wound, blood darkening his shirt. His eyes lock onto mine, filled with
hatred.
“Is that all you’ve got?” My voice is a low, dangerous thing. The room reeks of sweat, blood, and steel, but I can’t afford to
let disgust slow me down. Not when victory is within reach, not when survival hangs on the edge of my blade.
“Time to go,” I hiss to Tarquin, who is currently in a precarious situation with the giant, who has him in a chokehold.
 “A… little… help… here…” he croaks.
Chuckling as I grip Flick and turn my hand to drive the blade directly into the giant’s side, I pull her out as he grunts and
loosens his hold on Tarquin enough that he can get free.
“Asshole,” he grunts and takes a swing with his hard fist, smashing the giant’s nose flat against his face. “No one tries to
kill me and gets away with it.”
“Come on,” I urge, trying not to laugh at the giant’s shocked face.
Ducking and slashing, we make our way back to the tower door and take the steep, circular steps as quickly as we dare for
fear of falling and breaking our necks.
We bolt from the chaos of the North Castle tower, the night swallowing us when we burst through the door at the bottom.
My chest burns as we sprint, each breath sharp against my ribs. I can feel the sticky warmth of blood on my side from a
shallow nick, but it’s a badge of honour and a reminder of the close call.
“Here,” I pant, spotting an overgrown courtyard tucked behind a row of hedges—perfect for a quick breather. We don’t
hesitate, ducking into the seclusion it offers.
Peering out through the bushes, we don’t see or hear anyone following us, so we slump down on the ground, fucked but not
out.
“Let me see,” Tarquin says, his tone more command than concern. He’s at my side in an instant, his fingers deft as they
assess the wound on my side.
“Tis but a scratch,” I murmur, but let him look because his hands are sending my battle lust into a heightened arousal that
makes my clit twitch.
“Seen worse,” he murmurs.
“Exactly.”
As Tarquin and I regroup in the shadows, my pulse hammers with the aftermath of bloodshed. Our breathing is heavy,
matched only by the rapid beat of our hearts. The fight still echoes in my muscles, and I stretch.
“Eliza,” Tarquin whispers, his voice like gravel, and there’s a wildness in his eyes that sends rockets of lust shooting
through me.
We’re close, so fucking close, the heat from his body searing through the space between us. The night clings to us, the
darkness a cloak over our actions.
His hands roam, tearing at my clothes with desperate urgency. There’s no tenderness, only a raging fire that demands to be
quenched. As my back hits the cold stone, he drags my pants and knickers down to my ankles and looms over me.
“Fuck, Eliza,” he groans, undoing his pants quickly and pulling his cock out. “I need to feel you.”
“I only ride my stallions bareback, so what the fuck are you waiting for?” I growl, impatiently lifting my hips.
With a dark chuckle, he drives his cock into me, my legs restrained by the pants around my ankles. “Fuck, your cunt is so
tight,” he growls, thrusting deeper.
I grit my teeth and dig my nails into his back as his cock fills me, stretching me in the best way possible. His body is a hot,
solid weight against mine. His cock is steel inside my pussy, and every thrust makes my world contract around him.
“You feel so fucking good,” he grunts.
We fuck like animals in heat; the only noises are our laboured breaths and the rustle of leaves to cover our moans of
pleasure. It’s messy and dirty and the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
“Oh god, Eliza,” he moans, his hips picking up speed as he thrusts harder, faster, the head of his cock hitting my g-spot with
every thrust.
“Harder,” I pant, rocking my hips against his. “I want to feel every fucking inch of you.”
He obliges, slamming into me like he’s marking his territory, claiming me as his. My orgasm builds, coiling tighter and
tighter until I’m teetering on the edge.
“Tarquin!”
“I’m so fucking close. Come for me, petal,” he growls.
My body jerks, responding to his rough demand. I shatter, my pussy clenching around him as we both climax together, and
it’s cataclysmic, obliterating thought and reason, and he pumps his cum deep inside me.
“Fuck,” we both moan, trying to catch our breaths as the aftershocks fade.
The panting subsides, air cooling the sweat on my skin. Tarquin’s grip is still firm on my hips, his chest heaving. I sense his
reluctance to let me go, but I don’t do cuddles. The need to move, to be vigilant, pulses stronger than the afterglow.
“Come on,” I murmur, pushing him off me and struggling to get my knickers and pants back up. I’m all business now.
“We’re out in the open here. Not that I think David will be following us anytime soon.”
“You laid him out. He has been humiliated,” Tarquin says, doing his pants up, his voice tight.
“Think he’ll try again?”
“Nah, he’s a pussy.” He stands up and offers me his hand.
I take it and then let it go quickly, not wanting him to get any ideas. Not that I wouldn’t do this again, all night and in my
bed, but that’s where I draw the line.
“Let’s go,” I murmur and stalk off, not waiting for him to catch up.
 12

JAMES

“WHERE THE HELL have you two been?” My voice cuts through the silence as I stare down Tarquin and Eliza sneaking in the
front door like two teenagers caught by their parents. They freeze like deers caught in headlights.
“Out,” Tarquin mutters, but his bruised knuckles, bloody lip and Eliza’s bloody face tell a different story.
“Out? You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a wrecking ball.” I cross my arms, my patience thin as ice.
Eliza meets my gaze, her striking green eyes fierce even under the shadow of the night. “Yeah, well, what can we say? It
was a party. Gotta shower and head to bed. Early class and all that. Byeeee.” She scarpers up the stairs quicker than a cat,
leaving Tarquin snorting and shaking his head as he’s left holding the bag.
“She’s something else, that one.”
“No shit. Spill it.”
His eyes lock with mine, a cold seriousness that makes my blood heat up at the whiff of danger.
“David Grenville set her up,” Tarquin says flatly. “North Castle Tower. It was a fucking ambush.”
“And you were there because?”
“She asked me to be back up.”
“Did she,” I murmur, taking note that she isn’t above asking for help when she feels she needs it. Good to know. “Why
you?”
He shrugs. “What can I say, we hit it off.”
“Hmm.” I lean against the wall. “David Grenville, that slimy bastard, is getting bolder by the day.”
“Yep.”
“Details, Tarq,” I demand, my tone sharp as broken glass. “Now.”
“His guys were waiting for her—armed to the teeth,” Tarquin continues, his jaw clenching. “We walked right into it. If I
hadn’t been there, she would probably have been killed. Not that she didn’t kick ass, but we were outnumbered, which is a
kind way of putting it.”
“Fuck,” I growl and slam my fist into the wall. “Dammit, Tarq. Why didn’t you warn us?”
“She didn’t want anyone else there or to know.” He shrugs again, pissing me off.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” he assures me quickly, but his darkened expression tells me it was too close for comfort. “She fought like hell.
But we took them down, James. Left more than a few of Grenville’s men bleeding out on that cold stone floor. But Grenville
had some mercenary in. Hardened. Tough as shit. He’s playing dirty, which tells me he’s fucking shit scared of her.”
“How did you leave him?”
“Who the giant asshole or Grenville?”
“Both,” I snap, irritated.
“The giant asshole got a knife in the side courtesy of Eliza, and she also took out Grenville but didn’t kill him. He will be
back looking for serious revenge.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. “We need to tighten up. She’s unpredictable, and that shit won’t fly—not
with the enemies we’ve got circling.”
“Agreed,” Tarquin says, his eyes narrowing. “We can’t afford any loose ends. Not with Eliza in the line of fire.”
“Fuck Damon’s request to stay out of her business. She won’t have any business if she keeps being targeted by unfair play.”
“That’s some heavy fire you’re playing with.”
“You don’t agree?”
 “Oh, I agree, I’m just saying it out loud so we can both hear how fucking screwed we are if Hughes finds out.”
Snorting in agreement, I shake my head. “Yeah, well, shit happens. Pivot and adapt, right?”
“Right.” Tarquin’s firm nod is the last thing I see before he disappears up the stairs. The sound of his determined stride
fades, and I’m left with the weight of tonight’s revelations.
David Grenville is becoming a thorn in her side. But he’s gone too far this time and needs to be dealt with permanently.
My mind races through options and scenarios where we could take him out without causing an all-out war. It’s got to be
clean, untraceable, a ghost strike that leaves everyone whispering our names with fear-laced respect. We don’t just need to kill
Grenville; we need to send a message that anyone coming after Eliza—or any of us—is signing their own death warrant.
If there’s one thing I know about planning a hit, the element of surprise turns the tide. This is my legacy, my family’s
offering to the criminal underworld. Both my parents are high-level assassins. You don’t see them coming. I’ve been trained for
this my whole life, and this is where I shine. Cold. Calculated. Lethal.
“Timing.” Turning over the details like cards in a game of blackjack, I crack my knuckles in a habit that I can’t shake.
David Grenville needs to feel safe and complacent—like he’s dodged the bullet. We wait, let the tension simmer, then hit when
he’s drunk on false security.
Striding into the living room, the time nearing 2 AM, I pause by the window. “Location.” It’s got to be public enough to
make an impact yet isolated enough, so our hands stay clean—a gala, a club, hell, even his own goddamn house surrounded by
his idiot acolytes.
“Message.” It’s not just about killing Grenville; it’s about what his death screams to the world. Fear us. Respect us. Cross
Eliza, and you’re crossing the reaper himself.
This is chess, not checkers. We play the long game, strike with precision or not at all. David won’t see it coming, not if we
weave our web right.
Adrenaline buzzes under my skin like electricity, urging me on to find Raph to talk this through. This kind of mission
arouses me beyond the usual scope. My cock is raging at the thought of swiping out a life without anyone knowing it was me.
Heading up the stairs to the top floor, I knock on his door softly. “Raph? You up?” I know he probably will be. He isn’t a
big sleeper like the rest of us. It’s a liability.
“Yeah.”
Pushing open the door, I enter and close it behind me. He’s sprawled across the bed, shirtless, a book forgotten as he stares
at the ceiling.
“What couldn’t wait until later?”
“Eliza and that prick, Grenville.” I don’t bother with pleasantries. There’s no time for that.
“Oh?”
“He set up a trap for her tonight. Tarquin was with her, and they got out alive, but the way I hear it, it was close.”
“Shit,” Raph mutters, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “That was dumb.”
“Of whom?” I frown at him.
“Grenville, who the fuck did you think I meant? Eliza? Tarq?”
“Maybe.”
He smirks. “You think I don’t know they left together? When will you learn that a fly can’t shit around here without me
knowing about it.”
“Noted,” I murmur. “But the question remains, why didn’t you or any of us know about this ambush?”
“A good fucking question that needs a good fucking answer. And if no one can give it to me, I’ll start killing people until I
get one. Sound like a plan?”
“Always, and while you are in the bloodthirsty mood, I’ve been thinking—we hit back hard. But we wait, let the dust settle
first. Make David think he’s got the upper hand, then bam!” I slam my fist into my palm, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
“Fuck yeah,” Raph stands, the muscle in his jaw working as he processes the plan.
“Despite Damon’s warning, we can’t have him screwing around, throwing off her game, or anyone for that matter.”
“Agreed. So, how do we send the message?” Raph asks all business now. “I know you have a plan in that deviant little
brain of yours.”
“His death has to speak volumes. Fear. Respect. A warning to anyone else who gets ideas.”
“We’ll brief Tarquin and Oliver later. Keep it tight for now. We don’t even tell Eliza in case she goes to her dad.”
“Agreed. She’s in early tomorrow.”
“Perfect.”
My mind’s already racing, strategizing the next steps. It’s like moving chess pieces across a board soaked in blood and
power, and for David Grenville, the countdown begins.
 13

