If You Dare: A Hockey Bully Romance
If You Dare: Chapter 23

Violet

In the library, the words are pouring out of me.

Professor Tate said we had to write about love in our story. She didn’t say we couldn’t include sex.

Part of me knows I’ll never want to show this to her or to anyone, but I’m not letting the doubts or worry take over. If a love story like the ones I’ve been devouring in books lately gets me writing again, I’ll take it.

The words fly from my fingers so fast, I grin. I’ve missed this feeling so much.

When Chloe told me about why she loved figure skating, how it felt to be on the ice—like she was soaring, like she was untouchable—I told her that’s how I feel when I’m writing.

I’ve been missing this feeling for months. I hope wherever Chloe is now, she feels nothing else.

She’d love reading the smut I’m writing. She’d be reading out loud over my shoulder, giggling right along with me.

Except when the love interest says, Get on your knees for me, I realize he sounds an awful lot like Wes.

The door to the library creaks open. Since it’s nearing two and the place is empty, I’m at a back table. At this hour, I assume it’s a cleaner or another sleep-deprived student until the lock clicks shut.

Followed by familiar footsteps.

The slow thud of each of his combat boots is echoed by my heartbeat in my ears. I watch motionless as he approaches.

His boots stop beside my chair. Tonight, he’s in dark jeans, a Diamond University hoodie, and a mask. Didn’t want anyone to identify the guy crossing campus at nearly two in the morning.

My palms grow slick, throat closing up. I don’t know what to expect from him anymore. I want to ask if more Devils will be joining us, but I’m afraid of the answer.

He plants a meaty hand on the table. The one he used to choke me. To rub between my legs. Behind his mask, his eyes are unreadable. “I need a book.”

Right. I’m sure that’s exactly why he’s here. I nod and clear my throat. “Um. Okay.”

“Up,” he commands.

I rise.

He nods to the stacks behind us, gesturing for me to lead the way.

I head down the first row of books until I near the end. He strides past me, flicking the light switch and casting the shelves in shadow.

“Wes, what—”

His body pins me to the shelves and my heart leaps to my throat. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls.

He shoves his mask up, finally revealing the flawless, gorgeous face beneath, before smashing his lips against mine.

Adrenaline shoots through me like lightning. His lips are so much softer than I remember, exploring mine with shocking tenderness before his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

My knees grow weak at the feel of him. This is happening. This is really happening.

I’m kissing Wes Novak.

I never thought this would happen again. Hell, I never thought it would happen the first time.

Except this time, it’s not sweet or romantic or tender. It’s rough and possessive and claiming. Like we’re not sharing something—he is merely taking. Taking what he wants from me, what he’s been restraining himself against.

I shouldn’t love it as much as I do.

He bites down on my bottom lip, making me gasp, before sucking it into his mouth, sweeping away the slight twinge of pain. I can’t keep myself upright anymore. Wes’s hand drops from the shelf behind my head and latches onto my hip, pinning me in place.

He lets my hands land on his chest, the heart beneath my palm hammering just as hard as my own.

A new fear flutters in my gut. A repeat of what he did to me in my philosophy class. Bringing me so close to the edge before pulling away and taking every bit of pleasure with him.

He yanks my shirt up and my bra down, the cool, air-conditioned air kissing across my exposed skin and making my nipples peak. “These belong to me now,” he growls before sucking my nipple into his mouth.

I gasp, and his mask falls to the floor as I clutch at his hair. He rips my hands from his head and slams them down against the shelves. I whimper, and he curls my fingers around the wood. “Don’t fucking move.”

He keeps sucking on my nipple, pulling it deeper into his mouth. Pleasure sings through my veins and wetness pools between my legs.

In all the times I imagined Wes’s mouth on my skin, it never felt this good.

I squirm beneath him, aching to claw at his hair, his biceps, but I dig my nails into the wood instead.

Wes drops my nipple with a small pop before moving on to the other. I bite down the cry and try my best to stay still. Letting him do what he wants to me.

His hand plunges down my skirt so suddenly, I jump. “You’re going to take everything I give you,” he orders.

“Yes,” I breathe.

His hand eases down into my panties until his finger scrapes along my clit. I suck in a breath. When he circles that sensitive spot, I moan.

Wes slaps a hand over my mouth. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear your fucking moans. This is for me, not you.”

My muscles and joints stiffen. I knew it. This isn’t desire or affection. This is something much more twisted.

