Filed to story: The LORDS Series Free PDF by Shantel Tessier
Why can’t women go crazy in their twenties and then want to settle down in their thirties and not be judged for it? If you’re a virgin, you’re too inexperienced, and they don’t want to take the time to “teach” you. Yet if you’ve had multiple partners, then you’ve been used too much and aren’t good enough for them.
These days, girls are being taught to raise the ceiling and break the glass. Be independent-you don’t need a man. But I don’t care how successful you are. People still need sex. Some kind of human interaction.
As a woman, I understand it. The need to use men but also believe in love. But society tells us to question that. With how high divorce rates are, you have to think-is there one person out there for you? Maybe that person is the one for you today, but what about in two years? Who says that the man you marry and have three children with won’t fuck your best friend in your bed with your wedding pictures hanging on the wall while he tells her he won’t leave you because of the kids? Then what?
I fucking kill him, that’s what. Then I spend the rest of my life in prison while my mother raises my children, and they end up getting bullied because their mother is a murdering psycho who was once a whore back in her twenties.
Women will say things like; it’s just a man. You deserve better. Go out and find another one. But why should I have to go and start over with someone else because he can’t keep his dick in his pants? Why do I have to accept his betrayal? I wasn’t raised to accept defeat. No. My mother raised me to fight fire with fire. Even if that means having to burn myself along with him.
I look out the windshield at the car parked in front of me. It’s unique, rare. He ordered it after he graduated from college and went to work for his daddy. It’s a black Lamborghini Sian and cost him a whopping 3.6 million dollars. I think it’s ugly.
He’s why I question everything. Men, love, sex. I’m where I’m at in my life because of him. The fucker has crossed the line. For years now, we’ve been going at it. I hate him. He hates me. It’s what makes the world go round. I’m sure of it.
But the sex… Goddamn, it’s off-the-charts amazing. That’s what makes me so mad at myself and pissed off at the world. But just when one of us thinks we should stop, the other pulls us back in for another round. We both know it. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure we’d kill one another.
My mother married his father when we were in high school. Typical fairy-tale romance. She was a server who was overworked and underpaid. He was a billionaire who just so happened to walk in and sit in her section early one morning. Four months later, they were married. My stepdad is a nice guy. But my stepbrother? Let’s just say he’s a fucking nightmare. He was a year older than me, and I thought I would be free of him after he graduated high school. But nope. Once his father got me into Barrington University-an elite college for rich kids-he offered me a room in his house that he shares with his three best friends-like I was a stray dog that had nowhere to go. I had laughed, thinking it was some sick joke. My mother thought it was the best idea Colt ever had. She praises him and thinks he’s the best thing to happen to us, other than his father, of course. I’ll give it to him, he’s good at being a stepson, but he lives to make my life miserable.
Looking at the clock on the dash, I see it’s a quarter till midnight.
Now is as good a time as any. He’s probably balls deep in some woman’s mouth right now. One can only hope that I’m about to interrupt something so fun for him.
Throwing my long, bleach-blond hair over my left shoulder, I pick up the joint and lighter out of the cup holder, stuffing them into my bra for safekeeping. It’s not to get high or to calm my nerves. It’s from his personal stash that he thinks I don’t know about.
My phone dings for the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, and I ignore it. The last time I checked, the video had over a million views in less than five hours. Instead, I dig into my purse and pull out my lipstick.
When I yank down my visor, the two lights on either side give me just enough visibility to reapply my Ruby Woo lipstick so it’s fresh as can be. Smacking my red lips, I smile to myself, rubbing my teeth to make sure none got on them. Showtime.
Getting out of the car, I walk to my trunk and hear whispers from kids that linger outside of the house while “Bad Moon” by Hollywood Undead plays from the inside.
“Fuck,” one guy hisses.
“Go get them,” another orders.
I smile to myself. Yes, go get them. Not sure why they’re so surprised to see me here. I fucking live here too. Do they expect me to go into hiding because of the video? If that’s the case, then they don’t know who I am. But they’re about to find out.
I grab the metal baseball bat and small can of gasoline, not even bothering to shut the trunk. I’m not here to hide what I’m about to do.
As I walk over to his car, my mother’s six-inch, red Christian Louboutin heels clap on the blacktop driveway. You gotta look your best when you decide to show your crazy. Otherwise, you’re just another stupid bitch like all the rest. Any woman can allow a man to make her go insane. The point is to stand out-be remembered and feared for your toxicity-but look fuckable while you’re doing it.
Coming to a stop at his car, I catch sight of some of the partygoers as they start running out the front double doors of the house as if there’s a fire inside. I ignore them and set the five-gallon gas can on the ground, grip the bat, and swing it at the driver’s side window.
“Fuck!” I hiss when it hits the glass and bounces back. My hands and arms vibrate from the motion, making them sting. This is harder than it looks. Removing one hand at a time, I try to shake them out.
