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On the fifth ring, Mack’s groggy voice fills my ears, and I cry harder. “Briar?” she croaks. “What’s wrong?”
“That asshole professor,” I seethe, wiping away the tears and snot. “He basically forced me to get drinks with him and then he groped me.”
Mack gasps. “Oh my god. Where are you?”
“I’m in the restroom.” I dab under my eyes with a paper towel, makeup already ruined. “I’m waiting for him to leave before I go back out there.”
“Listen, tomorrow you’re going to report it to the administration. I’ll go with you if you want. Then I’ll key his car or something after so you don’t get in trouble.”
Mack is the only one who can make me laugh through my tears. But I know reporting Dr. Barrett to the administration won’t do anything. He’s a tenured professor who’s been at the Auburn Institute for almost as long as he’s been married. The university isn’t going to fire him over the unsubstantiated allegations from a lowly assistant professor.
“Do you want me to come pick you up?”
A bizarre urge to call Saint hits me. He would rage with me. For some reason, I want nothing more than to hear his voice right now.
“Thanks, Mack.” I sniffle, the tears under control now. “But I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
As soon as we hang up, I find Saint’s number.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SAINT
From the shadowy corner booth,I had an unobstructed view of Professor Molester’s shriveled hand on her thigh.
It took every ounce of self-control not to slam him against the bar, wrap my hands around his throat, and watch the light slowly drain from his beady eyes.
But Briar and I will never be together if I’m rotting in prison.
No, my methods need to be far more discreet. My future with Briar hinges on my crimes going undetected.
Professor Molester snaps his fingers at the bartender, slapping crumpled dollar bills on the bar and heading out the door. He leaves just enough to cover a single gin martini.
I grit my teeth. He has no idea how much I’ll make him pay.
Briar is still in the restroom. All I want is to run in there and comfort her. Scrub his grimy touch off her skin and erase this night from her memory.
But the professor is heading for the door and I have business to attend to before I can provide the comfort she deserves.
She’ll be grateful when we celebrate his death together.
I stride for the bar, tossing a hundred dollar bill next to Briar’s whiskey, and follow Professor Molester out the door.
He shuffles down the sidewalk. He must’ve chosen a bar close to home so he can easily bring back the young women he blackmails or coerces into bed. The sweet smoke of his cigar puffs into the night air as my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Her name lights up my screen.Muse.
Fuck. My heart squeezes. I’d love to answer if I could, but I need to finish this first. For her.
Fortunately, it’s cold enough to warrant a winter jacket, and no one looks at me twice when I slip a black ski mask over my head.
As we near his house, the professor glances back. I drop to one knee and untie and retie my shoe. He fumbles with his key and lets himself in the door.
I call him the second he crosses the threshold. With the door still open, he pulls out his phone and scowls at the screen before answering with a gruff, “Hello?”
He shuts the door behind him. I wait for the unmistakable click of the lock. But it doesn’t come. “Is this Professor Molester?”
“Excuse me?” he barks.
