JAX
Tonight he was going to make somebody suffer.
He really didn't care who, as long as they wiggled and squirmed like worms beneath his feet.
Or more accurately, a snake.
Just kidding. He did care who.
It couldn't be anybody. The person he was going to make an evening of destruction out of had to be a culprit who was just as vile as him.
Or worse.
On paper, everybody was worse than him anyway, though, so there's that, he supposed.
Nobody would think The King's Zer—or DKZ—college's native genius law student to break into the HARK's mansion at one of their lavish parties.
Or attack none other than the head of the HARK, Sofia Lucas.
The leader of the Tenz Jer'sey's leader.
But he had never been one to pass up a challenge.
And here was he, wandering through the excess of their chaotic home, floating by hot, stoned, and drunk bodies. For all that he was Williams—other secret society on King's Zer's land and the HARK's deadly foe.
They had been fighting the other since school started this accursed island off the coast of the dismal, dark, and depressive Brixton Kingdom.
And while they loved to play bad, the true culprit behind starting the war was Sofia, who was waiting with bated breath to whack his head and shatter it into pieces.
Evidently, they struck the first blow back, and since that time it had been a battle of who had the most in control.
Just kidding again. They were relentless.
And then there were the HARK, of course. Especially Sofia.
Their fights were the campus gossip each time, and the underground fights drew more viewers than the organizers had anticipated.
Fact is, human beings loved a little bit of anarchy.
A touch of violence and chaos.
A drizzle of blood somewhere. A cracking of bones somewhere. The crazier the better. The more crazed the mood, the more enjoyable it was to watch.
But that mob was appalled at getting close, landing a punch, tasting that blood, or putting hands on that broken bone.
It was abominably repulsive.
Very aberrant.
Horribly inhuman.
Evil.
Horrific. Frightful.
He said the same prayer in public—even around his friends. They recognized him as Jax 'The Ozen.' Jax, who made sure no one got killed and the police were taken care of.
Golden boy Jax with the highest GPA, who had Luthor College salivating in order to be able to welcome him as one of their own.
Jax, who had the whitest reputation and a future marked by open doors.
Nobody had any idea that while they believed that he was stuck in his room studying, he was here, stalking back behind enemy lines as part of the HARK.
Doing something that none of them, even his brother Stiles, would ever do.
And he had been so meticulous about it, too. Firstly, he needed an invite, and those were only issued by the upper one, i.e., Sofia and his bunch of useless loyal followers. But they also allowed their invitees to bring plus-ones.
So he complimented one of the women Sofia had been chatting up, lied and told her that the book she was reading was really interesting—it wasn't, another piece of soul-sucking analytical crap authored by a self-righteous idiot—and it got things rolling.
He was pretty sure that she was Sofia's girlfriend because she had her hand clutched on his arm and was deep-throating him with her tongue around campus, but she certainly did not look like it when she had her foot on his crotch under the library table—yuck, by the way, don't ever have your filthy feet anywhere near him.
One scorched pair of blue jeans later, he had the invitation he'd struggled with wanting to cut her throat for.
He'd wholly ignored her since he got there, though. The mask helps keep his chosen persona buried.
Invisible.
He tugged on his white skeleton mask with two large, black-painted holes for eyes—the HARK version of their neon stitch masks. While theirs can be distinguished by color, theirs can be differentiated by the symbols etched on them.
Regular members, like whom he was masquerading, bear a white skeleton mask with no design.
Leaders bear black skeleton masks.
Sofia, whose way he'd been following from across the room, also wears a black skeleton mask, but his has golden snakes patterned on it shooting out from the place where his eyes should be.
No surprise there because he always prefers to stand out. The freakier, the better.
His home was everything that one would expect. A humbling excess of power, wealth, and dominance. The imposing entrance waited for him out in front in cold, decadent hues of ivory.
The chandeliers hung down from the ceiling, pouring with crystals, spreading a soft, ethereal illumination over the marble floors that are glass-like in shine. Velvet drapes encase the walls, the dark-red folds casting a red hue over DKZ's students.
Banging music and loud laughter filled the atmosphere, but none of it sounded close, clear, because he was standing outside something he didn't want to be part of.
