But that memory should’ve been Lottie, and for that, I hated her.
“You can’t, can you?” I asked, voice rougher than I’d intended.
Snitch tugged her lower lip between her teeth, and her walnut-size eyes met mine. Fuck, she had a problem with that. For a moment, I let her. They were the most intense shade of hazel I’d ever seen, a stony, mossy green that reminded me of forest floors. In them I saw need blazing back at me that said she’d let me do anything to her.
Still, I stepped off. As far as I was concerned, silence meant no. I ran a hand through my hair, tangling it in the way my mother hated, yet had landed me on the front of many magazines.
“You of all people should know how important this night is,” she said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have waited. I don’t know why you want to waste it on me, but I’m…I’m not going to lose it with someone who doesn’t love me.” She looked away this time, eyes glittering.
Important? I flexed my fingers in and out of a fist. What fucking fairy tale was this girl living in?
“If it’s so important, then why would I fuck you?” I countered. “You’re shit. You’re nothing. This night? It means nothing.”
A wrinkle formed between her brows and she tugged on the sleeves of her ridiculous dress. Who dresses like that? Floor length, with a collar up to the neck, and long sleeves. She was like a fucking nun.
“In your world, virginity is something you lose on a prom night.” I trailed my finger along the lace at her throat, pulling at the collar at her neck, simultaneously bringing air to her breasts and choking her. “Let’s be clear, the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done, would wreck you.”
My lips were at her cheek, breath ghosting the flesh, when I saw it—the mark, the bruise forming on her neck from my lips.
I want you to bite me harder.
I should’ve known then it wasn’t Lottie I was kissing. Lottie would never ask for that. But I wanted it to be her. Maybe that was why I ignored the signs.
Now Snitch had my mark on her.
I dropped her, taking furious steps away, putting a shit ton of space between us. Until I didn’t s
mell fucking lemons, until I could barely see the mark. The back of my thighs slammed into the edge of a desk, rattling it against the wall.
I lifted myself up on the desk, opening the drawer in front of me, exposing a stash of weed, rolling papers, and loose suckers.
With an arm propped on a leg, I rolled a joint on my knee.
“My game of chicken obviously fucking worked.” I licked the paper, watching Snitch. She stared at the floor. “You have two options. Tell me who sent you, or jail.”
“No one sent me!” She lifted her head, eyes earnest. “I live here, I work here, this is my home.”
“Hasn’t stopped your kind in the past,” I gritted.
“My kind,” she breathed. “Are we really so little to you?”
We’re accused of not treating our servants like people, and I won’t deny it, but it goes both ways. To them we’re pieces of diamond that they want to take a chisel to. I’d lost count of how many maids or cooks or guards we’ve had to let go, or even press charges against, because they’d tried to sell a story or steal an heirloom from that very fucking room.
I rooted around the drawer, looking for a lighter. After a moment I found it, lighting the joint.
I sucked in smoke, then blew it out. “So jail, then.”
“You’re not really giving me an option.”
I trailed my ring finger along my other hand, thinking of the first idea I’d had. “Do you know how easy it would be to make your life hell? I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”
Her nostrils flared. “Are you threatening me?”
I smiled. “I was giving you an option, Snitch.”
Through the smoke her mossy eyes found me, searching and seeking. Fuck. Those eyes. There was a reason we had our servants look away. Grandfather said it was because training them that way is one more step of corporate security. An intrinsic threat of don’t look at us, don’t look for our secrets.
Mother said it was because they need to learn who we are and who they are.