Chapter 8
8
Aviva
D eviant Psychology and Divergent Behavior was my favorite class this semester. As a transfer, it had been hard to get into the senior seminar, but being a double major in premed and psychology had helped—as had my advisor.
It was taught by Dr. Dylan Johnathan, a psychologist rumored to be the cousin to three billionaire brothers—one of whom had died recently under mysterious circumstances. You couldn’t tell he was grieving, though. He was charming, brilliant, and, if I had to be honest, attractive, with black hair that fell in his eyes and horn rimmed glasses he took off when he got really excited about a discussion topic.
As I walked into class on the Monday after Jack had caught me in the locker room, I wasn’t thinking about class—or the fact that we were being assigned our semester long project and project partner today.
No, I was thinking about sex blackmail. The party, the locker room, Jack’s interrogation, my confession—it had played on repeat in my mind all weekend. I swore I could still feel Jack’s head between my legs, feel his cock in my throat.
After he’d left me in the locker room, I’d quickly dressed—without my underwear, because he’d stolen it—and snuck out of the arena. I’d called Tovah and she’d left the party to come get me. When we got back to the apartment and she’d seen me with my makeup all over my face, Jack’s come drying on my top, she’d been near apoplectic, although she waited until I got out of the shower to start her own interrogation.
“What the hell happened to you?” she’d asked. “You were dancing with Jack Feldman, and then you disappeared. Did he do this?”
I hadn’t been able to stop myself from crying.
“I’ll fucking kill him,” she said fiercely. “We need to go to the police.”
But if Jack were telling the truth—and I figured he was—going to the police wouldn’t solve anything. He had them in his pocket, and they wouldn’t listen to me. Instead, Jack would fulfill his threat to tell said police and Reina University’s administration that I’d broken into the hockey arena. I’d lose my scholarship, and the mark on my record would mean no grad school, no future in psychology. What was worse, he’d make sure Asher had no chance at a future as well.
I couldn’t let that happen. I pleaded with Tovah, begging her not to tell anyone, aware that I was falling into the trap so many sexual assault survivors fell into, including my brother, but unable to do anything about it.
And that helplessness made me hate Jack most of all.
After she’d agreed to keep quiet, I’d gone to my room and stayed in bed for the remainder of the weekend .
But now it was Monday, I had class, and I was determined not to think about Jack Fucking Feldman. I hadn’t heard from him, so hopefully he’d forgotten about me. I was going to focus in class, and then I was going to go to the tech support center, make friends with someone who worked there, and trick them into helping me figure out how to hack Joshua Jensen’s login on Google drive.
Taking my usual seat at the conference table, I smiled distractedly at Dr. Johnathan. He looked up at me, slowly taking off his glasses and rubbing them on his shirt.
“Aviva! How was your weekend?”
How the hell did I answer that without blushing?
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
This time, my smile was a little forced. Dr. Johnathan seemed like a nice enough man, but he was in a position of authority—and I didn’t trust men in positions of authority. Besides, I could hardly tell him what had happened to me in the middle of his classroom. “Just fine, Dr. Johnathan.”
He rolled his eyes. “How many times can I ask you guys to call me Dylan?”
This time, I smiled for real. “Just fine, Dylan.”
As I pulled my old and dented laptop from my bag, I felt heat at my side as someone dropped into the seat next to me. Dr. Johnathan—Dylan—cleared his throat.
“You guys, we have a new student in our class. I know it’s a week after classes started, but even though he’s a Classics major, he made a good argument for being included and well, I couldn’t really turn it down.” Dylan muttered something under his breath.
Curious, I turned to look at the newcomer. What was a Classics major doing in an advanced psychology seminar?
My heart got stuck in my throat .
Jack sat next to me, a smirk on his gorgeous face, turning the harshness of his chiseled face and square jaw almost warm with mischief.
I hated him.
“Surprised to see me, princess?” he asked.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed.
School was my safe place, where I could get lost in intellectualism and what Asher teasingly called “mental masturbation” and forget all of my stressors and worries for a bit. Where it didn’t matter that I was one of the poorest students at this school, because all my professors cared about was my brain. I missed my old university, but I’d managed to carve out a small space for myself at Reina already, and didn’t want to lose it. Or worse, have it taken from me.
Having Jack here was like reality forcing its way into my safe place—without my fucking consent.
“My independent study got canceled, so I needed a new elective.” A private smile played across his lips. “Deviant psychology sounded…intriguing.” He leered at me, lust and mockery turning his gray eyes silver.
“Bullshit,” I snapped under my breath.
He nodded. “It’s cute you thought I’d let you out of my sight.”
The implication that he was following me made my cheeks go hot.
They turned hotter when he casually wrapped an arm around the back of my chair.
“Stop it!” I whispered, glancing around the room to see if anyone else was looking at us.
They all were. That’s what happened when you were the target of the most popular, powerful guy on campus.
Fuck my life.
Some students had awed looks on their face, probably from having Jack in their near vicinity. Some had lust in their eyes, which I wasn’t going to hold against them. Not when Jack was in a gray t-shirt that strained over his abs, displaying a small sliver of his stomach and the beginnings of a treasure trail. Besides, they didn’t know he was evil.
A couple had sour looks on their face—pointed at me. I resisted the temptation to curl up in my chair and hide from their scrutiny, making myself straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. It had an added benefit of creating a few inches of distance between my back and Jack’s arm.
