He starts flailing, adrenaline coursing through his veins once again. I roughly grab his hand, forcing his curled fingers out from under hispalm. I snap them one by one. I want him to feel the pain he’s inflicted on my songbird.
After all ten fingers pop under the pressure, I chop them off one by one, letting them drop to the floor. His face pales from the blood loss. The booming music masks his ear-piercing screams and pleading cries. Doesn’t faze me.Blood drains from his veins, flowing down the chair legs and soaking into the floor below. I circle him, wiping the stray blood on my forearm that splattered against my mouth. The molly hits full force. I close my eyes, enjoying the high. Can’t fuck around too long, the blood loss alone will have him dead within hours. Gotta get movin’. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry, man!”
I don’t dignify him with a response. He isn’t sorry for shit; just sorry he got caught. I lay the butcher knife back down on the table and reach for Kieran’s Glock. I load the chamber with a magazine and come behind him. I cock it, pointing it at the back of his head. I fire without a second thought. No hesitation. He slumps over, blood droplets splattering over my face again.
“Mine.”
I’m shaking. I’m terrified. I’m just trying to survive this messed-up shit I’ve been thrown into. Loud music blares from somewhere downstairs, but I do as instructed. Darkness saturates me, but I refuse to get up and flick on the light switch. I remain silent and stay put in the room. And for once, I listen. I’m not oblivious to the fact Zain is going to kill him. My brain is working out all the emotions that are flooding my system, sending me into overdrive.
I curl into a tight ball against the cool wooden headboard and cling to his blankets. The smell surrounds my senses. Cigarettes and musk. Somehow it calms my jittering nerves. Is it all just a false sense of security and safety?
I blink a few times, adjusting my eyes to the darkness. My eyes are drawn to his laptop on the nightstand. It’s surrounded by used cigarette butts and empty beer cans along with mounds of dust. Curiosity gets the best of me. I lean forward and snatch it. Any excuse to get my mind off the fucked-up, depraved stuff going on downstairs.
I fire it up. The screen lights up, illuminating the dark room. I blink a few times, adjusting to the brightness. A password screen blips on the screen.
Of course.
I try his name.
Invalid password.
I try Kieran’s name next.
INVALID PASSWORD.
I try my name…
Password granted.
I blink a few times, processing the new information.Why amIhis password?Worry builds in my gut, but I tamp it down. I know I shouldn’t be snooping—I really shouldn’t—but he’s so mysterious and refuses to tell me anything about himself.
He has a few tabs open in his browser, and I take it upon myself to click each one open. When I do, I’m overcome with the disturbing realization that he’s been researching me. Tab after tab of information onme. My achievements. News articles related to my father. A live feed of my dorm flickers across the screen. My hands shake against the keys and tears spring into my eyes.
The laptop spills from my lap, crashing against the carpeted floor. My only saving grace is he can’t hear it over the blaring music.
I feel so violated.
I wipe the tears along my cardigan sleeve. With shaky hands, I pick up the laptop. I have to know what else he’s hiding, even if it kills my insides.
I start clicking through the various folders, then I come across one labeled Vesper Santi.
My blood runs cold. I hover the cursor over the folder, afraid of what’s inside. I close my eyes and blow out a breath before I muster up the courage to click it.
Picture after picture of me. Some spanning back years. My eighteenth birthday at my father’s estate. My first day of class here at Grimshaw.Another one is me singing at one of my many musical auditions and finally, the party invite the night I met him saved as a PDF. All neatly tucked away in a folder. My life. My personal information.
No.
This cannot be right. I shake my head trying to rationalize but I know deep down I can’t. Unease creeps into my stomach and I think I’m going to be sick. I rip my eyes away from the computer screen in revulsion. The details of his perfidy resonates deep like a festering sore.
How could I be so stupid? Nothing was happenstance. Showing up to my classes, knowing my whereabouts—even the party invite!All of it was a well-crafted lie. He trailed me, studied me and stalked my entire existence.
I should have heeded the red flags and gut feelings, but instead I let myself get entranced by his mysteriousness. He offered me a new world, opening my eyes to something delicious and dark. A pang of betrayal filters through me.
I snap the laptop closed before I go into total shock. Maybe I’m past that point. I sit on the edge of the bed, paralyzed. I can’t stay here. I need to run, run far away from here–from him, from all this chaos. Maybe I can go to the dean. Zain has shown avoidance will do nothing to stop his tendencies. He will chase me to the ends of the earth. I won’t even feel safe back at the estate. I drag the blade from my pocket and run my fingers over the coarse engraved wood before I toss it onto the black duvet.
Panic fills my insides. I make the split-second decision to bolt, ripping open his bedroom door. I don’t even bother to put the laptop back. I run as fast as my feet can carry me. As I bottom out on the last step, the music grows louder. Slipknot’s “Wait and Bleed”reverberates through the walls.
In my haste, I neglect to close the front door behind me. Instead, I run until my lungs feel like they’ll burst from my chest. My hair cuts through the cold air like a knife. Before I even make it past the first streetlight, I hear the slamming of a door behind me. My chest is hammering out of my chest. Stupidly, I turn around to glimpse over my shoulder, and adrenaline kicks in instantly. Zain is running—no, fuckingsprintingafter me like a frenzied, manic nutjob. Blood soaks his clothes. His face is painted crimson with blood splatter. He looks maniacal. Like Patrick Bateman in the scene fromAmerican Psychoafter he murders his coworker.