He pushed his way through the crowd effortlessly, a faceless person in the sea of HARK, another one of them. Standing up straight and moving with intent, he edged deeper between them, unseen.
That was what he'd always been.
Invisible. Unnoticeable.
Since he grew up in the overpowering shadow of his younger brother, he automatically became smaller.
Barely discernible next to him.
Completely overshadowed by his attention-seeking habits.
You're such a good boy, Zex.
He never had to worry about him.
He was so glad he was this dependable, son. Responsible.
Reliable.
Perfect.
Perfect.
P. E. R. F. E. C. T.
Those were the things he heard as a kid from his parents, his grandpa, his teachers, and his entire entourage, in short.
And he loved it.
He loved the fact that none of them caught a whiff of this side of him.
The side tormented by desires and emptiness, and an impossible hunger so deep, Stiles would be a saint if they did know.
Except for Grandpa.
Grandpa was different.
So back to all those urges—the reason that he was blowing his time with these people. The air was thick with perfume, alcohol, and something more, something darker, like desperation and pain. It wrapped around his neck like a garrote, and he took it deep into his lungs.
Like a hit of the highest shit on the streets.
Damn he slipped a substance into Sofia's drink a while back when he just strolled past him unassuming like as he was chatting with one of his henchmen.
He took pains to position himself far from the camera so that if they scanned the security tapes later, they would not get a glimpse. Yes, they could track his movements for the rest of the night, but he was a step ahead on that too.
Not only did he avoid getting caught by all the cameras, but he also wore brown contact lenses, so even if they'd manage to take his photo, it'd be misleading.
Sofia lost her balance and grabbed the stairs to remain standing. None of the other drunk idiots saw him.
His lips curled into a smile behind the mask.
The drug was kicking in.
Soon, he'd be losing all his energy.
Don't get it wrong. He can perhaps wish to kill the HARK leader, but he was intelligent enough to realize that he could not fight him.
Not only large—almost as large and tall as his cousin Rebecca—but also shrewd and with his men and bodyguards around him who'd incapacitate him within an instant.
He had to be smart about this. He never did well with his fists, so he did archery and shot guys at initiations with arrows.
Too bad he couldn't get his bow in here.
He'd be cute with an arrow in his eye and blood running down his face.
What a waste of time.
But his plans were more devious. He'd humiliate him in a way that would have him blacklisted not only on the island, but even in his hometown.
His father would kill him. That would be fantastic.
His smile grew wider at the thought.
With Sofia gone, the HARK would be complete. Unlike them, where they share a more balanced power base, Sofia had been shouldering this entire mess on his back the whole time.
Sure enough, Sofia slowly climbed the stairs, holding onto the railing.
He wished he could capture this scene in a picture.
The guys' heads would be reeling if they had any idea what he'd done and what he'd be doing.
But then again, they won't.
No one will.
His brother had no interest in showing off his masterpieces.
He blended with a group of individuals that were headed higher and then broke off and slipped through other partygoers who were searching for a room where they could fuck the horniness out of each other.
It was more than he could understand how humans can be such.animals. Letting their desires get the better of them, submitting to dumb decisions and mediocre fucks they'll definitely regret tomorrow.
Don't get him wrong. Fucking was good, but only when he felt like it was. He became aroused only when he consciously decided he wanted to fuck, and never because of external stimuli.
Mainly, he loved the choking, the dominance, seeing them squirm beneath him. He liked it more when they've got this little expression of pain on their faces when it gets too much, and he wanted to keep hurting them. Red their skin. See their goddamn tears. Their fucking blood. Their insides.
But oh no, he couldn't have rumors that he is a sadist making the rounds. He was a nice piece to fuck who has a huge dick and eats out females until they orgasm. He made sure they orgasm first as well. He also set the mood and made them sleep comfortably and drink enough water.
He was the best fuck any woman ever had and he was a ten out of ten recommendation rate.
So in order to keep up that image, he couldn't do whatever came to mind.
Doesn't bother him, though. He'd mastered the art of pretending at all times—sex was part of it too.
Even from the ones he was closest to.
There was an exterior persona and an interior one.