Yet my knees are still jelly and I ache for him to do whatever he wants to me.

When he kneels before me, chills run down my body.

“Don’t make a fucking sound,” he warns.

“I won’t,” I whisper.

His mouth latches onto my thigh, hard. Nearly making it impossible to follow his order. I bite down on my lip to suppress the whimper that builds in my throat. My nails dig into the wood so deep, I know I’ll leave my mark. Just as Wes is leaving his mark on me.

He moves to my other thigh, sucking and nipping at my skin. I’m already weak for him, completely at his mercy, and he hasn’t even reached the throbbing spot between my legs. Bruises bloom on my skin, marking his trail.

“Wes,” I gasp.

“I told you to keep your mouth shut,” he snaps. “Now I have to punish you.”

I swallow, kicking myself. He’s going to deny me that pleasure again. Or inflict a new pain now that he has me in a vulnerable position.

Wes pulls my panties to the side and groans. That sound from him is nearly enough to make me combust.

“Violet,” he murmurs, and that fury is gone from his voice now. A tenderness to my name that I haven’t heard from him in months.

He blows gently on the apex of my thighs and I shudder. I want to beg him to touch me, to give me that pleasure I’m aching for, but I’m terrified to see what punishment he would have in store for me.

He plants a kiss on my clit, and I can’t help the whimper that escapes this time.

“You’re going to hate how good this feels.” His words make me stop breathing. “I’m going to be the first man to make you come, and when you think back on your first time, you’ll have to think of me. The man who scares you, and you like it.”

My mind spins, trying to digest every word from his mouth. Your first time. He plans on having sex with me? I shouldn’t. My first time shouldn’t be with a man who hates my guts. Who wants me dead. Who’s spent the last weeks of my life tormenting me.

Yet the thought of Wes inside me, fucking me in the stacks, only makes me want him more.

Something is wrong with me. But I don’t know if it’s Chloe’s death that changed me or if I’ve always had this darkness inside.

The man who scares you, and you like it.

He’s right. The fear coursing through my veins, knowing that Wes could do anything he wants to me, knowing that he could hurt me, sends a shot of adrenaline down my spine. Makes my heart race and the pleasure that much more delicious.

He thinks I’ll look back on this moment and not just hate him, but hate myself. Hate myself for wanting somebody who treats me so terribly. Hate myself for giving in to him.

The thing is, I can’t hate myself any more than I already do.

“Show me how much I’ll hate it,” I breathe.

“I told you not to speak.” The words come out on a low growl that makes my thighs shake.

“So punish me.”

His jaw clenches, and he yanks my panties down to my ankles. His fingers dig into my ass where I know he’ll leave his imprint, and he yanks me toward him. “Be fucking careful.”

But then his tongue glides up my slit, and I get exactly the punishment I was hoping for. I don’t bother holding back the gasp of pleasure, knowing that Wes can do whatever he wants to me and I’ll want it too.

Pleasure mounts in my limbs when his tongue stops on my clit and swirls there. Holy shit. Wes Novak has his tongue between my legs, and it’s a thousand times better than my wildest fantasies.

His hands slide up from my ass to my breasts, squeezing them roughly in his calloused hands. The scrape of his palms over my nipples sends my eyes rolling.

“Oh my god,” I gasp.

He doesn’t stop to bark another order at me. His tongue continues circling my clit until he latches onto it, sucking it into his mouth.

Pleasure like I’ve never felt before spears through my center. Almost in a way that’s too overwhelming, too much. But Wes doesn’t care, even as I involuntarily pull away from him, my ass hitting the shelf behind me. He simply follows me, not letting me get away from him.

His tongue dips back down, gliding up me again before plunging inside me. He thrusts his tongue in and out, eliciting pathetic whimpers from my lips. The sound of his tongue working through my wetness is obscene. So loud, it seems to echo in the silent room.

“Mmm,” he murmurs. “You taste so fucking good.”

“You feel so fucking good.”

I swear I can feel him smile between my thighs. “You won’t be thinking that in a minute.”

Panic rushes through me, but I’m quickly distracted by Wes’s mouth returning to my clit. He sucks while one of his hands drops between my thighs, a finger slowly sliding in.

“Agh!” I cry out, the stretch intense and foreign.

Is this what he meant? Is this the punishment? Except when he curls his finger, the stretch quickly turns to a new sort of pleasure. Deeper and multiplying the satisfaction his mouth drives through my clit.

