Chapter 1 #3
I tighten my lips into a thin line and look up, hoping Professor Downry noticed and will assume he’s copying my answers, but he’s leaning back in his chair as his thumbs angrily fly over his phone, his brow furrowed as he silently mouths the words as he types.
It looks like he’s fighting with someone, which means he isn’t paying a single ounce of attention to us.
I lean forward, yanking the strands out of Dread’s grip, evoking a low chuckle from his throat. I want nothing more than to wrap my hands around it and ensure he can never make another sound, but I suppose that would make me just like my father.
And make Dread just like his mother.
Gritting my teeth, I seethe at my laptop and inhale a deep breath, a pathetically useless attempt to calm myself. Ignoring him doesn’t work, but I’m too exhausted to fight with him. Since Barry broke the news last night, I haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep.
“Focus on your test, Dread. You might actually learn something other than what your own voice sounds like,” I respond dryly.
He grabs my hair again, this time pulling on it sharply, jerking my head back and eliciting a sharp hiss from between my teeth.
“Careful, darling. I might think you have a thing for my voice,” he purrs.
I roll my eyes and raise my hand. When the professor doesn’t notice, still engaging in phone-based warfare, I clear my throat loudly. Downry jumps, his head snapping up and his gaze finding me instantly. I’d imagine the bifocals over his eyes make it impossible for him not to see me.
“Ms. Adams? Is there an issue?”
Over fifty heads snap to me, but I don’t bristle beneath their attention. I’ve gotten quite used to being stared at.
“Yes,” I say, lowering my hand and straightening my spine. One sure way to piss off Dread is by using his real name—a feat most wouldn't dare do.
But I do.
“Kellan is sexually harassing me.”
Instantly, I feel him drop my hair, and I stifle my satisfied smile as his chair creaks, likely him settling back into it. It’s still a mystery how the thing doesn’t snap beneath his behemoth body.
If I peeked over my shoulder, I’m positive I’d find him grinning, but the sight would be as welcome as peering into the gaping mouth of a rattlesnake. Truthfully, I’m just as terrified of Dread as the rest of the campus, but I do my best to pretend otherwise.
Downry sighs and flicks an annoyed glance my way. It’s not the first time I’ve accused Dread of sexual harassment, and, just like every other instance, nothing’s done about it.
“Mr. Sharpe, please refrain from interacting with Ms. Adams. I would hate to report you to the dean for your behavior,” he says robotically.
What a fucking dick.
He’s said the same thing a hundred times over, yet here he is, still not reporting his behavior to the dean.
Only Dread receives a goddamn warning for a sexual harassment accusation—likely because he alone brings in hundreds of thousands of dollars in funding, so he’s treated like the king of Hollow Canyon University.
Being the captain of the college swim team and a now two-time Olympic gold medalist will have that effect, I guess.
He became one of the most prolific swimmers during his first Olympic Games at seventeen, and, after competing at the Games last year and still maintaining his record for the most gold medals at his age, he's almost untouchable at this school now.
“I’m sorry. Are you referring to Ms. D’Amour?” Dread asks, feigning confusion.
I roll my eyes as the professor glances at me, appearing uncomfortable.
The moment I turned eighteen, I changed my full name from Charlotte D’Amour to Reverie Adams—partially to make it harder for my father to find me should he ever come looking and partially because I wanted nothing to do with the D’Amour last name, a stain I was desperate to bleach.
But just like I refuse to completely drop Dread’s real first name, he refuses to let go of my last.
“I-I believe Ms. Adams is correct,” Downry says awkwardly.
“Ah, I apologize. I still get confused sometimes,” Dread drawls, humor coloring his tone. “I caught Reverie researching how to dispose of a body after chopping them into pieces. I figured her father would’ve taught her that, but you know… not everyone is a fast learner.”
I grind my molars, refusing to look at him, though I can picture him leaning casually back in his seat, legs spread wide, an arm slung around the back of the chair beside him as he smirks devilishly.
Several snickers arise while my cheeks heat. Though the slightest tremor travels through my hands, I refrain from clenching them into tight fists and allowing Dread to see the effect he has on me. Instead, I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at the quiz still on my screen.
Vitriol gathers on my tongue, but, as tempted as I am to spew it at him, I won’t give him the satisfaction. He wants me to flip out on him, which would only condemn me, proving to everyone I’m just like my father.
Crazed and violent.
I paste on a fake smile and meet our teacher’s flat stare. “I apologize for Kellan’s confusion, Professor. We all know he can’t read very well and gets confused. All the chlorine has eroded his brain.”
Dread responds with another deep chuckle. The sound slithers through my pores and grates across my nerves. Every. Fucking. One of them.
I hate that sound. It always precedes another one of his cruel remarks.
“Murderers are charming. Don’t let that pretty smile fool you,” he retorts, his voice reminiscent of the devil himself. “She learned it from her daddy. I’m sure he’s taught her all kinds of skills.”
My control snaps. Snarling, I whip my head to the side, just enough for his profile to loom in my peripheral.
I was right.
His sickeningly tall body overflows in the small chair, the brittle plastic likely straining beneath his weight as he leans back, appearing every bit like the asshole he is.
Long, coal black tresses fall over his eyes, messy and parted in the middle, though he keeps the rest of his hair cropped shorter—just enough to grip. I only know because I’ve seen women do exactly that many times while his tongue is shoved down their throats.
For Halloween last year, he dressed as Billy from Scream and went around licking fake blood off his fingers.
A wicked smirk curled his lips as women practically got on their knees, begging him to fuck them.
The slit cutting through his right brow and the small silver hoops in his ears and nose only made them more feral.
All I wanted to do was break his fucking face.
The irony of him cosplaying a serial killer wasn’t lost on me, either.
Dread stares down at me with that same smirk, waiting for my reaction.
It takes monumental effort to face forward again without snapping back.
I can hardly stand to look at him. Not only does he represent almost every reason my life is miserable, but staring at Dreadful Sharpe is no less dangerous than staring into the sun.
At least, that's what any person unfortunate enough to be attracted to the male species claims. According to them, one glance from his pale, piercing blue eyes will burn through you, only to leave you desperate for their return. Without them, you’re so fucking cold.
But he’s always had the opposite effect on me, considering he’s been hell-bent on destroying me since the moment he stepped foot on this campus.
No, his stare is a dead star, chilling me to my core. It's only when he looks away that I feel warm again.
I would do anything to be invisible to him.
Professor Downry sighs, his exasperation heightening. “I would appreciate it if you could keep to yourselves and get back to the quiz. Must I remind you it’s five percent of your grade? I’d hate for you two to fail and have to retake the class.”
The dryness lining his words proves he truly would hate that, and I couldn’t think of anything worse than enduring another class with Dread.
Biting my tongue, I can only manage a nod.
Downry returns his attention to his phone, and for the remaining thirty minutes of class, Dread’s blissfully silent.
But a moment before we're dismissed, I feel his breath heat the back of my neck. The little hairs covering my body stand on end, and I suppress the urge to shiver.
“I hope you did enough research, darling. You’re going to need it for tomorrow night,” he whispers. A beat passes before he tacks on, “Or maybe you can just call your daddy to help you.”
Before I can process what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, the room seems to explode around me as students get to their feet, packing up and rushing out the door. The sudden chaos jolts me out of my head, leaving my thoughts scattered.
By the time I turn to ask Dread what the hell he’s talking about, he’s gone.
Confused, I find him already walking out, pausing just long enough to peer over his shoulder and aim that cold stare on me, a sinister smirk gracing his lips before he turns and disappears.
Fuck.
What the hell does he have planned now?