Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
VIKTORIA
L ooking left and right, I couldn't see my stalkers.
With a victorious smile and a spring in my step, I walked to the library feeling just a little lighter even if deep down I knew it wouldn't last for long.
And as I found my study group, my instinct was right.
Artem hadn't hired the same caliber stalker as my father did. Those men would still be scouring the science building. These stalkers knew exactly what I was doing and showed up at my destination and waited.
My heart sank, a hollow feeling spreading through my chest.
There was no escape.
I was as trapped now as I'd ever been, just in a prettier cage.
My study group was sitting around one of the large round wooden tables, all of them glaring at the two heavily muscled men in suits with matching bulges under their arms, leaning against a nearby bookshelf.
So much for subtlety. "Sorry I'm late," I said, trying to ignore the situation entirely. "What are we starting with?"
Just like that, the men's curious glares and the women's disdainful frowns were aimed at me again.
Being popular was fun. My eyes rolled.
It was two painful hours of people ignoring me, talking over me, avoiding eye contact, or just refusing to acknowledge my existence.
Fuck them.
I headed back to my dorm room, clutching my books to my chest with my good arm. My other arm had mostly healed from the dislocated shoulder, but it still throbbed with a dull ache, especially by the end of the day.
I wasn't about to let some spoiled rich kids ruin my chance at an education. I wouldn't let their assumptions or their scorn take a damn thing away from me.
They looked at me like I was an outsider, like I didn't deserve to be there, but the truth was I was the only one that deserved to be there. I was the only one that had to work to be there. I may not have been paying my tuition, but if I had to, I would have been. That thought never even crossed any of their minds. Not when they had mommies, daddies, and trust funds.
I held on to that anger, because if I didn't, if I let it go, I didn't know how I was going to get up in the morning and do it all again.
Spite was one hell of a motivator.
As I approached my dorm, the weight of my shadows' eyes pressed into my skin like hot needles.
Would the watchers follow me inside?
Report back to Artem about every detail of my day?
The thought of him knowing my every move sent a strange mix of dread and something else through me—something I refused to examine too closely.
"Hey girl!" Amy called from her open doorway across the hall. She was blasting the latest Taylor Swift album, dancing around her room as she shimmied in a tight pink top and a black faux leather miniskirt.
When she turned to look at me, she stopped dead. "Oh my god, what happened? You look like you just took a pop quiz naked in a class you've never even heard of."
A laugh bubbled up in my chest and I let it free. You could say what you wanted about my very cheery, pink, and dazzling neighbor, Amy, but she always made me laugh.
She was also the only one in the school that gave me the time of day.
She had some experience dealing with guards. She was the daughter of an ambassador and fought not to have security at college. She assumed I was in the same situation and lost the fight.
It was sweet.
She never thought anything bad about anyone.
"Just a long day, lots of stress," I said, leaning against her doorframe.
"Girl"—she pulled me into her room, closing the door behind us—"I know what you're going through. Being the new girl is the worst and coming in junior year blows. Everyone else has already found their groups and you're just kinda wandering. I have been there. But I know the secret."
I loved how she assumed my problems were so entirely high school, but I guessed she was right at least in part, even if her reasoning was willfully na?ve. I was lonely and people didn't talk to me, and it was impossible to get to know anyone.
"What's the secret?" I asked, collapsing onto her bed.
"The secret is parties. You better get out there. You've got to go have fun and get to know people. Get your drink on. Maybe find some hot guy to work all that stress out on."
For a brief moment, Artem's face flashed in my mind—those steel-gray eyes, the way his mouth curved when he said my name.
I shook the thought away, disturbed by how easily he invaded my thoughts.
How often at night I'd find myself remembering the feel of his hands, the command in his voice, wondering what it would be like if...
I tipped my head back and laughed, pushing those dangerous thoughts aside.
"Please?" she said, her eyes huge, beseeching. "You know you want to. For me?"
Out of habit, I was about to make some excuse about why I couldn't.
My father would have never allowed me to go to a party, but now he was dead. He was no longer my problem.
But Artem was , my mind screamed.
I pushed the horrible thought aside. Artem was not my keeper.
Even as I thought it, a thrill of defiance shot through me.
What would Artem do if he knew I was going out?
If his men reported back that I was dancing with other men, drinking, enjoying myself?
The thought of provoking him shouldn't have been so appealing. "You know what? Let's do it."
Amy squealed, clapping her hands together and then dragged me up, exclaiming how I needed a wardrobe change.
If I was going to do this, I was going to do this right, and I was at her mercy.
We left maybe forty minutes later.
I was wearing sexy thigh-high boots that made my legs look about three miles long and a short black faux leather skirt like hers with a sexy white button-down top she'd loaned me. It felt normal. Like I was a normal college kid going to blow off some steam…until I saw it.
The all-too-familiar black sedan at the end of the street that crept behind us.
Amy was oblivious to it, of course, but I knew it was there and what it meant.
I wasn't free.
And yet...as I walked toward the party, I couldn't help but wonder if Artem would hear about this.
If he would care.
If somewhere in his cold, calculating mind, the thought of me dressed like this, dancing with other men, might stir something possessive in him.
I shouldn't want that.
I shouldn't want him to think of me at all.
But as I stepped into the night, I couldn't deny the rush of anticipation that came with playing with fire—or the uncomfortable truth that part of me was hoping to get burned.