21-year-old Florence Ivelle struggles through college to claim freedom but gets trapped into a deal with her brother, Alastor, leaving her at his mercy until she graduates. She doesn't expect to be kidnapped into breaking it.
Three masked men take h...
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College wasn't my dream, but it was an escape.
I was smart enough for a scholarship and dove into my work, determined to make a better life for myself once I graduated. I wouldn't live with Killian or Alastor; I would be alone—and free.
"So," my roommate Toska drawled from the top bunk of our dorm. "Party?"
I glanced at her, watching her twirl her curly, black hair. Pushing her palm against her cheek, she quirked a brow expectantly. "We should go," she coaxed. "Studying on a Friday night is boring."
I didn't enjoy college parties; they were full of arrogant white men with a need to rut against the woman closest to them, and I'd gotten into fights because of it. Toska loved seeing me fight. Maybe that's why she kept dragging me to parties.
I half-smiled. "Who are you having me hit this time?"
She grinned. "No one. Yet." She began her descent on the ladder. "Come on; it'll be fun."
"Parties are for partying," I told her, a slight tease. "Not fighting."
"Parties are for people," she corrected with a wink as her feet touched the floor. "And people love to fight."
My fingers drummed against my desk. "Two hours at the party, then we study."
"You're a smart ass," she said, beaming at me. "Studying needs you."
I cracked a smile. "Pick something out for me?"
She squealed, darting to sort through our hanging closet.
It was a relief to have her as my roommate. In the past three years, I'd had six roommates. Some dropped out, and some despised me for my late study hours, but Toska put up with me, even joining me at my desk during the early hours until we fell asleep there together. She was the only one I befriended that befriended me back.
"This one," she said gleefully, holding up a muted orange dress. "For me. And for you"—she held out a black mini dress—"this one, and we'll pair them with heels!"
I grimaced. "Heels?"
"Live a little," she chirped. "Pain is good for the soul."
"Not my soul."
She only laughed in response, diving behind the border we'd set up to change. Throwing her shirt over the front of it, she sang, "I'm going to get so drunk."
"You're already planning a next time?" I teased.
"Yup," she chirped, her pants flying to greet the floor next. She made little huffs as she shimmied into her dress. "You're going to enjoy one party we go to. It's just science!"
"It would be math," I amended. "Probability equals favorable cases slash possible cases multiplied by 100."
She scoffed. "Whatever you just said went right over my head, never to be seen again; I hope you know that."
