Pretty Little Dead Girl Trilogy CHRISTMAS ORDER

Pledging the most powerful secret society in the world was always going to be difficult. Their Trials are legendary. Dangerous. Testing candidates in ways no one imagines.

But what I don’t count on is being grouped together with three men who might hinder my real purpose.

The tatted, reckless “black sheep” would rather ruin me than build me up.

The royal bad boy’s stalker-like obsession knows no bounds.

Then there’s my gorgeous Economics professor who’s perfect on the outside but rotten in the middle.

Who would’ve thought the biggest test of all was going to be staying away from them?

I can’t trust them with my secret though. They’re part of the same social elite that I despise. They’re tethered to the organization I plan to destroy.

However, my body and my brain aren’t always on the same page.

If they strip me down to uncover my truths, I’ll be the next tragic headline.

No one crosses the Knights and lives

Prologue

Eden

Fresh, raw grief snakes its way across my clammy skin. Hooks of incomparable sadness imbed into me like a psychopathic stalker who won’t let go. I’m marked. From the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, despair bleeds into every crevice.

Dee is dead.

I feel it in my soul, accompanied by a darkness that threatens to take me under alongside her. She’s everywhere, yet nowhere, and I don’t know how much longer I can weather the storm raging inside me.

The wind picks up, tracking a stray strand of hair across my cheek. Crisp, autumn leaves rustle with the sudden burst, tumbling across faded green cemetery grass to nestle against a white casket. Of course it had to be white. Dee was nothing if not the light of our family. She was the happy, reserved one. If I had a penny for every time someone said our names should have been reversed, I’d have more money than my father. Delilah was far removed from the tempting, treacherous biblical figure that also bore her name. And I’m the opposite of Eden. I’m a goddamn heathen. If anything, I deserve to be in that casket. Not her.

Agony rips through me at the thought. The palpable, all-consuming pain tears me up inside. Grief is a spiked wrecking ball being wielded haphazardly and without warning. It comes on with tornado vengeance, ripping through everything it sees.

No one is a spectator to my true feelings, though. On the outside, I’m the picture of placidity. Especially now. Especially here. Funerals are for letting grief out, but I don’t have that luxury. My life is a game, and my sister’s death upped the ante.

All the major players are here, surrounding me in a semicircle. Old asshats with more money than God. Young fucks who grew up spoiled and coddled. Any one of them had the means to put my sister where she is. They’re all privileged, living as if they’re the only beings that matter. I despised my upbringing before, but I haven’t hated my life more than the moment I took my first breath after learning Dee was gone.

Drowned.

Suffocated by murky river water.

Or if you ask me, the classification of “tragic accident” is extreme bullshit.

My sister doesn’t go in the water unless she’s forced. I’ll never be convinced otherwise. If she was in that river, someone put her there.

It’s everything I thought could happen in this fucked up world, only the reality is much, much worse.

To my right, my mother stands abruptly. I blink away the haze I buried myself under and watch as she takes a step forward in her black pantsuit, spinning the stem of a blood-red rose between her fingers. The priest has stopped talking. I’d tuned him out after he droned on about knowing Delilah is at peace in the afterlife. I disagree. The sunny sister I know, though pleasant in every way, doesn’t go down without a fight. She’s probably in death’s cage somewhere, rattling the cell bars with carefully controlled anger.

“Edie…” a fractured voice whispers.

I turn toward the voice. Past my mother’s now empty chair sits my father. As distinguished as our Astor background is, he’s currently the living opposite. He spends his days crying into a bottle of brandy and his nights wailing into the ceaseless dark. The tear tracks down his face have etched new wrinkles in their wake like the glaciers carved the earth’s landscape a million years ago. I’d always expected Dee was his favorite, but now it’s been confirmed.

“Edie, honey,” he chokes out. “Your flower.”

Wordlessly, I stare down at the black rose gripped in my fist. My father chose white, signifying his precious angel. My mother red because she’s nothing if not traditional. I chose black for the void now in my soul. Black for my sister’s life unlived.

Black for my vengeance.