“That’s it, little flower,” he mutters. “Come on my finger.” It’s more threat than promise. Then he adds, “If you dare.”

I freeze, but he keeps going at me, and even though I fight against it, try not to give him what he wants, the pleasure mounts from my toes to my head. Climbing and climbing until it reaches that inevitable crest. The tipping point I know I won’t come back from, where I can’t stop the orgasm, even if I wanted to.

As if he can sense it coming, Wes pumps his finger inside me faster while his mouth sucks on my clit harder. I fall over the edge, crying out the whole way down.

Down to the pits of hell, where Wes has dragged me with him.

No. Where I dragged him.

Wes continues thrusting his finger inside me and working my clit through the throes of my orgasm. Until I’m whimpering and shaking, unable to take any more.

His mouth and finger gentle, coming back down with me. The reality of what just happened washes over me.

I just had my first orgasm with a man. With Wes Novak.

Oh my god.

He slides his finger out, making me gasp, and picks up his mask before he straightens. He settles it back on his face and looms over me. Despite what he’s just done to me, his stance is menacing.

“Open your mouth.” I do as he instructs, and he slides his finger into my mouth. The finger he just had inside me. “Now suck.”

I don’t want to, but I follow his order, the taste of my own arousal on my tongue.

He snatches his finger from my mouth before bracing both hands on my shoulders. “On your knees.”

Wes doesn’t give me a chance to comply. His hands force me to the floor, the thin carpet scraping against my bare skin.

One hand stays on my shoulder, keeping me in place, while the other opens his belt buckle.

I swallow as he slowly pulls the belt free from the loops before snapping it in the air like a whip. I flinch, but I’m immobilized beneath his heavy hand. He wraps the belt around my neck, tightening until it’s a cool, unyielding leather collar around my throat.

He steps back, the slack bit of his belt growing taut between us. I drag air down my windpipe while I still can.

“Come here,” he commands. I start to stand, but he shakes his head. “No. Crawl to me.”

“What?” I can’t have heard him right.

He snaps the belt, jerking my neck forward and my hands smack the thin carpet beneath me. “Crawl to me. Now.”

Reluctantly, I obey his command, the act demeaning and humiliating until I dare a glance up at him. Through the mask, lust brims in his eyes.

I stop crawling when I reach his feet and remain kneeling before him.

He reaches for his zipper. “I told you to keep your mouth shut. Now you’re going to replace out exactly what happens when you don’t listen to me.”

“Wes, please,” I plead, heart thundering.

“Open up, baby.”

I keep my mouth clamped shut. This isn’t love or pleasure—it’s punishment.

He gives the belt a hard yank. I gasp, mouth opening involuntarily as his belt squeezes my neck.

Wes rubs his rough thumb across my bottom lip. “Good girl. Keep it open or I won’t let you breathe.”

His hand moves back to his jeans, and his thick cock springs free, long and hard for me.

My mouth goes dry. He’s even more glorious than I anticipated. There’s no way I can fit his entire length in my mouth. His tip is wide, a bead of pre-cum already waiting for me. The long, thick vein on the underside of his shaft protruding.

Every inch of him is intimidating.

His free hand cradles my face. Almost tender. Almost a lover’s caress. “I’m going to fuck your face now, little flower.”

He rubs his tip across my lips, still open at his command. My arousal leaks between my legs. Part of me wants to return the pleasure he gave me, another wants him fucking my pussy so I can come again.

“Beg me,” he growls.

“What?”

“Beg me for my cum. Beg me to let you swallow.” He’s growing impatient, pumping his cock in front of my face in long, luxuriating strokes and pulling on his belt.

“Please,” I whisper, dropping my gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he snarls, yanking the belt so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Please what?”

“Please . . . let me swallow your cum.”

“Anything for you, little flower.” The murmur would almost be sweet, romantic, if he didn’t have me on my knees with a belt around my throat.

He slips the tip of his already-throbbing cock past my lips and groans, the hot, smooth skin dragging along my tongue. My jaw already feels the stretch around the girth of him.

“Oh fuck, baby. That’s it.”

He eases in slowly, and I grab onto his thighs, knowing any attempt to push him will be fruitless. His taste is salty on my tongue, and when my eyes travel up to his face, the panic vanishes.

