I wait until she picks herself up from the cracked tile floor and treads back to her dorm before I retrieve her discarded clothes. I hold them against my nose and inhale. They smell like her. No traces of him thank Christ. My cock twitches. It’s like having a piece of her with me, and being the sick fuck I am, I’m unable to hold back my need to come. Her scent has a fuckin’ connection straight to my cock.
I lean against the tiled shower wall and sink to my knees. Hastily, I unzip my jeans and pull my cock out. He’s ready. Always seems to be with her. This time I inhale her panties and stroke myself furiously. Her natural scent is an aphrodisiac. Guess everyone has their own brand of pussy. Lucky me that hers happens to quiet my insanity. Just an added bonus that she’s addicting—get to use herandenjoy the perks. Lucky fuckin’ me.
I explode all too quickly, painting the wall in my ropes of cum. Now the real fun
starts.
***
Campus is usually busy at night with drunk fucks getting their dick sucked or sneaking into other dorms for not-so-secret high-stakes poker games. But it was definitely advantageous of me to pick the one night everyone’s preoccupied with social events. Mortensen, Kieran’s old man, likes to do monthly communal groups. It’s meant to bring the students together, to meet others outside of their social circle. Wouldn’t be caught dead at that shit; I don’t have a social circle. Luckily, Jaxdoesn’t attend this shit either. The guy runs with a few of the Elites, but I’m betting he’s probably getting his rocks off with some slut.
I settle into the darkness beside the streetlight, content to wait for the right moment.
Can’t rush it. Slow, methodical patience is needed. Can’t be messy.
The minutes tick by, and I calculate. Gotta be sensible. If Jax has a bitch with him, she’ll go run her mouth. Gotta wait till he’s alone. Wasn’t gifted with infinite patience, but I will make it happen if I have to.
I fish a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it to wash the taste of molly from my tongue. My eyes slip closed and my back hits the cool metal of the lamppost. The nicotine clings to my lungs and sends a surge of readiness through me.
Right on fuckin’ cue, Jax stumbles out of the Scribe Building. Probably fuckin’ one of the smart scholars. Why they’d fuck him is beyond me. Women always fall to their knees for bad guys; they crave the abuse.
I flick the cigarette butt from between my fingers onto the grass. I watch as the sorry fuck struggles to regain his footing and slams into the stone-carved wall. I pace myself, waiting for him to get far enough from campus that the school won’t be implicated in what I’m about to do. Not too concerned if he talks.He won’t.
Instinctively, I find my switchblade and ready it in my palm. He finally starts moving. His body sways along the dim path that circles the circumference of the campus grounds. I keep my distance, shrouding myself in the darkness. Gotta stay undetected. The streetlights do little to light up the winding path.Fuckin’ perfect. This shit is almost too easy.
When we finally make it near the edge of campus; I take my shot. I slip out from the shadows and slowly match my steps against his sloppy ones. Just as the glow of the streetlights dissipates, I close in. Reaching out, I wrap an arm around his neck, then my blade meets his skin.
“What the fuck?” he slurs, struggling to dislodge me. All he does is dig the blade deeper against his skin. Good luck. Six-foot-six of solid fuckin’ muscle catches him off guard, and it gives me the advantage. He grips my forearm, but it’suseless.I twist us around the corner and drag him by the neck into an empty building. He’s too drunk to fight properly. Pity, I love the fight.
The door slams closed behind me with an echoing thud, encasing us in darkness. That’s easily rectified. I use my free hand and dig out my gas station lighter, clicking it in front of his face as he struggles against my grip. He reeks of cheap liquor.
His eyes trace up my arm where the flame of my lighter dances on my skin. My hoodie sleeves are up to my elbows from the scuffle. He maps the outline of my tattoos on my arm then freezes.
Realization dawns. “Zain?” He’s too drunk to fully realize how fucked he is.
“That’s right,” I say darkly. I let my words sink into his brain. “Told you not to cross me.
There’re consequences. You’re a problem. Nothin’ that can’t be solved with violence,” I assure him in a low, casual tone.
He starts struggling against me again. My grip tightens, cutting off his airflow. “Now, I’m not gonna kill you. But lessons need to be taught, don’t cha think?”
“Nah, man. I won’t try to rape anyone again. I swear!” he pleads, but I know he’s a lyin’ piece of shit. Once a monster, always a monster. Iwould know. His voice sounds desperate, which only fuels my perverse delight.
I chuckle and slam him against the wall. I reach for the light switch, pocketing my lighter.
His eyes narrow, unable to adjust to the brightness as he squints. He covers his face with his forearm as he cowers against the wall, boxes stacked neatly beside him in the corner. Each one labeled with which department they’re used for. The building is probably used for storage.
“Think I give a fuck about that?” I supply, my insides coil with rage. This piece of shit is as dense as they come.
He lowers his forearm, a look of perplexity written on his ugly face. He staggers against a stack of boxes before toppling to the floor in a drunken heap.
I invade his space and crouch down, cocking my head. “I don’t. You fucked with what’s mine,” I glower.
Sweat trickles down his neck from fear and probably alcohol, and a thrill jolts through me. His panic is my fuel. Digging my switchblade out again, I snap it open, letting the metal shine against the fluorescent lights. His eyes track my movements as I twist it between my fingers with practiced skill.
Cut him.
Make him bleed
