It’s not the same mouth that was so full with my cum that she spat it all over my designer shoes while glaring and shaking.
The shaking is important, because even though she was clearly terrified and completely out of her element, she still scowled at me.
Still spat my cum out as if it wasn’t worthy of being in her stomach.
For that reason alone, I’m tempted to fill all her holes with that cum.
And now, I’m hard.
Fuck. When did I start to have such little control over my libido?
The answer is obviously three days ago.
Three fucking days since my visit to the cliff where I thought I could find some answers.
I found something much better.
The answer behind the answer.
Glyndon King.
I throw the ghost girl away, stub the cigarette on her Gucci bag, and stand.
Jeremy stares up at me. “Aren’t you going to stay around and plan the last details of the next initiation?”
“You do it this time.”
“Killer, you fake strategist!” Nikolai points a finger at me, giving zero fucks about the girl who’s orgasming in his arms. “Didn’t you say no one can top you, because your plans are the best?”
“They are.”
“Then give us one.”
“Jeremy already knows all about it, and I’m not interested in repeating myself. Call me when the actual fun happens.”
“You’re really leaving, Satan’s heir? The fun is just starting.”
“Some of us actually study, Niko. Med student, remember?”
“Bullshit. You’re a genius.”
“Still need to put in some effort.” Not really, but it makes society feel better to know everyone is human and suffers just like them.
I slap Gareth on the shoulder. “Stay boring, big bro.”
He flips me off and I smile as I slip out of the main party and head downstairs. The basement is soundproofed, so all the music and fuckery eventually disappears as I lock the door behind me.
The red room comes into focus and I stand at the entrance, staring at the attempts at masterpieces I’ve tried over the years.
My first picture of those mice was taken with a Polaroid camera. I had to commemorate the moment of seeing into a living being’s insides.
My second was Gareth when he hit his knee, bled all over the garden, and tried so hard not to cry.
The third was Gareth being attacked by a dog. Ever since then, he’s never really gone near one again. If he rationalized the fact that the dog who bit him was sick and probably rabid, he wouldn’t have to be so wary of them anymore. But I learned early on that other people’s responses to threatening, dangerous situations are vastly different from mine.
Where I stay collected, they panic.
Where I search for a solution, they let fear overwhelm them.
Over the years, I’ve taken a lot of pictures. Some are gory. Others, not so much. But they usually highlight some form of suffering.
Some form of…human weakness.
At first, I took them to understand how their reactions to certain situations differ from mine. Then I enjoyed the knowledge that I hold a part of them no one has access to.
Not even them.
That’s why they’re masterpieces.
I’ve preserved them so well over the years, not allowing anyone to see this part of me.
They don’t even know I’ve chosen medicine just so I can continue my fixation with seeing inside a living being without killing them.
It’s more of a challenge this way, but I get to remain hiding in plain sight and even be called noble for…saving lives.
I walk to the latest addition to my collection and pull it from between all the others.
My fingers run over the contours of her soft features splashed with tears, snot, and cum. I can still feel my fingers between her lips instead of seeing them.
That is the first time I’ve had such a strong release without my permission. I usually go to great lengths and extreme fetishes to release a sliver of what this clueless girl achieved without even trying.
And that pisses me the fuck off.
She’s supposed to be a mere thread whose sole purpose was to provide answers, and had no business shooting for a higher position.
As unfortunate as it might sound, I might have to break her for it.
Because I meant it yesterday. I still haven’t figured out what exactly I’ll do with her.
What’s for sure is that I’m going to recreate this look on her face. Again and again.
And fucking again.
One taste isn’t enough, after all.
It started with an investigation into Devlin’s death, but maybe that’s not as important as I initially thought.
GLYNDON
“Tell me why we’re here again?” I wince at the loud sound of rap music, chattering, and people.
So many people.
“Because we stan violence, duh.” Ava cheers while swaying to the music.