My mother presses a used handkerchief to her nose on the way back to her seat. She doesn’t look at me when we pass, and I straighten my shoulders to show everyone here that there are some Astors who haven’t lost their ever-loving mind to sadness. I need to be my family’s sentinel; our show of strength. Because someone here, watching me place this midnight flower on this beautiful white casket, murdered my sister. Someone here is probably looking at us with relief, believing their crime will go unnoticed, unrectified…unchallenged.

They’re wrong.

You don’t just kill an Astor and get away with it. You don’t kill my sister and have everything swept underneath a trough of tears and condolences.

For a moment, I lay my black-gloved hand on the shining white surface of Delilah’s final resting place. I close my eyes to the sun streaming down, heating my ever-frigid body just slightly. It’s a different warmth than the West Coast. This one is laced by a chill I’ll never be rid of.

I bite my lip until I taste the metallic tint of blood then make the silent oath that’s been swirling inside me. It’s okay, Dee. I know I never stepped up when you were alive, but I’m here now. I promise you they won’t get away with this. You will be able to rest in peace when I’m done. I swear it.

A tingle starts in my toes. The wind picks up again, tracking another strand of hair over my lips as the buzzing sensation follows the curve of my calves, up my legs and hips, and settles in my heart. It’s an awareness, a lighthouse beacon of strength that steals my breath.

Dee is egging me on, that’s what this sensation says to me. She’ll push my feet forward one step at a time. She wants this as much as I do.

Turning, I stare into the crowd. I memorize as many faces as I can, taking in their tight lips and solemn gazes. Most won’t meet my eyes. I catalog their looks, their demeanors. I store them away for future use because I’m going to need a whole hell of a lot of help detangling the web surrounding my sister and her death. And I know just where to start.

Off along the far edges of the somber grouping is a line of men that are mostly my father’s age or older, all sporting shiny cufflinks and matte black walking canes. The handles of those canes bear the Knights of Arcadia crest, their owners flashing it like a badge of honor. The Knights are unlike any men I have ever met. They’re wealthy. They’re prestigious. And have more to lose than any other.

That makes them dangerous.

And my sister—precious, sweet Delilah—walked purposefully into their snare.

Each of their unfriendly pairs of eyes meet my discerning glare with a hardness of their own. A chill skitters up my spine. If my sister is here, pushing me forward, the coldness sweeping through me is a warning. To turn back. To save myself.

I won’t be doing any of that. My sister died on Devil’s Night. And on Halloween, I vowed vengeance.

I’m here to fight for the truth. It’s time for me to shed my West Coast persona and grab hold of the life I was dealt.

Secrets and parties, dresses and scandals, are all in my future.

I can hardly wait.

Chapter One

Leo

Ten Months Later…

Thumbing through my phone contacts is about as uninspiring as listening to one of my dear old grandfather’s tiring lectures. The screen’s harsh light makes me squint. I’ve been sitting in the dark with nothing but the soft blue glow from the electronics on my dash to light the interior of the car, waiting for this bitch to show up.

Imagine me back at Carnegie. The swelling anger inside me makes me scroll faster. I need a quick fuck to get all this aggression out. Daphne? No. Tight cunt, but she’s got a little too much ass for my interest right now. Gloria? She’s a moaner, which is hot in the right time or place, but I want a quickie, and she has this annoying propensity to want to stay after I nut.

The fuck is wrong with some girls? Can’t a guy just get in and out without strings?

Anne-Marie? Been there, done that plenty of times. She’s exactly what I’m looking for—the kind of no-holds-barred fuck that’s all about getting off and nothing else. My thumb moves to press her name, my dick already thickening, when headlights cascade through the interior of my car.

Glancing up, I watch as the lights from a Wrangler sweep the cobblestone pathways that crisscross CU’s campus before landing on Jarvis Hall. The stone building my family built for the exclusive college almost a century ago is old world gothic. When I was a student here, I prowled the place, using my name to get some ass. Rule number one if you were staying in Jarvis Hall, you gave it up to me whenever I wanted it. Anyone who refused got kicked out and had to find other sleeping arrangements.

Welcome to the world of the elite.

