9. Rand
RAND
Four nights later, I watch through the hidden camera I set up in Karolina’s lounge and scowl as she lifts her bottle of fruity cider to her lips. I can practically taste the sweetness on my own from the kiss I can’t claim.
Her fate is already sealed: she’s mine, but I haven’t answered any of the messages she’s sent since the night I hid in her closet while she pleasured herself.
I don’t want to get in touch as Bones again. That phase of our relationship is over.
I want the real thing.
But now, she isn’t even trying to message Bones. She’s partying with the spoiled, na?ve idiots from her MA course.
A dozen of them are packed into her tiny flat, spilling from the lounge into the kitchen because there’s not enough space for all of them.
I can’t deny the jealousy that’s a sour tang on the back of my tongue.
Her full focus should be on me.
I’m supposed to be her entire world. She’s supposed to be desperate for me.
But instead, she’s smiling at a blond boy who won’t be breathing much longer if he dares to move so much as an inch closer to her.
And when he makes her laugh, my entire body tenses with the need to throttle him.
His name is Rich Paulson, a wealthy kid who’s been handed everything in life, as far as I can tell. He barely earned his place on their MA course, and judging by the amount of time he spends watching porn online instead of studying, he’ll fail out before the year is through.
I’ve made sure to learn as much as possible about all of the new people in her life now that she’s moved to York—assessing for possible threats.
And possible distractions.
I hadn’t expected her to be bold enough to host a fucking party, and I definitely hadn’t seen baby-faced Rich as a threat to my ownership.
“My dad’s a dairy farmer,” he’s telling Karolina, his voice slurring slightly. “My family has owned land for generations. I’ll inherit someday, but I don’t actually work the farm. I’m more like a caretaker for the estate.”
She eases back a bit at his boast.
Karolina isn’t impressed by wealth, and she definitely doesn’t care for people who brag about theirs.
“Did you like growing up in the countryside?” she asks, polite despite not caring for his attitude.
Why is she wasting her time with him when she could be talking to me?
I barely hear his inane response through the sound of my own heated blood pounding in my ears.
My ire is barely cooled when Amala joins their conversation, chatting animatedly about her summer visit to her extended family in India.
It’s so boring. Mundane.
But Karolina seems content to sip her cider and listen to them, even though she doesn’t share much about herself other than where she went to undergrad in America.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Amala says to her. “Are you okay, Lena? Professor Hirst was so mean to you during our first lecture. I would’ve cried.”
That gets my attention.
Karolina flicks her fingers in a familiar gesture—dismissing something that’s actually bothering her as though it isn’t a big deal.
“I can deal with Professor Asshole,” she asserts.
I chuckle.
That’s my fierce Karolina.
I was an asshole that day, but the worst of the pain over her rejection is fading; I’m simply determined now.
Amala giggles. “You can’t call him that to his face.”
“Why not?” Rich challenges, puffing out his chest. “If Lena doesn’t, I will. He really is an arsehole.”
Karolina shakes her head, and her straight, shiny brown hair sways around her delicate face. “Please don’t. The last thing I want is to antagonize our new professor. I’d rather not get a failing grade because I pissed him off.”
“If he tries to fail us, my father will talk to the head of department. Then Professor Arsehole will be out of a job. He thinks he’s so fucking important, but he’s just a poor first-year lecturer.
I checked his bio, and he’s barely out of his PhD.
My dad could get him blacklisted from all the universities in England if I asked him to. ”
“Tempting,” Karolina replies blithely. “But I’d rather make it impossible for him to fail me. The best way to show him that he’s wrong about me is to be so competent that he has to give me a good grade.”
Amala nods in agreement. “Yes, that’s the best way.”
Rich pouts. “I still think you should let me call my father. He’ll take care of it.”
“No, thank you.” Karolina shuts him down, and she doesn’t bother to sound placating about it.
She really isn’t impressed with his threats to run to Daddy to solve his problems.
That’s my girl.
Pride heats my chest, chasing away some of my anger at the boy’s proximity to her.
I keep watching their lame little party as more of their course mates mingle with them. Usually, I’m content to simply watch Karolina doing anything—cooking, writing, masturbating—but I can’t ease my resentment that she’s enjoying the company of others rather than calling me.
Her new friends start to filter out of the party, some of them stumbling slightly as they head for the door. Amala and Rich linger, and my irritation ratchets up a notch.
“Do you want to come out dancing with us?” Amala asks, checking her phone. “Some of the others have gone to the club. No tequila shots, I promise.”
“You go ahead,” Karolina encourages. “I need to get an early start at the library tomorrow.”
“So dedicated.” Rich laughs, as though her tenacity and intellect are amusing. “You’re an inspiration, Lena. Mind if I join you?”
“Sure. I’m planning to be there around eight, after my morning run.”
Rich slaps a hand to his forehead dramatically. “You’re getting up for a run before eight? The morning after a party?”