“You know, this unorthodox fascination with male violence could be a manifestation of unpleasant tendencies.” Cecily slides her glasses over her nose. “It’s kind of toxic.”
“Call me queen of toxicity then, because I get to stare at this divine beauty.” Ava nudges Annika. “Isn’t that right, Anni?”
She fidgets, watching the crowd surrounding us as if they’re aliens out to kidnap and enslave us. Like Cecily and me, she wasn’t keen on coming to the fighting ring, but democracy doesn’t win with Ava.
Besides, despite Ces’s psychological profiling just now, she wasn’t vehemently against it when the idea first popped up.
It’s good to get some air and change the scenery, is what she told me before the three of them dragged me to this underground fighting ring downtown.
And surprise, most of the fighting happens between our university and The King’s U.
It goes without saying that we’re rivals in every way. Each university encourages its students to take part in clubs, sports, and contests just so they can beat the other university.
Aside from the official sports such as football, basketball, and lacrosse, there’s this ongoing tradition of a neutral ground fight club where a championship is held.
It’s basically a gambling den about who gets to win in fistfights. Rumor has it, the chancellors know it’s going on and not only turn a blind eye, but they even bet on the championship.
The club is packed as hell, despite the fact that tonight is a normal fighting day where people get matched up randomly. On championship nights, both campuses pour into here like ants.
We’re currently waiting for the highlight of the evening—a match between two of the strongest fighters from our unis. The fighter from our side is Creigh, who’s having his shoulders massaged by Remi on the pedestal above.
While Remi is the captain of the basketball team and Bran is the captain of the Lacrosse team, they never fight.
When we asked Remi why he doesn’t, he snorted and laughed and mocked us. “Preposterous! Me? A fight? As in, putting my lordship’s nose in jeopardy? You’re out of your mind, you’re out of your mind, and everyone is out of their fucking mind!”
The hypocrite is totally fine with thrusting that preposterous act onto Creigh, though.
I really wish my cousin didn’t have such a strong inclination to violence. He could’ve been a silent nerd, but he chose to be a silent brute.
While I’m still watching Remi and Creigh, two tall guys stroll to their sides. The first is none other than my brother, Landon, dressed in shorts and a jersey—probably ready to fight.
Everyone in the School of Arts & Music avoids any manifestation of violence, and some even ditch sports altogether, to protect our hands.
But not my deranged brother.
He loves to draw blood with the same hands that sculpt masterpieces.
Life can be unfair like that by choosing to bestow boundless talent to undeserving people.
I love my brother, sometimes, but he’s not a decent human being.
Not even close.
The one accompanying him, however, is a surprise. My oldest cousin, Eli, Creigh’s brother, matches Lan’s nonchalant aura like a king waltzing to his throne.
Eli keeps a profile so low that my attempts seem amateurish in comparison. Even though he’s studying for his PhD at REU, we barely see him.
If ever.
No one even knows where he is at all times. So when Grandpa asks about how his eldest grandchild is doing, I give the most generic answer because my knowledge about Eli’s state is no different from his.
So to see him here tonight is as rare as a unicorn.
I nudge Ava, but in reality, I don’t need to.
My friend is already staring in his direction—or more like glaring. I’ve known Ava since we were in nappies, and nothing is able to completely wipe her good mood like Eli’s presence.
“And what is he doing here?” she grits out.
“Showing his support to Creigh?” I try, always playing the middle ground between my otherworldly side of the family and my friends.
“Support, my arse. If he and that word met on the top of a volcano, it’d free fall to lava. He’s just here to ruin everyone’s evening.”
“Only if you let him,” Cecily touches her arm. She’s the best pacifist ever, I swear. I wish I had Ces’s way of making everything seem okay.
“Right.” Ava releases a breath. “Besides, Lan is here, too, and Glyn is fine with it.”
“I’m not scared of him.” Lie. But they don’t need to know that.
Also, I’ve come to learn the hard way that there are worse things than my brother. At least he wasn’t actively trying to destroy me.