A smirk pulls my lips apart as I think about the good ol’ days. Jarvis hospitality, that’s what I’d called it. Most girls were more than willing to go for a ride, threat of homelessness or not, but it was a good excuse to tell themselves so they wouldn’t feel like the cheap whores they were.

Parked between two lamp lights, the Jeep door opens, and a single, toned leg searches for the pavement. I toss my phone down and huff. Looks like I won’t be working this aggression out of my system any time soon. Duty calls.

I pull out the picture I threw in my glove box after the meeting with Grandfather yesterday. It’s a family photo. Two stuck-up parents the same age as my own grin in the background while a pair of blonde girls are seated in front of them. One is smiling from ear-to-ear, a clone of her mother with her shoulders pulled back tightly. She looks like the kind of good girl I’d love to fuck the tension out of. The one who’ll scream for my dick over and over again after acting all coy and innocent. The other sister looks bored as fuck. Sure, she’s smiling because that’s what’s expected of her, but there’s a hint of annoyance simmering under the surface.

There are hundreds of Jarvis family photos like this where I look the exact fucking same.

Tracking my gaze toward the younger sister’s vehicle again, I find her on her tiptoes, digging into the back of the Wrangler with ripped shorts hugging her ass. My dick responds. It’s not often you find a girl who goes to Carnegie dressed like she doesn’t give a fuck. Most wear pantsuits and pencil skirts. This? This ensemble looks like Little Miss Astor went to a thrift shop and bought the smallest pair of shorts she could find.

Fuck.

Maybe watching this girl won’t be as bad as I originally thought. It’s better than the other tasks I’ve been given by my family’s patriarch. I always get the shit jobs, the ones in the shadows. The ones no one else is willing to do because they still care about their reputation. I’m not exactly the pride of my family. I don’t wear a suit and tie to work every day and fuck people over in business meetings with a smile on my face. I prefer to do that shit out in the open.

I peek at the photo once again, reading Grandfather’s writing. The older sister is dead, not that I needed him to confirm that. It’s the only thing the news covered when it first happened. The mysterious death turned tragic accident has slowly faded away like it’s only a bad memory. Shit like that tends to take place in my world. Pity I’ll never get the opportunity to fuck some bad into her. The little sister, though, is a different story. Just from the picture, I can tell she’s more my type.

Peering at her in action, I watch as she pulls a piece of luggage out of the backseat and sets it on the pavement next to her. Her thin tank top flirts with the high waist of her shorts as she spins toward her new residence hall—my residence hall. Finally. Move-in day was yesterday, and because she didn’t show, I had to find a place to shack up last night. One of her roommates was more than happy to let me stay. Kerry…. No, Kasey. Whatever. Doesn’t fucking matter. I got what I wanted and was close enough in case little Miss Astor showed up late. Which never happened.

I snuck out at dawn so my temporary fuck didn’t get any ideas. After grabbing a coffee down the street, I returned to this spot and haven’t moved since. I may not like these jobs, but Grandfather has made it clear what it’s going to take to get back in his good graces.

Speaking of…. I grab my phone and send him a text before he accuses me of slacking off. She just got here.

I don’t exactly know why I’m watching her, other than the fact that her sister, who was a fledgling Knight, died at one of their gatherings. Bad press and all that. I’ve mused that at the very least, they want to make sure little sis doesn’t cause a scene. Worst case, the Knights did something and want to make sure this girl doesn’t squeal about it. Which is perfectly fine. I have plenty of other fun things she can do with her mouth.

She starts to walk toward the building, and I push my car door open silently to follow. Now is as good a time as any to introduce myself. I rearrange my semi-hard cock as I stretch from the car. The wheels of her luggage bounce across the cobblestone walkway. Closing the car door silently, I’m already picturing the fear in her eyes when I sneak up on her. I get off on their looks of alarm, their horrified reactions. After they relax, I watch for the moment when they really look at me. The twinkle of interest in their eyes. The way their gazes sweep my tattoos. It’s always the same with rich girls like her. They fear me, but they’re also aroused by the fact that I’m trouble. That their daddies would freak if they found them in bed with someone like me. My balls swell in anticipation.

