Chapter Seven
Silas
Her wetness clings to my fingers, sticky against my skin.
Every instinct screams at me to wash it off, to scrub until my hands are raw and clean again.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache, and my free hand trembles against my thigh.
I’m desperate to reach for the hand sanitizer in my pocket, but I don’t.
Instead, I lift my fingers to my face and inhale, and the scent of her hits me.
My habitual revulsion goes to war with my hunger for her, and it’s all-consuming. I’m disgusted with myself. But beneath the nausea, and the crawling under my skin, there’s possession. She’s in me now; a part of me.
“What has you looking all murdery?” Zay asks, strolling into my room. He doesn’t knock. Ever. I shove my hand between my thighs, clamping my legs together like a vice.
Zay’s eyes narrow at the move.
“What’s wrong with your hand?” he asks cautiously, his eyes now laser-focused on it, like it’s a puzzle he must solve.
“Nothing.” I press my thighs tighter, but he’s already circling around my bed like a fucking shark.
“Show me.”
“Fuck off, Zay.”
He lunges, trying to pull my arm free. I twist, but he’s persistent, and his fingers dig into my wrist. We wrestle awkwardly, with him pulling while I clamp down harder, my legs locked in a death grip around my own hand.
“Jesus Christ, what are you hiding?” He laughs, treating this like a ridiculous game, which makes me fight harder.
“It’s nothing . . . get off!” I grunt trying to push him away.
But Zay is stronger, and he uses his leverage to rip my hand free. Before I can pull away, he grabs my wrist and brings my fingers to his nose. His eyes go wide, and a huge smile spreads across his face.
“Someone has been a sneaky boy,” he murmurs, his grip tightening on my wrist. “I don’t even remember the last time I finger-banged someone’s pussy.”
“I didn’t finger-bang anyone. Do you always have to be so crude?”
Zay lets go of my wrist and falls on the bed beside me, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side. “But you touched her kitty cat, right?”
I run my clean hand down my face. I’m regretting my choices right now; I should have just fucking showered. “Just go back to being crude—my brain can’t process you right now.”
He places a hand on my leg, stopping me from erratically bouncing it.
“Go shower. I promise I will have a solution by the time you are out—trust me.”
I nod, because as much as I tried to convince myself I’m okay, I’m not. Mindlessly, I walk to the bathroom. Showering is another process. Turn on the water, set my watch down on the counter carefully. Even if they are overkill, routines matter to me when my mind is in chaos.
I roll my neck, needing to hear the crack before I can move on. Then I pull my shirt over my head and put it in the laundry basket. I like everything in its place, even dirty laundry.
My fingers run over the scar on my chest, tracing the raised skin, and memories surface of a time I’d rather forget.
We all have our demons, but mine are best kept under control.
I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white as I force myself to breathe. It’s a basic technique, but it works. The mirror fogs over, and I remove the last of my clothes and throw them in the basket.
My body relaxes when I step under the water, and my hands move on autopilot, doing what needs to be done. I scrub my hands until I feel like they are as clean as possible. When I’m done, I get out, dry off, and wrap a towel around my waist.
Back in my room, Zay is on my bed, grinning from ear to ear. He holds something up and twirls it around his finger.
“Is that . . .?”
He nods. “Sure is. I saw your little obsession go in for a shower, and so I borrowed this for you.”
He slingshots her thong across the room, and I catch it as it hits my chest. My brain spins in overdrive.
“Chill out, Si spy, I have another surprise. I called Kelsey—you remember that chick I used to fuck for a while? She works at the library and will close it half an hour early, so long as you work your magic with the security cameras.”
I catch on to what he is saying, but there is one problem: campus security.
I open my mouth to tell him as much, but he cuts me off.
“Already have that sorted out. Kelsey is fucking the security guy, so it’s win-win for everyone.
We’re set for Tuesday night, so the library is quiet, and I have it on good authority that a certain person has booked a study room. ”
I nod, though Tuesday seems so far away. “I was thinking, would you be interested in breaking into her room tonight?”
His face lights up. “You want to watch me fuck your girl? I would be honored.”
I laugh as I roll my eyes. I wouldn’t exactly call her my girl.
While Zay, Kain, and I don’t bother with labels, Kain is very possessive.
What’s ours is his, because he would simply take it if we didn’t share, which would be one of the reasons he wanted to fuck Skye.
It is toxic as fuck, but I can’t judge him, and neither can Zay.
We stick around because he cares so much.
I belong to Kain Lawson, and I’m okay with that.
“You know as well as I do, if one of us shows an interest in someone, they are ours.”
He chuckles. “Kain is out tonight, so let’s get ready.”
The thing about Zay is he doesn’t need convincing; he is down to fuck, anytime anywhere.
At 3 a.m. the hallway is silent, but I check my phone one last time. Skye’s breathing on the audio feed has been steady for forty-three minutes.
“Everyone’s out,” I whisper to Zay as we slip from our apartment. “Macey took her sleeping pills an hour ago, and Adrian’s been snoring for two hours straight.”
Zay follows me down the corridor, and when we get to Skye’s door, I reach into my pocket, pulling out a silver key.
Zay stares at me, then covers his mouth to muffle his laughter. “Of course you have a fucking key,” he breathes, his shoulders shaking with silent amusement. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Building maintenance is surprisingly easy to bribe,” I murmur, sliding the key into the lock. The door opens silently, as I made sure to drop oil on the hinges last week during one of my surveillance visits. We slip inside, and I ease the door closed behind us.
The apartment layout is identical to ours, only mirrored, and I know every creak or spot that will give us away. We move through the living room, past Macey’s bedroom, then sneak toward the back, where Skye’s door is slightly ajar.
I push it open wide enough for us to slip through, then close and lock it behind us. Skye lies curled on her side, one bare shoulder visible above the covers.
I reach into my jacket and pull out the purple glow mask. Beside me, Zay does the same. The masks are custom-made—with voice modulators built in and completely untraceable. Another of my more useful skills.
Zay’s mask flickers to life, while I stand hidden in the dark shadows of the corner of her room.
Skye stirs, and I look at Zay and nod. Time to give the girl exactly what she asked for.
Zay moves to the bed, and the mattress dips as he climbs onto her bed.
He lowers his weight over her, and my pulse spikes as his hand presses across her mouth.
Her eyes fly open, and a muffled sound breaks against his palm.
I stay in the corner, hidden, but I can’t look away.
The scene plays out like one of my fantasies dragged to life.
Her fear, her body tensing under him—it’s like static in my veins.
Watching Zay touch her like this feeds every dark craving I’ve buried, every obsession I’ve let fester, and I fist my hands in restraint.
Part of me wants to be the one with my hand over her mouth; I want to feel her trembling under my weight.
Instead, I watch. When we’re together for the first time, I want it to be perfect.
She will feel me under her skin, my eyes on her, never knowing when I will come out of hiding.