ELIZA

I WAKE UP WITH A START , my breath hitching as I fumble for the phone on the nightstand. The screen blazes to life with a text
that shouldn’t be there. A number I don’t recognise, words that set off alarm bells in my head: “Trust no one.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “This asshole again?” I flop back to the bed and lift my phone above me
to see what time it is. “Shit!”
It’s later than I’d have liked. I’ve got an early class, and after four hours of sleep, I have to get moving.
Rolling off the bed, I wince from the cut on my side. It’s nothing a sticky bandage from my handy first aid box won’t fix, but
it will slow me down for a few days. Checking the bandage anyway to make sure it’s not bleeding, I shrug when it appears to
be clean.
I stretch my naked body as I pass the mirror to the bathroom. The tattoo on my back, a skull and rose entwined, is a symbol
of what I am. Beauty and death wrapped in one package.
It’s the same as my dad’s. He has his on his left hand. I went bigger, bolder, a definitive sign that I’m his daughter and
anyone who crosses me will wish they hadn’t.
Stepping into the shower and turning it on, steam curls around me, a warm caress against my skin. Droplets of water hit the
tiles, the rhythm a soothing counterpoint to the chaos that awaits me beyond these walls. My fingers trace paths over my
shoulders and down my arms, slick and smooth with soap. I tilt my head back, letting the cascade erase the remnants of sleep,
sharpening my senses like steel honed to a fine edge.
The water washes away all hesitation, leaving only the certainty that I am a force to be reckoned with. It’s my place.
A few minutes later, I shut off the water, stepping out onto the plush bath mat. I wrap a towel around my body and cross
over to the wardrobe to pull some clothes out. Nothing fancy, all practical. Tight blue jeans, a tight white tee and my boots. I
throw on my black leather jacket to complete the look and slip Flick into the holster at my back, attached to my belt.
I descend the stairs, the scent of strong coffee drawing me toward the kitchen. As I enter, the conversation halts. Raphael’s
jaw is set, his eyes hooded; Tarquin leans back in his chair, a frown creasing his forehead; James rubs the back of his neck, and
Oliver has his gaze fixed on some point beyond the room.
“Morning,” I say, despite the chilly atmosphere. “Interrupting something?”
The guys exchange looks, their guarded expressions telling me more than words could. Something’s up, something big. I
cross to the coffee maker, pouring myself a cup and then tipping it into a travel mug. The black liquid is bitter and strong—just
the jolt I need.
“Course not,” Raphael says, his voice dark and foreboding and not convincing me in the slightest.
“Hmm, well, if you want to have secret meetings, go find somewhere secret to hold them. I won’t hide in my room all day,
and I’m not walking around on eggshells in my own home.”
Tarquin stifles his snicker. “It’s not a secret meeting.”
“Then continue.”
Tarquin’s gaze finds mine across the room, and something unspoken zips between us. His eyes are a stormy sea, churning
with a longing swirling with questions he can’t voice out loud. I hold his stare, letting the connection simmer.
My smile unfurls slow and deliberate, like a secret being whispered through the shadows. Tarq’s gaze burns into me,
smouldering with that raw edge of desire that sets my blood on fire. His uncertainty of where we stand after our rampant fuck
last night is a live wire between us, sending sparks shooting in the charged space. I let my eyes twinkle with mischief, a silent
challenge I know he reads loud and clear.
“Something you’d like to share, Eliza?” Raphael’s voice cuts through the tension, but I don’t break my gaze with Tarq.
 “Nope.” I break my gaze away from Tarquin and turn away from them all, sipping my coffee to hide my smile.
Picking up my bag from the table near the front door, I slip out into the growing chill of the autumn morning. We will
probably have one last burst of warmth before the cooler weather sets in. The campus is quiet, holding its breath like it knows
shit’s about to go down. I pull my jacket tighter around me, the leather feeling like a second skin.
Footsteps echo behind me – quick, deliberate.
“Eliza!”
“Talk while we walk,” I murmur as Tarquin catches up to me.
“We’re not keeping secrets,” he says, eyeing me warily.
I shrug. “Don’t care if you are or aren’t. Just do as I ask and move your meetings elsewhere.”
“I’m glad you think of the Manor as your home.”
Sighing, I stop and turn to face him. “What is this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you out here trying to placate me like we’re dating, and I walked in on you about to get a blowie from the campus
bike?”
He snickers loudly, his eyes lighting up. “Not my style, petal. When I’m in, I’m in.”
“And what exactly are you in, Tarquin?” I take a sip of coffee while I wait for him to sort out his thoughts.
“You tell me.”
“Can’t do that. I like sex. I love it. We don’t need to be dating to bang, if that’s what you’re worried about. We can do that
again soon. It was hot as fuck. But let’s keep it casual, hmm?” I punch him on his shoulder to make my point.
To my dismay, his face falls. “Casual.”
“You don’t like casual?”
“Not when it comes to you.”
Without letting me respond, he stalks off back to the house, his back stiff, and fuck him, but now I feel bad.
How dare he make me feel guilty for not wanting to take things further?
Pissed off, I hunch my shoulders and march off to class under a thundercloud and everyone would be wise to stay the fuck
out of my way or else.
 14

