Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(6)

Locking the front door behind me, I jog down the street, keeping my steps light.

God meets me at the bottom of my road with a gas can and tube in his hand, a cocky smirk on his face.

“I ain’t doing the sucking,” he informs me, handing me the instruments for tonight’s activity.

“You always suck,” I gest, taking the jab to the arm he gives me.

His brown, almond-shaped eyes clash with mine, a mischievous gleam shining through.

Most people who don’t know us assume we’re related with our similar looks and brotherly bond.

We’re both tall and athletic, dark hair and eyes, full lips and chiseled jawlines.

We’re a dynamic duo.

“Why can’t we just go to the gas station and fill it up?” he moans, looking up and down the street to make sure no one is around to see us syphoning gas from my neighbors’ cars.

“Because we don’t want to be on any video surveillance that can be used as evidence,” I tell him again. We’ve already been over this a few times.

Losing my scholarship was crushing once it really sank in.

My mom’s parting words at the hospital after my stupid accident really struck a cord with me, and since she’s been gone, my old man’s been a thorn in my fucking side.

Using money for school as a tool to keep me in line.

Fuck him.

He’s been flaunting his ass all over town, making a mockery of his marriage and my mom.

I fucking hate him and can’t wait to be out from under him.

“You sure you want to do this? I can speak to my dad for you.” God pulls out his cell phone. “This could be a hoax,” he grumbles.

“Or a test,” I remind him.

Rumor has it someone has proof that a secret society, The Elite, is in fact a real thing.

To most, it’s an urban legend, whispered about amongst high schoolers, but to those of us who know it exists know becoming a member brings opportunity, belonging, wealth, knowledge, and status.

God’s father, Baxter Samuel Goddard IV, or Four, as his friends call him, bears the mark of The Elite in form of a tattoo, yet he’s yet to confirm he’s in fact a member to his own son.

That’s how secret and elite this society is. However, I fucking know it’s true.

When I was twelve and staying over at God’s, one of God’s favourite pastimes was daring me to do shit. This one night, he had dared me to sneak into his father’s office and replace the “good” bourbon his father kept in there with cheap stuff he paid some hobo to buy for him in town. God’s always had issues with his father, like I said; we’re cut from the same cloth.

I was just about to exit Four’s office after completing the dare, when I heard his heavy footfalls approach. I had to find a place to hide. Lucky for me, Four needed a big office to fit his huge ego.





6 years ago


I dart across the room my head swivelling in all directions until I notice a slither of space down by the couch along the back wall.

The door opens and my eyes scan his movements. I can see him clearly, his cell glued to his ear.

My eyes track him as he goes to the huge self-portrait of himself positioned in the centre of the main wall.

The artist who created it had missed out a few of Four’s chins but captured the greed always alight in his eyes.

When he opens the frame like a door it causes my mouth to pop open, a safe is displayed behind it built into the wall.

That’s freaking cool.

Punching in numbers it beeps and releases the safe door.

Reaching inside he pulls out a book of some kind; it has an emblem of a skull covering the front with words that I can’t make out from this distance. With his cell to his ear he frowns and then speaks down the line.

“With her inheriting all his businesses it’s even more imperative that we recruit her into The Elite.”

Taking a few heavy breaths he shakes his head slightly before continuing.

“That was college. She’s made a life for herself since then, maybe we give her a little incentive. I want her name in this book.” He grunts, plonking the book down on his desk and straining his ass into the seat before grabbing a handful of candy from a bowl on his desk, shovelling them into his mouth like he’s never going to get a meal again.

“I’m leaving this to you, get it done.” He almost chokes through the sugar in his mouth before chucking the phone down.

Inquisitive by nature my hands become jittery with a need to see this book. It looks like something you’d see in a Jumanji movie, a treasure of some kind.

Picking up a pen, he flicks through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for and strokes his wrist over the surface, adding ink to the paper.

Closing the book he strains to stand back up and groans when his knees click under the pressure of his weight. I move further back until I’m flush with the wall. He locks the book back away and waddles past the couch I’m hidden next to and disappears out the room.




Present.



It was two years later when I finally got to see the book.

God’s parents were away on business and my best friend had a bad habit of needing to chase adrenaline highs. Stealing his father’s brand new Bugatti Veyron would give him just that.

The car cost a cool two million so the keys were kept in Four’s office safe.