I scoff, shaking my head. “I don’t need your money.”
His expression doesn’t shift, but something in his gaze sharpens.
I let out a humorless laugh, remembering I don’t have any of my own. “Right.”
His fingers flex on the wheel, his patience thinning. “I told you, you belong to me. I take care of what’s mine.”
A chill runs through me. “I’m not yours.”
Hayden turns to face me, gaze dark. “You are. And you know it.”
Reaching out, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Don’t make me remind you how much you begged to be mine as you came on my cock.”
My throat tightens, but I force myself to glare at him. “I don’t want this.”
He exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly as if considering whether to indulge me or shut me down completely.
Then his voice drops lower, smoother. “You don’t have to want it. You just have to take it like the good girl I know you can be.”
I shake my head, swallowing back my frustration. Trying to erase the creeping memory of the last time he called me a good girl, and how hot and heavy he felt inside of me.
Hayden smirks, like he can read the thoughts on my face, as my blush is surely giving me away. His tone is final, absolute. “Just as I take everything from you, whether you consent or not.”
The words settle heavily between us. Hayden has been so evasive, but I realize now that he is never dishonest.
I hate how easily he says it. How much he means it. How much it sends a calming wave over me, knowing that while there is so much uncertainty, he is a constant.
I swallow down whatever uneasy feeling lingers and push open the door, stepping out onto the pavement. The air is crisp, sharp against my skin, but it doesn’t shake the heaviness of this morning, the weight of everything unspoken, of everything he refuses to tell me.
A part of me is so excited to be back at Eulogia that I hardly even concern myself with the idea of escaping him. What would I do? Run to my apartment, where he’s sure to find me? There’s no escaping men like Hayden; they take and take from you until they’re in your bones like rot. And while escaping Hayden seemed like a possibility when I was first taken, my pride attached to the childish idea that there was an out, a darker part of me doesn’t want to be.
I make my way to the nearest café, drawn in by the scent of espresso and burnt caramel, the low murmur of students already awake and pretending to be productive. I don’t even hesitate when I reach the register. I simply slide the black card across the counter, watching the barista’s expression shift as he swipes it and hands it back. He recognizes me clearly, and the name on the card.
The warmth of the cup seeps into my fingers as I take a slow sip, letting the bitterness settle on my tongue. For a moment, just a moment, I let myself pretend this morning never happened.
The campus is alive, with golden morning light cutting through the crisp autumn air. Leaves crunch under my heels as I make my way across the quad, past ivy-covered buildings and stone pathways etched with years of footsteps. I pull my jacket tighter around me as I take a deep breath of the crisp air. God, it feels so good to be back.
For a moment, it feels normal. Just another student heading to class, not a girl whose morning was spent being reminded that she belongs to a man who takes care of everything, whether shewants him to or not. That I’m nothing more than the property of a Bonesman.
I shake off the thought as I step into the library, the calming scent of books replacing the comforting aroma of coffee. My heels click against the marble floors as I find an empty seat, setting my coffee down with a sigh. My first course isn’t for another thirty minutes.
I exhale slowly, my stomach knotting.
No matter how much I try to pretend, nothing about this is normal.
But as I reach into my purse to grab my phone, I see a bit of movement right in front of me.
Then I look up and pause, as recognition runs through me.
Chapter thirteen
Martine Lilian Huntington-Russell
It’s Dale Danton-Taft.
She sits beside me, one elbow propped on the long communal table, twirling a pen between her red-tipped fingers. Her green eyes flick up to mine, assessing, and then she smirks.
“Well, look who it is,” Dale says, drawing out the words like she finds them amusing.
