It’s probably Sable texting me about making birthday plans again.She’s been harassing me all day, trying to see me, but I couldn’t bring myself to go out. Despite my mother’s eloquent timing, the last birthday I celebrated was before Lionel went to prison.
Today hasn’t been a day of celebration for a long time, and truthfully, I think I prefer it that way now.
Sighing, I pick up the phone and glance at the screen, only to do a double take when I glimpse the number.
I don’t recognize it, and the lock screen indicates the message is an image. My stomach flips with unease.
Warily, I open the message to find a still shot of my naked body with black Sharpie all over it—ink I’ve onlyjustfully scrubbed out of my skin.
My heart sinks, and I feel my face bleach of color.
There’s an address written below the photo, and nothing else.
But I know exactly who it’s from and what he wants.
Dread doesn’t need to put his threat into words. His message is perfectly clear: come, or he releases the video—and I only need one guess that he’s given me the address to Craig’s party.
I close my eyes, attempting to bargain with my insides and keep the vomit down.
He’s going to murder me this time, I’m sure of it.
News has spread across campus about Dread’s odd behavior at his swim meet a couple of days ago, about him having to leave early due to ‘feeling under the weather.’ At least, that’s what all the official reports claim.
But I know better, and I know he knows what I did.
Exhaling a heavy breath, I hang my head, defeated. I knew he was going to get his revenge, and while I’ve grown used to it, it doesn’t make it any less shitty.
Sometimes, I wonder if I should just lie down and take it when he abuses me, stop retaliating. He’d probably leave me alone more often, but it’d be a lot harder to live with myself if I didn’t at least make his life harder, too.
Whatever.
Let’s just get this shit over with, you spiteful bitch.
Maybe I’ll let Victoria know I’ll see her there. If she takes my advice to avoid wearing green, maybe she’ll listen if I tell her to stay away from the tip of Dread’s Sharpie, too.
I don’t belong here, but everyone already knows that.
Especially me.
Craig Matthews was born and raised in Hollow Canyon and is the mayor’s son—which means he doesn’t just stay in a normal condo or apartment off campus, but a huge fucking house.
I’ve always wondered why Dread opted out of staying off campus, too, but it’s never something I cared enough to ask. Not that I’ve had a whole lot of opportunity to between his sadistic pranks and cruel insults.
I know he’s got a full ride and that the college is paying for his housing, but with all of his brand deals, there’s no doubt he can afford to live somewhere just like Craig’s.
The house is modern and currently packed full of students. Not exactly as lavish as I expected for a mayor’s son, but it’s definitely outside of the average American tax bracket.
The entrance leads directly into the living area, with cream walls complemented by a mix of black and oak furniture. The area is massive and provides plenty of seating, allowing for students to crowd inside.
A heavy bass rattles the light wood floor as I hesitantly make my way through the living room, glancing over the sea of different faces and hoping none of them are Dread. He’s nowhere to be seen, so I head into the equally large kitchen, where liquor bottles, beer cans, and red Solo cups litter every available surface.
On the left is an open concept, a lone counter stretching out and curving into a half circle, allowing me to see beyond it. It's a huge open area with a staircase in the middle, splitting one massive room into two separate areas.
The breakfast table is on the other side of the counter and is currently being used for beer pong, where most of the noise originates from—a mix of loud cheering, groaning, people placing bets, and side conversations about random shit.
And, of course, standing on one end, against the back wall, is Dread.
He leans down toward a short brunette standing next to him and points toward a cup, his mouth moving as he seems to direct her. She’s facing him, her back to me, so I can only glimpse her side profile when she looks toward the cups, but I think it’s Stacy Clark. I assume she’s hispartner, because she shoots her ball toward the cup he pointed to and promptly misses.