His piercing blue eyes are glued on me, and I’ve never felt more desired in my life. Suddenly, I don’t care if he’s rough with me. If he takes what he wants. I want to give him the same pleasure he gave me. Want to show him that he’s not the only one with power.

I suck in my cheeks and he hisses at the suction around his cock. I take him as deep as I can until I start to feel the gag building and glide my tongue back up his shaft. A rough hand lands in my hair. “Fuck, Violet. That’s a good girl.”

My chest flutters from the praise.

When I reach the tip, I experimentally swirl my tongue around it, tasting the salt of his pre-cum. His hand fists in my hair. “Down your throat, baby.”

I suck his length again, but when I start to come back up, he drives his hips forward, hitting the back of my throat.

His pelvis hits my teeth, and I sputter around his cock as he chokes me with it and the belt. With my hair in his grip, he controls my head, forcing my mouth rhythmically up and down his cock. “You love that, don’t you? You love choking on my dick.”

The hard tip hits the back of my throat over and over. My eyes sting as his fingers pull my hair and his cock wrenches my jaw.

My stomach starts to ache with every gag, but he doesn’t care, and with the long, low groans emitting from his throat, distorted by his mask, I don’t care either. “God, I love that you can barely take it. You want the belt tighter, baby?”

He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. The belt around my neck tightens, restricting my airflow. I’m forced to open my mouth wider to try to suck down air, which only makes him fuck my mouth harder and faster. The only sounds filling the room are his skin smacking against my face and my gurgles around his cock, foreign to my ears.

My fingernails dig into his thighs, but he doesn’t notice as his thrusts into my mouth get faster and faster. “You’re going to swallow every last drop of my cum,” he warns.

Before I can protest, he drives his cock into me to the hilt, forcing ropes of his salty cum down my throat. Tears spill out of my eyes now as I gag and claw at his thighs, but he doesn’t move until his cock gives one final twitch in my mouth.

When he finally pulls his still-hard length past my lips and releases the belt from my neck, I collapse on all fours onto the floor, gasping and coughing. Knowing I’ll taste him in my throat and on my tongue for days. Feel the phantom grasp of his belt on my skin.

He zips his pants with a note of finality. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

I straighten, sitting back against the shelf behind me, legs too weak and shaky to stand. “Who would I tell?”

I can’t tell Aneesa. She would call me crazy for hooking up with the Devil who’s been bullying me since I got back to campus. I have no one else.

“Keep it that way. I don’t want anyone to know I stuck my dick in Violet Harris’s mouth.”

Wes turns without another word, leaving me alone in the dark library.

Shame rockets through me. I’ve heard the way the other hockey players talk about girls on campus. They’ll jump at any chance to brag about getting their dick sucked.

But I am the shameful secret. The girl no one can know he wants.

In my history class, the professor asks me a question, but I’m too distracted by thoughts of Wes and the rest of the Devils to get the answer right. The professor shakes his head, disappointed. I’ve never liked history, never been good at memorizing all the various dates and years of different wars and tragedies, but I’ve also never had a C in a class before.

Now I have a C in this class and Advanced Fiction Writing. The one course I thought I was guaranteed to ace. What writer gets a C in a creative writing class?

If I can even call myself a writer anymore.

After class, I stuff my books and laptop in my bag as fast as I can. As soon as I’m out the door, I replace Trey leaning back against the adjacent wall, casually flipping open a pocket knife.

I halt when his emerald gaze replaces mine, a terrifying smile crawling across his face.

My heart jumps to my throat, blood pounding in my ears.

I need to get the hell away from Trey before he carries out whatever plans he has for me and that knife.

I hurry down the hall and duck into a restroom that’s almost never occupied, tucked away in an obscure corner of the University Center’s top floor.

The room is empty. I splash water on my face and breathe slowly through my nose, pulling myself together.

I’m okay. I’ll be okay. The Devils will get bored of tormenting me eventually. All I have to do is survive until Wes graduates next semester.

Behind me, the door squeaks open. When I glance in the mirror above the sink, it isn’t a girl entering the restroom.

Trey shuts the door behind him, locking us in. “Hey, pretty girl.”

My stomach drops.

That knife is back out of his pocket, blade flipped open.

I clutch my bag in front of me, the only shield I have against Trey and his knife.

“Get out of here.” My words come out shaky in the silent room.

“I have other plans.” In three quick strides, he’s in front of me and ripping my bag from my hands, tossing it onto the floor. I cringe when the textbooks and phone inside smack against the tile.

