Chapter 18
The ice welcomes me like always, my slapshots echoing through the rink. Noah slams another freshman into the boards, harder than necessary. Coach Jacobs loses his shit, but I know that look in Noah's eyes. Something's fucked up in his world, and he's bringing that edge to the ice.
Jack keeps his distance from me like he should. I’m not here to make friends.
Back at the mansion, I review the chamber footage. My fists connecting with Jack's face, the precise moment he goes limp. Fast forward. Lola stumbling in, blindfolded and beautiful in her fear. Another skip. Me fucking her senseless and her saying she’s loves my dick. Skip. Her strapped to the chair, completely at my mercy. This is beauty.
I isolate that last clip, saving it separately. Rick Kemper needs to understand exactly what's at stake. His precious daughter, bound and helpless in the Reapers' domain. Phase two begins with showing him how close we are getting. Yet, I begin to doubt if my first manila envelope sent him a message at all. I’m starting to sense he might not give a flying fuck about his daughter. Either way, this is fun. Lola’s just a pawn in something bigger than her, and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to play with his meal.
My brother, Jackson's name lights up my phone. He can wait. Right now, I'm crafting his revenge frame by frame, cutting together the perfect nightmare for Rick Kemper's viewing pleasure.
The footage plays again. Lola in that chair, not knowing her terror is just the beginning. Some girls you fuck. Some girls you break. Lola Kemper? She's going to be my masterpiece.
Her music class will be the last visit from me. I will no longer mingle with her day to day life, not until Rick Kemper gets this message very clearly. Distance is a weapon when wielded properly. Let her think I can't stay away, then vanish. Make her ache for my attention until she comes crawling back like the whore she is.
The ice helps quiet these thoughts. My skates cut clean lines as I line up to score for our this big game against our out-of-state rival. It’s been days since I last saw Lola, and I have no doubt that her inner thighs are trembling at the thought of me. The girl has dark secrets, and as the villain in her story, I smile, knowing the darkness is going to come out and play. Good things come to those who wait.
Victory tastes like cheap beer and power. We travel back to campus and the crowd at Thatcher's parts for us like we're fucking royalty—which, in this world, we are. Hockey kings and Reaper princes, drunk on winning and whatever comes next.
Jack disappears into the crowd the moment we arrive. Smart move. His face is still a reminder of consequences, even if the bruises have faded.
Freshman girls circle like sharks who don't realize they're prey. One particular blonde keeps catching my eye— all legs and desperation to climb the social ladder. Before Lola, she would've been exactly my type. Easy conquest, no complications.
"Brody." Caleb appears with two shots of something that probably strips paint. "Your pick tonight. Thatcher says any girl here is fair game."
The blonde moves closer, clearly hearing every word. She wants to be chosen, to be special. They all do.
I down both shots, letting the burn clear my head. These girls are too eager, too willing. Where's the fun in breaking something that's already bent?
Caleb swigs his drink. "Did you send that footage yet?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. Giving it some time, lining up more shit to hit him right where it hurts."
He snickers. "Can’t let her know you’re thinking about her. I get it. Distance is key."
I nod.
"Seeming eager is a dangerous game with girls like her."
"What?"
He laughs, taking a drink. "That night is at the tip top of her head, dude. I’m telling you." He glances at Jack. "But I’m not so sure she would’ve done for that anyone. You’re the man for the job."
"As long as that stays between us––"
He cackles. "We all saw the look on her face. Why do you think fuckhead over there is keeping his distance, huh? You’re doing it, man. You’re making a name for yourself. Just be careful, dude. It might sign you up to do shit you didn’t sign up for."
I bump his shoulder. "I hate that you’re fucking foreshadowing, man. Shut the fuck up."
He laughs. "They have a special place for the ruthless."
I shake my head. "Are you up for keeping her roommate occupied?"
"What? Jack’s sloppy seconds? I bet that bitch would suck your nuts."
The blonde is making her way over, but I turn my back to her because I’m not done with this conversation. "Not now, but in a few weeks. I’m serious, Caleb."
"You’re gonna have to fucking figure it out without me." He smiles at the blonde. I turn around to her smiling. She watches me.
"What’re you drinking?" I ask.
"Jack," she says.
Caleb laughs. "Fucking ironic."
"What?" she asks, confused.
"Don’t listen to him. I’m Brody." I stick out my hand.
She takes it. "Sloane Fitzpatrick."
"Sloane," I look into her eyes, "let me get you something else to drink."
Caleb introduces himself to her friends and then we walk over to the kitchen.
The party settles into its rhythm. Sloane drapes herself across my lap, laughing at nothing like that'll make me want her more. Caleb's got his own entertainment, some brunette who keeps shooting me looks when she thinks he won't notice. Standard victory party bullshit.
Then Amanda walks in.
Her glare could freeze hell. Maybe she's pissed I've got another blonde playing my game, or maybe she's still salty about me crashing her little power play with Lola in class. Either way, she's about to make a scene. I can taste it coming.
"This fucking idiot," she announces to Sloane, venom dripping from every word, "will use you until he gets bored. Trust me, I would know."
