Page 71 of Lessons in Cruelty

I’m giving him exactly what he wants.

My pain. My secrets.

And the sick part is, I want to give him more.

I want to see that look in his eyes again, that heady mix of fascination and hunger.

I want to be the puzzle Professor Rooke can’t stop trying to solve.

I want him to take me apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but pain and need.

Then I want him to rebuild me into something new.

His.

Chapter 20

Haven

As I’m driving out of AHC’s parking lot, the loud ping on my phone has my head swiveling down like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Instead of watching the road, I nearly mow down Melissa with my car.

My car skids on the gravel. Melissa turns to stare at me, her hair taking a moment to stop moving. Then she points a long fingernail, her shoes crunching over the gravel as she walks to my door.

“You!”

I reluctantly roll down my window. “Sorry I almost killed you,” I mutter, bracing for what I assume is a tongue-lashing of note.

“Good thing you didn’t. We’ve got work to do.”

“What?”

“Rooke’s assignment?” She flicks her hand, briefly glancing away with pursed lips. “Got distracted by my ex’s DMs. Fucking man child.” She grimaces faintly. “Everyone else has paired up. Only us two left. Could be worse, right?” She ducks her head and stares into my car.

I try not to wither into a husk, because I know it looks like shit in here.

“You can drive with me,” she decides.

Why is everyone trying to get me into a car with them today? Do I have a ‘kidnap me’ sign taped to my back or something?

“Drive where?”

She rolls her eyes. “Gamma Alpha Zeta. My sorority? Food. Booze. Clean restrooms.” The last seems most important, and I totally get it. If she even knew the restrooms I’ve had to use…

“What about the library?”

“That lighting gives me a migraine.”

“Well, I can’t now. I have work.”

“Like, studying? Do it after.”

I blink at the bossiness in her tone, but I get the feeling it’s just part of her personality.

“I mean I have work work. Like at a diner. Like, employee, boss, job?”

“Work,” Melissa repeats, like the word is a foreign concept…which it probably is. “Oh.” She draws back from my window like being employed is contagious, and she hasn’t had her shots yet.

“Sorry.” I shrug.