The girl on the screen is completely unfazed by those glaring daggers into her back, but I know Meg. I know her hands tremble in her sleep, know the way her voice cracks when she pretends she’s fine. I know her silence better than most people know their own damn reflection. In this particular instance, she must have buried everything so far beneath the surface, only a shell of herself acting on instinct is left.
Everest stands and rounds the table he was sitting at. Everything in his strides scream smug and too casual for his own good. I knew he’d be an arrogant prick. He dips low, speaking into her ear. I expect the punch any second, but Everest turns away, flashing a charming smile to his audience. He starts to leave, patting Meg’s back, and I freeze the video at the exact moment her face changes. The crazed glint in her eyes, the feral flicker in her features.
I press play and Meg’s fist connects with Everest’s throat, clean and brutal. The camera jolts, moving to another viewpoint as the crowd lets out a collective gasp, and Everest stumbles back. I rewind it and watch it again. Again. And again.
Every time, I catch something new. The tight line of her jaw. The way her muscles coil just before she throws the punch. The way Everest’s eyes widen right before he loses his air. By the fourth replay, my hand is drifting down beneath the covers, my mind lost in the image of her. Not soft, not breakable.
“Fucking hell, Meg,” I moan as I close my eyes to wrap my hand around the ache that’s been lingering since the moment I woke up from that dream. I shouldn’t have ignored it. It was never going to go away by itself.
I stroke myself slowly at first, letting the image replay in my mind. Meg panting, adrenaline high, eyes blazing, her fist clenched and ready for more. My free hand grips the edge of the laptop, knuckles white, hips twitching upward into my palm. I imagine her storming into my room straight afterwards, hair still wild, blood humming in her veins. Still furious. Still shaking.
And then I envision her crawling into my lap and using that same explosive defiance on me. How her hips would snap forward, how greedily she would take me until she’s fully sated.
My pace quickens, vision tunneling as my breath stutters, the video continues playing in the background. The names they call, the bitter whispers. It only makes my hand pump harder, knowing that I’m the only person who knows what she’s truly like. I’m the one she confides in.
‘You want me to cum?’ she’d say in a sultry voice. I nod in real life, my eyes squeezed shut. I squeeze my hand harder, clenching as if it’s her pussy gripping me, her sweet voice in my ear. My balls tighten and I just about remember myself long enough to shove my laptop aside and grab a discarded sock. I finish with a groan, hips jerking, mind hazy as I mutter her name.
“Fuck, Meg. You’ve corrupted me,” I sigh. Silence fills the room, thick and electric. I sag back against the headboard, sweatcooling on my chest, and run a hand through my tightly curled hair. Meg is dangerous. And I don’t mean that in a metaphorical, heartbreaker sense. I mean she’slethal. To others. To me. And especially to anyone who thinks they can bully her and get away with it. So damn hot.
Once I’ve cleaned up and composed myself, I go back to play the video one last time, vowing to see it through to the end. I manage to make it past the punch without blowing my load again, watching the camera angle switch to Everest’s face now. He’s recoiled as if he’s been burned, keeping a cautious distance from Meg.
Good.
But then it all changes. I tilt my head, not wanting to respect the guy for straightening his shoulders and pulling a calm façade over his expression. His eyes are pale, awash with green, and there’s something peculiar happening within him. I pause, leaning closer to the screen. Ahh fuck. Unlike my initial thoughts, that’s not fear oozing from him. It’sinterest.
I throw myself out of bed, pacing once across the room and then back again, then deciding to put on some pants. This isn’t a dick-bobbing moment.
He’s interested in her. Where Meg sees a rivalry, he sees a long game. A mouse to catch in his trap. Did he enjoy getting hit by her as much as I enjoyed watching? Did he jerk off in the locker room, unable to hold off until he got back to his dorm?
“Maldito inferno, Thi. Why do you think thoughts you know you can’t forget?” I hiss and smack myself in the forehead. This changes everything. Everest is going to be a problem. A very...solvableproblem.
Turning sharply, I grab my laptop and place it on my desk beside my big boy computer. That’s the monstrosity I use for paid jobs, with layers of international proxies to mask my IP address and keep my clients and myself anonymous. Personalshit like ruining the life of the guy interested in my girl, that’s saved for my trusty laptop.
First things first, open a new entry in the student portal and start building a profile. Financial history. Room access logs. Messages to and from the campus administration. His timetable, his passcodes. Brick by brick, I mimic everything down to the photo so that the duplication can’t be flagged by the real one. The shadow account of Everest, controlled by yours truly.
Next, I pull up his calendar. Everest has an early training session listed tomorrow. Private drills. No one else on the field.Perfect. I create a new notification with an urgent email alert attached.
Captain Calloway. Mandatory meeting with Disciplinary Board, 8AM sharp. Attendance required. Uniform inspection scheduled.
I then hack and copy the same notification into the Dean’s calendar, so they’ll both be as confused as each other but forced to go ahead. It won’t do much today, but it’ll keep Everest locked in a room on the other side of campus long enough for me to start phase two of my masterplan.
Because I’m not just going to ruin him. I’m going toerasehim from Meg’s world. One click at a time.
Chapter Five
I can’t believe how many people have come to watch this stupid face-off I had no business instigating. Everest, being the smug dickmunch he is, told absolutely everyone who has ears. And anyone who didn’t hear the rumors would have seen the online announcement.
Guess what? I’m trending for all of the wrong reasons. Those who are in support of#CaptainMeg’sComebackfind themselves instantly blocked from Everest’s fandom and blacklisted from any of his future parties. To that effect, trolls are blowing up my phone with hateful comments and straight up death threats.
‘I wish that convict had raped you in the eye,’ might be my favorite so far. I put my phone on silent and left it in my locker, before following the roar of Everest’s name to the pitch. It’s all fakery. Just an attempt to ass-kiss the popular guy in hopes of being noticed by him. I would rather have one real friend over a thousand phony ones any day.
Fuck, I should really call Avery back. Also my mom, but at least she knows where I am and what I’m up to. Avery doesn’t. Before I knew her as my twin, she was my best friend. There was no me without her. Until her stepbrother/boyfriend sold me out and placed me in Harrison’s clutches as collateral.
As long as I was being tortured, Avery was kept safe with the men who worship her. The cost for both of us surviving was my mental state, and now she wants to go back to how we used to be, and I just can’t. I can’t sit in the same room as Wyatt fucking Hughes and pretend I can close my eyes without seeing the bastards who beat me, throwing me around like a rag doll for their own entertainment.
And that’s before our father, Fredrick, set eyes on me. He fucked with my mind more than any of them. Pain I can take, but the way he looked at me has screwed me up forever. He wanted a fresh start and was killed for it, Avery wants to reverse the clock and pretend none of it happened. But it did, I suffered for her wellbeing, and now I’m worried I’ll never form an emotional attachment to anyone ever again.
The sun blinds me as I step a foot onto the grass, dragging me from my thoughts. They are thoughts that have no business creeping through the iron-clad barricades I’ve clamped over them anyway.
