"No, it isn't. The texts and the squirrel are really fucking with her. And she still has a conscience. She keeps talking about hisfamily—about how they didn't deserve it and that they should know what happened to him. She's one more shitty interaction with you away from running to the police and telling them everything. And I can't convince her not to if her hatred for you is stronger than her sense of self-preservation. Do better—I'm serious."
He doesn't reply. But Elias is smart—he has to realize I'm right. I know he hates Saige, but he can't hate her more than he loves himself. It's time for his own self-preservation to kick in.
"You think making her fuck you helps with her will to live?"
"Yeah, I think—no, wait, I know—that she loved every fucking minute of it. You know, it's a lot easier to get people to do what you want if you make them need you or even like you. That's a fundamental difference between you and me. Saige needs us, and if you'd back off just alittle bit, I think she'd happily do whatever we wanted."
"I don't want her happy while she's doing it. I want her to hate every fucking second of it."
I shrug. "Yeah, I know. Just do it a little quieter, okay? And less physical—don't piss Nolan off. Can I borrow your car?"
"Why do you need to borrow my car?" he grumbles.
"I let Saige take mine, and I'm going to follow her around for a bit—see if I notice anyone else following her."
"That's not a bad idea," Elias says.
"I was thinking we should have a party tomorrow, too—see if we can smoke them out."
"Fine. I'll start texting people."
"Sounds good," I tell him. "See you later; say sorry to your sister."
"No. And don't fucking call her that."
I leave through the front door, crossing through the lawn to where Elias's Porsche is street-parked. After climbing inside, I open my phone and track my Maserati to an area of campus known for its shops and restaurants.
I watch Saige spend my money for a couple of hours, somehow remaining completely unnoticed despite her constantly looking over her shoulder and checking her phone.
I have to admit that I get why people do this—I understand the thrill. I watch her sift through lingerie and slutty little outfits, taking them into the dressing room and wishing I could somehow get in there, too. I watch her try on lipsticks, imagining it smeared around her face and on my cock.
And then I watch her drink coffee in the back corner of a small café. She cries a little, and fuck if I don't like that, too.
By the time she returns the car and her shopping bags to the house and leaves for class, my dick is painfully hard. Her tits are about to spill over that low-cut top—I watch them bounce as she crosses the street, grateful that this fall has been unseasonably warm. I run my thumb up and down the hard ridge beneath my joggers, remembering how they looked when I fucked into her last night.
I'm just about to take it out and stroke it right here when Nolan runs up to the house, back from his over-the-top workout regimen. Don't get me wrong—Elias and I are in there almost every evening, but not like Nolan.
Aftera couple of minutes, I follow him inside and then wait in his bedroom while he showers.
He runs the five kilometers to the fitness center every day, lifts for two hours, and then runs back. Though he's shorter than us at 6'1", he's more cut up than I am and even bigger than Elias. No one gets to see it, though—no one but me.
No one gets to touch him or know him like I do. Not even Elias.
I lean against his headboard, slowly stroking my dick. It isn't long before the water shuts off, and he steps back into the room with a towel tied around his waist.
He tenses when he sees me. Even though I know every inch of his body, he still isn't entirely comfortable being seen like this. He prefers darkness, and even with the blackout curtains, I can make them out now.
But the scars never bothered me.
Wait—that's not true. They bothered me when we were younger and they were fresh. They bothered me the first time I saw them in the locker room by mistake, and he lied about what they were.
And then again when I found out the truth.
"Did I scare you?" I ask.
"You surprised me. Any luck stalking Saige's stalker?"
"Mmm, nope. Not really," I tell him, my voice strained.