I itch to run, but he’s blocking my only exit. Towering above me, almost as tall as Wes, green eyes glinting. “You’re not going anywhere.”

I watch in horror as he drags the blade across his bottom lip, nicking himself and licking away the bead of blood as he backs me against the wall.

His breath is hot on my neck, hands pinned above my head, caging me in.

He presses the knife, just below the crook of my ear, grazing it gently down my neck. I hold my breath, terrified that he’ll slice me open with the slightest movement.

In one fluid motion, he grips my ponytail with his other hand, yanking it high in the air and ripping at my scalp. I yelp, the pain making my eyes sting.

The next second, short strands of my hair tickle the back of my neck, my head suddenly lighter as his hand drops beside my shoulder.

I reach up to my ponytail—

And replace nothing but air.

It’s gone. He cut off my ponytail.

The curtain of hair I used to hide behind, to turn myself invisible. My security blanket torn away in half a breath.

“Fuck, you look sexy this way.” A lopsided smirk that makes my stomach turn.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

Trey shrugs. “Captain’s orders.”

Wes. Wes instructed him to cut off my hair and threaten me with a knife.

A stupid part of me thought things were changing between me and Wes. Of course I was wrong. He’ll never forgive me. He shouldn’t.

“Ever had a papercut?” Trey asks.

I don’t want to say a word to him. Don’t want to utter anything that will set him off, encourage him. But if I stay silent, he’ll coax the words from my mouth with the sharp edge of that blade. “Yes.”

His hands drift down to my own, grabbing my wrist and flipping my palm open. I swallow down the scream of terror when he presses the tip of the knife against my palm.

“A little papercut hurts worse than you would expect, huh? Even a small wound can do a lot of damage.” He digs the tip of the knife harder against my skin, and I wince. That only turns his smile feral. “But we don’t want anyone knowing where I cut you, do we?”

I flatten against the wall, attempting to create space between us. If I try to escape him, if I try to make a run for it, he’ll only make this a thousand times worse.

He yanks my shirt up, exposing my stomach. I cry out when the blade bites into my tender flesh. “But here,” he purrs, “no one will see the marks I leave on you.”

“Please don’t do this, Trey.”

“You brought all of this punishment on yourself, baby girl. You gotta get what’s coming to you.”

His hand moves with a flash across my stomach. The slice is so quick and clean, the pain doesn’t register for a second.

When it does, I clamp down on my lip to suppress my cry from the white-hot sting, tasting copper when I catch my tongue.

Trey stares in delight as blood trickles down to my belly button. He licks my blood off his knife and I want to vomit. “My girl will fucking love the pain.”

He’s so fucking twisted. Sadistic. Even Wes hasn’t done anything this bad to me, and his are the only justifiable punishments.

Trey places the knife against my abdomen again, and this time, I scramble to get away. Desperate to escape him before he can inflict more agony.

He pins me to the wall with a forearm across my chest, making it near impossible to breathe. “You’re taking your punishment, pretty girl.”

Another slice across my flesh has me crying out, followed quickly by another. The delight builds in his eyes with every cry of agony that escapes my lips. My blood trickling, a few drops hitting the floor, but none of the cuts deep enough to make me bleed out. Just enough to make me scream and cry and writhe beneath him, exactly as he wants.

His rock-hard erection presses against my hip through his jeans, the evidence of just how much hurting me turns him on.

“I bet you’d lose your mind if I fucked you with this,” he pants, breathless.

My gut turns watery, terror prickling up my neck. “No, please,” I beg, knowing that my pleas are exactly what he wants, that he gets off on my fear, but I can’t help it.

His low chuckle hums along my skin. “Not the blade, beautiful. I’ll make sure it’s a knife with a nice, long handle.”

Sheer panic grips my throat like ghostly hands at the thought of Trey fucking me with the handle of a knife. Then undoubtedly taking his turn.

Outside, a few feminine giggles approach. Trey doesn’t panic at the possibility of getting caught assaulting me. Instead, he narrows his eyes, annoyed that our time together has been cut short.

He licks my blood off the blade, eyes rolling up like he’s a fucking vampire nourished by my essence. He shoves the knife back in his pocket before pulling out his phone, holding my shirt up.

He snaps a few photos of his handiwork before he’s satisfied, dropping my shirt and smirking. He turns and leaves just before the gaggle of girls can replace him in here. “Until next time, sweetheart.”

