Good evening, lotus flower. Thought I’d start the text like that since you love being so proper.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and wait for the next text to come. He always has a few of them.
After the night in the alley, not only did he go back to texting me, but he also resumed testing my patience every morning on my runs.
What used to be a sacred activity is now muddied by his endless questions and constant attempts to get close to me.
I skim over his last texts, trying not feel impatient about the dots that keep appearing and disappearing.
His texts are usually long-winded, and, for some reason, he likes to tell me stories about things that happen in the Heathens’ mansion as if they’re any of my business.
His texts can be so sporadic. For instance, yesterday, they were along the lines of:
Nikolai
Looking forward to tomorrow. Maybe this time I’ll get more than five sentences from you ;)
FYI. I’m so going to imagine your lips around my cock when I jerk off tonight.
You’re free to do the same, btw.
Please do. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
Can’t help picturing you choking on my cock.
Fuck. Need to change the subject before I come in my pants.
So Jeremy woke up today and chose violence. Love that for us. Because you bet I was there with him every step of the way. Best friends and all that shit. We beat up these kids who thought they could mess with us and live to tell the story. It’s the fucking audacity for me. Want me to bring you some souvenirs in the form of their broken teeth? Probably not a good idea, right? Just checking. Anyway, can’t wait to see you in your tight shirt and shorts tomorrow. Running has never been so much fun.
A new text appears, and I check it with clammy fingers.
Nikolai
So I’m waiting.
Me
For what?
Don’t fuck with me. Did you lose the bimbo yet?
Swallowing is exceptionally difficult as I recall the very obvious breakup that happened earlier tonight. But if I tell Nikolai that, it’ll just go to his head, and we don’t want that.
Me
Whatever I do with my love life is none of your business.
Nikolai
I’m making it mine. I told you if you don’t get it done, I’ll do it for you.
I stare with wide eyes as he sends me a picture of a girl sitting beside him in a pub.
Clara.
She’s wearing the same dress from earlier and smiling in her drink.
Nikolai
Be at the below address in twenty minutes or I’ll send you a video of her riding my cock.
My ears heat and I struggle against the wave of nausea that shoots up my throat.
I slam my hand on the sink and breathe in loud inhales and exhales, but nothing calms down my rampaging heart. A part of me knows I should either text him and tell him not to do it or ignore him altogether, but that’s not what I do.
Fuck!
I storm out of the house and get into my car. I probably shouldn’t be driving when I’m a little drunk, but I can’t seem to give a fuck as I speed out of the property and head to the address the twat sent me.
It takes me a whole seventeen fucking minutes to arrive at an apartment complex near The King’s U campus.
I punch in the code to the building that he sent me and take the lift to the penthouse. Another code. Another wasted fucking minute I don’t have time for.
The lift opens in the middle of a spacious flat with a transparent ceiling that shows the partially clouded sky and some stars.
The lighting is dim and intimate, like this is a setting for a romantic night.
My anger is barely tucked beneath the surface, tearing and pulling at my precariously standing walls as I stride in the direction of what must be the bedroom.
Giggles reach me first, followed by the rumble of a very familiar voice. I stop in front of the ajar door, sucking nonexistent breaths into my burning lungs.
I should leave and put this entire thing behind me.
Forget.
Deny.
Pretend.
Be in control—
“Wow, you have such a massive cock. And, oh my God, these piercings are fantastic!”
The words purred by none other than Clara have me abandoning any form of resolve I’m grasping at. I let myself free fall, headfirst, my brain propelling past the nausea in my throat and spilling all around me.
I push the door open to be greeted by Clara kneeling between Nikolai’s legs, her hands wrapped around his dick.
He sits on the bed, leaning back on his palms, and he’s only in his boxer briefs that Clara pulled down to free his cock.
Now she’s fisting him, watching, marveling, and admiring.
His gaze shoots to mine as soon as I stand in the doorway, his eyes darkening in an instant as his lips lift in a cruel smirk. “Call me babe, Clara.”
“I can’t wait for you to get this huge cock in me, babe.”
The snap happens in a fraction of a second.
A red haze crawls into my vision until I can only see that fucking color.
On the way here, I thought the raging anger was because Clara was being Clara again.
I thought it was because Nikolai was touching her.
But it’s not until this very moment that the depressing truth crashes into me.
I never gave two flying fucks about Clara. Zilch. Nada.
What’s driving me to the edge of myself isn’t her. It’s her touching Nikolai.
It’s not about her. It’s about him.
Bloody fucking hell.
I shoulder through the door and grab her by a fistful of hair and haul her to her feet. She shrieks and stumbles, finally getting her claws off him.
“What the—” She cuts herself off when I jerk her to a standing position, eyes widening when they meet mine. “Bran…it’s not what you think. I was just lonely and hurt by your rejection and…and…”
“Shut it.” My voice is steady but firm, and her lips form an O.
I’ve never spoken to Clara in this tone. Not when she cheated. Not when everyone called her a gold-digging bitch.
All this time, I didn’t hate her.
I didn’t feel anything for her to hate her.
Now, I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and watch as the life leaves her sleazy eyes.
“Leave,” I say, still speaking so calmly despite the pent-up chaos brewing inside me.
“Baby, please—”
“Nuh-uh,” Nikolai cuts her off this time as he yanks her from my grip and pushes her toward the door. “He’s not your fucking baby.”
He’s dressed now, if boxer briefs can be considered that, and I drag my gaze away from him.
If I don’t, I’ll be tempted to punch him, and I don’t fucking do that.
Clara stares between us, brow furrowing, and I fix my eyes on her, hands jammed in my pockets, without saying a word.
“Off you go,” Nikolai barks and throws the Chanel bag at her. “Don’t let me see you again.”
She wants to say something else, but Nikolai’s glare seems to scare her to the bone, because she jogs out of the room as if she’s being chased.
Soon after, I hear the ding of the lift, but her smell doesn’t disappear.