Page 36 of Pretty Little Psycho

It’s nightfall by the time I reach Graves Library. Aside from a few students lingering out front, it looks desolate. They side-eye me and whisper as I approach the doors. My belly flutters, and I fight down the panic that threatens to send my body into convulsions.

The lights are dim, far too dim to read by. The librarian behind the check-in desk, wrinkles her nose as she gathers her belongings and shuffles past me, avoiding eye contact. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up around my head and scan the aisles for any sign of Riot.

A few more students close their books and scurry out as I pass them. It’s like they’re scared to be in here. I glance up at the massive clock that hangs between two iron railings to see that it’s nine p.m. Closing time. Only those rules don’t apply to Riot. Not when he has his name on the fucking building.

As I walk down each aisle, I can’t help but peruse the stacks, running my fingers along the spines, almost forgetting for a moment that I’m being hunted. I turn down the next row and freeze as I notice a change in the atmosphere. My throat constricts from the heaviness in the air.

One by one, the lights hanging over each aisle turn off with a loud click. I breathe deeply through my nose and try to calm my racing heart. Fuck. Some light still trickles in from the moon and the outside lampposts so it’s not pitch dark, but I can only see a few feet in front of me at a time.

I keep replaying my conversation with Libra and Villette in my head. Coven. Blood oaths. Sacrifices. I’d give anything to be back in Wickford Hollow right now, drinking jello shots with Bailey. I don’t even want her to know about any of this. It’s better if she thinks I’m having the best year of my life. She has enough of her own shit to deal with.

Shivers snake up my back as I glimpse a shadow dart past me. “Riot? Quit fucking around. I’m here.”

Why in the hell did I come here alone? I should have asked Villette to wait outside for me. At least she’d be able to hear my screams.

“I’m right behind you,” Riot yanks my hood down and snarls in my ear.

Fuck.

He spins me around and shoves me back against the bookshelf. Dressed in a black hoodie and black pants, his blue eyes stand out in the dark, glowing like a cat’s. Like a fucking predator. I can almost taste coffee and tobacco on my tongue as his scent wildly consumes me.

“Hey there, Firecracker. Thanks for coming.” He pins my arms over my head, against the stacks, while gazing hungrily at my lips.

For a minute, he almost sounds sweet, but his monstrous grip reminds me he’s anything but.

“You say that like I had a choice,” I snap. Despite the pain shooting through my wrists, I can’t stop my hips from angling toward him. I shudder as I remember how soft his fingers felt against my skin that night he zipped up my corset.

Riot smirks and presses his hard body against mine. “You’re our little slut now, Firecracker. No one else’s. And you’ll do what we say or else we’ll ruin you.”

My heart beats so fast, I’m afraid it might explode. “Listen, Riot, please, I’m sorry for what the Blackwells did to you, but I had nothing to do with that. They kicked me out just like they did you.”

He tightens his grip on my wrists. “You’re a fucking liar just like the rest of them. But I have their pretty little girl in my web now. They have no idea what’s coming for them.”

I should be panicking but his breath on my skin is sending tingles straight to the center of my traitorous core. I clench my jaw. “I’m not a liar.”

A flicker of amusement flashes in his eyes. “Aren’t you though? You’ve told the school you’re a Blackwell but you’re trying to convince me that you’re not. Both can’t be true so that in fact makes you a fucking liar.” The light leaves his eyes, and he looks like he wants to murder me.

But instead of scaring me, it turns the heat up in my body. “I never lied to you.”

He snickers and forces my legs apart with his knee. “Why would you lie at all, Firecracker?”

Moisture pools in the apex of my thighs as he presses his hip against my pussy. “You wouldn’t understand. People like you never do.”

He wraps his hand around my throat. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A small whimper flutters out of me. “Your last name is on the fucking building we’re in. Figure it out.”

“Ah, so this is about money. You don’t strike me as the greedy type,” he snickers.

He has no fucking clue. “It’s not about money. Like I said, you wouldn’t understand. Everything comes easy for you here. You have a whole fucking congregation of sheep who follow you.”

The rage returns to his face, and he squeezes my throat. “Easy? What the fuck do you know about me or this place? Nothing. So shut your mouth before I shove my cock in it.”

Another wave of tremors pulses through the delicate flesh of my pussy. His touch is addictive, no matter how brutal it is. I lick my lips. “If you hate me so much, then why am I here? Why do you keep touching me?”

His grip around my throat tightens as he lets my other arm go. I tremble as he drags his hand across the waist of my jeans. “I touch you because I can. Because I relish in the fact that you despise me.”

My stomach flips as he unbuttons my jeans.

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