Page 54 of Raise Hell

Setting us up as partners means he’s going in for the long con.

“Okay, enough. We have work to do.”

“We do,” Drake agrees.

“Let’s just get this done.”

He leans closer until his arm just barely brushes mine, the move obviously deliberate. His fingers tease the back of my hand before I yank it away. “This project is a big deal. We’re gonna need to spend a lot of time together to get it done. Lots of long nights, hitting it hard.”

My heart beats so hard that the sound pulses in my eardrums.

Drake is about as subtle as a sledgehammer with the emphasis he put on the words long and hard.

I hate that the sexy timbre of his voice is working on me. If I just heard that voice on a recording and I didn’t know whom it belonged to, I could listen to it on repeat instead of bothering with a vibrator when I wanted to get off.

Then I realize I can use this.

Despite his attempts to outmaneuver me, Drake is basically wrapping himself up like an early Christmas gift.

He is my way into Havoc House.

Girls are always hanging around there hoping to get escorted upstairs. I’ll just blend in with the rest of them. Nothing suspicious about that. All the Havoc Boys can brag to themselves about the girl they worked over who came crawling back for more. But the longer I can stick around, the higher the chances I’ll find out what really happened to my sister.

I can work with this.

I need to work with this.

But I have to finish it before Drake enacts whatever humiliating thing he has planned as soon as he thinks my defenses are down.

I’m sure he assumes he can make me fall in love with him. Then he’ll humiliate me in front of the whole school like a scene out of Carrie. St. Bart’s doesn’t have a prom, but I’m sure he’ll find something worse than pig’s blood to douse me with.

It’s the classic bully trope, right?

Pretend to like a girl, gain her trust so you have all the ammunition you need to tear her to shreds. Maybe he’ll even get the other Havoc boys involved, treat the destruction of Olivia Pratt like some twisted team-building exercise.

Drake thinks he can break me apart. Then the only way I’ll be able to put myself back together will be if I leave St. Bart’s.

But that isn’t how this story is going to go.

He wants to play a game of hearts?

Let’s play.

“You are definitely the hottest guy at St. Bart’s.” My hand pushes into his hair, urging him closer as I lean toward him across the desk. I wait until our lips are almost touching before I drop a bomb in his lap. “But hot guys are a dime a dozen around here, and I only get that desperate when I’m drunk. You’re gonna have to find a dumber bitch to let you stick it in her and then brag to your friends about how you lasted five whole minutes this time. No offense, but I don’t mess with fuck boys.”

The shocked look on his face makes it all worth it.

Drake splutters, and he still hasn’t come up with a response when the bell rings a second later. The noise of two dozen people scraping their chairs back, zipping their bags, and suddenly holding a conversation at full volume drowns out whatever he might have come up with to say.

His jaw might as well be on the floor. Something tells me Drake is used to batting those pretty green eyes and getting whatever he wants.

Not this time.

Still smiling, I practically stroll out of the classroom and don’t look back.

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