Chapter 5
I stare at the lettuce sticking out of my sandwich, the edges turning brown from sitting out too long.
I haven’t touched it. I’m sitting in the far corner of the cafeteria—the only seat far enough from anyone else.
Another twenty minutes until my next class. I keep my gaze down, but I can feel the stares. It’s been like this all week. And every time I hear someone bring up Garret—Kenyan’s richest student. Senior. Gorgeous. Star of the swim team.I turn and head in the opposite direction.
I don’t want friends. There’s no such thing when you’re Prey. Especially after everyone heard about the fallout between Melody and me. How I’m not in their circle anymore. How I’m adopted but don’t have the right bloodline. Why I’m in the dorms instead of a mansion.
The table shakes. Someone just sat down. I should leave before?—
“Hey.” A male voice.
I pretend I didn’t hear.
“Hey.” I look up. Intense brown eyes. A grin, the kind that makes his top lip thinner than the bottom. I don’t know him. But apparently, he knows me. “You’re Rose, right?”
Laughter pulls my attention to the right. A group of seniors. I can tell by the way they carry themselves. Not Prey. Rich. The kind of troubled kids you don’t send to Harvard. The kind you send to an Ivy League school built for the one percent. Some say it wasn’t built, but found.
I recognize some from Babylon—the off-campus hangout.
The two blondes and one brunette. Their skirts are so short that if they bend an inch, they will reveal what type of panties they’re wearing, if at all—fall weather in Ohio be damned.
When the blondes shift, the brunette leans in. Her sultry smile practiced, perfect. She pulls her sweater low, the neckline dipping.
Her breasts push together, aimed at one target.
Garret.
He stares. Not interested. Not disinterested. Just watching. Her lips move, but he barely listens. He tilts his head. Like he’s deciding something.
“That’s Cassie.”
Almost forgot someone was sitting across from me.
“I’m Luke.”
I don’t respond. Cassie licks her blood-red lips. Garret smiles. Something twists inside me. I don’t want him. I hate him. Right?
“They hook up sometimes,” Luke says, watching me. “Garret gets around.”
My eyes stay locked on him and Cassie. They have chemistry.
Luke shifts. “Do you know Garret?”
I rip my gaze away, meeting his stare. Like he just asked if I’m friends with a celebrity. “No.”
Luke lowers his voice. “You like him, don’t you?”
I scoff.
“All the girls do.”
I shake my head.
“You can’t blame them. He’s filthy rich. Captain of the swim team. Good-looking. He’s like a walking lottery ticket.”
I look him dead in the eye. “Well, I’m not one of them.”
Luke searches my face. He’s not convinced. But he’s not wrong, either.
Garret is tall. Gorgeous. Dangerous. The kind of man who could make a girl lose herself. But I don’t want him.
I want freedom. A place to start over. Somewhere where people don’t ask questions. Where I can say "no" and it will actually mean something. Where I can be just a woman. Where a man will ask my name, and I can give him one I chose.
Where he’ll smile and ask how my day was. He’ll never think of me as polluted. His scent won’t remind me of something dark and he will never touch me without permission.
“You’re not interested in Garret?”
I roll my eyes. “No, I’m not.”
Luke leans in. “You like women, then?”
“No.”
A pause. “Do you like anyone?”
I exhale. “No.”
“So what’s it gonna take for you to go out with me?”
There it is. His real reason for sitting here. I push my plate away. “I don’t date.”
“Are you a virgin?”
I go still. Then I look at him, tilting my head. “Are you?”
Luke chuckles.“No. But you already knew that.”
I arch a brow. “How observant of you. Are you going to show me a trick?”
He laughs. But it’s not funny. “You know what? I like you.”
I raise a brow. “How is that? You don’t know me.”
Luke leans forward. “There’s a party this weekend. At Garret’s house.”
My stomach clenches. The memory of his bed. His sheets. The way he promised to burn them after I touched them. “I don’t like parties,” I lie.
I’ve never been to one. Never been asked out, either. Not even in high school. Back then, I was too socially awkward. The only kids I knew were hopped up on drugs, waiting to be sold.
And Luke? He’s not asking me out. He has a motive.
He places his forearms on the table, and it’s then that I notice his jacket with the Kenyan swim team logo. He’s on the swim team with Garret. “Come on,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”
Garret wouldn’t want me there. “I wasn’t invited.”
And I wouldn’t want to go.
“I can change that.”
I freeze. My eyes widen as Luke turns, calling out. “Hey, Garret.”
I stop breathing. Garret’s gaze locks onto me. Cassie? Forgotten.
Luke grins. “I wanna bring a friend this weekend.”
I wait for Garret’s rebuttal. For him to say, “Hell no.” For him to humiliate me. But instead?—
Garret smiles. Like a Cheshire cat. “Sure,” he says, too smooth. “Bring lots of condoms.” He lets the words sink in. “And a bathing suit.”
How about a knife to cut off your dick?
My stomach churns. Garret is inviting me. Not because he wants me there. But because he wants me to see. Sex. Money. Drugs. His world. And I just walked right into it.
Friday arrives, and I have no intention of showing up at Garret’s party. Invited or not, he’d have to kidnap me to get me there.
John owns my weekends and after that, they consist of recuperating. Of trying to piece together what happened the last time he forced me to do whatever he wanted. Half the time, I don’t remember. The drugs ensure that. Except when it’s just John and me. Then, he prefers me sober. He wants me to remember him. And only him.
