“I know, and it’s fucked up, but don’t go jumping off the deep end.”
“Cricket, back off or I’ll crush every bone in your fucking hand.”
He sighs but steps back. I twist the throttle and speed toward home. My surroundings are a blur, whizzing past unseen.
Make her hurt.
Make her bleed.
Make her suffer.
If it’s her… Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?No.
Hell hath no fury like amanscorned.
Sweet, sweet Zilphia, the most sadistic atrocities await you.
I’m going to make her hurt… I’m going to make her hurt so fucking good.
Three and a half years ago
“Sam, are you there?” Zilphia’s hushed voice drifts in through the open window.
I shoot up from the futon and sprint across the wooden floor. She sits curled in the window seat, her legs tucked at her side—barefoot, her hair cascading in loose curls around her shoulders, bathed in silver moonlight.
“They’re gone,” she squeals excitedly. “Meet me at the patio.”
Her parents went to some fundraiser thing, and Nolan’s staying with friends for the weekend, so we’re having a movie night.
“Okay,” I respond, my heart thrashing in my chest. “See you in a sec.”
I swallow hard and count to ten before leaving the tree house. The balmy summer night instantly envelops me. Down the stairs, past the swimming pool, and across the deck. I’ve never been inside her house. That thought alone makes my pulse race.
My breath swooshes from my lungs the second she comes into view. She’s so beautiful it hurts to look at her. The door flings open, and shelaunches herself into my arms, molding her softness to my lanky body. I encircle her petite waist, aching to bury my face in her neck.
“Ew, Sam, you’re so sweaty.” She pulls back, wrinkling her nose at me.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, my gaze fixed on the shiny floor behind her. “It’s warm out tonight.”
“Oh,” she mumbles, then runs her fingers through my hair. “You’re due for a cut.”
I inwardly groan, fighting not to react.
“Thinking about letting it grow out,” I rasp.
“I can see it.” A chaste smile spreads across her lips. “The surfer-stoner look would definitely suit you.”
We stare into each other’s eyes and something passes between us. Foreign and forbidden.
Zilphia clears her throat and sweeps her arm in a wide arc. “Welcome to my humble abode. What do you think?”
I walk inside and glance around. Exactly how I envisioned. Pristine, sparkling everything. No doubt the entire house matches the opulence of the kitchen.
“Very nice,” I mutter.
The doorbell chimes and my entire body tenses—my fight-or-flight response triggered.
“Relax,” she says, laughing. “It’s just the pizza. I ordered your favorite.”