A soundless step forward later, I stop. The wheels have ceased their grinding, and she’s peering up at the three-story building, her long blonde hair dangling past her shoulder blades. A second later, her shoulders stiffen, and she immediately tilts her head. Before I know it, I lose sight of her as she darts in front of her Jeep and takes the walkway that leads around the side of the building.

“Shit,” I grumble.

Slowly, I walk after her, hiding behind high-priced vehicles in the parking lot until I reach hers. Moisture dots the exterior from the cool night air and catches the light off the lampposts, almost making her vehicle shine out of the corner of my eye. It takes me a moment to spot Eden again. She’s crouched next to the wall of Jarvis Hall, staring toward a single figure moving along the cobblestone walkway toward the building that houses the Knights.

A fiery ball of anger forms in my stomach as I peer past her toward the looming structure. The Knights of Arcadia and I have a spotty history. Emotions so mixed it’s as if barbed wire threads through my very thoughts. Can you both want something and hate it at the same time?

I narrow my gaze as she keeps to the shadows, almost like she’s spying. Her free hand turns into a fist at her side and stays that way as she watches the lone figure disappear around the building toward the forest. The figure was clearly masculine but too far away to recognize. I lick my lips, watching after her. Could she see who it was? Was she interested because of the guy or because of the Knights in general?

Maybe I misinterpreted the fist clenching for anger when it’s really sadness. Her sister did go here, after all. And since she was a Knight, this girl would obviously be curious about the building and the people.

Eden jumps, and I hunker down closer to the side of the Jeep so I’m not spied. Eden squeals and throws herself at a figure that emerges from the shadows. She wraps her arms around him tightly, and for the first time, I can see the tormented sadness clinging to her face. But it slowly fades to fondness as the guy holds her to him.

Grandfather certainly didn’t say anything about Eden having a boyfriend. And who the fuck does this guy think he is hanging around Jarvis Hall? It’s my territory.

“Edie….”

Edie?

Red hot jealousy rips through me as she clings tighter. She’s like a delicate flower seeking nourishment, and he’s giving her all she needs. My lip curls in disgust. I don’t know why I covet sad, pretty things when all I want to do is tear their petals off one by one. But that’s okay. This just became a better game, one a lot more rewarding than my grandfather pulling at my puppet strings. I can certainly fuck with and watch this girl at the same time. He didn’t say hands off, not that I’m known for doing things one hundred percent by the book, anyway.

I casually walk back to my midnight black sports car that’s purposefully lost within the recesses of the parking lot. My body thrums with electricity as I pull the door closed and watch while the couple starts to move.

Reaching for my phone, I send my grandfather another text. There’s a guy with her now.

He responds immediately, apparently feeling the need to keep me informed now, at least on this aspect. Prince Oliver IX. He’ll be staying there.

What kind of douche is a ninth? Fucking royalty. I crack my knuckles, calming myself before I break the screen typing out a response. Staying with her? In a girls’ dorm?

He’s fucking royalty. He can stay wherever he goddamn wants. And he wanted Jarvis.

The familiar, territorial anger pushes through the surface. Another dick? In MY hall?

In MY hall. Do I also need to remind you that you aren’t matriculated at Carnegie anymore? You’re to watch from afar. Share with me anything that sticks out.

I think the fuck not. If the old man wasn’t feeble and responsible for my entire well-being, I’d shake the shit out of him. No men are allowed to stay at Jarvis but me. Especially with her.

My gaze tracks to her picture still lying on the passenger seat and then moves to the same figure walking next to a goddamn, real life prince. Seeing her in the flesh makes this all the more real and interesting. A pull tugs in my stomach. She’s my next conquest. Only my body will tell me how far I’m willing to go and in whatever ways I want her. For some, just a good fuck is enough. For others, I let my imagination run wild.

My overpaid therapist tells me I have abandonment issues. In reality, I’m just the family miscreant who likes to fuck.

Welcome to Carnegie University, Eden Astor. I’m not sure how pleasant your stay here will be.

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