Page 229 of Lessons in Cruelty

I make sure nothing on my face changes. He was there when I took her to the sorority house that night. Saw her getting out of the car I loaned her. He’s not a dumb boy…but so easy to manipulate.

Everyone is.

“Can help you with that too,” I murmur.

The flare of rage on his face is so fucking satisfying, my dick twitches.

“I don’t need your fucking help,” he says. “Not with her. Not with anything.”

He stomps away, sending a glare over his shoulder as he flicks his hair out of his face.

Christ.

The boy’s fucking smitten with Haven.

Maybe even with me, though he’d rather die than admit it. The way he backed up when I reached for him?

Not just anger. Fear.

The kind that comes from wanting something you shouldn’t.

I was going to do a line, but I don’t need it anymore.

Nothing beats the rush of pushing someone closer and closer to the edge.

Except for that last, fatal shove, of course.

Chapter 57

Haven

“Think I can make it out of here without someone spotting me?” I whisper, risking a quick peek around the ficus I’m hiding behind.

Melissa glances down either end of the hall. “Not enough potted plants in the world. Might as well have a bull’s eye on your back. And the dean’s an excellent hunter.”

“You’re not being very supportive,” I hiss, ducking behind the leaves as a couple heads toward us.

“Think I’m going down in that Boeing with you?” She snorts. “Rats know when to abandon a sinking ship.”

But she hasn’t abandoned me, and I wish I had the time to figure out what she’s still doing here. Guess she’s waiting for the fireworks show when Dean Winslow finally figures out where I am.

God, how I wish I could disappear into this trippy ass wallpaper.

“All I need is a floppy hat, and a pair of glasses. A fake mustache wouldn’t hurt⁠—“

“Forget it,” Melissa groans, turning to me with her head tilted and a sympathetic purse to her lips. “She’s coming.”

…get out…

…he’s coming for you…

Maybe whoever sent that message was psychic…but not enough to get the gender right.

“Might as well go down swinging,” I mutter, stepping out behind the plant and adjusting my gown. And then having to force my hands to unclench from their fists.

Dean Winslow didn’t seem all that intimidating when she was up on the stage with me. But I guess that’s because she was smiling.

She’s not smiling anymore.