Wes

As soon as those photos Trey snapped of Violet appear on my phone, I race to replace her.

I’m going to knock his fucking teeth in when I see him.

I shove my way into the women’s restroom, a girl with jagged chestnut hair bent over a sink.

Trey did exactly as I instructed. He cut off that ponytail so I’d stop imagining wrapping my hand around it and pulling. But my plan backfired.

Violet is more beautiful now than I thought possible. My heart nearly fucking stops while I admire Trey’s handiwork.

Until she turns and I spot the rest of it.

The delicate skin on her belly marked with red, jagged slices. She’s been dabbing at the wounds with a damp paper towel. They’re shallow, but enough to fucking hurt.

My hands curl into fists that I want to launch at the wall. Better yet, right into Trey’s fucking nose.

Black makeup is smeared beneath her eyes, swollen from crying. I could fucking kill him.

“Fuck,” I hiss, feet still frozen as I take her in. “What did he do to you?”

She sniffles. “Everything you told him to.”

I don’t like the sound of that. I close the distance between us, examining her bare skin for any other damage he inflicted. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

If he touched her, if he fucked her, I swear I’ll bury him ten feet under—

“No,” she manages, attempting to step away from me, but I grip her hip, holding her in place. “But he wanted to.”

I bet he did. Motherfucker. “What did you do?”

Her delicate brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you scream? Claw out his eyes? Knee him in the balls?” God, I hope she got in a few good shots.

She’s thrown off by my question, eyes wide. “I . . . didn’t do anything.”

“You just let him carve you up?” My grip on her hip tightens, thinking about her standing there, gritting her teeth while he cut into her like a pumpkin, thinking she deserved it.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Her whisper nearly breaks me. “You’re the one who sent him after me.”

“No.” I close my eyes and breathe slowly through my nose, forcing myself to stay calm. “Yeah, I told him to cut off your hair so I’d stop fucking fantasizing about pulling it. But not the rest. He didn’t even give a shit about Chloe. That wasn’t him seeking to avenge me or her—that was him being a sadistic fuck. Stop taking whatever assholes like Trey want to dole out to you. Fight back.”

She swallows, forcing her hazel eyes up to meet mine. “Even you? I thought you liked me at your mercy.” A bitter edge to her voice.

“Only because you like it too.” I shake my head. She has no idea. No fucking clue. “You’d fucking love it, Violet.”

I grab the paper towel from her and drop to my knees, dabbing at the cuts. She lets out a little gasp that makes my cock twitch. I rub at her gently until I’m certain she’s clean, the rivulets of blood wiped away.

I should be salivating, seeing her punished like this. She’s done so much fucking worse. Caused a thousand times more pain.

But I’m not getting a single ounce of pleasure from this.

I toss the soiled paper towel in the trash and stand. With my thumb, I pull her bottom lip out from under her teeth. Lean closer, let my breath caress her skin. Before dropping my hand from the wall behind her and clasping it over her throat.

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t move. I don’t squeeze the way I did last time. “I’m not like him. Your pleasure gets me off—not your pain. You liked this before, didn’t you? You get wet every time you think about me choking you again.”

She blinks furiously, wondering how I could possibly know her darkest fantasies. Like I haven’t noticed the new books she started reading. Dark covers with seductive titles. Only took five seconds on Google to figure out exactly the new kinks Violet has discovered she’s into.

“Tell me what the new book’s about.” I already know the answer.

Her throat bobs beneath my palm. “Um. It’s, uh, about a girl who gets kidnapped. And . . . falls in love with her captor.”

I smirk. “And what does he do to her?”

“He ties her up,” she whispers. “He gags her. And chokes her.”

I squeeze the hand around her neck, just a little. Her nostrils flare as she sucks in a shuddering breath. “That’s what you like, huh?”

She debates her answer. Whether she should lie and tell me no or admit the truth. Finally, she breathes, “Yes.” Then she amends, “With you.”

My eyes fall shut, heart hammering now.

“Wes.” Her voice gentle, uncertain. Hazel eyes wide when I finally open mine. “Can we please . . . talk about what happened? That night.”

She sure as hell knows how to kill a moment. How to kill a lot of things. “What the fuck is there to talk about? You killed my sister. Nothing more to say.”

