Don’t You Pucking Dare (The Blackridge Reapers #2)

Chapter 33

I’m going to kill this motherfucker.

The mansion's front door splinters against the wall as I burst in. Jack lounges on the leather couch like everything is fine in the world. His smirk dies when he sees my face—he knows. He fucking knows.

He stands, but not fast enough. Caleb's warning shout barely registers before my fist connects with Jack's jaw. The impact travels up my arm, but rage numbs any pain. His return punch glances off my shoulder. I drive forward, each hit carrying Lola's confession, each crack of bone a symphony of betrayal.

Noah tears me away, muscles straining. "What the fuck?" He hurls me across the room. I catch myself against an antique table, sending crystal decanters crashing.

"He fucked her." The words taste like blood. Maybe mine, maybe Jack's.

Jack spits red onto the Persian carpet. "And she fucking loved it."

Something snaps. I throw Noah aside like he's nothing, like the trained killer he is doesn't matter. Jack goes down under my weight. My fists find his face again and again, turning features I once considered brother-like into pulp.

This time Noah watches, letting justice play out. Jack's struggles weaken, then stop. Only when he goes limp does Caleb drag me off.

"He's done." Caleb's hands shake where they grip my shoulders. "He's done."

Noah stares at Jack's unconscious form, at the blood seeping into the expensive carpet. "He's becoming a fucking problem."

But the violence doesn't satisfy. Because this scrub fucked Lola a few doors down while I was asleep.

Noah mutters, "The Reapers warned him about interference. It’s not sitting right with me."

I keep my eyes on Jack, hands still itching to finish what I started. My knuckles throb in time with my pulse.

"His hero act that night." Noah's voice carries dark suspicion. "That's why I kept him in the dark about Nico's real plan. Did neither of you notice how Kemper didn't kill him? Like he knew exactly who was under that mask."

The pieces click together, making my stomach turn. All those times Jack disappeared—was he playing both sides? Making deals with Rick Kemper, promising Lola protection if she gave him what he wanted? But Kemper's dead now, so why would she—

My fist clenches involuntarily, reopening split knuckles.

"Fucking snake," I spit, tasting iron.

Noah's hand catches my chest, firm but careful. "I'll handle him. You need to cool off." His eyes hold warning. "Lola served her purpose. It's done. You’re done with her."

He stalks away, taking command like always. But he doesn't understand. Lola isn't some pawn I'm ready to sacrifice. She's become something else—something necessary.

I step over Jack's body, leaving bloody footprints on my way out. Whatever the Reapers have planned for him will be worse than my fists. Being cast out of the society is its own kind of death sentence.

But right now, I need to get to Lola. Need to know if she was just trying to hurt me, or if Jack really did—

The thought makes violence rise again like a tide.

Her earlier rejection means nothing. Blood still cakes my knuckles as I drive to her dorm, mind cycling through possibilities of what really happened with Jack. Each scenario makes me press the gas harder. The campus is dead at this hour—just security guards who know better than to question a Reaper.

Breaking in would be easy, but her door's unlocked just like I left it. Fucking amateur. The anger I carried up here dies when I see her curled in bed, chest rising and falling in sleep. Something twists in my gut watching her—something that has nothing to do with possession or revenge.

I sink into her desk chair, surrounded by sheet music and textbooks. Signs of a normal life I'm corrupting. But I can't leave, can't wake her. Not when she looks so peaceful, so unlike the girl who spat venom at me earlier.

Hours tick by as I watch her sleep. This thing with Lola—it stopped being about initiation or ownership somewhere along the way. Now it's about the way she yields to me while keeping that spark of defiance. How she matches my darkness without breaking. Even her fucking Jack feels like rebellion rather than betrayal. And maybe it’s not even rebellion, maybe she just doesn’t think she’s worth staying for, so it’s better to hurt me before I hurt her.

The sun starts creeping through her window. I should leave, should let her wake up without me here like some creep. Instead, I mark my territory in the most primal way possible, making sure she'll know I was here. A reminder that she's mine, even when she pissed me off, even when she's pushing me away.

I pump my dick to that pretty face and come all over her bedding, leaving some right next to her face so that she’ll see it when she wakes.

The rink calls to me, empty and waiting. I line up pucks like soldiers, sending them flying across the ice. Each shot carries her name, her rebellion, my growing need for her. Sweat soaks through my practice jersey, but I keep going until my arms shake.

Back at the mansion, Jack's blood is gone from the carpet like it never happened. But we all know better. I let hot water pound my aching muscles, trying to wash away thoughts of Lola. It doesn't work. Nothing works.

She's gotten under my skin in ways revenge never could. And maybe that's okay. Maybe being her monster is better than being no one to her at all.