I smirk, remembering how her eyes widened when she realized Rowan wasn’t there to help her. I’ve watched the video at least a dozen times. Liam also may or may not have hacked into and posted it on every digital billboard along the I-95 and I-84 corridor.
“Everyone, please take your seats. We have a lot to cover before finals,” Lilliana instructs from the lectern.
Exams are in two weeks, then we have a month to spend away from all the bullshit. I can’t say I’m not looking forward to spending the holidays with our girl.
A phone rings above the chatter in the room. I turn toward the noise and see Professor Monroe’s eyes widen in surprise. She hastily pulls the device from her cranberry wool sweater pocket, whirling around to answer. The class continues to bustle about, taking their seats and pulling out their laptops.
“I have to go,” Liliana blurts, scrambling to grab her things. “It’s time. . . Charli??”
Waving my hand, I say, “Go. I was teaching today’s lecture anyway.” I know it’s the call she’s been waiting for. We briefly touched base prior to class. I didn’t ask for details, and Liliana didn’t offer them. But I know Charli is one of her partners, and by the look of joy on the professor’s face, I assume this is good news.
Liliana smiles. “Thank you. I need to be there for her. I’ll be in touch.” Then, she dashes out of the room.
“Today, we’re going to be discussing the Heather McGhee book you all should’ve read during fall break,” I explain, stepping behind the podium. I wait until the room quiets before I begin. “How does McGhee’s overall premise tie into our conversation about the impact of policies on society?”
A hand shoots up, and I tip my chin, signaling the student to speak. “One of the big takeaways was how discriminatory policies against marginalized groups have economic impacts.”
“And that’s a crock of shit,” someone snaps. My gaze moves toward the sound of the voice.
Beau McCarthy. This should be good.
I move from behind the stand, stride over to the desk, then sit on the edge of it. “Why do you say that, Mr. McCarthy?”
The smug youngest son of an oil tycoon smirks. “Because everyone has an equal opportunity to make it here, and all this bullshit about laws making it so only certain people win is nonsense.”
“Says the guy whose family has never had to worry about food being on the table for generations,” Emma mutters, rolling her eyes.
Beau’s hands fist on top of his desk. “That’s not because of some law. Let’s be honest here. All this talk about how the government makes policies to benefit some over others is just another way to try and pit people against each other.”
“No. You can’t have an honest discussion about economics without acknowledging oppressive systems in place that continue to foster inequities,” Emma retorts.
Beau grits his teeth. “What do you have to complain about? You fucked your way out of being white trash.”
You can almost see the silence with the way the room quiets. I gleam, watching Rowan’s, August’s, Karl’s, and Liam’s hackles rise. Karl slips a butterfly knife from his boot, flipping it open as he prepares to stand. Emma’s imperceptible shake of her head freezes them in place. Following her lead, I refrain from any reprimands.
Aloof to his colossal mistake, Beau continues. “Bitches like you always complain.
‘This country is so horrible. The rich are so corrup t,’
” he mocks, not noticing the predator lying in wait.
My jaw locks. That’s a step too far. “Mr. McCarthy, I suggest you learn to read the room,” I growl, but Beau never knows when to shut the fuck up-a problem that plagues his older siblings as well.
I roll my shoulders back, glaring at the prick, oblivious to the pain awaiting him.
Beau’s fucked. Karl’s knife flips between his fingers-Rowan cracks his knuckles while August’s expression declares Beau’s imminent death, and Liam’s fingers are flying across his keyboard. Destroying the McCarthy family by releasing the insider trader information his father’s been using to try and recoup the family fortune that wife number five is snorting up her nose, I’m sure.
Emma holds up her hand, halting all our movements. “I always find it hilarious how fragile the male ego can be when challenged. Are you so insecure that resorting to unimaginative name-calling is the best you can do?” she quips.
Fuck, she’s amazing.
“It’s not name-calling if it’s true, you dumb slut,” he spits, slightly angling his head to peer at her. “You’re always strutting around here like you own the place-proud to be pregnant before you’re twenty with no idea who those bastards’ father??”
Springing from her seat, Emma presses the blade that is no longer in Karl’s hand into his carotid. “Finish that sentence, Beau. Please do it so that I can decorate this room with your overprivileged blood,” she snarls, and he hisses as a trickle of crimson liquid runs down the column of his throat.
My cock stiffens in my jeans, and I stand, striding over to the podium to hide my very obviously growing hard-on. I’m safely behind the lectern when I decide I’m going to fuck her after I punish her. My dick is so hard it hurts.
Beau remains silent, and Emma quirks a brow. “It’s always assholes with no spine that talk the most shit when they can hide behind their mommy’s Dior skirts. Well bitch boy, mommy can’t save you. So finish your goddamn sentence!”
Emma’s demand filters through the air as she pushes the metal tip harder into his flesh. The scent of urine fills the room.
“Did you just piss yourself?” Rowan laughs, briefly pulling my attention away from where she’s holding the knife against his neck to the undeniable wet spot on Beau’s pant leg.
My gaze travels up in time to see molten rage painting Emma’s complexion. Her nose scrunches as her gray eyes narrow to slits. “I could set up a gang bang on the professor’s desk after hours to sell it to some porn site, and it would be my fucking prerogative. I could give less than a fuck what you have to say about it.”
“Over my dead body,” Liam mumbles, but Emma’s so focused that I know she can’t hear him. Otherwise, a few choice words would be thrown in his direction.
Beau barely breathes. His snot mixes with blood as fear emanates from his body in palpable waves.
Emma lowers her mouth to Beau’s ear and declares, “But what you, or any other stupid fuck, won’t ever be allowed to do is disrespect my kids. I’ll slice off your lips and shove them up your ass since you like to talk so much shit.”
“Fuck, I think I just came in my pants,” Karl groans, and I can’t help but silently agree.
It’s time for everyone to leave. “Class dismissed,” I announce, adjusting my cock. “We’ll pick this up next week. Until then, I strongly suggest reading so you don’t embarrass yourself like Mr. McCarthy.”
No one moves. “That means get the fuck out,” August barks, springing everyone into action. People don’t bother to pack up, snatching their belongings and rushing out of the room instead of incurring our wrath.
“Okay, Dove. Let us take the trash out. I think he understands he fucked up. Don’t you, Beau?” Liam mutters before kissing the top of her head.
“Y-y-y-yes,” he stammers, barely opening his mouth for fear of being cut any further.
August slaps his shoulder. “You’re not a complete dumbass, after all. Which is unfortunate because I’d love nothing more than to have her covered in your blood.”
Emma’s nostrils flare and her chest heaves like the idea excites her.
Oh, my Spitfire has a thirst for blood. That image makes my dick grow even tighter in my jeans.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.