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The dean’s shoulders sag. “Please email anything you can share, no matter how insignificant. I’m asking all members of the faculty.”
“I can email the comments I left on his latest assignment.”
“What was the grade?” the asks.
“Mr. Bestlasson didn’t even garner a third.”
By the time Dean Westmore waddles down the hallway toward Dr. Xander’s office, my fury has burned itself out, leaving only the ashes of remorse.
Did I have to dismiss Phoenix so callously?
In a world where the word no needs to be backed up with violence, the only way to end an association cleanly is with a touch of cruelty.
The pain in her eyes when I had uttered those words was like a knife to the gut. The poor young woman had just been callously abandoned by her father, and now me.
But isn’t it better to be heartbroken than broken by the likes of Crius?
I return to the armchair, minimize the marking, and fire up the university campus security system.
There’s footage of her brief exchange with Thalia Grace before I switch to blurred images of her racing down the stairs. The external cameras show Phoenix marching toward her apartment block, only to stop walking.
My jaw clenches at her conversation with a tall blond figure who could only be Veer Bestlasson. I rise off the armchair to check on the burner phone, where Quinn has left a message.
All in place for you know when. Call me.
I can only surmise from the cryptic text that Veer Bestlasson has not only accepted the offer for a matinée concert, but he’s also received a tracking device alluring enough for him to wear on the afternoon of his abduction.
Onscreen, Phoenix hurries toward her apartment block with Bestlasson staring at her back.
Here’s hoping that Odin won’t hand Crius the information about Seacroft Prison so easily. I want Veer Bestlasson away from Phoenix forever.
The rest of the week is a blur. Phoenix doesn’t attend Thursday’s lecture but emails the assignment days before it’s due. It was another perfectly executed piece, although with far less of the enthusiasm of her previous work.
Sunday looms over me like a guillotine. When Crius gets the boy, he will release Mother. That’s the arrangement.
At least until the next time he coerces me into doing his bidding.
Thankfully, Quinn confirmed that the Bestlasson boy is wearing his tracking device, and it’s what will lead me straight to Crius, where I intend to shoot him between the eyes. As much as I would like to carve him into little pieces and savor his suffering, I can’t afford the chance that he might survive.
My older brother will continue to languish in Seacroft Prison if he survives that long. It’s a pity because anyone who rejects Crius is a form of ally, but Odin wouldn’t have put him there if he was innocent.
I spend each night alone in the playroom, debating whether or not to pack the toys I purchased from the Red Room.
It’s over.
Professor Eckhart will soon return to the university, and I’ll be able to leave without suspicion.
Phoenix’s floral and vanilla scent has already vanished from the silk sheets, but the knickers I cut from her body on our first Saturday together are still fragrant.
I lie on my back, staring up into the canopy of the four-poster, with the scrap of lace in one hand and the other holding my hard cock.
With one deep inhale, I fill my nostrils with hints of Sancerre and her fragrant musk. I squeeze my eyes shut, my mind alternating between fucking her with the neck of the wine bottle and fucking her with my cock.
I quicken my pace, pumping my shaft with long strokes and a twist around the head. It should be Phoenix mounting me, her pert tits bouncing in my face, while I swat her thigh with the tresses of a riding crop, urging her to go faster.
My hips thrust in counterpoint to my fist, and it’s almost like the way her tight little pussy would squeeze me from all angles.
I imagine my hard breaths drowning out her soft mewls, imagine the blush spreading from her cheeks down her neck, across her breasts, imagine those pebbled nipples rubbing against my chest as she fucks me at a low angle.