Those nights are the worst. When he calls me his good girl. When he pets me after he’s done. When he whispers how he loves me. Those are the nights I cry the hardest in my sleep. If it were possible, I’d take a scalpel and scrape every trace of him from my mind.
I walk into the library, trying to forget the weekend is almost here. The girl behind the desk looks up.
“Hi, I’m interested in signing up for tutoring.”
She nods and moves around the desk, looking for something. I take the moment to scan the library. It reminds me of a cathedral, except instead of saints and angels, gargoyles perch on the tops of shelves. I inhale deeply. Books. Old wood. Ink. A scent so unlike John’s house.
I’ve been meaning to check some out. To get better.
I struggle in class. Because I was never homeschooled. John and Mary lied. I can barely spell, write, or solve equations. John must have paid off the teachers because my grades were low.
I’m here because I need a tutor. If I don’t keep up, Kenyan will kick me out.
And I’ll end up back in John’s house.
She places a clipboard on the counter. “Here you go.”
I scan the names. The only available tutor is A.
“Who’s A?”
She shrugs. “Most tutors are hybrid students. This one just goes by A, I guess.”
I didn’t even know Kenyan had hybrids. Doesn’t matter. I write my name, circle a time, and push the clipboard back.
“You’re all set,” she says. “Tutoring is at the table behind the computers. If you’re ten minutes late, you forfeit your time. Three no-shows, and you’re out for the semester.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
I drift toward the literature section. I need a book on the Renaissance era for history class. I scan the shelves, fingers tracing the spines. I pull a book when?—
Thump.
A grunt. I freeze. Heavy breathing.
Slowly, I move to the next aisle. My stomach drops.
Muscles taut as a rope as a strong arm braces against the top shelf.
Below him?—
Cassie. Her mouth stretched wide, lips stained red, struggling to take him in. She gags. Not in protest but with determination.
Garret thrusts harder, a silver flash catching the light on his watch.
She whimpers. He grips her hair. “Shh…” The command is dark.
His eyes flick to mine. My stomach knots. His gaze doesn’t waver.
Cassie follows his line of sight, noticing me. Her face flames with humiliation. Garret doesn’t look away. He doesn’t stop. But I can’t look away either. I should run and pretend I didn’t see. But I stand there, book clutched to my chest. Hating that I’m watching. Hating that I’m curious.
Garret’s lip curls slightly. Like he knows. Like he’s inviting me deeper. He grips her hair harder. “Go.”
Cassie stumbles back, wiping her lips. Her glare burns into me before she leaves. I should go too. But?—
His hand moves faster, still gripping himself. He steps closer. I step back.
A silent game. A slow, calculated chase. My back hits the bookshelf. He stops, towering over me. The light from the window casts a halo over his dark hair. Like an angel descending. But he’s no angel. He’s a demon. A predator. And I am prey.
“Garret…” His name escapes my lips like a plea.
He doesn’t stop. His fingers move faster. “You like watching, Rose.”
My fingers tremble. The book nearly slips from my grasp. A book on love.
He sees the title. His smirk widens. “You’re wishing for love?” His breath fans my lips. “For someone to read you sonnets and poems?”
He’s mocking me. But his eyes are dark. Wanting.
His forehead presses against mine. The pressure sends tiny pricks down my spine. I should push him away. But I can’t.
He smells different. Not like John. Not like any of the men before.
The scent of his skin mixed with cologne envelops me. His forehead pushes against mine, and the pressure sends tiny pricks across my skin. His breath teases my lips, but I’ll never kiss him,
“Have you ever wanted something so badly, Rose?”
The words are a prayer, a curse. I clench my hands. The book bites into my palms. “Yes,” I whisper.
I won’t tell him it’s death.
His breath shudders. He licks his lips. “Fuck.” His jaw tightens. His body shakes. His forehead rolls against mine. “I’m going to come, Rose.”
The pupils in his black eyes expand. A surge of heat. Then?—
His cum. I freeze. Hot liquid hits my hand.
My book.
My sweater.
He wipes the tip of his cock on my hand. Tucks himself away. Grips my chin. His cum-stained fingers digging into my skin. “I think you should get yourself cleaned up.” His voice is smug, wicked.
I shove him away. “You’re disgusting.”
He steps forward. “I think we’ve established how we feel about each other. It looked like you wanted a front-row seat; I gave it to you.”
I push him away, trying to wipe my hands on his black sweater, feeling the hard wall of muscles as he steps back to let me pass. “You’re an asshole.”
“At least I’m not a liar.” I walk down the aisle to the back exit. “Don’t come to my party and stay away from my friends. It’s your only warning.”
I push the door and run outside, not caring if I didn’t check out the book. It’s not like I could hand it to the girl sitting in the front, covered in his cum.
I finally make it to my dorm building with tears streaming down my face. When I reach the bathroom sink, I assess the mess on my hands and my sweater. It’s everywhere. He’s everywhere.
I scrub my hands and face raw, but it’s like he’s embedded in the pores of my skin. The musky scent of his cum mixed with cologne. He doesn’t smell like smelly sex or spit.
I’m repulsed with myself for not wanting to gag; for not finding it disgusting. I look up and catch my reflection in the mirror, my eyes are puffy from crying. My cheeks are red and splotchy. I hate myself for not running sooner, for not screaming for help when he caged me.
“I’m sick,” I tell myself.
How could I like the smell of his cum or his skin? Why do I still crave his kiss?