Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)(64)

“You won’t like what follows if you ever put your hands on me again.”

He holds his breath and his balls, doing a surprisingly decent job of not doubling over. “Twenty grand,” he grumbles, his face changing colors like a kaleidoscope. “And I’m opening the game to every guy on campus.”

That does it.

The thought of being harassed by the entire male population of this nightmarish ecosystem has my stomach twisting into tight knots. I’m flooded with images of obnoxious, hungry-for-cash guys cornering me in empty corridors, forcing me to use the self-defense moves the triplets taught me.

Brandon’s friends aren’t short for cash, but there’s plenty of students here whose parents don’t own yachts and ocean-view mansions.

“You wouldn’t dare...” I suck in harsh breaths, shepherding my raging nerves. “Brandon, this isn’t funny.”

He doesn’t reply, walking away with a triumphant smile while I try to sever the tendrils of an onrushing panic attack. It proves useless when, in the thinning crowd, I spot Blair surrounded by a tight circle of friends. She silently simmers, clenching and unclenching her fists, jealousy painting her face red.

She made my life miserable since kindergarten. I know what she’s capable of... she can bring more hurt than the twenty grand prize. The cruelty she threw my way over the years flashes before my eyes, turning my stomach further.

That’s it. Not even mint can help now.

I faintly register that the triplets entered the building, but I don’t wait for them to come closer. I run toward the bathroom, one hand clasped over my mouth as I burst into the first cubicle, and lean over the toilet, dropping to my knees.

The door opens again, probably Cody, Colt, or Conor hot on my tail while my breakfast and coffee pour into the toilet. I’ve no idea why the triplets are still in my corner, but they’ve had my back for a year now, and the thought of losing them has my heart breaking clean in two.

Wave after wave of powerful shudders shake my body dotted with goosebumps. My throat burns. My eyes water. There’s nothing left to throw up, but dry heaves aren’t easing.

Whoever’s in here comes closer, looming behind me, not saying a word. I feel them gather my hair, holding it out the way.

I can’t get a word out, still spitting down the toilet and gasping for air between pathetic whimpers.

My hair fans down my back.

Footsteps beat a fast retreat.

The door bangs closed, and a stench of something burning hits my nose.

My mind stops spinning around Brandon, focusing on what’s burning. The smell is so strong that I—

A pained cry tears from my mouth when intense heat blazes up my back.

No, no, no, no, no...

I jump to my feet, spin around, and catch my reflection in the mirrors above the sinks. Flames consume my blonde locks faster than fire runs in dry grass.

Adrenaline kicks in, my senses razor sharp. I turn the faucet and dip my head, shoving it under the water.

That’s when the fire alarm starts, drowning out my distressed cries. A second later, the sprinklers douse my hair, face, and clothes.

Water patters down my bare back, but... I have a blouse on... I reach behind me, feeling big holes burned through the fabric, my skin hot and tender.

Slowly, I look up, the initial frenzy wearing off, replaced by a sense of impending doom.

My hair is half its length now. The locks that fell to my butt seconds ago barely reach my shoulder blades.

Tears spill, disguised by the sprinklers drenching the bathroom. I slide to the floor, hugging my knees.

“Mia?” Colt shoves his head between the door. His eyes land on me, and he rushes in, letting the door bang against the wall. “What the fuck happened?! Cody! Get in here!” He kneels on the wet floor, gripping my shoulders.

“Don’t touch me,” I choke, swallowing tears. “It hurts...”

“Jesus, sweetie, your hair...” He trails off, combing his fingers through my damaged locks. “Who did this? Was it—”

“Blair,” Cody clips from the doorway, nodding toward the mirrors. “Stay away from him, bitch,” he reads what’s been written in red lipstick.

The sprinklers turn off, and the building is suddenly blanketed by gloomy, tragic silence. Conor shoves Cody aside, making room for Mr. Finch, who stops two steps in, his assessing eyes taking in the scene.

“Miss Harlow, do you require medical attention?”

I shake my head, gritting my teeth as Colt cuffs my wrists, helping me off the floor. He tucks me under his chin but stops short of wrapping his arms around me.

“Mia, your back... you need to see the first aider.”

“I’m okay. I’ve got burn cream at home.” I swat my tears away, inhaling a calming breath, but tiny rivers trail my cheeks, despite my efforts to keep the pathetic whimpers in. “Can you take me home?”

“I must insist—”

“You heard her,” Cody cuts off Mr. Finch. “She wants to go home, so she’s going home. And you better make sure Blair’s not here on Monday.”

“Blair Fitzpatrick? Was she the one who...” He gestures at me, twirling his finger in the air, “...did this?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone.”

“You know it was her,” Cody says, his voice one level off yelling. “She’s a psycho. Don’t let her get away with it.”