I cross my arms over my chest, my thin robe doing nothing to ward off the chilly gusts of wind.
“What do you want?”
“What do I want?” He glances away to let out an incredulous laugh. “I want to know why you paid for Kai’s lawyer when he’s not your TA anymore. Why I keep seeing him and his trailer trash girlfriend sniffing around you like dogs all the time.”
I tilt my head, studying him. The scars are worse than I expected—a gnarled mess of tissue that pulls at his left eye, more disfiguring the corner of his mouth and jaw.
My Kai did that. I thought I knew why, but I’m reconsidering that initial theory.
Surely the Jordans could afford a better plastic surgeon than the hack Ezra got. Even if his face is still healing, I’d never have thought he’d been left this wrecked after Kai’s beating.
Unless the assault was much worse than I’d thought. I had been preoccupied that night, what with Haven having a psychotic break and all.
“I don’t know what’s more alarming,” I say dryly. “That you’ve been paying such close attention to me, or that you felt compelled to come to my house to tell me this.”
“You weren’t answering my texts.”
“Because I told you we’re done, Ezra.” I push away from the doorframe, going to close the door. “If you spent more time catching a hint, you wouldn’t have time to stalk anyone.”
“If you weren’t such an arrogant fuck, you’d reply to my messages!” Ezra’s voice is rising. “But soon as you got bored of abusing me, you threw me away like a piece of trash.”
“Abusing you?” I repeat slowly as I turn back to him. “As I recall, you begged for it.”
His face flushes with anger and shame. He opens his mouth, but I don’t let him speak.
“You came tome, Ezra. You showed up at my office, desperate for someone to see you, begging me to tutor you when we both knew all along what you wanted was some more of whatever your family was dishing out?—”
His fist connects with my jaw.
The pain cuts straight through the fog of exhaustion and withdrawal that had been clouding my mind.
“Put him in the ground,”Bad Wolf growls.“Show him what happens to prey that forgets its place.”
But I just stand there, tasting blood, watching Ezra’s chest heave with ragged breaths.
“That make you feel better?” I ask, tugging my robe tighter around myself and tying off the belt.
“No.” His voice cracks. “I won’t feel better until you’re gone.”
Gone.
I study him again, even more carefully now that my head is clear. His hair is mussed. He has his puffer jacket zipped up to his throat, but his nose and cheeks are red from the cold. When I see the dirt and leaves caking his once-pristine white sneakers, my earlier misgivings return a thousandfold.
“Did you walk here?”
The Jordan house is lower down Earl Avenue—a near-hour long trek from mine, if you cut through the dense woodland separating the stretch of properties.
He doesn’t acknowledge the question, but his hand drifts to the right-hand pocket of his puffer jacket. There’s a bulge in there that seems too large for a phone or a wallet.
“Where would you like me to go, Ezra?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as monotonous as possible. “Should I leave town?”
“For a start,” he murmurs. It’s like he’s reciting from memory, his eyes staring through me, not at me.
“What’s in your pocket, Ezra?”
His hand slips inside. He blinks, eyes slowly focusing on mine. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” But there’s not a trace of mirth in his voice—it’s as flat as mine.
We’re a fine pair, Ezra and I. Two sociopaths with our masks off.