RAPHAEL

I SNEER as Tarquin strides back into the kitchen. His hair’s a mess, cheeks flushed with more than just the sprint after Eliza. I’m
convinced they had sex last night, either before or after their little ambush party, but I won’t ask, and he’s not talking. He’s
fallen for her like a chump. Sighing, as I know this is true about me as well, I am at least trying to keep my distance from her.
“Are you done now, Tarq? We’ve got bigger problems. David Grenville. That bastard’s still breathing, and we can’t afford
to fuck around.”
Tarquin straightens up all business. He knows when it’s time to stop playing.
I push off the counter, my muscles tense, ready for action. “This isn’t just about us; it’s about keeping Eliza safe. She might
act tough, but she’s in the crosshairs because of this power game we’re playing at Castle University.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“James has a strategy. But it means being smart, not just fast and furious.” I grab a knife from the block, flipping it in my
hand, feeling its balance. “We do this clean. No loose ends. We want the entire underworld to know what happens when you
come at The Kings, or worse, their soon-to-be Queen.”
Tarquin’s gaze shoots to mine as he hears my words.
Yeah, I said them because fuck. Who am I kidding? Eliza will be Queen here. We all know the Queen overrules the King in
the only game worth playing. But make no mistake that she will be ours.
Oliver’s brow creases as he leans over the table. “David’s got to go, and soon. He’s a serious pain in the ass.”
James nods, fingers drum, the sound sharp and urgent. “We need to strike hard but clean. David’s a fucking leech, sucking
on our territory, threatening us and her.” He leans on the counter. “We need more intel on David,” he says quietly. “Movements,
routines, patterns. We can’t rush this.”
“Playing it slow isn’t my style,” Tarquin interjects, the muscle in his jaw twitching with impatience. He pushes away from
the wall, fists resting on the table as he leans forward. “We should hit him now, hard and fast. Take him out before he even
knows what’s coming. It’ll send a clear message—mess with The Kings, you get the axe. He wasn’t fucking about last night.”
“Yeah, which begs the question, why didn’t you fill us in on it?” Oliver asks, giving Tarquin a filthy glare.
“She didn’t want me to.”
“And?”
“And that’s it.”
“You’re fucking whipped,” Ollie mutters. “You never keep stuff from the rest of us. We could’ve ended this last night.”
“Yeah, we could’ve, and then Eliza would be seen as a little princess who needs help. She had backup. She had me. That
was enough for now.”
“Only now, David will be gunning for her.”
“And instead, he will find us.” I interrupt. “This isn’t a spat. David crossed a line, trying to take her out. He changed the
rules, and that isn’t going to fly on my watch.”
“Exactly,” James says. “This isn’t about being the biggest badass on the block—it’s about strategy.”
“Strategy, my ass,” Tarquin shoots back, fire blazing in his eyes. “It’s about survival.”
“Why can’t it be both?” I ask, dying to ask him if he is letting his personal feelings get in the way, but until he spills the sex
beans, I won’t give him the satisfaction. Asshole.
Tarquin scowls at me, but he can’t argue with the truth. James has kept us alive this long, plotting moves like a grandmaster,
always ten steps ahead. We didn’t get to where we are by acting on impulse.
“Fine,” Tarquin concedes through gritted teeth, his eyes still holding that reckless fire. He slams a fist down onto the table.
“But if anything happens to Eliza⁠—“
“Nothing’s going to happen to her,” I cut him off, glaring hard enough to drill holes into his head. “That’s the whole reason
we are here. We do it right. End of story.”
I turn to the rest of the room, catching Oliver’s nod and James’ steady gaze. They know the score, the same as me. We’re in
deep waters, and there’s sharks circling. One wrong move, and it’s her blood in the water.
“Preparation. Coordination.” My voice is low, commanding attention. “We need eyes everywhere. We track David’s
patterns, set up surveillance, and cover every possible angle. When we strike, it’s silent, it’s deadly, and it sends a message.”
“Exactly,” James backs me up. “Gather whatever you can. We leave nothing to chance.”
“Let’s get to work.” I look at each man in turn. This isn’t just about power; it’s personal. And heaven help the man who
tries to take our Queen from her Kings.
“Protect Eliza. Protect The Kings. That’s the mission,” I state, feeling the weight of the crown we all wear. It’s heavy,
soaked in blood and secrets, but it’s ours, and nobody, especially not some little punk like David Grenville, is going to tear it
from our heads.
“James, this is all on you. We will do what we can, but in the end, it’s your job.”
“No problem with that.”
I lean back against the counter and close my eyes for a second, forcing my mind to focus. Eliza’s face flashes in my mind—
those striking green eyes, her cherry red lips, her pussy clenching around my cock.
Opening my eyes as I dismiss the meeting, I watch them leave, the door clicking shut behind Oliver. Alone now, my mind
races, jumping from the logistics of the assassination to Eliza’s face, those eyes that see right through me. She knows I’m toying
with her, but I wonder if she knows why.
“Fuck,” I mutter. This game is dangerous, deadly even. But it’s the life we were born into, the life we’re damn good at.
There isn’t an option to back out, even if we wanted to.
I walk over to the window, gaze fixed on our territory.
The stakes are high. One slip, one miscalculation, and it could all come crashing down on us. I can’t afford to be distracted
by how her hair spills across her shoulders or how her lips part slightly when plotting her next move.
We do this, and it opens up the floodgates for anyone who has any beef with us to strike back. The skill in it has to be
power. Control. Fear. I won’t accept any less.
 15

ELIZA

ALLIANCES , power plays—this campus might as well be a battlefield, and I am no stranger to war as I pace the secluded
courtyard where I’m pretty sure Tarquin and I got it on last night.
I can almost feel the weight of the tattoo on my back. A permanent reminder of the legacy I’m bound to uphold. I’ve always
known that in the tangled web of mafia ties, it’s not just about who you know—it’s about who would bleed for you and vice-
versa.
My eyes catch movement across the quad through the gap in the hedges. Tarquin leans against an oak tree, his arms crossed
over his chest, every inch the image of casual power. I know it’s him, even without being close enough to see he doesn’t have
the scar under his eye. He is identical to his twin in every other way, and I mean every other way. But I could single them out,
no problem. Raphael is a leader. He is stiffer, silent and foreboding. While I wouldn’t mess with Tarquin on a good day, he is a
bit less menacing to those who look close enough.
Guess I’m looking close enough.
His gaze glides over in my direction, and I duck back behind the hedges. I need to figure this shit out first without worrying
about Tarq and his delicate emotions. It’s not that I don’t fancy him. It’s an attraction that’s undeniable, magnetic, but getting
involved makes his shit mine and my shit his. Are we ready for that? Every part of me screams, no.
I know alliances are currency here—strong ones, the kind that can turn the tide of any silent war waged in hushed tones and
lingering glances. I’ve seen enough in my life to understand that power isn’t just inherited; it’s secured with bonds forged in
fire and, above all, loyalty.
Last night’s events flash through my mind; Tarquin’s presence was a fortress, his support not given lightly. I recall the way
his eyes had met mine, fierce and unwavering, as if silently vowing to stand between me and the chaos. That wasn’t just muscle
talking; that was strategy. He knew the game we were playing.
A thrill zips through me at the memory, an electric current of both danger and desire. It’s one thing to have someone watch
your back in a brawl, quite another when that person is Tarquin, whose mere presence commands respect... and other, more
primal urges.
I need to keep my head in the game. With Tarquin and the other guys, The Kings, I could weave a web so formidable that
even my father would be proud. My path is clear. Allies are necessary, and I intend to secure them with every resource at my
disposal.
“Playtime’s over,” I whisper, feeling the adrenaline surge. I know what I need to do.
We need a meeting. They have to know what’s at stake.
But then, doubt creeps in like a shadow at dusk, catching me off guard as it whispers sweet insecurities. Am I
overstepping? What if this is not what they want or had in mind when I started here?
I clench my jaw tight enough to ache, pushing the doubt aside. This has to happen. Alone, I’m formidable; with them, I’m
untouchable. Dad knew what he was doing when he placed me here, among these Kings.
My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, but my gaze is steel as I halt my pacing.
Sitting on the stone bench in the corner of the courtyard, the sun-warmed stone pleasant under my ass as my back presses
against the wall. It’s a tactical position that allows no surprises.
“Kings,” I murmur, the word tasting of destiny and power. They own it, command it, and yet here I am, poised to claim my
crown beside theirs. This isn’t about ego; it’s survival, it’s ascendancy—it’s the game my bloodline has played for generations.
Dad didn’t raise a pawn; he raised a queen, one who knows when to yield and when to conquer.
This is the move that can either forge us into legends or fracture everything in its wake. But hesitation is a luxury I can’t
afford.
Not now. Not with the likes of David Grenville on my ass.
The breeze picks up, leaves swirling in eddies around my feet.
Feeling eyes on me, I scan my surroundings but come up empty. I frown, keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead now. I’ve
lived my life in a world where every glance holds a threat, every whisper is a possible betrayal. If someone’s got the balls to
spy on me, they better be ready for the hell that’s about to rain down.
“Your move,” I whisper, my words a taunt thrown into the open. I’m ready for whatever comes next because I don’t break
—I forge.
 16

