Chapter 6
OLLY
After that horrific and frustrating showdown in the student lounge, with those three assholes and Drama Barbie, I had to find a way to dry my drenched and sticky head from the drink non-sparkly vampire poured over me.
What the hell was all that with those douches, and what was the brunette saying that I couldn't hear?
I should have paid more attention, then I wouldn't be looking over my shoulder, wondering if they're going to come at me, and they will, I have no doubt.
Guys like that can't handle a blow to their egos, especially if a strong woman delivers it. Fragile masculinity at its finest.
I'm finally attending the last class of my first day at Soule University, and I'm exhausted.
I prepare myself to see the monster from my recurring nightmares.
One that makes those three look like little unruly boys playing at being evil.
My body locks tight with apprehension and dread.
We can do this, we have to do this, my mind reminds me.
All the research, planning, and steps I've taken have led me here, and nothing short of death will stop me from seeing this through.
I fist my hands tightly around the straps of my backpack, and enter the lecture hall, immediately scanning for a seat at the back so I don't grab anyone's attention.
I've just sat down, and am pulling my laptop from the interior of my bag, when he enters, and my breath becomes trapped inside my throat with a choking sound.
He walks across the lecture stage toward the podium with sure, long, confident strides.
Each one quickens my breathing, as my body tenses with the awareness of danger.
Everything in me wants to bolt for the door, and leave this menacing place behind that has taken everything from me, that's taken everything from us.
He can't hurt us here. We’re safe right now.
I repeat the mantra over and over in my head, desperately trying to calm my racing heart and breathing, even as I feel my palms slicken with sweat.
Everything in me wants to reach for my small blade, which I have hidden in the bottom of my bag, but I force myself to still my movements.
Not here, not yet, we have to do this right, he needs to pay.
A girl sitting in the seat in front of me gives me a suspicious look over her shoulder and, at my responding glare, turns back around with a huff.
My eyes trail over the large figure, obliviously setting up not more than sixty feet before me.
He's changed a bit in the years since I last saw him, growing into his bulky, awkward body and filling out more.
He's sporting a short, conservative haircut now, and a scruff on his face, but one look at those dark eyes reassures me he's still a monster beneath that pleasing exterior.
I watch, horrified, as a few female students stare, swoon, or giggle as they gaze at him.
They have no idea what they're truly looking at.
The devil sends his demons in pleasing packages, and that one there is straight out of the very bowels of hell.
I pull the ball cap I grabbed from my car down lower across my features.
I doubt he will remember me after all these years.
I, however, see his sinister face almost every time I close my eyes.
I tighten my fist, until my sharp purple nails bite into my palm, and the desire to race down these steps, climb onto that stage, and bludgeon him with any object I can get my hands on, is all-consuming.
Control. Beating him up is not enough. It won't rectify what he did to her, nor will it provide justice. We’ll have our vengeance and see him destroyed.
We can't rest, and neither can she until we do.
Just as he gets himself settled, I watch with rapt attention, as he pulls his phone out from his pocket and stares at the screen.
For a moment, his eyebrows furrow, the sides of his lips drop into a confused frown, and his body tenses.
I know what he's seeing on that screen; it's the same thing that's on my burner phone. Let the games begin, Professor Rawdon.
I know what you did to all those girls, Jacob.
You're going to pay for every single one that you hurt.
Forget karma, she's taking too long to serve you justice.
Don't worry, it'll only hurt a little.
You deserve what you get, slut.
His body shakes, and his eyes rise, staring into the crowd of students.
His hand is clenched so tightly to his phone that I fear it might shatter in his grip.
I watch, as he tries to determine whether the person who sent him the message is in this room, and I avoid meeting his gaze.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I discreetly look at the screen.
Who the fuck is this?
I quickly cover the phone with my hand, and slip it inside my shirt pocket, as I catch him scanning the room once more, and pretend to be searching for a pen in my bag.
He taps the podium microphone angrily to get all of our attention, and my skin crawls with the sound of his voice.
"Settle down, folks, take your seats, and let's begin.
I'm Professor Jacob Rawdon, and this is Psychology 102. "
Oh, what fun we’re going to have together, Professor Rawdon.
I wonder if you'll be able to use your psychology knowledge to figure out who's hunting you now.
It's amusing that a monster like him went into this profession, but I guess he wanted to guarantee he knew how to destroy lives, and gaslight his victims.
He's quickly interrupted by the lecture hall door slamming open loudly, and heavy-booted feet entering the room.
The professor's look of sheer annoyance appears immediately, as he gets a glimpse of who's making his way down the steps.
The latecomer is none other than the evil blond angel, who's now changed out of his pop-drenched pants from earlier, and is sporting some sexy ass gray joggers.
What a fucking pity, I enjoyed him looking like he pissed himself.
He gives the professor a menacing glare, and nods his head with authority for him to continue.
"I see I have the... pleasure... of your company once again this semester, Mr. Brackley," Professor Rawdon exclaims with sarcasm, and a dark, arched brow. I file the blond’s name away for later in my mind, and watch their interaction with interest. A thought immediately rolls through my mind: the enemy of my enemy is my best friend.
Blondie looks around, unconcerned with Rawdon's annoyance, or the fact that he’s wasting everyone’s time looking for a place to sit.
He spies a seat he must want and approaches it, the current inhabitant vacating it as if his body were on fire, without a word being exchanged.
Once he plops himself down gracefully, and with an irritated sigh, he turns his attention back to the professor, who is holding up this class, waiting for a response.
"Get on with it, Rawdon, these people came to learn, not to watch you eye-fuck me. "
Giggles and snorts break out across the room, and the professor's face turns a dark shade of red.
If I weren't so annoyed at this motherfucker, I would laugh, too.
I can't deny that I'm enjoying how he's taking Rawdon down a peg already.
The professor starts speaking about the syllabus, and I tune him out.
I'm not here to learn anything from this fucker, so he could be droning on about monkeys on Mars, as far as I'm concerned.
My mind runs through the first steps of my plan I've already initiated, and a giddy anticipation rises within me, knowing the fallout will be glorious.
I just wish I could be there when the dean receives my anonymous email, with pictures of Rawdon fucking his lovely wife.
I'm brought out of my thoughts by all the loud, shocked gasps around the room, and I quickly take a peek at the whiteboard behind Professor Rawdon, at the front of the lecture hall. Words in neon-bright red flash on the screen over and over before disappearing.
"What is the meaning of this! Who's doing that?
!" Rawdon yells, as students laugh and whisper to each other.
His TA jumps up from the front row, pulls up the whiteboard screen, and heads to the projector, frantically yanking the plug, but the damage is done, everyone got an eyeful, and now questions are running through their minds about what that means.
Rawdon's face has gone a molten shade of red, and his breathing is heavy, as he tries to regain his composure. Good luck with that, prick.
God, I wish I could be there when Rawdon goes back to his car, and sees the new paint job I’ve gifted him.
Blood red spray-painted words, calling him a ‘monster’, ‘rapist’, and ‘the devil’ across his hood, and the windows of his sporty white Mercedes.
Guess you shouldn’t have parked in the lot, entitled ass, oh, and good luck with the cameras catching me, I sprayed those fuckers first.
I’m busy daydreaming about my long-awaited vengeance when the hairs on my arms stand at attention, and I feel someone's intense glare on me.
When I do a quick scroll through the room, my eyes meet bright green irises, his face curious.
His lips quirk, and the left corner rises, before the fucker blows me a kiss that I ignore.
The naughty angel slumps down in the chair, his large body relaxed, as if he doesn't have a care in the world, and isn't the slightest perturbed by what's happening.