Chapter 22
DREAD
Kaitlin Cosgrove would probably have a pretty signature if she wasn’t shaking so hard.
Her best friend, Hannah Troutman, sits beside her and signs her own contract, shaking like a leaf as well.
Having already signed myself, I stare at them from across the conference table in my lawyer’s firm, my hands cupped and pressed against my mouth as I study them. Their lawyer, Jude Albright, sits between them, softly muttering something to Hannah.
They’re the two girls who were talking to Rev in their dorm hallway a little over a week ago, the ones responsible for the sex tape. Kaitlin recorded it, and Hannah posted it on a burner Reddit account with the caption: Dreadful Sharpe fucking Charlotte D’Amour.
Real fucking couth.
After I saw them in the hallway looking guilty as fuck, Rev knew both their names, so I found their student emails and forwarded the information to my lawyer, Mark, who had an email sent to both of them the next morning.
We let them know we knew they were responsible, and if they chose not to settle, we’d be pressing criminal charges for revenge porn.
Scared absolutely shitless, they folded like fucking lawn chairs and fessed up immediately. So, we’ve spent the last week going back and forth with their attorneys, working on an agreement.
Within the time of them recording and posting the video and receiving Mark’s email, they swore they didn’t tell a single soul. In fact, their lawyer demanded I not release their names to the public, fearful of online harassment if I did.
Ultimately, they agreed to sign an NDA, to delete the video and Reddit account, and keep their mouths shut for good.
Neither of them can so much as hint at it, even through fucking charades.
In return, I agreed to keep their names private and not press charges or sue the fuck out of them for revenge porn unless they break the contract.
They’re not willing to face jail time, so there wasn’t a single protest.
“Okay, we’re all squared away then,” Mark announces, collecting the contracts and tucking them away in a folder.
“Great,” Jude chirps, clapping his hands, Hannah startling next to him. “Again, we’re so sorry for all the trouble and appreciate the two of you being so gracious to Kaitlin and Hannah.”
Mark shakes his hand before Jude heads for the door, the girls silent with their heads down as they follow him. Once the door snicks shut, Mark turns to me.
When I first met Marcus Agassi, he had a full head of black hair, a thick black beard, and youth to his brown skin. Now, white has taken over half his facial hair up to his temples, and he’s developed quite a few wrinkles.
He blames me for aging him, and he’s probably not wrong.
He’s been my lawyer since my mother’s murder trial, and he’s been a loyal friend ever since. He damn near helped raise me when my grandmother was too burnt out to deal with a little kid going through absolute hell.
I was angry and got into a fuck ton of trouble—constantly getting in fist fights with kids at school, failing my classes, mouthing off to anyone with a fucking pulse. He was the one who put my ass into swimming to redirect my energy. It changed my life, and I owe him everything.
“Did you hear back from your manager about the data removal service?” Mark asks, stuffing his hands in his suit pants pockets and leaning his hips against the table.
“Yep. As of this morning, they scrubbed it from the internet in every corner they could find. We can’t get it off people’s phones, obviously, so they’re contracted to continuously remove it any time someone re-uploads it.”
Mark nods. “Good.”
He stares expectantly. I arch a brow. We both wait for the other to crack.
After several beats, Mark rolls his eyes. “You’re seriously gonna make me ask?”
I furrow my brow. “Ask what?”
His face flattens into a deadpan stare. “Don’t be a dick. Reverie Adams? Or, rather, Charlotte D’Amour? You’re—” He waves his hand, silently emoting rather than just saying the word.
“Fucking? Am I fucking her?” I offer.
He scoffs. He’s like a typical parent who doesn’t want to hear about their kid having sex.
“Yes. That. You two are doing that together?”
I grin. He grew up in a strict Armenian household, where openly discussing sexual matters was rather taboo—something that’s still ingrained into him in his fifties.
“She’s my girlfriend,” I say.
He just stares at me, as if he can’t tell if I’m fucking with him or not.
I heave out a heavy breath and lean back in my chair. He’s one of the very few people I can talk to about this shit. He, more than anyone, understands my sordid history with Reverie.
“I don’t know what happened,” I confess quietly, pinning my stare on the cherrywood table.
It was only yesterday when I finally decided to track Sable down to find Rev and showed up at her hotel.