OLIVER

CASTING A GLANCE AT TARQUIN , who has been on Eliza watching duty for the last hour, I give him a quick nod. He responds by
sticking his middle finger up at me with that irritating smirk that sometimes amuses me, but mostly it pisses me off. Arrogant
fuck.
Taking his place by the tree, I adjust my angle but can’t see her. So, the only thing left for me to do is move.
And while I’m at it, I might as well just go to her.
Approaching the courtyard, I spot her sitting on a stone bench, her back glued to the wall like she expects all hell to break
loose any second.
Smart. Tactical advantage.
Her eyes, those sharp emerald daggers, slice through the quiet of the courtyard. She’s a vision, but every inch the predator
—poised, ready to spring.
Fuck. She’s beautiful.
I slip into the open, silent as death. I’ve mastered this dance, moving unseen, unheard. It’s part of the game, part of the life.
Her shoulders hitch, tense as a drawn bowstring, then ease down as I step into her line of sight.
“Oliver.” Her voice steady but her eyes betraying the spike of adrenaline that just shot through her. “You should know
better than to sneak up on a tigress.”
“Tigress,” I snort. “Is that how you see yourself?”
She laughs, not easily offended. “Why the fuck not?”
“Mind if I sit?”
She shrugs and slides over. “I don’t own it. Yet.”
“Yet,” I affirm, and she gives me a dazzling smile as I drop onto the bench beside her, our thighs almost touching.
Her gaze lingers on mine, a sharpness that cuts through the shadows of the courtyard.
“You look like trouble’s brewing. Either that or you’re looking for it.”
Her laughter is low and husky, a sound that twitches at my nerves, coiling tight in my gut and sends my dick standing to
attention.
“Me? Trouble? You’re the one sneaking up on people in secluded courtyards.”
“Part of the charm,” I joke, my words threading with an edge of darkness befitting our twisted world. “And you, princess of
the Hughes empire, you’re out here alone because...?”
“Sometimes the queen needs to scout her own battlements.” Her eyes never leave mine, challenging, unblinking.
“Scouting, hmm? Need backup?”
“From you?” She tilts her chin up, though there’s a flicker of something in her eyes that suggests she might say yes. “Only if
you promise to behave.”
“That’s a tough promise to keep.” My laugh is a dark note that echoes off the stone around us. “Plus, it’s not in the job
description.”
She smirks, a dangerous glint in those emerald eyes. “Good thing I never abide by descriptions—job or otherwise.”
“Is that right?” I challenge, the corner of my mouth hitching up. The air between us is electric, every verbal jab we trade
tethering us tighter together.
“Absolutely. I make my own rules, Ollie.”
“Then let’s break some,” I murmur, close enough now that her breath mingles with mine.
“Easy, tiger.” She pokes a finger against my chest, but her touch lingers, tracing the lines of my muscles. “Don’t start a game
you can’t finish.”
“Who says I can’t finish?” I capture her wandering hand, pressing it against my heart, which beats a fierce rhythm beneath
her palm. “I play for keeps.”
Her laugh comes out throaty, and she doesn’t pull away. “In this twisted chess game, I’m always two moves ahead.”
“Then it’s a good thing I excel at improvisation.” Words are our weapons, and we wield them skilfully, each phrase a
stroke that paints desire in vivid strokes across the dark canvas of our world.
“Improvise this,” she fires back, her gaze dropping down to my mouth and lingering for a moment too long, a challenge
etched in every curve of her lips.
“Careful, Eliza.” My voice drops lower as the arousal kicks in. “Keep tempting me, and you might just get what you’re
asking for.”
“Promises promises,” she teases, her body language open, inviting conflict and craving its resolution all at once.
With a slow smile, I lean back, my arm stretching along the back of the low wall. I catch myself staring at her profile,
silhouetted against the light, and something in me shifts—something vulnerable.
“You’re staring at me like you want to kiss me. You going soft, Ollie, or were you always?” she says without looking at me,
her voice low and husky.
“Soft’s not a word in my vocabulary,” I retort, but the edge to my words is missing. “But I’ll admit, there’s something about
you that gets under my skin.”
“Is that right?” She turns her head, her piercing green eyes searching, always searching. “You’re not the only one with that
feeling.”
“Guess we’re both screwed, then.” The corner of my mouth ticks up despite the tightening in my chest. I’ve never let
anyone this close, but Eliza’s like a siren, pulling me into waters I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding.
“Or maybe just getting started.” Her gaze doesn’t waver, and it’s like she sees right through the façade, to the core of who I
am—or who I could be with her.
“Growing up in the finance sector of our world, it’s cutthroat. You learn to count cards very young; it’s the first test to play
the man, not the game.” I pause, gauging her reaction as I divulge pieces of a past I seldom acknowledge. “My old man is a
shark—cold, calculating. He didn’t raise a son; he crafted a weapon.”
“Sounds familiar,” she murmurs, shifting slightly to face me more directly.
“And lonely, but that loneliness was a small price to pay for survival. You don’t show weakness—not unless you want to
be devoured.”
“Yet here you are, talking to me.” There’s no judgment in her tone, just an undeniable thread of understanding that links her
story to mine.
“Yep. We are one and the same, Eliza. Everyone here could say the same, but the four families… we are different. Crafted
by the finest and born to raise hell.”
This is more than I’ve told anyone before, even if it might be obvious, the words coming out of my mouth are a novelty that
is fast wearing off. It’s a risk, a crack in my shield, but with Eliza, it feels like the gamble might just pay off.
“Scars make for better stories anyway,” she says, her own admission mingling with mine. She inches closer, her thigh
brushes against mine, sending a jolt of awareness through me. “In my family, you learn to read the room before you can walk.”
“Useful skill,” I murmur, feeling the heat from her skin bleed into mine.
“Essential,” she agrees.
The scent of her perfume, something floral with a hint of danger, wraps around me. I want more; I want to drown in it.
Her gaze never wavers, fierce and unapologetic. “You know, Oliver, most men would be terrified by now.”
“Terrified?” She has piqued my curiosity. “Of what?”
“Of the fact that I can play the game just as well as they can,” she states, her confidence as alluring as it is absolute.
“Not untrue. Good thing I’m not most men.” My hand finds its way to her face, fingers trembling slightly with the intensity
of the moment. Her skin is warm under my touch, softer than I imagined.
“Very good thing,” she whispers.
My thumb traces along her jawline, making her pulse quicken. The tension between us is a live wire, sparking and hissing
with the promise of something more.
She bridges the gap between us in a swift, fluid motion that speaks volumes of her upbringing in a world where hesitation
can cost you everything. Her lips crash onto mine, fierce and demanding, a storm of passion that leaves me reeling in its wake.
Her boldness catches me off guard; it’s like getting hit with a bullet I never saw coming—a sweet, searing impact that
ignites every nerve in my body. The kiss is a clash of power and vulnerability, her assertiveness battling the surprise that
renders me momentarily defenceless.
Fuck, she kisses like she leads—relentless and passionate.
Time dissolves around us, each second stretching into infinity as we lose ourselves in the raw intensity of our connection.
The feel of her curves pressed against me sends a surge of desire coursing straight to my cock, hot and potent.
 Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me closer as if distance is now the enemy. We’re a mess of limbs and shared breaths,
our bodies locked together tightly as if neither of us wants to let go.
“Eliza,” I groan against her mouth. Our desires twist and coil, two flames merging into an inferno.
She pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, her own alight with fire. “Oliver,” she pants lightly, and the sound is a key
turning in a lock I didn’t know existed. There’s no going back from this—not that I’d want to.
The need to breathe forces us apart, chests heaving, the cool autumn air a jolt to our overheated skin. I’m not ready to let
her go, but reality crashes back with the lingering threat that shadows our lives. Mafia blood runs through our veins—a
constant reminder that every stolen moment is a treasure in our dangerous world.
“Careful, love,” I murmur, my thumb brushing her slightly parted lips, swollen from our kiss. “We’re playing with fire
here.”
Her soft laugh dances through the tension. “Isn’t that what we do best?” There’s a challenge in her tone, the same daring
that defines her every move in the treacherous game we call life.
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Something tells me you’re going to be the death of me, Eliza Hughes.”
“Only if you’re lucky,” she teases, her boldness a reflection of the power she wields, even seated here beside me.
Reluctantly, we disentangle from each other, the absence of her warmth immediate and protesting. But the promise lingers,
an invisible thread tethering us together, defying the chaos of our world.
“Until next time,” she says, standing gracefully, the queen of her domain rising from her throne.
“Next time,” I confirm, rising with her as she indicates with a tilt of her head that I should follow.
 17

