Chapter 17 Reverie
REVERIE
“The residence life director assigned me a new room this morning. I’ve already moved my stuff over to the new one,” I tell Dread.
The first thing I woke up to was Barry calling to let me know an officer would be picking up the note and hair clip in the next hour, as well as an email from the life director letting me know my new room information.
So, I rushed to my own room, refusing to think too hard about waking up in Dread's bed for the second time now, and gave the items to the officer when he arrived.
Then I spent the entire morning packing up all my shit, moving it to the new dorm on the opposite side of campus, and unpacking it all over again.
I’ve also rubbed my nape raw from constantly fiddling with my necklace. Every so often, I’d panic, thinking I somehow forgot to put it back on, even though it was the first thing I did when I got back to my room.
I’m not sure which is worse: taking it off like a dumbass right before getting kidnapped, or Barry asking me if I had it on and making up a stupid lie about the chain breaking and accidentally leaving it on my nightstand.
I didn’t have the heart to admit I took it off on purpose.
He wasn’t upset, of course. As far as he’s concerned, I went to stay with Sable like I promised.
But I’m upset with myself. For years, it’s kept me grounded and made me feel safe when no one and nothing else did. It was stupid to take it off when I needed it most. It’s a mistake I won’t ever make again.
So, in conclusion, I’m tired, cranky, my fucking vagina hurts, and I already know this conversation is going to piss me off more.
He’s sitting across from me at a table in the cafeteria, slowly chewing his cheese pizza as he stares at me blankly. No emotion, no reaction, not even an eye twitch. As bland as his pizza.
I sigh. “So that means I’m not staying the night with you again,” I explain slowly, as if he’s stupid.
Because he is.
“Truthfully, you’re lucky I’m even sitting here with you.”
All I get is an eyebrow raise.
We both know I’m not sitting here because he’s lucky, but because he threatened to bend me over his knee and spank me in front of everyone. And while Dread talks a lot of shit, I had zero doubt he’d follow through on that threat.
Maybe I would've doubted it a week ago, but after last night… he looked far too hopeful for me to disobey him.
I always have to choose my battles with Dread, and that was not one I was willing to engage in.
All day, his stares have been a lot more heated, and considering I woke up this morning with his hand holding my tit again, I’ve had enough of him touching my body.
Honestly, Dread has spanked me more than enough to last a lifetime.
I have no plans to let him ever repeat it.
Especially because, evidently, I can’t trust myself not to act like a goddamn masochist about it.
My reaction to what he did continues to plague me, something I’ve tried really hard not to think about. In fact, I’m content to act like it never happened at all. Ignorance is bliss and all that.
“Do you really want the entire cafeteria to see how excited you get when I spank you?” he asks tonelessly, appearing bored as he picks up his fourth slice of pizza and bites into it.
“Maybe this time, I'll slap your pussy. We can place bets on how many it takes before you're squirting all over my face again.”
Because, of course, he’ll never let me live in blissful ignorance.
My face slackens, entirely unamused, despite the way my stomach burns from the visual that assaults my brain.
I should press charges just for that.
“Do you really want the entire campus thinking you’ve gone to the dark side and are dating the spawn of your mom’s serial killer?” I retort snidely.
He lifts a shoulder, seeming unconcerned as he chews and swallows. “What better way to piss off a serial killer than to fuck his daughter?”
I narrow my eyes. I’d love nothing more than to tell him Lionel wouldn’t even care, but truthfully, I think he would.
“That will not happen again,” I bite out through gritted teeth.
Before either of us can respond, there’s a flash in the corner of my eye, and someone is loudly slamming their hands on the edge of the table.
My heart rockets up my throat, causing both of us to nearly jump out of our skin. My wide eyes fly to a girl I don’t recognize leaning over the table with a thunderous expression. The entire cafeteria falls deathly silent, thousands of pairs of eyes turning to me.
The girl bares her teeth, accusation filling her dark, murderous eyes as she gets in my face, and shouts, “Did you do it? Hurt Mindy? Are you just like your sick fucking father?”
My heart pounds a mile a second as my jaw unhinges, speechless, still reeling from her scaring the absolute fuck out of me. I also have no fucking idea what the fuck she’s even talking about.
