“But I’m sure you don’t need a report to know what was in my system, do you, darling?”
I work to swallow, staring at Dr. Camry hard enough to laser a crater into the side of his balding head. Heat blooms across the back of my neck, and, within seconds, sweat forms along my hairline.
I’ve been waiting for him to bring it up again. He said he wouldn’t let it go in the pool house, and, of course, there’s never retribution without confrontation first.
“Don’t call me that,” I mumble, attempting to shift the conversation from my crime.
It’s fruitless, though.
He’ll never let it go. I could’ve killed him or, at the very least, destroyed his career.
It doesn’t matter that he nearly killed me first. It only matters that I gave him a taste of his own medicine.
Literally.
But if Dread can prove I drugged him, it would be very easy for him to turn the tables by getting me expelled and destroying my entire life instead.
I never had much of one after the wreckage Lionel left behind, but I managed to scrape together the broken pieces and assemble them into somewhat of a decent existence.
Nothing about it has been fulfilling, though.
At least not yet. Once I get my degree, I can give victims all the tools needed to do more than build a macabre rendition of a life from their brokenness. Instead, they’ll smooth out the serrated edges of those pieces and create something beautiful.
Except I will never get that opportunity if Dread decides to take shit another step further. And the most fucked-up part is, even though he doesn’t have proof, he doesn’tneedproof.
This school will give him what my parents deprived him of as a kid.
Someone to believe him.
“Isn’t that how I show my devotion to you?” he asks with faux innocence.
“The only thing you’re devoted to is making my life miserable,” I grumble.
“I’m just making up for lost time,” he drawls lazily. “I think your life was a little too easy for my liking until I came around.”
Oh my God, he’s fuckinginsufferable.
My cheeks burn with irritation, and for half a second, I come close to slapping the shit out of him.
“You know nothing,” I snap, just barely keeping my voice hushed.
He leans toward me, the short sleeve of his gray T-shirt allowing his bare skin to brush mine. I suppress a shiver and force myself to stay still, lest he think I’m cowering from him. His proximity stirs up memories I’m still struggling to keep from the forefront of my mind.
Hot breath fans across my ear, and again, I shove down another shiver.
“I know you drugged me,” he murmurs, his tone dipping seductively. “I also know what your pretty tits look like, and that you keep yourself bare between your thighs. What your tongue feels like wrapped around mine. What it sounds like when you moan for me as you grind against my cock. And how sweet your mouth tastes after you say my name. It’s almost as sweet as your tears.”
My face burns hotter with each word, and my lungs tighten into strings, refusing to take in oxygen despite how hard I try to force it into them.
“I didn’t drug you,” I lie, pointedly ignoring the rest while also internally berating myself for how breathless I sound. “I dressed in the cold, wet clothing you stripped me out of, and then I left.”
He hums, clearly not believing my bullshit for a second, but I’m certainly not stupid enough to admit to my crimes. Or, at least, not the ones that could land me in jail.
“I did attempt to hack into your phone,” I continue, shrugging a shoulder with forced nonchalance. “But you can’t blame me for trying.”
He’s quiet, though his stare burning into the side of my face demands every bit of my attention.
“I can blame you for a lot of things,” he says finally.