ELIZA

OLIVER and I reach the heavy front door of the manor, and I push it open; the familiar scent of old wood and secrets welcomes
us home.
My lips are swollen from Ollie’s kiss and it just makes it even more fun as I stride into the living room and be faced with
Raphael, Tarquin, and James. They’re lounging around, each occupied by their own thing.
They look up, their faces shifting like they’re trying to read the end of a story from its middle.
“Boys,” I start, my voice slicing through their hushed tones, “I’ve got something to say.”
Raphael straightens in his chair, Tarquin’s lips twitch into a half-smile, and James tilts his head, eyes narrowing. Oliver
stands close, as if he can’t bear to pull away. The kiss was that good, and the fact that it ended there was something akin to a
miracle.
“Here’s the deal,” I say, looking at each of them. “I need your guns, your guts, and, most importantly, your loyalty. We form
an ironclad alliance—not just for my sake, but for the survival and triumph of us all.”
Their expressions are a mixed deck—curiosity, interest, and desire. But beneath it all, I see the beginning flickers of unity
that could ignite into a blaze.
Raphael’s eyebrow arches as our gazes collide. It’s the first time he has really looked at me since I got here. He leans back,
arms crossing over his chest in a clear challenge.
“Eliza,” he drawls, voice smooth as silk but with an edge that could cut glass. “Why the sudden desire to align? Why
should The Kings bind themselves to you?”
“Raphael,” I say, my tone even, “it’s not about whims. It’s about survival. The strength we have individually is formidable,
but together?” I pause for a fraction, letting the words sink in. “Together, we become a force no one can reckon with. We create
a legacy that will outlive us all.”
His blue eyes hold mine, searching, probing for any sign of weakness. But I give him nothing but the raw truth.
“Think about it. We’ve got the muscle, the brains, and the guts to truly rule Castle. United, we wipe out threats before they
even dare to surface. We take down anyone who stands against us. No more scrambling in the shadows. We claim the throne
that’s rightfully ours.”
Silence stretches between us, but I sense the intrigue.
A chuckle slices through the tension, making me feel like I’ve missed the joke as Tarquin leans forward, his azure gaze
flicking over me with a heat that could scorch. “Eliza,” he drawls, mischief dancing in his eyes, “you’re not just trying to keep
us close for strategy’s sake, are you? Seems like you might have other plans for having all of The Kings wrapped around your
little finger.”
The laughter is easy on his lips, and despite the weight of the moment, the corners of my mouth twitch upwards.
“Tarquin,” I shoot back, deflecting with a tease, “you wish.” But his flirtation serves as a reminder - beneath our rough
edges and dangerous liaisons, there’s an undercurrent of something more, something that binds us beyond power plays.
Before the banter can spiral away from my rather ham-fisted proposal, James’s voice, a low timbre that commands its own
sort of attention, cuts in. “You’ve thought this over?”
“Yes,” I say, meeting his solid gaze. “It’s about carving out a kingdom where each of us can thrive. Not just survive, but
reign supreme. You all know who I am and what is expected of me. None of you know that I will do anything to live up to that
expectation and surpass it so that I’m me and not my father’s daughter. But I can’t do that alone, and I sure as shit can’t do that
with little pricks like David Grenville buzzing around my head like a fucking irritating gnat.”
The idea hangs heavy in the air, potent and promising. The game is changing, and with these men by my side, I’m ready.
 Oliver steps closer, and the light catches the steely edge in his eyes. “I’ve watched you manoeuvre through every obstacle
thrown your way,” he starts, his voice a low rumble that resonates with conviction. “You don’t just step up; you’re always ten
paces ahead. That’s why this alliance will be our ace.”
A smirk lifts the corner of my mouth as I watch him, feeling the weight of his gaze like the kiss we shared earlier.
The room’s energy shifts then, charged with contemplation. The heavy silence isn’t uncomfortable—it’s expectant, like the
moment before a lightning strike. Raphael, the only one whose opinion can sway this in my favour or leave me out in the cold,
leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on me. He nods once, decisively. “You lead, we follow. If I’m in,
I’m all fucking in.”
My gaze lingers on his before drifting over to Tarquin. “Now, where have I heard that before?”
Tarquin’s lips curl into a grin, which I return.
James stands, the quiet strength in his posture impossible to ignore. “We’ve got your back, Eliza,” he says, and there’s an
edge to his voice, a steel undertone. It’s loyalty—the kind that’s been forged in fire and won’t easily break.
But it raises the question of why so quickly. Again, I feel like I’ve walked into the middle of something and haven’t fully
caught up yet.
“Then it’s settled,” I say, locking eyes with each of them. “From now on, we move as one. Unstoppable.”
Raphael takes out his blade as he rises, its silver edge flashing ominously, and without hesitation, he grabs a white
porcelain, ornamental bowl from the side table. He places it on the coffee table and then cuts across his palm with his knife.
The crimson bead of blood drips down, staining the immaculate porcelain.
“Blood for blood,” he murmurs.
Tarquin rises and draws his own knife, repeating Raphael’s actions. “Blood for blood,” he echoes.
James, his eyes never leaving mine as he repeats the mantra, cuts his palm with a very slender stiletto that makes my mouth
water. “Blood for blood,” he murmurs.
Oliver smiles, slicing his skin without flinching, and adds his blood to the mix. “Blood for blood.”
As I slowly pull out Felicity, I steadily hold my hand over the bowl. Slicing a deep wound over my left palm, my nipples
peak, and my pussy goes damp. The pain is sharp, a reminder of what’s at stake. “Blood for blood,” I whisper, letting my blood
fall, mingling with theirs. With these men by my side, the reign of Castle has only just begun.
“Queen of Castle,” Raphael says, that deep gaze searching mine.
“Queen of Castle,” the others murmur.
“Time to reign,” I whisper, the taste of iron in my mouth as I press my bleeding palm to my lips, sealing the oath with a
kiss.
 18

ELIZA

“S HIT HITS different when it comes from your own blood,” I mutter, squinting at the glow of my phone screen in the gloomy
light of my bedroom. The message is cryptic, a string of numbers and letters that would appear nonsensical to anyone who
hasn’t been raised by my dad. But to me, it’s clear as day—Dad’s roping me into some dangerous game, and this time, it’s
against the Scotts, one of our many rivals.
Closing my eyes, I try to think if there is anyone here at Castle from this family. The name doesn’t ring a bell for next gen
counterparts. I don’t know whether that’s good or bad.
“Eliza, you up?” Raphael’s voice is soft on the other side of the door, but no less deadly.
Part of me wants to stay quiet, but in the end, I murmur, “Yeah.”
He pushes the door open but doesn’t enter, instead lingering in the doorway like a fart in a thunderstorm. His hand is
wrapped tight in a thin strip of bandage as he crosses his arms over his chest and gives me an intense stare in the late-night
darkness, lit by the hallway light behind him.
“I do remember,” he says eventually.
“Remember what?” I mean, fuck you, asshole. Two can play at this game.
He snickers. “Don’t be coy, it doesn’t suit you.”
“You’re gonna need to lay some details on me,” I reply, being a stubborn bitch because he deserves it.
He moves into the room and closes the door, plunging us back into darkness.
“Too shy to speak to my face?”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Maybe. A man doesn’t forget a pussy like yours wrapped around his cock, sweetheart.”
“Then why pretend?”
“To torment you. I think I did that, but then you surprised us by coming to us so soon with your alliance plan.”
“You mean you expected it?”
“Eventually. It’s kind of a given, seeing as who we are and you are here.”
“Hmm.”
“It showed guts and brains, Eliza. I’m impressed. I figured you’d try to battle on by yourself, getting deeper into shit we’d
have to pull you out of.”
Mouth agape, I glare at him in the darkness. “Tarquin did not pull me out of any shit. I had that handled. If anything, I saved
his ass.”
“Yeah, you just dragged him into it. You should come to all of us.”
“That’s not how this works. You know that as well as I do.”
“Maybe. But this alliance has changed things now.”
“Yeah.”
The silence is deafening as neither of us is willing to move forward with this conversation. What do we talk about? The
sex? Or the alliance? Or my dad’s text? It’s a minefield.
“Got something hot.” I decide to go with Dad’s text. It’s easier. “Dad has sent me a mission. He wants me to infiltrate Ryan
Scott’s HQ and grab some docs. And before you ask why the hell he wants me to do this, I’ve zero clue. Another test, I guess.”
“Scott? That’s heavy lifting,” he murmurs, coming closer and bending to flick the bedside lamp on. “But we’ve got this.
Whatever shit they throw at us, we’ve seen worse.”
“We?” I raise an eyebrow.
He smirks. “We.”
Another random document with
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 Lahden poukamassa oli niitty, ja sen laidassa näkyi nyt jo
liikehtimistä. Punaiset eivät aavistaneet mitään lähellä piilevästä
vaarasta. Sankka parvi läheni jäätä pitkin. Piippuaan poltteleva
luutnantti kirosi tyytyväisenä.

Laukaus kajahti. Nyt se alkoi! Korvat menivät lumpeeseen ja kädet

hieman vapisivat. Ne olivat sittenkin suomalaisia, omia kansalaisia.
Ah, miten ne kaatuivat, kuin heinä. Kuului huutoa ja kirouksia.
Ehkäpä siellä oli sittenkin ryssiä. Tuomaan käsi varmeni ja silmä etsi
tähtäintä.

Kiväärituli vaikeni. Konekivääri rätisi vielä hetkisen.

— Ketjuun, eteenpäin mars!

Ruumis oli kuin kone, joka totteli vieterin painallusta. Yli

paikoitellen kiiltelevän jään, jossa makasi ruumiita siellä täällä kuolon
kamppailussa korahdellen. Muutamaan takertui Tuomaan jalka, joku
kuului kiroavan. Ranta läheni.

Metsästä avattiin tuli, ja Tuomas näki, miten joku hänen vierellään

horjahti, juoksi vielä muutaman askeleen ja jäi jäljelle. Kuolikohan?
Ei joutanut katsomaan. Ylös metsään. Jäi toinen, kolmas. Ihme, ettei
kuulunut heidän huuliltaan valitusta. Missähän oli Lauri? Tuossa
huohotti hänen vierellään, ja kivääriä pitävä käsi oli veressä. Ei
saanut lähestyä toisiaan. Ylös, ylös harjulle, josta satoi kuin rakeita.

Tuli taukosi. Punikit jättivät asemansa ja pakenivat.

*****

Miehet makasivat lumessa ja polttelivat paperossejaan. Tuomas

oli sytyttänyt piippunsa. Aamu alkoi jo sarastaa.
 Tällaistako se on siis sota? Pari, kolme oli vain kaatunut ja
muutamia haavoittunut. Lauri oli sitonut haavan kädessään
nenäliinallaan. Kaatuneita tuotiin paareilla ja sijoitettiin rekeen. Yksi
oli niissä saman pitäjän mies. Edellisenä päivänä oli rintamalle
tullessa pelannut vaunussa ja vakuuttanut punikkeja kylvettävänsä.
Lieneekö yksikään hänen kuulistaan sattunut? Torpan mies ja ainoa
poika.

Tällaistako oli sota? Eikö tämä ollut veljessotaa?

Ajatus välähti kotvan, viivähti kaatuneitten luona, kysyi milloin uusi

taistelu alkanee ja viivähti taas kotona.

*****

Lähetit lennähtelivät ratsuillaan. Odotettiin uutta taistelua. Miehet

makasivat lumihaudoissa märkinä ja nälkäisinä. Väsymys haihtui
ajatellessa, että ryssä ja punikit… rauhallisten kotien hävitys…
vallananastus… punarosvot… etelän avuksi…

Rintama oli pitkä ja yhtäjaksoinen. Päälliköt jakelivat määräyksiä.

