Chapter 8
She walks in like she's stepping into another world. The black dress is a nice touch— trying to blend in with the darkness. Cute.
I hang back, watching her and her purple-haired friend navigate through my territory. Every move she makes tells a story: the way she clutches her drink like a shield, how her eyes keep darting to the exits, the nervous shift of her weight from foot to foot. Little prey animal sensing danger.
"Your girl cleans up nice." Jack says beside me, already three drinks in. He's got her composition book dangling from his fingers like bait. "Didn't think she'd show."
"That's because you don't understand good girls. They're all dying to be bad— they just need the right invitation."
"If you fuck this up..." Jack's eyes follow Lola like a shark scenting blood. "Dibs."
"Not happening." My voice comes out harder than intended. "She's mine."
"We'll see." He watches her, but I catch his meaning. If I can't break her the way the Reapers want, someone else will.
The bass thrums through the floor like a heartbeat as I track her through the house. She feels our stare— I can tell by the way her spine stiffens, how she keeps glancing over her shoulder. When our eyes finally meet, she tries to hold my gaze. Points for courage. But her eyes move and she notices her composition book in Jack’s hand.
They have a moment, and she looks furious.
I snatch the journal out of his hands, which makes her eyes dart to mine.
Jack says, "I’m gonna fuck her, dude." He laughs, swigging his drink. "I don’t give a fuck what you say. We can share."
Her friend whispers something in her ear, both of them stealing glances my way. Lola rolls her eyes, playing brave, but her pulse is visible in her throat.
Good. She should be scared.
I step toe to toe with Jack. "This is business, so you don’t have dibs, alright? There is no sharing, and if you fuck this up and get in the way, I promise that you’re going to pay for it."
He starts clapping. "Black has balls, does he now? Fine, but I don’t play by anyone’s fucking rules."
I scoff. I fucking hate this guy. "Then so be it, but you’re not going to get in the fucking way, Jack. Stay in your lane."
I force myself to walk away— Jack is already in with the Reapers, passed his initiation, so there’s no denying what he’s capable of. I steal a last glance at Lola. She’s watching me walk away with her journal. I need to keep this as leverage, and this time I’ll make sure Jack can’t fucking find it either.
The kitchen offers temporary sanctuary, but even the whiskey can't drown out the thought that Jack might fuck this all up for me. Lola looks fire in that black dress. I escape to the back porch, where the music bleeds into background noise.
"Getting cold feet?" Caleb appears. He claps my shoulder.
I match his grin, playing the game. "Just getting started. College is everything Jackson said it would be."
A leggy blonde walks by, and Caleb's gone like a dog after a rabbit. Predictable.
Back inside, the crowd's gotten thicker, sweatier. I scan the room for Lola and find her—
Pinned against the wall by some fuck with his hands on her.
Something dark and violent surges through my veins after that conversation with Jack. But this fucktard isn’t Jack. His fingers are tracing her cheek, and she's looking up at him with that innocent smile that's supposed to be meant for me.
Not his fucking territory.
I down my drink, letting the burn ground me. This possessive bullshit isn't part of the plan. She's just a means to an end. A pawn. Nothing more.
But watching his hands on her...
I move past them without being noticed and take solace in the darkness of the library. I sit in an armchair in the darkest corner of the room and try to sort out in my head what the fuck I’m going to do now. She walked into the party and quickly attracted the nearest fuck boy around, and she took the bait. I crack my neck out of frustration. This isn’t how the night was supposed to unfold. I have her fucking precious music journal, and she’s making out with some idiot now.
Not as innocent as she plays to be, huh?
She must be a whore like the rest of them.
I pull my phone from my pocket and watch the video I have of her for the hundredth time. I stop the video and quickly put my phone back in my pocket when I hear the door to the library open.
Of fucking course.
She stumbles in with that same dark-haired prick, giggling as he pushes her against the door. I recognize him as a lower-level initiate from the Reapers. They haven't noticed me in my dark corner, too wrapped up in their little moment. I grip the arm of the chair as I watch him press his lips to hers, his tongue invading her mouth.
His hands are all over her, and she's letting him. Making soft little sounds that turn my blood to acid. Every touch, every moan, every arch of her body feels like a personal insult. When his hands land on her perfect tits, my dick twitches. He pushes them against her chest, and I suppress a fucking growl.
They move to the couch, giving me a perfect view of everything I'm going to make him regret. She's timid, controlled— even now, even with his mouth on her neck, she's holding something back. Keeping herself in check.
Something dark unfurls in my chest. She shouldn't be here with him. Not with anyone. What the fuck’s going to happen if the guys find out about this? Good point, so I pull out my phone and start recording. If anyone asks, I have proof that this was just a blackmail scheme.
The fucker’s hand slides under her dress and my teeth grind from clenching.
"Princess," he breathes against her skin, and rage floods my system.
She's not his to name.
"You’re so fucking wet," he growls.
She kind of loses her balance— pulling away, hand pressed against his chest. "I shouldn’t be here."
"We're having fun, aren't we?" He reaches for her, but she's already gone, heels clicking against hardwood as she flees.
Thank fuck she didn’t let him go any further.
Otherwise, I may have joined.
The door slams behind them both, leaving me alone in the darkness. The scene replays in my mind: her careful restraint, the way she kept herself in check, how quickly she ran when things got too real.
Little Lola Kemper's got secrets. Walls she's built. Boundaries she won't cross.
Yet.
I lean back in my chair, satisfaction coursing through my veins. This isn't just about destroying Rick Kemper anymore. His precious daughter is a puzzle I'm going to enjoy taking apart, piece by piece.
First, I need to find out how far I can push her.