Page 48 of Raise Hell

It hadn’t occurred to me that might lead to the kind of loneliness that makes befriending Olivia Pratt seem like a good idea.

“Do you really have a key to your sister’s room?”

Punching her in the throat would be counterproductive, I remind myself. Though it might get her to shut up for at least a minute or two.

“Of course, I do. Hold the door open for me and shut your mouth.”

I don’t tell her that a Havoc House alumni got their hands on a skeleton key a few years ago and made a copy before the janitorial staff realized it was missing. There isn’t anywhere on campus we can’t go.

But I do have the actual key to Felicia’s room, because she gave it to me.

It’s almost as if my sister knows she needs me to look after her.

Felicia’s room is as pristine as mine. Maybe even more so, considering how recently she moved in. As kids, we got used to living in small spaces, and unexpected moves were common. You get forced to leave enough of your stuff behind, and you stop collecting things you might lose.

“Was this place hermetically sealed?” Olivia scoffs as she steps into the room behind me. “I’m buying Felicia some K-pop posters first thing tomorrow morning.”

I help Felicia to the bed as she mumbles something about needing to take banana bread out of the oven. She’s drunk enough that I’m going to sit here for a couple of hours to periodically check her breathing. “I’m going to wait in the hallway. Get your dress, help Felicia put her pajamas on, and then get out.”

Olivia takes her time on purpose, I know it.

She saunters back into the hallway five minutes later with the red dress draped over her arm.

“All done, big brother. You can go back to your sausage party now.”

“If I ever get that desperate for dick, I’ll ask to borrow an outfit from you.” I nod to the infuriating red dress, fighting the urge to tear it out of her hands. “I see that thing again, and I’m ripping it to shreds. A girl wearing that won’t even have to ask for it.”

“So we’re back to the slut shaming. How original.”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with shame, just the reality of the message being conveyed to the world. A chick wearing that dress might not be a slut, but she sure as hell is dressed like one. People are going to make assumptions.”

Her eyes have narrowed into dangerous pinpricks. “Are you saying I’m a whore?”

I know I’m goading her, because it’s more than a little deliberate. It doesn’t even matter that I don’t actually believe what I’m saying. “If the tight red dress fits. Although I can only imagine what you’d look like in this get-up. Felicia’s hips aren’t anywhere near as wide as yours are. You know there isn’t really a point in wearing a dress that doesn’t actually cover your vagina, right? A neon blinking sign and a dinner bell would accomplish pretty much the same thing.”

For a moment, Olivia looks absolutely enraged.

Then her expression changes and she sidles closer. “You boys are all the same. You sound so angry when you call us sluts and whores, like it’s even possible to be those things without your unwanted attention in the first place. But I know the truth. You’re not mad because we’re giving it up too easy, you’re mad because we make it hard. When a guy calls a girl a slut, what he really means is that he wants something he can’t have, and it pisses him off that someone else might have gotten it first. That word says way more about you than it does about me.”

I hate that piercing look in her eyes, like she sees something in me that shouldn’t be visible from the outside.

“If you’re done with the speeches, it’s time for you to go.”

“Sounds like I’m getting under your skin.” She puts her hand on my chest. Even through my shirt, I feel the flashing heat of her skin. My body responds even though I really wish it wouldn’t. “Haven’t you wondered what it might be like to finally act on all this hate? You either want to fight me or fuck me, maybe a little of both. At some point, you’re going to have to relieve all that pressure, or it’s going to blow you wide open, blasting your insides all over the place.”

I already know I’m going to look back on this moment later and wonder what the hell I was thinking. Olivia is drunker than she’s letting on, which is my only excuse. The evil voice in my mind assures me she probably won’t even remember this in the morning.

My hands wrap around her upper arms as I shove her back against the wall. Her back hits it hard enough that all the air in her lungs blows out in a sharp gasp.

I capture whatever protest she’s about to make with a hard and possessive kiss. My tongue forces her lips to part even further as I force it inside, tasting a tang of alcohol and something sweeter.

She has no right to taste as good as she does.

I fully expect her to shove me away and say something cutting, but she doesn’t do that. Her hands are trapped between our bodies. Instead of pushing me away, her fingers clench in the fabric of my shirt and pull hard, as if she wants to tear it from my body.

My hands move to the bare skin of her thighs. Her dress isn’t as short as the one she lent Felicia, but close enough. Effortlessly, I lift her small body without breaking our kiss. She wraps her legs around my waist as her arms loop tightly around my neck, pulling me closer.

When I test her by nipping softly at her bottom lip with my teeth, Olivia lets out a soft sigh. It’s the softest sound I’ve heard this girl make. I bite harder, just to test a theory, and she makes a groan that sends sparks shooting down my chest and pretty much straight to my dick.

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