Punikkien shrapnellit räjähtelivät jo aukeaman laidassa, jonka yli
he olivat yöllä peräytyneet. Tiedustelijat lähtivät liikkeelle.
Komennetaankohan hyökkäämään vai odotetaankohan punikkien
hyökkäystä?

Mäenpäässä varmaankin käyvät aamiaiselle. No, mutta kirottuako

sitä tässä nyt…

Muuan samaan suojeluskuntaan kuuluvista pojista oli yöllä saanut

haavan leukaansa. Veri punoitti siteen läpi, poika kiroili ja uhkasi
kostaa ensi kahakassa.
 Alempana tiellä laukkasi lähetin hevonen vaahtoavana.
Selkäpuolella liikkui hevosmiehiä. Toivat ampumatarpeita ja
korjasivat jäältä kaatuneita. Olivat kai vielä viikko sitten olleet
muranajossa. Nyt ajettiin ruumiita. Eikö tämä todellakin ollut kauhean
typerää ja hullua?

Kenttäkeittiö oli siirretty muutamien satojen metrien päässä

olevaan taloon sivustassa. Miksi ei laskettu aamiaiselle? Siellä näkyi
liikkuvan poikia tullen ja mennen.

Punikkien puolella jymähteli taas tykin laukauksia. Shrapnelli

räjähti korkealla ilmassa, toinen, kolmas… Sepäs oli ilotulitusta.

Pojat pilailivat ja naureksivat punaisten umpimähkäisllee

ammunnalle. Joutivat räiskytellä. Lystikseenhän sitä kuunteli ja
katseli. Olisi vain saanut syödäkseen, niin olisi perhanan mukavaa!

Tykistötuli kiihtyi. Se oli kai merkkinä pian tapahtuvaan

hyökkäykseen. Lauri oli tullut Tuomaan lähelle ja tähysteli
mielenkiinnolla punaisten tulitusta.

— Peloittaako sinua, poika? kysyi Tuomas veljeltään.

— Ei vähääkään. Peukaloon vain koskee niin vietävästi. Käskivät

hoitelemaan haavaa, mutta johan tästä nyt malttaa. Pian kai tässä
saadaan räiskytellä.

— Painuhan paikoillesi.

Tykistötuli vaikeni. Aikoivat varmasti hyökätä. Tiedustelijat

palasivat, kohta kuului komento:

— Ketjuun, eteenpäin mars!

 Joukko lähti liikkeelle.

Konekivääriosastot marssivat etumaisina. Toiset joukkueet olivat

tehneet kiertoliikkeen, ja punaisten sanottiin joutuvan varmasti
saarrokseen.

Peltoaukeaman takaa alkoi voimakas kiväärituli. Paikat haettiin

nopeasti, ja lumessa maaten alkoi ammunta.

Joku päälliköistä kiroili. Paikka oli huono hänen mielestään. Olisi

pitänyt ehtiä pellon syrjään, johon konekiväärimiehet olivat jo
ehtineet. Kesken kiivainta ammuntaa muutettiin asemia, eikä kukaan
haavoittunut.

— Sepä merkillistä, ajatteli Lauri, jonka korvien ohi olivat kuulat jo

monta kertaa lentäneet.

Ammunta väliin taukosi ja alkoi uudelleen. Päivä painui jo illoilleen.

Viimein komennettiin eteenpäin kuulien vinkuessa, shrapnellien
räjähdellessä.

Metsikössä syntyi taistelu, jota käytiin puulta puulle siirtyen.

Käsipommit räjähtelivät puolella ja toisella, miehiä kaatui, hanget
punoittivat verestä. Huohottaen, raivokkaina kuin ärsytetyt pedot
syöksyivät miehet vastakkain. Sanojakin jo vaihdettiin.

— Lyökää, lyökää pojat punaryssiä! Muistakaa kotia ja

häväistystä.

— Lyökää lahtareita! Miksette p—leet etene! Älkää jumalauta

peräytykö!
 Käsipommi räjähti. Punaisten johtaja lensi palasina ilmaan. Toinen
ja kolmas kranaatti sai etumaiset pakenemaan.

Pian ajettiin raikuvin huudoin punaisia takaa.

Haavoittuneet, niitten mukana Lauri, jäivät kentälle. Joka

suunnalta kuului valitusta. Kaatuneita ja haavoittuneita oli paljon, ja
ne haavoittuneista, jotka kykenivät jäseniään liikuttamaan, koettivat
siirtyä paikalta pois, kuulemasta kuolevien valitusta. Eräältä oli
mennyt sääriluu poikki, ja konttaamalla, käsiensä varassa ryömien
hän koetti poistua. Toiselta oli pommin siru reväissyt käden pois.
Istuallaan, puuta vasten selkäänsä nojaten, oli hän koettanut tukkia
verenvuotoa.

Veri pirskui vielä sarkatakille ja hangelle. Vähän matkan päässä oli

sämäytynyt käsi, hihassa verinen, valkea nauha. Joku punaisista oli
saanut kuulan selkäänsä ja karkeasti kiroillen koetti ponnistautua
istualleen, mutta vaipui jälleen maahan. Kaatuneet puristivat
kiväärejään lujasti vielä sittenkin, kun henki oli jo paennut.

Lauri istui puunrunkoa vasten tukien kiväärillä itseään. Luoti oli

tunkeutunut olkapäähän, ja hengittäessä koski kipeästi. Edessä
oleva näky värisytti häntä. Koettaen tukkia korvansa kuolevien
voihkinalta ei saattanut silmin olla sitä katselematta.

Tähänköhän päättyy hänenkin retkensä? Mitään tällaista

mahdollisuutta ei hän osannut kuvitella taisteluun lähtiessään. Oli
vain ajatellut, että joku voi ehkä kaatua tai haavoittua hänen
viereltään, mutta hän kuin ihmeen kautta säilyy. Ja nyt jo, näin pian,
hän oli kuoleman kanssa vastakkain. Toiset tuossa jo olivat menneet,
hän vain sattumalta jäi viimeiseksi. Ehkä jo piankin hän saa seurata
toisia suureen hiljaisuuteen.
 *****

Ilta hämärtyi. Tähdet syttyivät korkeudessa. Taistelun melske oli

tauonnut, tuuli vain taivutteli hiljaa puiden latvoja.

Haavoittuneita ja kaatuneita korjattiin kuoleman kentältä. Lauri

näki kaksi sanitääriä tulevan hänenkin luokseen. Sitten oli vain
epämääräistä keinumista, tajunta hämmentyi. Saattoi vain huomata
joskus korkeudessa kiiluvat tähdet. Ne tuikkivat kai sielläkin missä oli
koti, isä ja äiti…
VIII.

Selvittyään tajuihinsa huomasi Lauri olevansa vuoteessa. Iso sali oli

täynnä vuoteita, ja jokaisessa näkyi miehiä, jotka makasivat
äänettöminä.

Nyt hän jo muisti, että oli haavoittunut ja että tämä oli

sotilassairaala. Miten ja milloin hän oli tänne tullut, oli vielä
epäselvää. Oliko hän jo kauankin maannut täällä? Mitä oli tapahtunut
tällä ajalla? Vieläkö mahtoi hirveä veljessota raivota ja kumpainenko
puoli oli voitolla?

Lauri koetti liikutella jäseniään. Rinnassa ja olkapäässä tuntui

kipeältä.

Nuori sairaanhoitajatar tuli hänen luokseen ja hymyili,

huomatessaan
Laurin uteliaasti katselevan ympärilleen.

— Nythän on asiat jo parempaan päin, on vain pysyttävä hiljaa

vuoteessa.

— Olenko jo kauankin ollut täällä? kysyi Lauri.

 — Kohta kaksi viikkoa.

— Niin kauan! Ja kuinka on rintamalla?

— Hyvin, poikaseni, virkkoi ohikulkeva lääkäri, joka poikkesi Lauria

katsomaan. — Teistä tulee vielä mies, mutta tiukalle se on ottanut.
Olkaa nyt varovainen.

Lääkäri poistui seuraavan vuoteen luokse. Lauri kyseli kaikkea

hoitajattarelta ja sai tietää, että hän oli kestänyt vaikean leikkauksen.
Kuula oli mennyt keuhkojen läpi. Ehkä jonkun viikon perästä voisi jo
hiljalleen liikkua ja sitten vähitellen toipua kokonaan.

— Ja niinkö kauan minun täytyy täällä vielä maata. Minunhan

pitäisi joutua rintamalle!

Tyttö hymyili kirkasta hymyään, meni pois, mutta sanoi pian

palaavansa.

Olipa tämäkin nyt hassua. Kuula keuhkojen läpi… hän tässä,

sairasvuoteessa… ensi kertaa elämässään. Ja kuoleman kenttien
kautta kulkeneena… miten siellä kotona?

Lauri tunsi suloista väsymystä ja nukahti.

