Brutal Obsession (20)

“Be right back,” Knox says. He pushes back and goes over to where Willow and Violet are sitting. He joins them with an ease that picks at my jealous nature.

That has to do with my upbringing, no doubt.

Raised to have the best things, immediately, I don’t quite understand the mechanics of getting something I can’t have.

Like Violet.

No, brain. I don’t want Violet.

I grit my teeth and turn away abruptly. It’s either that or go and rip her book to shreds—and there are more subtle ways to undermine her. And lead her in my direction…

Knox comes back and falls into his chair. He winks at me. “Girls are coming to the game tonight. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

He shrugs. “Okay.”

Something else catches my eye. Jack, coming into the library and joining Violet and Willow. He leans into Violet, whispering something to her. I clench my teeth so hard, my jaw aches. Why the fuck is he still talking to her? I thought that was over and done with.

Apparently not enough.

Still, I force myself to ignore it. There’s nothing between Violet and me. No spark, no attraction. Animosity, sure. Anger, yes.

I need more than that.

I stand abruptly and cross the room. I ignore Jack completely and grab Violet’s arm. She lets out a squeak of protest, but I don’t give her much choice. She can either stand and come with me or she can be dragged.

Lucky for her, she chooses to come—albeit not as quietly as a library would usually dictate. I pull her down one of the aisles, between the stacks, and find an abandoned corner. I box her against the shelves and brace my hands on either side of her.

“What do you want?” she snaps.

So fearless… until she’s not.

“I’m craving another taste of your pussy,” I tell her.

Not particularly true, but whatever. Now that I think about it, blood rushes to my cock. I don’t have a public sex kink. But by the way Violet’s gaze drops to my pants, then back up, I think this girl might be darker than she lets on.

Interesting.

I add that to my mental file about her.

“Or maybe I just wanted to see what you’d do if I interrupted you and what’s his face.”

“Jack,” she replies hotly. “Which, if you’ll excuse me…”

I tsk, not moving. “Not how this works.”

“How does it work?”

I look her up and down, frowning. “I want to see it.”

“See what?”

“What I did to you. The damage.” The reason she limps.

Her gaze goes frigid. “So you admit it?”

I lift one shoulder. “Admit what?”

“That you hit me.” She’s too pale. “And then will you admit that you snuck into my room?”

This is the second time she’s mentioned it, and I haven’t gone near her fucking room. It’s on my to-do list to find out where she lives, but I’ve been a little preoccupied trying not to obsess over her. Clearly, my plan is going so well.

I sneer. “If I wanted to sneak into your room, I’d do it when you were asleep. I’d put my hands around your pretty little throat and squeeze until you woke up, and then I’d squeeze some more…” I can imagine the flush of her cheeks, how her whole face would slowly turn redder. How she’d gasp and gape like a fish out of water. How pretty she’d look, struggling for breath. “Something tells me you’d be into that, though.”

“Not quite.”

“Okay.” I look away, then back to her. “Tell you what. I’ll say whatever the fuck you want me to if you meet me after the game. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrow. I’m just now realizing they’re so blue, they’re almost violet. Like her.

And I’m all shades of gray. No color, no personality except what I want people to see. I wonder how she’d react if she realizes every smile, every laugh line and crease in my eyes, the things people search for to indicate genuine happiness, is all fake.

If she’d run from me.

I hope she’ll run.

“Tonight,” I prod.

She glowers at me, considering. I see the thought process. I see her weighing the pros and cons.

“I suppose I’ll go to the game. But I’ll only meet you after if you win,” she says.

I smile, and I run my hand down her side. She immediately tenses, but I find what I’m looking for in her back pocket. Her cell phone. I swipe it open, mildly irritated to discover it isn’t even password protected. I shoot myself a text, then close out of it and tuck it back into her pocket. She doesn’t try to stop me.

Choosing her battles?

I step back, ignoring the urge to carry her away now. That caveman instinct is going to get me in trouble. I’ve got to be patient.

“We’ll win,” I promise.

“Otherwise, you leave me alone.”

I’m already turning away, walking back to my table, when her last condition reaches me. But I don’t pause. I don’t even fucking acknowledge it, because there’s no way we’re losing. Not with what I have planned riding on it.

I always do better under pressure.





9