Maximilian Robert Pierrot-Smith had it made. A name that opened doors, Windsors hanging from the family tree like a peasant uprising, and his Masters degree was a formality. He knew there wasn't a girl at the university he couldn't have if he wanted. He DIDN'T want them. They couldn't satisfy him. They were weak. Cowardly. Sure, they'd let him fuck them, eagerly. But go beyond the basics and they balked. He'd tried, of course. His current girlfriend even agreed to a spanking. Just once. Gently. It was pathetic! The moment he suggested something real--something darker-- they looked at him like he'd crawled out of the gutter. Then they ran.
Max had a plan. If the classic beauties, the connected and the wealthy girls thought they were too good for him he needed something... different. A girl with no real opportunities. No real value. A girl who nobody in their right mind would look at.
An ugly bitch.
After all, didn't everyone know that such a girl would do anything to keep a guy's attention?
If that was true, he needed to set his bar really low! Besides, if they tried to object and he had to do something about it then Max was sure that there'd be a lot less problems getting rid of a no-hoper than someone who had everyone's eyes on them. No, it was time to ditch the arm candy girlfriends and find himself a "don't-looker".
Thursday night saw him stalking the campus once more, looking. Not specifically for his ugly bitch, but enjoying just how much better he was than anyone else here at Kenstone University. Sure, it was mostly a school for the rich, but few of them were titled like he was. Especially here, near Bowen Hall. It was on the edge of campus, where the lowest of the scum hung out - the scholarship kids from the working class who thought they'd made it just because they squeezed through the door. The kids who hung out with a cheap beer thinking they were the toughest bastards on site. They'd run if they ever faced a real threat.
He heard them start to throw insults at someone and turned to see who was the target of their stupidity. That's when he saw her.
Ugly didn't begin to cover it. She was short and fat and even in the evening light he could see she had zits so bad her face could have been covered in pepperoni. She had a thick coat wrapped around her as she hurried past with her arms laden with books. He wouldn't have noticed her before, unless it was to make fun of her himself. But now? Now she had potential. When one of the thugs stepped in front of her and blocked her way on toward the library, Max grinned.
She was trapped. She was his.
"Hi, baby," he said as he strode across across the pathway, beaming at her. "You doing ok? How was school today?"
The idiots turned to look at me.
"Who the fuck are you?" one demanded.
"Pierrot-Smith? What the fuck? That's Max Pierrot-Smith!"
Of course they'd heard of him. He was the son of the Earl of Thornleigh, damn near campus royalty. It entitled him to the title of "The Honourable..." though there was nothing honourable about him.
"Who?"
Max went still.
For a second, nothing. No reaction. No acknowledgment. Just the dumb, vacant "Who?" ringing in his ears like he was a fucking nobody.
That pissed him off.
He grabbed the young woman by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Are these morons causing you trouble?"
"Why the fuck are you with her?" asked the slightly smarter one. "You could have any bitch on Campus and you're with that ugly munter! I wouldn't touch her with your dick!"
Max turned to him. If they'd really been smart they'd have recognized the grin he gave them. It... wasn't good.
"Yeah? I heard you boys are fond of dicks. Each other's isn't it?"
"What the fuck did you say?"
The biggest idiot pulled a knife.
Max snorted, he couldn't help it. A fucking knife?
He played rugby, not professionally, but enough to be known as a brute in the amateur game. He also competed at county-level MMA. And this dumb chav thought he was going to come at him with a damn knife?
Max didn't even move at first. Just let the guy come.
The kid lunged, stabbing wildly.