Herättyään huomasi hän taas sen äskeisen nuoren tytön siinä

hymyilemässä. Nyt se jo näyttikin niin tutunomaiselta. Eikö se ollut…
No mutta, sehän oli Hakamaan Anna! Laurikin jo hieman hymyili:

— Kun minä en sinua tuntenut. Sinäkin siis olet lähtenyt. Oletko

sinä jo kauankin…?
 — Kuukauden päivät. Ei tule täällä tarkoin lasketuksi aikaa. Meitä
on täällä useitakin saman pitäjän tyttäriä. Emme malttaneet jäädä
kotiin, kun toiset lähtivät. Ja onhan täällä työtä meillekin.

— Tiedätkö, miten siellä kotona…?

— Eiköhän ne hyvin siellä… Kuulin, että miehiä ei ole muita

kotona kuin isäsi ja vanha Tuomas.

Laurin katse synkkeni.

— Onko ne sitten… punaisten puolella?

— Ovat ainakin yrittäneet. Kalle on valkoisten puolella. Muutamia

lienee vankeinakin.

— Missä lienee Tuomas? Onko… onko hänestä kuulunut mitään?

— Kyllä… täällä oli yksi meidän pitäjän poika, joka kertoi, että
Tuomas on ylennetty vänrikiksi.

Nuorukaisen kasvot värähtivät liikutuksesta. Se hyvä veli oli

sentään mies.

— Pitäisi tästä minunkin joutua…

— Ehkäpä sinä nyt pian paranetkin. On vain pysyttävä

rauhallisena.

Tyttö nyökkäsi ja poistui.

Lauri jäi miettimään. Hän tunsi virkistyneensä ja voimainsa joka

hetki kasvavan. Kun olisi saanut tietää, missä pojat olivat menossa.
Tiesivätköhän kotona, että hän oli täällä? Oli kai Anna kotiinsa
kirjoittanut ja maininnut. Sieltä ovat ehkä käyneet sanomassa.

Miksi eivät ole sitten käyneet katsomassa eivätkä edes

kirjoittaneet? Sepä oli merkillistä. Olihan se ymmärrettävääkin. Äiti ei
koskaan kirjeitä kirjoittanut, ja isällä oli nyt paljon työtä.

Mutta häneltä ovat saattaneet kirjettä odottaa. Äiti on tietysti jo

hätäillytkin. Suureen taisteluun lähtiessä hän oli kirjoittanut ja
vakuuttanut hyvin tulevansa toimeen ja kieltänyt äitiä suremasta. Oli
äitikin häntä muistanut kotieväillä, joita oli lähettänyt jo kaksikin
kertaa, ja terveisiä tuttavain mukana. Miten äiti raukka mahtoikaan
nyt jo odottaa tietoja häneltä?

Lauri koetti kääntyä vuoteessaan, mutta muisti, että oli kielletty

liikkumasta. Vaarallinen oli kai haava ollut hyvinkin, koskapa hän oli
jo näin kauan ollut täällä eikä muistanut siitä juuri mitään. Niinkuin
sekavaa unennäköä oli kaikki ollut vuoroin niinkuin kotona ja sitten
taas taistelussa.

Tulisiko hän nyt todellakin terveeksi, niin terveeksi että saattaisi

lähteä vielä rintamalle? Kyllä kotikin olisi miestä kovin kaivannut,
mutta sittenkin hän tahtoisi taisteluun, kunnes viimeinenkin ryssä ja
isänmaanpetturi olisi lyöty. Tuomas ja ne kaikki muut siellä olivat
sentään onnellisia saadessaan olla kaikessa mukana.

Kirkas maaliskuun päivä tulvehti huoneeseen avatuista ikkunoista.

Anna oli kertonut, että aamuisin jo kantoi hanki.

Niin siellä ulkona, mutta täällä sisällä täytyi maaten

kärsimättömänä odottaa rintamalle pääsyä. Lauri oli kuullut
kerrottavan, että Tamperetta piiritettiin parhaillaan. Siellä kai
Tuomaskin oli, uutterana ja neuvokkaana kuin kotoisella
viljelysperkkiolla. Hän ei ehkä sinne enää ehtisikään. Hänen
paikkansa sai siellä täyttää joku toinen. Se ei tuntunut hyvältä.

Päivällisaikana sanoi Anna saaneensa siskoltaan kirjeen, jossa

tämä kertoi kotipuolen kuulumisia. Mäenpäässä on hiljaista kuten
ennenkin. Isäntä on luvannut tulla Lauria katsomaan, ja Tuomaskin
on kirjoittanut kotiinsa, kertoen hyvin jaksavansa.

— Missä hän on?

— Ei sisko siitä kertonut. Terveisiä vain käski toimittamaan ja

sitten eräältä toisellakin.

Tyttö hymyili taas sitä herttaista hymyään. Laurikin hymähti, vaikka

totisuus asuikin aina hänen kasvoillaan.

— Keltä?

— Punamäen Kaisulta.

Veri läikehti nuorukaisen poskille. Kaisu muisti sentään häntä,

vaikka hän oli melkein kokonaan tytön unohtanut. Miten hän olikin
saattanut niin tehdä? Ei riviäkään rintamalta tytölle, joka sitä saattoi
odottaa joka päivä. Mutta eihän siellä ollut joutanut muuta
ajattelemaan kuin tehtäväänsä.

— Terveisiä minultakin Kaisulle, jos niinkuin satut sinnepäin

kirjoittamaan.

Tyttö hymähti hyvätuulisesti. Oli kai aikonut ilakoida pojalle, mutta

jätti sikseen ja poistui hiljaa. Olisi hän tiennyt enemmänkin kertoa
Kaisusta Laurille, mutta ei voinut. Ja onhan tyttö jo kai päässytkin
kiusallisesta vankeudestaan. Niin oli sisko arvellut.

Päivällisen jälkeen saivat omaiset käydä katsomassa sairaita. Tuli

Mäenpäänkin isäntä, puristi poikansa kättä ja istui vuoteen laidalle.

— No tännekös se sinun retkesi päättyikin.

— Niinhän tuo… pian minä tästä jo pääsenkin ja sitten taas

lähden…

— Tulleeko vielä miestä?

— Niin ne sanovat, vaikka kuula kulki niin outoja teitä.

— Olipa siinä sitten vaara lähellä.

Juhon silmät olivat käyneet kosteiksi. Laurikin tunsi

silmäkulmaansa kihoavan kyynelen, mutta se oli kiitollisuudesta
elämälle, joka oli hänet pelastanut.

— Tuomaasta se on sitten tullut vänrikki, virkkoi Lauri.

— Jospa lienee… niinhän ne sitä kertoivat.. ja kirjoittihan tuo

itsekin.

— Tulleekohan pian lomalle?

— Jospa saaneekin pitemmän loman, Tuomas. Äiti kertoi

nähneensä unen ja sanoi, ettei Tuomasta nähdä enää näillä silmillä.

— No johan…
 — Ei ole äitisi ennen turhia uneksinut. Kehoitteli vain minua
lähtiessä, että toisin sinut kotiin, että jäisi edes yksi poika.

Lauri hymähti.

— Ja pitäisikö minun sitten lähteä kotiin?

— Ei ennenkuin asiat on selvät. Jos Tuomas kaatuu, aion käydä

itse hänen tilalleen.

Juhon kasvot näyttivät kuin kiveen veistetyiltä. Lauri katseli

ihmetellen isäänsä.

— Miten siellä kotona sitten?

— Ensin isänmaa ja sitten vasta koti. Ja kyllähän äiti siellä hoitaa

taloa vanhan Tuomaan kanssa.

Poika tavoitti isän käden ja puristi sitä miehekkäästi ja virkkoi:

— Niin minustakin, että ensin kivääri ja sitten aura. Pian tästä

joudun minäkin…

Seurasi hetkisen kestävä hiljaisuus. Juho nousi lähteäkseen ja

ojensi kätensä Laurille.

— Hyvästi, poika, ja kun joudut riveihin, niin… tee kaikki minkä

voit.

— Kyllä, isä. Terveisiä äidille ja… muillekin siellä kotona.

Juho meni. Lauri jäi ajatuksineen kahden kesken. Mietteet kulkivat

kotiin, jossa oli paljon rakasta, mutta se kaikki sai jäädä niin kauaksi
kuin vapaus koittaisi.
IX.

Maaliskuun päivät olivat kulumassa.

Odotettiin rintamalta etenemisviestejä. Niitä ei vain kuulunut.

Odottaminen kävi jo tuskalliseksi. Jonkun pikkukaupungin tai
kauppalan valloituksesta tuli tietoja, jotka kohta peruutettiin. Tuli taas
uudestaan ja aprikoitiin, olikohan nyt uutisessa perää. Mitä oikein
vitkasteltiin? Kutsunnat oli pidetty ja uusia miehiä lähetetty rintamille.
Miks'ei jo ratkaisu tapahtunut?

Huhut kulkivat punaisten levittäminä satapäisinä hirviöinä. Kuka

uskoi, kuka ei. Olihan uskovaakin. Ja ne, jotka uskoivat, pelkäsivät jo
punaisten tuloa.