Sloane straightens on my lap. "What I do is none of your business."
I almost laugh at Amanda's face—that perfect mix of rage and wounded pride. "Just trying to warn her. Besides, aren't you seeing someone?" Her eyes narrow. "That scholarship charity case?"
The mention of Lola makes my fingers tighten on Sloane's thigh. Time to end this shit. I tap her leg and she slides off, reading the room better than Amanda ever could.
"You want to talk?" I stand, using every inch of height advantage. "Let's talk."
She follows me to the corner of the party like the good little stalker she is. The moment we're alone, I turn on her. "The fuck is your problem?"
"My problem?" She crosses her arms, and for a second I see the girl from high school—the one who thought spreading her legs meant she owned me. "You show up in my class just to mess with that trailer trash cellist, and I'm the one with the problem?"
"Getting territorial over one fuck at junior prom?" I lean against the counter, letting disgust color my voice. "Pathetic isn’t a good look on you, Amanda."
"We were more than that." She steps closer, trying for seductive but hitting desperate instead. "Remember that summer? Before your brother's accident?"
The mention of Jackson makes my blood run cold. "You don't know shit about my brother."
"I know you've changed since then." Her hand touches my chest. "This whole bad boy Reaper act? The obsession with Lola Kemper? This isn't you, Brody."
I grab her wrist before she can get ideas. "You have no fucking clue who I am. And if you keep interfering with Lola?" I squeeze just hard enough to make her gasp. "You'll find out."
"So it's true." She jerks away, rubbing her wrist. "The mighty Brody Black, brought low by some scholarship case with a sob story."
"Last warning, Amanda. Stay out of my business."
"Or what?" Her smile turns cruel. "You'll add me to your little torture chamber collection? Yeah, word gets around. Even in the music department."
I let the silence stretch, watching fear creep into her eyes. She's always been too smart for her own good. Too hungry for power she doesn't understand.
"Careful what rumors you spread," I say finally. "There are consequences."
Amanda's threat about Lola hangs in the air, making the party's bass feel like a second heartbeat under my skin. The familiar itch starts— the need to know where Lola is right now, what she's doing, who she's with. My phone's already in my hand before I catch myself.
Distance is part of the game. Let her think she's safe. Let her wonder if she imagined the intensity between us. But fuck if it isn't getting harder to stay away.
I down another shot, letting the burn distract me from thoughts of showing up at her dorm. Of pressing her against that wall where she practices, making her play her cello while my hands—
No. Stick to the fucking plan.
The party crushes in around me, too many bodies, too much noise. Sloane tries to catch my eye again, but she's nothing but static now. These college girls playing at being bad don't understand real darkness. Not like Lola, who looked pure terror in the face and didn't break.
"I'm out," I tell Caleb, who's been watching me spiral with that knowing smirk. He gets it. We all have our obsessions.
The night air hits like clarity as I walk back to the compound. My real work waits in the basement—the footage that's going to start phase two. The clip of Lola bound in that chair, edited just right to make Rick Kemper's blood run cold.
The basement feels alive at three AM, humming with potential. I've watched this footage so many times I could draw it from memory: Lola blindfolded, vulnerable. The way her breath caught when she realized where she was. The perfect moment when fear and fascination warred on her face.
The VPN routes through servers in three countries before I'm satisfied. Rick Kemper might be tech-savvy, but the Reapers have better toys. I splice the footage together—Lola in the chair, a flash of the tools we used on Jack, back to Lola's face as she heard his screams.
The message is an obvious threat.
Once this starts, there's no going back. Lola becomes collateral damage in a war she doesn't even know she's part of.
Something like guilt tries to surface, but I drown it in purpose. This was always the plan. Lola was always meant to be broken.
The Reaper chamber feels different when it's full. Red masks line the walls like watching demons while I present phase two. The footage plays on screens around us, Lola's fear projected in high definition.
"Rick Kemper will receive this tonight," I tell them, standing in the center of their circle. "Along with proof we can reach his daughter anytime we want."
"And the girl?" One of the red masks asks. "She's properly compromised?"
The question hits somewhere uncomfortable. "She's exactly where we need her."
"Good." Noah's voice carries approval from behind his red mask. "Because once her father realizes what's happening, she becomes our insurance."
I nod, ignoring the way my stomach twists. "By the time I'm done, Rick Kemper will walk right into this chamber to save his precious daughter. And he’s all yours."
The masks murmur their approval. They don't need to know how Lola's fear tastes like addiction. How watching her break is becoming less satisfying and more... something else.
"Don't forget why you're here," Jackson's voice echoes in my head. "She's nothing but bait."
I check my phone one last time before hitting send. Lola's probably practicing right now, bow drawing sounds from her cello that haunt my dreams. She has no idea her world's about to shatter.
The email sends with a quiet whoosh. Phase two begins.
Somewhere in his fortress of an office, Rick Kemper is about to learn what it feels like to watch your child become a weapon against you. But all I can think about is Lola, and how her eyes will look when she finally understands that wanting me was always going to destroy her.