“Oh my god, Ray. What the fuck are you doing?” I hear Tatum-my best friend-yelling while she runs down the front steps in a black mini-dress and Dior heels.
I could ask her why the fuck she’s at my house partying when she told me she had other plans tonight when I offered to go out on a double date, but I don’t. Instead, I stay on track. Widening my stance, I make sure to put all my weight on the balls of my feet. I’d hate to fall off the back of my heels. Gripping the bat tighter, I swing again. It bounces off this time as well.
“You-“
Sucking in a deep breath, I let out a scream, interrupting her, and swing the bat. This time, I aim for the edge, making it shatter. “Thank fuck.” I sigh. That’d be pretty damn embarrassing if I couldn’t get it done with an audience. I toss the bat to the side and reach inside the now broken window, being careful not to cut my arm, to unlock it with a laugh. “Look at that.” It was already unlocked. Of course, the motherfucker wouldn’t have his car locked because no one would ever fuck with his shit.
I could have checked first, but if you ask anyone who knows me, they’ll tell you that I can be dramatic. Plus, I just like to break shit. It can be very therapeutic.
When I pop the door open, the broken glass falls at my feet, and my heels crush it while I pick up the gas can. Looking inside, seeing the shattered glass covering the black and gray seats and floor makes me smile. Unscrewing the lid, I reach in and start shaking the can, letting the gas sprinkle all over. I don’t really think there’s a right or wrong way to do it. It’s not like I googled it or anything. I’m just going by what feels natural.
Then I think what the hell and toss the entire thing into the car. I remove the lighter from inside my shirt, light it up, and throw it in as well before taking a few steps back.
Fuck, that felt good.
COLTON
“YOU LIKE THAT?” Amy asks, riding my cock.
“Yeah,” I lie, fighting a yawn. I need a drink, a hit, anything to help me out. I’m fucking bored as shit.
“Hmm,” she moans, throwing her head back while her hips move back and forth.
My eyes trail down over her fake tits and thin waist. I wasn’t really in the mood to fuck, but when she offered it downstairs, I thought sure, why not?
Someone knocks on my bedroom door.
“Go away,” I growl, my fingers digging into her hips, needing more. Her boobs don’t even move while she grinds back and forth like it’s doing something for me, not bothered by someone trying to interrupt us.
“Colt-“
“I’m busy!” I sit up, glaring over her shoulder at the door. Persistent motherfucker. “Leave me the fuck-“
The door opens, and Finn leans against the doorframe. His green eyes drop to Amy’s bare ass. Tilting his head to the side, he licks his lips and announces, “Raylee’s here.”
I smile at his words, and Amy reaches up, running her hands through my hair. “She’s seen the video.” I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to return from her date.
He laughs, nodding once and still eyeing Amy, who has stopped fucking me. “Oh, she saw it all right. She’s setting your car on fire as we speak.”
“What?” I bark. Shoving Amy away, she falls off the side of the bed to the floor with a thud. “Fuck!”
“I’m sure you deserved it.” Amy laughs, not the least bit upset that I just tossed her aside. We’ve been drinking for hours, but I’m not drunk like her, so I don’t find this funny.
Not even bothering with a shirt, I run down the stairs, trying to pull my jeans up, and storm out the open front doors to see a fire raging inside of my car. “Motherfucker!”
“Damn.” Alex chuckles, already on the porch, enjoying the show. Not even bothering to stop her. “The bitch actually did it. I thought they were joking.”
My teeth grind. I don’t even give two shits about the car. No, I care that the pretty little princess is standing next to it, arms crossed over her chest, staring up at me with a smile on her face.
She’s such a little bitch.
“Get everyone off the property,” Finn orders, coming to join us on the porch. He was much slower than me coming to see the show. “We don’t need an audience watching us take care of her.”
“No,” I disagree, not taking my eyes off her.
She’s got her head cocked to the side, her long bleach-blond hair over one shoulder. She usually curls it, but it’s straight tonight. I imagine walking over to her, wrapping it around my fist, and dragging her into the house and up to my room, where I tie her facedown to my bed and beat her ass with my belt. Tears running down her face while she begs me to stop before I fuck the bitch out of her. Then leave her there, face covered in my cum, unsatisfied and humiliated. That would teach her a lesson. But I also know she’d enjoy that.
“No?” Finn chuckles. “Seriously, man? She just set your car on fire.” He points at it as if I don’t see the flames engulfing it.
Choosing not to explain myself, I ignore him, and my eyes drop to her red heels and run up over her tan, toned legs. She wears a pair of black jean shorts frayed on the bottom with a black V-neck T-shirt. Simple yet so fucking attractive at the same time. Raylee is the devil in a woman’s body. She’s vindictive, manipulative, and incredibly fucking sexy. It’s a sin really to look that good. And I should be ashamed of how obsessed I’ve become with her.
“The girl is fucking crazy,” Jenks mumbles, walking out of the house with a cigarette between his lips while he lights it. His jeans are also undone, but at least he has a shirt on.