“I haven’t even finished two ciders,” she replies. “It won’t be a problem.”
“You don’t know how to have fun, Lena. Don’t worry. We’ll show you.”
He slings his arms around Amala and Karolina, and I see red.
Both women instantly tense, and he quickly frees them from his proprietary touch.
“I’m going to dance,” Amala announces. “I’d love to meet you at the library, though. Probably around ten.”
Karolina offers her a genuine smile. “That sounds great. Have fun!”
The last is directed at Rich too, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on the subtle dismissal.
“I’ll help you clean up, at least,” he insists.
“You really don’t have to do that.”
But he’s already bustling around the lounge, picking up empty bottles. “Where’s your recycling?”
“In the kitchen. But seriously, I’ve got it.”
Amala starts to lend a hand, but Karolina stops her.
“Go on,” she urges. “You don’t want to miss out on dancing. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Alright, but I’m hosting next time,” her new friend offers.
“Deal.”
Amala leaves, but Rich is still in the kitchen. I check the feed from the other camera I’ve hidden there. He’s washing dishes, whistling to himself as though he couldn’t be more fucking pleased.
“Leave that,” Karolina insists. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”
“I’ve already started.” He refuses to acknowledge her request.
“I need to get some sleep.”
Another kind dismissal that he chooses to ignore.
The urge to storm out of my flat above hers, race down the stairs, and drag him out of her space is almost overwhelming.
Rich dries his hands on the dish towel and then steps toward her. His hands brace on the counter, bracketing her hips. He leans in, seeking a sloppy kiss.
She turns her face away before I slip into madness. I’m clinging to my control by my fingernails.
“You need to leave,” she asserts, cold and firm.
“Come on,” he cajoles. “Just one kiss.”
“No. Seriously, Rich. Leave.”
He leans in again, smashing his mouth down on hers. She tries to recoil, but he gasps her skull and holds her in place to steal the disgusting kiss.
She shoves him away sharply. In his drunken state, he stumbles back, barely catching himself on the sink before he falls to the floor.
He shakes his head and rights himself, eyes narrowing.
“What the fuck, Lena?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she seethes. “I asked you to leave. Now I’m telling you to get the fuck out.”
I’m already on my feet when he whirls and stalks toward the exit.
The cool night air hits my heated skin, the contrast heightening my senses. I’m keenly aware of the sounds of drunken students at a different party in the building, the dull shine of streetlights on the rain-dampened cobblestones, and the distant scent of the murky River Ouse.
The river.
An excellent place to dispose of a body.
I pull my hood up to conceal my face and prowl after Rich. He’s weaving slightly as he walks through town. It’s late enough that there aren’t many people on the streets, so he doesn’t bump into anyone when he stumbles on some uneven paving stones.
No one’s concerned about the drunk boy lurching his way home.
And he’s too inebriated to notice that I’m tailing him.
Even if he were more alert, I’ve spent years hunting men from the shadows. I’ve taken on far more dangerous targets than lanky, oblivious Rich.
He forced a kiss on my Karolina. If she were a more passive woman, he might be taking advantage of her right now.
But even when she shoved him away, she didn’t hurt more than his fragile ego.
The urge to drag him somewhere private where I can make him scream tenses my muscles. I flex my fists briefly to release the vicious impulse.
I’ll keep this quick and clean. I don’t intend to risk my freedom for this bastard.
We reach Lendal Bridge, and I quicken my pace to close the distance between us. The sound of an inebriated crowd bellowing along to live music at a nearby Irish bar covers the sound of my encroaching footsteps. Rich joins in, humming under his breath as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.
As though he didn’t just corner a woman and try to force a kiss on her unwilling lips.
My predatory focus sharpens, and my hand finds the familiar shape of my switchblade in my pocket.
There are only three other people on the dimly lit bridge: a woman across from us and a couple holding hands several yards ahead.
I keep my posture loose and my pace casual, moving closer to Rich with each of my longer strides. He’s nearing the shadowy end of the bridge, at the edge of a pool of yellow light cast by the streetlamp.
He slips farther into shadow when he turns right and takes the stone steps down to the riverside path. I’m a ghost behind him, unnoticeable even if he were more alert.
When we’re alone beneath the bridge, I sling a restraining arm around his shoulders and tug him close to my side like I’m greeting an old friend. He tenses in surprise, but he doesn’t have time to ask what I’m doing before a single swipe of my blade across his throat silences him.
I shove him hard to the right. He’s gasping for the breath he can’t draw as he drops into the dark water.
No one’s close enough to hear the splash over the music from the Irish bar. No one knows that Rich’s pathetic existence is coming to an end.
I stroll away from the kill site, whistling to the jaunty tune emanating from the bar.
A vision of grabbing Karolina’s creamy flesh with his blood coating my hands flashes across my mind, and my cock stiffens. I’m desperate to claim her, to fuck her. To show her how I’ll always protect her.
No other man will ever touch her.