Tilting his head toward mine, Jack murmured, “Sit back and get comfortable. Whenever, wherever, whatever, remember?”
I froze, and then with a deep breath, forced myself to lean back against my chair and his arm.
“Good girl.”
Even though the praise felt like an insult, it sparked unwanted arousal in my belly.
He raised his voice, looking around at the rest of the students in my—our—class.
“Hope you’re all hockey fans.” He bestowed a movie star smile on them, and they laughed in delight. I watched him, sensing that this was for show. It was common for predators—especially those who exhibited deviant behaviors—to hide their sociopathy or psychopathy behind a mask. Had anyone else seen what lay behind Jack’s hockey king mask, or was it only me?
“Maybe we should start class? I know I have a lot to catch up on, and I can’t wait,” he said to Dylan. That seemed real. Pointed.
So did Dylan’s barbed, “Of course. Happy you’re here,” as he stared sourly at Jack’s hand on my arm. I had no idea what that was about, but it made me deeply uncomfortable .
Even more uncomfortable when Jack slid his hand up my arm and rested it on the back of my neck in a light but threatening grip. I felt like a fly in a spider’s web.
Trapped.
Caught.
Just like in the locker room.
Breathe, Aviva. He can’t do anything to you in front of your professor and nine other students.
But couldn’t he? How far did Jack Feldman’s power reach?
Dylan cleared his throat. “We’ve been talking for the past week about what deviant and divergent behaviors are , and how they’re defined differently by sociologists, criminologists, and, of course, psychologists.” He took an exaggerated bow and the class tittered.
Jack, however, didn’t.
“We’ve talked about Merton’s theory of deviance. Which is what, Aviva?”
“It’s the tension between means and goals in a society—deviance is a way for people to achieve goals they couldn’t through socially acceptable means,” I responded.
He nodded, approval in his eyes. Jack tensed beside me.
“We’ve also talked about Freud’s theories. Where does Freud think deviance comes from, Mr. Feldman?”
I startled. Dylan never called students by their last names, and it seemed a little…mean to ask a brand new student to define an unfamiliar theory. There was clearly a tension between the two men; but if so, why had Dylan let Jack into our class?
Along with that thought came another, scarier one: what was Jack’s plan? He’d already proved on Friday night that he didn’t believe in limits or the word “no.” Just how far would he go, to get what he wanted? And what was it he wanted? I didn’t believe for a second it was me, not really. I might hate him, but I also realized just how out of my league he was. He’d been surrounded by girls at the party.
A chuckle sounded next to me, almost in my ear. “Too much repression,” Jack said, and the class laughed.
Dylan stiffened.
I blushed.
“Very good, Mr. Feldman,” Dylan said, but it didn’t sound like he thought it was very good.
He turned to the rest of us. “For the remainder of the semester, you’re all going to pair up and find an example of deviance. This can be fictional, mythological, historical, even present day. And then what you’re going to do is write a paper, part research, part argumentative, exploring whether the deviance fulfills Merton’s theory…or Freud’s.”
One of the girls in class who’d been friendly with me, raised her hand. “But Dylan, there’s an uneven number of us now.”
Dylan nodded. “True. There’s going to be one…threesome.” He made a hammed-up look of disgust. “Please don’t turn that into a joke. I expect more of you.”
Everyone laughed again.
“And since you’re adults, you can choose your own partners. I’ll give you five minutes.”
The girl turned to us. “How about it, you two?” she asked cheerfully.
Jack shook his head, looking bashful. “I’d say yes, but Aviva already claimed me as her partner.” His smile turned sharklike. He covered his face with his hand, leaning forward and stage whispering, “She gets jealous.”
She laughed. “No worries.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed at him. “I don’t want to work with you. ”
Jack’s gaze turned cool, but he leaned back into me, making sure no one could hear him but me. “You don’t get to decide what you need anymore, princess. I don’t think you get it. You’re no longer in charge. You lost the privilege of making your own decisions when you tried to take down my team.”
Before I could come up with something, Dylan cleared his throat. “Alright, looks like everyone’s partnered up. Right?”
One guy—also wickedly attractive, wearing a pin of a rose with thorns—put his hand up.
“Sebastian, you need a group?” Dylan looked around the room, landing on me—and where Jack’s arm still claimed my chair, and me, by proxy. “How about you join Aviva and Mr. Feldman?”
Jack stiffened. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’
Dylan’s face reddened. “Mr. Feldman, last I checked, I’m the professor. And?—”
“Nope,” Jack repeated.
Dylan sighed. “Sebastian, you can partner up with Olivia and Annabelle.”
With that, he started today’s lecture.
“Let’s talk some more about Freud today, and, ‘repression.’ As we all know, Freud is not beloved by modern day psychology, especially the…feminist branch…”
Pretending to take notes, I glanced over at Jack, who was watching our professor with an indiscernible look. “What was that about?”
Jack shrugged. “Not your business. Your only business from now on is keeping my cock happy.”
I glanced around, terrified someone had heard, but everyone’s eyes were on Dylan. None of them saw Jack as he gripped the back of my neck and held me in place. I tried to breathe regularly for the rest of class, ignore Jack’s presence next to me, the threat of him, the sheer, brutal size of him, the knowledge that the nightmare hadn’t ended like I’d hoped.
It had barely begun.