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Staying and eating was quickly becoming less appealing, but I was still hungry.
Without making any effort to hide my irritation, I follow Harrison to my table and sit down. The table in front of me is empty. Not that I’m complaining. It’s hard enough to find my food appealing when Syn isn’t sitting in front of me.
Harrison keeps me waiting for twenty minutes before he gives me a plate of lukewarm rice. By this time, I’m shoveling it into my mouth, barely noticing that it needs a little seasoning.
The rice fills a hole, but it’s not enough to leave me satisfied. I’ll be hungry later. But I refuse to show anyone.
There was a time when, after Mom and I moved to Newark, that I had to learn how to cook and shop for groceries. All of that used to be done by a housekeeper, and even if my mom did know what to do, she barely left her room for the first six months. After that, her grains were liquid and distilled.
I’ve been spoiled here, because I’m no stranger to very basic, burnt meals. And that was assuming I’d managed to get enough money for groceries that week. I’ve gone to bed hungry before.
If Syn wants to break me, he needs to try harder than that.
The little food I have doesn’t take long to eat, and once I’ve finished, I head back to the library.
I’m not in here long before I have company.
The library only had two floors, but it’s one of the bigger buildings on campus, sprawling out to the right of the Ardwick Building. While the majority of books are on the first floor, the second floor uses the floor-to-ceiling wooden bookcases to split the area into smaller workspaces.
Although rarely used, almost all of these workspaces have a few computers. The area I’m in is smaller with only a handful of power outlets on the wall. There’s only one large, wooden table that can seat eight people, but it’s also one of the very few areas which has an exit on three sides—or at least an escape route into the next work area.
After last time, I make a point of sitting at a table facing the main entrance to the room. I’m not going to believe Syn’s not going to turn up again, but if he does, I want to know where he is before he can wrap his hand around my throat again.
This time, I see Syn before he even steps into the workspace.
He’s not alone. Both Royal and Gemini are with him.
The three of them are wearing suits and look like they’re going to a boardroom, or even a wedding—certainly not a library. Their suits are very similar, but like the university uniforms, they seem to have a personalized twist to them.
Gemini has a corset waistcoat poking out from behind the jacket. I barely see him anymore, and when I do, he’s wearing ripped jeans and a hoodie. Now, his chin-length hair is scraped back into a stubby ponytail, and he’s also wearing a hint of eyeliner, which combined with the suit, makes him devastatingly handsome.
At the back, leaning against a bookshelf with his top few buttons undone, is Royal. When my gaze meets his, he raises two fingers to his mouth—the same two fingers that were inside me less than twenty-four hours ago—and makes a show of sucking on them.
My body betrays me, heat flooding between my legs, but I fight not to give that away. I’m not having him know how turned on he gets me, and I’m not going to let anything like that happen again.
Besides, if he thinks for one moment that I’m going to get embarrassed or something like that, he can think again.
As Syn starts walking towards me, I put my attention on him. He might have these two with him, but the only thing about him I trust is how much he hates me.
The guy looks good.
Great, even.
But there’s also a whole list of serial killers whose good looks helped lure women to their death…
Most of the time, Syn wears his uniform, and even on the weekends, his ‘casual’ is more smart-casual. If he wants to go into politics, he’s taking his image part seriously.
Tonight, he looks more impressive than usual, and I can’t work out what it is that he’s done differently to pull it off. Then again, I also don’t care.
Last night, there was blood on his face, but aside from a small cut by his eyebrow, there’s no sign that he’d even been in a fight. I’d seen more of the other guy, and he had several blows to the face.
Was Syn that good at fighting?
Syn stops in front of my table and looks down at me. “Check your emails.”
… That wasn’t what I was expecting.
However, it doesn’t stop the dread curl through my stomach as I open up my university email to see what could be in store.
