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“Interesting,” I muse, stalking forward, noticing her shoulders tightening. “Are you scared of me, Flower?”
If she wonders why I call her Flower, she doesn’t ask. Instead, she bravely rolls her eyes. “If I say no, will you choke me, too?”
“Only if you’re a good girl.”
Her breath hitches. “Don’t be crude.”
“Shall I be mean, then?” I prompt. “You particularly enjoy those nights more than the others.”
Tonight isn’t the first time she wasn’t in the mood for my company—especially when I fucked with her marks.
You can’t fault a man for flirting.
“What do you want, Van Gogh? Mayor Williams won’t give up his friends if that’s what you’re after. He’ll take his secrets to the grave.”
“I can live with that. Do you think he prefers oak or pine for his casket?”
Reese drops her head to her chest, and I’m all too happy to lift her eyes back to mine with one finger under her chin. “Don’t get all righteous on me now, love. He’s not a good man.”
“And you’re not a killer.”
“So you say,” I whisper, stroking her supple skin with my thumb before being completely honest. “He must pay for his crimes.”
“And what about us, huh? Will you make us pay for ours?”
She means it as a rhetorical question, but I answer it anyway. “Everyone must pay for their transgressions—even you and me.”
I swear I can see flames dancing in the gold flecks of her eyes when she slips her arms between us, revealing a stainless-steel lighter. “But what if I told you I am more than just a thief?”
“I’d believe you.”
She pushes the lighter into my chest. “Would you believe that I want to leave here?” She swallows harshly. “To get away from this town—”
I don’t let her finish.
“Foolish little sunflower,” I snap, flipping open the lighter and igniting a flame. “I know the truth you hide, and the only thing I’m interested in with you is punishment.”
With that, I drop the lighter.
Reese
Present Day
“What did I say, Reese?” The giant asshole named Blake grabs me by the upper arm, squeezing to the point of pain. “Act like you’re enjoying it.”
It’s a sad day when your boyfriend needs to remind you to pretend to enjoy him. Then again, most boyfriends aren’t blackmailing their girlfriends. Blake, however, is. He’s super romantic like that.
Not that I’m girlfriend material or even want to be Blake’s girlfriend.
The only reason I’m allowing Blake to pretend that I am his forever love is because he caught me, a teacher’s aide, hacking into his roommate’s computer a few weeks ago and decided that instead of turning me into his father, the dean, my computer skills would be of better use to him. You see, Blake is a social pariah that most students want to poison but don’t—again, his daddy is the dean. Instead, they merely talk shit about him behind his back like the cowards they are. Anyway, all those mean and nasty comments make my poor, sweet boyfriend cry himself to sleep at night, and he’s tired of it.
Thanks to my financial prowess, it’s their turn to feel pain as they watch their bank accounts dwindle to nothing when I hack their phones at parties, just like now. Except, this party is a kegger in the middle of the woods with no cell service, but try explaining that to Blake, who thinks a D- is a passing grade. So, yeah, it’s been hard for me to act like I’m enjoying his company when there are no accounts to hack.
“My apologies, darling,” I coo. “The alcohol and fresh air aren’t the best combination.”
But the bonfire is. It reminds me of freedom and bittersweet mistakes.
Blake makes this sound that is supposed to be intimidating, but like his golf game, it’s simply pitiful. “You think this is funny? You’re here for one reason, and it’s not your sarcasm.”