Huhu mateli pitkin kyliä. Ryssiä on tuotu kymmenin tuhansin ja

semmoisia tykkejä, että kun jymäyttää niin kokonainen rykmentti on
hajalla. Engelsmanni on idästäpäin tulossa ja ruotsalaiset
pohjoisesta. Kuuluu olevan ruotsalaisiakin kymmenentuhatta. Eikö
liene jo Tornio ja Oulu valloitettu takaisin. Kuuluvat niitä piirittävän
parhaillaan. Oli muuan pohjalainen sanonut tälle Toisentalon
Aukustille, joka on tullut lomalle, että »jo tuli nyt piruja, kun
ruottalainen lähti, häviö tuli Mannerheimille».
 Oli täällä Tampereen puolilta joku poika kirjoittanut ihmeitä. Ei
kuulu olevan leipääkään lahtareilla kuin joskus. Olivat sitten punaiset
yhtenä päivänä päättäneet, että annetaan poloisille leipää. Lastattiin
vaunu täyteen jauhoja ja leipiä, pantiin veturi takaperin työntämään
ja survaistiin valkoisten puolelle. Olivat silloin upseerit sanoneet, että
ei ne punikit näemmä roistoja olekaan.

Kaatuneita kuuluu olevan rintaman tällä puolella kaikki kirkonkylien

makasiinit täynnä. Eivät näet ehdi hautoja niin paljon kaivaa. Oli
käynyt se Koljosen leski poikaansa etsimässä, niin oli nähnyt sen
kauheuden. Oli avattu makasiinin ovi ja käsketty etsimään. Mitenkä
siitä omansa löysi, kun ruumiita oli pinossa lattiasta kattoon ja jalat
vain näkyvissä. Käytävä vain välissä, jossa oli ollut hyytynyttä verta
niin paksulta, ettei iljennyt astua.

Puhuvat sitten muka, että saksalainen on tullut auttamaan.

Tämäkin
Mäenpään ukko kuuluu kehuvan, että kyllä se pääpaikat puhdistaa.
Niinkuin ei olisi Saksan Vilikolla muuta tekemistä kuin tänne
kynsiään
pistää.

Keskustelukin saattoi viritä.

— Ja pahapa sinne on saksalaisen tulla Suomen rannikolle. Miinat

on pistetty joka paikkaan.

— Joo. Miinat on pistetty ja semmoiset, että penikulmittain särkee

niitä eteen sattuu, kun räjähtää.

— Tulkoonpas pahalainen!
 — Tulkoonpas vain, niin kyllä näkee, mistä lähdetään! Vai Saksa
mukamas… ymmym…

Piti ihan nauraa sille valheelle.

— Mutta onhan niitten lahtarien jollakin itseään lohdutettava.

— Onpa on. Tulivat lähteneeksi syyhyttä saunaan. Taitaa olla jo

housut varina.

— Joo.

*****

Mäenpään isäntä liikkui askareissaan entistä ripeämmin, apunaan

vanha Tuomas ja muuan mökin poikanen, jonka isä oli vankina.
Heinät oli jo ajettu kotiin ja kesäpuita viimeisteltiin.

Emäntä ei jaksanut enää liikkua taloustoimissa koko päivää niin

kuin ennen. Jännitys ja odotus vei voimat hyvin vähäisiksi. Kamarin
sänkyyn täytyi vähänväliä heittäytyä lepäämään. Kirjeitäkin tuli pojilta
ani harvoin. Saattoivat olla sairainakin siellä, mutta eivät hennoneet
äidille ilmoittaa. Olivatpa jo saattaneet kaatuakin. Melkein joka hetki
sai odottaa, milloin siitä sana tuotaisiin.

Lauri oli jo toipunut ja kotonaan käymättä lähtenyt rintamalle.

Lähtiessään oli kyllä kirjoittanut pitkän kirjeen äidilleen ja kehoittanut
vain odottamaan ja sanonut taas olevansa hyvissä voimissa. Jos
enää entiselleen on tullut, kun sillä tavoin on reposteltu. Saattaa uusi
kuula mennä niin, että sille paikalleen jää.

Ja siitä, että Tuomas jää, oli hän melkein varma. Uni, jonka hän
näki, ennusti sitä. Tuomas oli tullut kotiin ja makasi penkillä
valkoisissa. Hän meni läheltä katsomaan ja näki Tuomaan olevan
kääriliinoihin kiedottuna. Kasvot olivat kuin palttina, ja nenästä valui
verta. Sitä unta muistaessa tuntui niin pahalta, että täytyi vain kävellä
yhtämittaa. Miten Laurinkin käynee, mutta Tuomaan kasvoja hän ei
näe enää elävinä.
X.

Kun vankilan ovi sulkeutui Kaisun jälkeen, painui hän nurkkaan kuin
haavoitettu eläin. Ei voinut edes itkeä. Miten maailmassa oli
saattanut näin tapahtua? Eikö oikeutta löytynyt enää missään?

Yksi ainoa kysymys vain jyskytti kuumeisessa päässä: miksi, miksi

näin tapahtui?

Pieni lohdun pisara oli siinä, että Mäenpään isäntä kohteli hyvin ja
lupasi pitää huolta hänen pikaisesta vapaaksi pääsystään.

Joko hän ehkä huomenna pääsisi, ehkä ylihuomenna? Vai

pitäisikö olla näin eristettynä muista ehkä viikkoja, jopa
kuukausiakin? Oli hyvä, että sai olla edes yksin. Toisten ihmisten,
toisten vankien läheisyys olisi vain vaivannut. Vietäisiinkö hänet
sitten, jos toivottua vapautta ei tulisi, oikeaan vankilaan? Huu!
Kylmien kiviseinien sisään, raudoitettujen ovien ja ikkunain taakse.

Vierähti muutamia päiviä, ja hänelle ilmoitettiin, että sai vapaasti

liikkua määrätyllä alueella, mutta ei poistua. Jos yrittäisi poistua,
ammuttaisiin.
 — Ampuminen ei olisi sen pahempi kuin viattomasti
vangitseminenkaan, oli hän vartijalle sanonut. Vartija oli näyttänyt
nololta ja vakuuttanut, että kun asia ehditään tutkia, hän kyllä pääsee
vapaaksi.

Mitä hänen elämällään olisi enää arvoa sitten, jos saisikin

vapautensa.
Kaikki häntä sormella osoittelisivat. Häpeää, ikuista häpeää saisi
kantaa. Ja palkkioksi teosta, jonka oli viime hetkellä suorittanut.
Kuolema olisi paras vapauttaja.

Lauri!

Oli näin särkynyt sekin unelma. Saattaisi hänkin uskoa, että on

ollut jotenkuten syyllinen. Ehkäpä ei uskoisi, että on henkensä
kaupalla pelastanut hänen isänsä ja muitakin.

Itkeä täytyi sen unelman särkymistä. Se oli ainoa ja sekin meni.

Viikot vierähtivät, kuukausi kului. Tyttö ei enää toivonutkaan

pääsevänsä vapaaksi. Oli siirretty jo toiseen paikkaan, jossa oli
toisiakin vankeja. Vähitellen alkoi hän jo tottua vankilaelämään,
laihtui ja kalpeni. Katse kävi araksi kuin kiusatun eläimen… Ja kun
Mäenpään isäntä toi eväitä ja lohdutteli, hävetti niin, että olisi
tahtonut maan alle painua.

Tuli sitten vapautuksen päivä — odottamatta. Hänelle sanottiin,

että sai nyt mennä vapaasti mihin vain. Ei valiteltu, että syyttömästi
oli vangittu. Ei sanottu sitäkään, oliko huomattu, että hänen
ilmoituksensa oli todenperäinen. Se olisikin ollut hyvityksenä ja kuin
parantavana lääkkeenä. Ei mitään sellaista!
 Horjuen, arkana kuin peloiteltu lintu, hän lähti tietämättä mihin
mennä. Ei kehdannut katsella muuanne kuin maahan.

Voimatkin olivat tyyten menneet. Vähänväliä täytyi istua tien

viereen lepäämään. Siinä tuli aina sama ajatus: mihin hän menisi?
Kotiin ei voinut mennä. Sillä äiti haukkuisi lakkaamatta lahtarien
kätyriksi ja ilkkuisi hänen vankina-ololleen.

Päästyään sitten kotikylälleen nälkäisenä ja väsyneenä oli hän

mennyt Mäenpäähän. Isäntä oli ollut pihamaalla ajamassa viimeisiä
halkoja liiteriin. Oli ihastunut Kaisun tulosta, niin että kädestä pitäen
tupaan talutti. Emäntä sitten toimitteli syömään ja lepäämään ja
hoiteli kuin omaa lastaan.

Ja niin oli Kaisu jäänyt Mäenpäähän. Auttoi siinä emäntää

taloustöissä, kun tältä alkoivat voimat loppua. Iltaisin luki ääneen
jotakin hartauskirjaa emännälle, jolloin isäntäkin tuli kuuntelemaan.
Yhdessä luettiin iltarukous, ja kun toiset jo nukkuivat, jäi Kaisu vielä
ikkunaan katselemaan tähtiä kevätöisellä taivaalla. Vähitellen suli
rinnasta päällimmäinen katkeruus, vaikka pohjalla jäytikin ikävä ja
alakuloisuus. Teki mieli lähteä sinne, missä surmannuolet räjähtelivät
ja kuolema korjasi kallista viljaa. Siellä olisi palvellut sydämen asiaa
ja saanut ehkä ikuisen rauhan.