Dread recovers quicker than me and jumps up to his feet before shoving his arm between us to create a barrier, though he’s careful not to touch her.
“Get the fuck out of her face,” he snarls.
The girl doesn’t even spare him a glance. She heeds his order enough to straighten, though she doesn’t step away from the table.
I barely process her waist-length blonde hair, pale face, and squinty eyes before she’s yelling again.
“Tell me where she is!” Her face flushes bright red, her chest heaving.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I yell, finally finding my voice. I stare up at her, eyes round and brow furrowed with incredulity.
I’m beyond baffled, but I’m also fucking pissed now.
Tears rise to her eyes as she trembles with fury. “Mindy Sackler,” she snaps.
I blink. “Oka-ay,” I say slowly, drawing out the vowel. “Can you tell me who that is?”
She scoffs, hurriedly pulling her phone out of her back pocket, her hand trembling as she taps the screen a few times. Then, she shoves the phone in my face.
I recoil, my brows pinching as I stare at a picture of an unfamiliar girl with sun-kissed skin, long chocolate brown hair and caramel highlights, vivid moss green eyes, and a bright white smile.
I shake my head, racking my brain for any memory of her, but recall none. I open my mouth, prepared to tell her so, until something that is familiar catches my eye.
My heart drops, and I barely catch my expression from falling, though I don’t know if I can stop the blood from draining from my face.
The pink barrette.
Mindy is wearing it, pinning a small section of her hair away from her face.
The same pink barrette I found in my room beside a note from Lionel. Barry has it now, but that hair clip is imprinted into my brain.
Adrenaline releases into my veins, my racing heart circulating it throughout my system with every erratic beat.
Did Lionel fucking kidnap her before he left that note? Not even twenty-four hours out of prison, and he's already kidnapped someone.
Dread leans into my shoulder, and the girl swings the screen toward him, allowing him a better view. He gives no reaction, seeming not to know her based on his blank expression.
I want nothing more than to lie down on the floor and cry, but that would make me look crazy. So instead, I attempt to swallow—though I don’t know why, considering my mouth is drier than a camel's ass—and meet the girl’s fiery stare.
“I don’t know who she is,” I tell her, praying she can hear and see my sincerity. “Did we share classes or—"
“Don’t act stupid,” she spits, lowering the phone.
My response seems to have only enraged her more, based on the way her cheeks darken to a deeper red.
“She went missing two days ago after she left for a date with some guy she met online, and I haven’t heard from or seen her since.
The authorities are fucking useless and aren’t doing shit to find her. ”
The crease between my brows deepens.
Two days ago? Two days ago was the 5th, the day Lionel got out of prison. Depending on what time he got out, and what time Mindy’s date was, it could’ve been possible to make the twelve-hour drive here in time to meet Mindy, but he would’ve had to leave straight from the prison.
It also means he would’ve had access to dating sites prior to release to set all this up, but that’s not difficult to do these days.
It’s common to see inmates interacting online, even when they technically shouldn’t be.
All it takes is having the right connections, and if anyone would, it’s Lionel.
“Okay,” I say gently. “But I’m not understanding what this has to do with me.”
The girl barks out a laugh, though it’s riddled with disgust. She returns her focus to her phone, angrily clicking a few buttons before holding it up to my face once again.
For the second time, I stare at a picture of an unfamiliar person, this one a man. He appears to be a model, sculpted abs, tanned skin, unnaturally bright blue eyes, and, well… hot as hell.
“Show me,” Dread snips impatiently. The girl does, the phone shaking from her trembling hand.
“I don’t know who he is, either,” I say quietly as Dread studies it. It’s clear by his furrowed brow he also doesn’t recognize the guy.
She drops her hand again and glowers at me with a hatred I’ve only seen in the shade of ice blue, staring at me as if I’m stupid while Dread glares at her, the muscle in his jaw thrumming.
“It’s obviously some random fucking model. He was catfishing her. Fake pictures, fake name, fake everything. So was it you, Charlotte?” She spits out my old name like it’s tar. “Did you pretend to be some guy and kill her, just like your daddy?”
“All right, that’s enough,” Dread barks, now pushing more in front of her and forcing her a few steps back.
The girl swings her gaze up to him, incredulous at Dread defending me.
Truthfully, I am, too.