“That’s the spirit, bitch.” Ava bumps her shoulder with mine. “Fuck the boys.”
“Very classy.” Cecily rolls her eyes. “You’re supposed to be the granddaughter of the former prime minister.”
“Don’t be a prude. And Grandpa encourages my need to express myself, thank you very much.”
“Umm.” Annika shifts from foot to foot. “We should probably go before the start of the fight.”
“What? No, we’re here for the fight and to cheer on Creigh. We can’t just leave.” Ava cups her mouth and screams, “You’ve got this, Cray Cray!”
He merely stares in our direction while Remi waves and shows off Creighton’s muscles.
Landon is focused on his phone, completely oblivious to his surroundings. Eli, who was drinking from a bottle of water, pauses and tilts his head in our direction.
Or more like in Ava’s.
No words are spoken, but it’s like they’re having a silent war. Ava and Eli always had the weirdest relationship that I can’t put a name to.
One thing’s for certain, though. It’s always been filled with some sort of tension.
She tries to maintain eye contact, but despite the fact that she’s the strongest, most outspoken person I know, she’s no match for Eli’s hurricane-like energy. She huffs, flips her hair, and switches her attention to our new friend. “As I was saying, dear Anni, we’re here to stay.”
“Jer will have my neck if he sees me here.”
“You’re a big girl,” Cecily says. “He doesn’t tell you what to do.”
“That’s right.” Ava holds her in a half-hug and they look like princesses with Ava’s lace pink dress and Annika’s purple tulle skirt. “We’ve got you, girl.”
“You…you’re right.” She digs her heels in the ground and smiles. “Jer can’t do anything to me.”
“Sure about that, Anoushka?”
Annika and I freeze for two different reasons. She, because that voice that spoke from behind us is definitely her brother’s.
The notorious Jeremy Volkov, who’s rumored to be a killer in the making.
Me?
An amber-woodsy scent takes me hostage, and I want to think it’s a play of my imagination, as was the case for the last week.
Ever since he cornered me near the library a week ago, I’ve been looking over my shoulder, checking my locks, and searching my surroundings.
He’s put me in a hyperaware mode against my own will, and I’ve tried to conquer it by painting, jogging, and letting Ava take me anywhere she wants.
None of that has worked.
And I’m starting to think it was a psychological trick. He specifically told me he’s coming back just to keep me on the edge, so even if he’s not physically tormenting me, the mental impact does the job.
Every time I’ve tried to push him out of my head, he barges into my subconscious with the persistent lethality of poison.
Which is why I hope now is one of those moments where I’m being paranoid for no reason. That I just need to take a pill and go to sleep.
But when I turn around, my eyes clash with those monstrous ones. He’s standing beside a man who’s about his height, has thick dark brows, and is wearing a closed-off expression, as if he’s offended with the world itself.
It must be Jeremy.
Despite his infamous reputation of maiming people for sport, it’s not him that I can’t stop staring at.
It’s the arsehole by his side in his black shirt and black trousers and trainers. He’s dressed so casually but still reeks of corruption, like a power-hungry politician or a bloodthirsty warlord.
He still looks tenfold worse than his charming appearance.
Or maybe it’s because, unlike all the people present, I’m well aware of what this devil is capable of.
I automatically take a step back and his lips tilt in a small smirk.
That’s the thing.
The freaking psycho enjoys driving me to the edge.
Hell, he gets off on it.
“Oh, hi, Jer,” Annika stumbles over her words. “I didn’t really mean to come here. I was just taking a tour with my new friends.”
“Taking a tour in a place you’re not supposed to be?” Jeremy speaks with effortless power, accentuated by a raised brow.
“I was just—”
“Leaving,” he finishes for her. “Now.”
“Hey.” Cecily steps in front of her. “She can decide whether to leave or stay on her own because oh, I think we’re at an age where women don’t get told what to do.”
Jeremy stares down at her blankly, as if he’s contemplating whether or not he should crush her with a hand or two.