She nods quickly, dropping her gaze and twisting her hands together. “You’re right. I did. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I did.” Her voice breaks, and fuck if I don’t want to sweep her up in my arms right now, let her cry herself hoarse. Cry with her like I’ve been longing to since the night my sister died.

The only girl I’ve wanted to run to. The only girl I’ve wanted to hold while she holds me. The only person on this entire fucking planet I wanted to trust with my heart, my soul.

The last person I could.

“The guilt has been killing me. I know—it should be. I deserve that. But there’s a lot I’ve wanted to say to you since that night, and I need to finally say it. I just need you to know that . . .” She sniffles, blinking fast to try to hold back the tears. Bury down the feelings we’ve both been keeping six feet under, knowing we didn’t deserve to let them out. To replace any second of relief with Chloe gone. ”If I could do anything to take it back, I would. Without a second thought. I wish I’d been the one to die that night instead of Chloe. I wish you still had your sister, and I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do to bring her back. I know that I deserve everything you’ve done to me, and worse. We’re in agreement about that. I just thought you should know.”

I wait for her to ask me to put an end to the torment. To feed me some bullshit line like this isn’t what Chloe would want. But she doesn’t.

She means it. The guilt is eating her alive. This whole time, I’ve been wanting to punish her for what she did. But her own mind has been punishing her more severely than I ever could.

My heart stutters. I want to rip it out of my chest, tear it to shreds, and stomp on it.

I shouldn’t give a fuck about this girl. She ruined my life. She ended my sister’s.

But no matter how much I fight against it—against those memories of her sweet lips on mine, her soft words in my ear—I can’t win.

She’s the last girl I should want, but she’s the only girl I do.

Her tears break through my carefully crafted wall, shattering me entirely. I cradle her hips, my own eyes misting.

“I just miss her so much.” Violet attempts to cover her face with her hands. To hide the scrunch of her features as a heartbreaking sob wrenches from her chest. “And the only person I want to talk to about missing her hates me. And you should. You should hate me. I hate me. But it’s been so, so lonely grieving her alone. Without you.”

My heart splinters in two. One half for Chloe, my sister who was taken from this life entirely too soon. Who had so much life left to live. Who was my beacon of light, always shining.

The other half for Violet, the monster who took my sister away. The girl I started falling for before I even learned her name. The bright star still flickering, guiding me toward her, even in my darkest hour.

How can I love my sister and the girl who killed her at the same time?

But I know that’s what this is. I can’t deny it anymore. Can’t keep trying to bury my true feelings under a thousand layers of wrath and resentment and hatred.

What I’ve hated most of all isn’t what Violet did. What I’ve hated is that I’ve kept loving her through all of it, no matter how hard I’ve tried to stop.

Gently, I pull her hands down. Tears fall from her cheeks to the floor until I lift her chin up, forcing her shimmering gaze to meet mine. “I’m sorry I made you go through this alone.”

She shakes her head quickly. “Please don’t apologize. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I deserved it—”

“No, you didn’t, Violet.” I breathe slowly through my nose, pushing down the swell of emotion in my chest.

My parents’ words from the beginning of the semester ring through my head. You know she’s just as upset about Chloe’s death as we are. You need to figure out a way to forgive her, son. Your lack of forgiveness won’t hurt Violet, Wes. It’ll only hurt you.

“It was an accident. What you did was stupid. Really, really fucking stupid. But I know you loved her. You’d never hurt her on purpose.”

Violet shakes her head, a new stream of tears renewed. “No, I wouldn’t. I’d hurt myself before I’d hurt her.”

I swipe at a tear on her cheek. “I know. But I don’t want you hurting anymore.”

Violet can’t hold back now. She throws her arms around me, burying her face against my chest and letting the sobs wrack her body. Tears finally break through the barricade, blurring my own vision as I hold her to me as tight as I can. To make up for every single day since my sister died that I haven’t held her the way I should’ve.

She loved my sister so much. I can’t believe I ever thought I had to punish Violet for not loving her enough. Other than me and my family, there’s no one alive who’s ever loved Chloe more.

I’ve hurt Violet plenty in my plot for revenge. But none of it has dulled that deep, persistent ache. None of it has made me feel any fucking better. None of it has brought Chloe justice.

None of it has brought Chloe back.

No matter what I do to Violet now, my sister is gone. There’s no undoing what’s been done.

What Violet and I need now is to get through this, to move forward even when every step feels impossible. The only way we can do that is together.