It took everything in me to give her space for those eight days.
Campus was a fucking circus, between the nosy-ass students whispering and staring and reporters bombarding me every chance they got.
So, I let her go, deciding to spare her from the worst of it until the next scandal took over the internet.
But fuck, there were no words for how pissed I was when I realized she ran away and then fucking blocked me. The moment I saw my messages were going undelivered, it was a horse kick to the chest.
Part of me is still pissed.
After I left her in the hotel room, it took her all of ten minutes to text me a picture flipping off the camera, her eyes half lidded and sensual, those pink lips wrapped around a finger glistening with her arousal, a trail leading down the back of her hand.
I damn near crashed my fucking car, and my dick hardened into solid diamond, as if I didn't just come in her pussy.
I've had too many women send me unsolicited nudes, but that was by far the sexiest picture I've ever seen, and I couldn't even see the imprint of her nipple through the T-shirt she still wore.
It was clearly her way of showing me she unblocked me, but it didn't completely soothe the sting.
Which is why I left her like I did at the hotel, and when she came back to my dorm later that day, regarding me like she didn’t know how to handle me, I still didn’t touch her. Even when she hesitantly curled up against my side last night and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.
My insides burn just thinking about it, continuing to war with myself, trading between fury, lust, and—fuck, I don’t even know what else. Half of me still hates her, but the other half needs her so fucking viscerally, it makes me sick.
“I assume it started with Lionel getting out,” Mark says, bringing my attention back to him.
I nod.
He was pissed when I told him Reverie stole the letter informing me about Lionel’s release.
He thought I read it and knew throughout those three weeks of him checking in on me, that I just wasn’t ready when I kept telling him I was fine and didn’t need to talk.
He doesn’t like to text regarding sensitive info, so he never mentioned the release specifically, and figured I’d call or stop by to visit when I was ready.
“She kissed some dickhead on the football team to prove a point, and I just… lost my mind and ended up kissing her. Then, things just kept progressing, and we—” I wave my hand, imitating Mark when he couldn’t say the word.
He purses his lips and nods, processing that. “And now you’re in lov—”
“No,” I snap, cutting him off before he can even get the word out. My stomach twists from the mere thought of being in love with her.
He just raises his brows, either not impressed by my interruption or not convinced.
I don’t care to figure out which one.
“No,” I repeat, softer this time, offering a silent apology with a glance.
Mark’s quiet for a few moments, taking in my every microexpression. Then, he taps his fingers against the table, signaling that he’s done asking questions.
“Okay. Well, if you need to talk about it, you know I’m here for you, bud.”
I nod and get up from the chair, feeling like I’m coming down from an adrenaline rush.
“Until then, stay out of trouble and don’t star in another damn tape, you hear me?” he lectures, pointing a thick finger at me. “You’re responsible for every single one of my white hairs.”
I grin. “I’m pretty sure your wife and five daughters have a couple hairs with their names on them.”
He scoffs, giving me a wide-eyed look that says, You have no fucking idea.
“Women, man. They’re just—” He bites his bottom lip and holds out both hands like he’s holding an invisible ball and shakes them aggressively.
I chuckle. “I know exactly what you fucking mean.”
“Baby, would you please listen t—”
“Do not call me baby, Severen Fox. I’m giving that privilege to someone else now.”
I hear the voices the second I step out of Elizabeth Magie Hall, where my marketing lecture just finished.
I look over to see Octavia shoving a finger in Severen’s face as she spits the words out at him.
Her cheeks are almost as red as her hair, but their vibrancy is nothing compared to the flames in her robin's egg blue eyes.
Severen’s head jerks back, staring at her like she slapped him in the face. Then, his head tips back with a dangerous laugh, and when he drops his chin again, there's an insidious energy radiating from him that I know all too well.
It's also my cue to leave.
The last thing I see before turning away is Severen seizing her by the throat and slamming her against the brick wall of the building.
That would be cause for concern if Octavia didn't instantly arch into him, if they weren’t currently poisoning each other with sexual tension. She glares up at him, except she also looks like she wants to maul him.
Severen can be an asshole, but never that type of asshole.
Shaking my head, I pull out my phone to text Rev to meet me at the cafeteria for lunch. I'm halfway through the message when I hear a male voice call her name.