Page 155 of Wicked Dreams

I lick my lips. “Ian. What are you?—”

My words are cut off when he pulls me forward and shoves me back again. My head cracks against the locker, and stars burst in my vision. Blood fills my mouth.

I never thought I’d actually seestars. They’re more like white fireworks, really.

“No talking,” he says in my ear. “You and me are going for a little walk.”

His fingers dig into my arm. If I saw someone I knew, I’d yell out. But we don’t pass a single filled classroom. He drags me down a narrow, lesser-used hall, and through a side door that leads out toward the soccer fields.

I don’t make a sound. My chest is tight, my head throbs. We skirt the field and head toward the woods. The path that the cross-country runners use. I ran into Theo out here once, but I doubt I’ll be that lucky a second time.

I stumble, but he keeps me upright and moving fast.

Fear trickles through me.

It’s darker in the forest. We’re ten steps in, and suddenly the world is a whole lot more sinister. Muted sunlight flickers through the trees. It’s cloudy today, so even the golden leaves of autumn don’t make it a happier—or warmer—place. We could be standing in a graveyard for all the warmth I feel.

He releases me.

I don’t know why that surprises me more than anything. Maybe I thought he’d reveal a knife and slice me open. Or hurt me in some other way. I put some distance between us, rubbing my arms.

“You managed to ensnare Caleb Asher,” he barks. “How?”

This is about Caleb? “I don’t know.”

His face contorts into fury, and he lunges at me.

I stumble backward and hit a tree. It’s the only thing that keeps me upright, and I grip it with both hands.

“You. Margo Wolfe. Hehatedyou for how many years? Six?”

I glare at him. The best course of action is to hide my fear, right? Don’t let him see how afraid I am. “Seven years.”

“Seven.” He laughs loudly. He’s not afraid of being heard at all, is he?

Birds take off to our left in a great flurry of motion.

“He uses people,” Ian warns. “Whatever you think you feel… it’s a lie. A manipulation.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

His hand coasts over my jaw, his fingers gripping my chin and moving my face to the side. It’s painful, but I don’t make a peep.

His eyes latch on to the bite mark on my neck. It’s mostly faded—enough that I only put a light layer of concealer on it—but the makeup must’ve worn off.

“We were friends,” he says. “I play the same fucking sport as him, but it’s not enough. I’m on the outskirts of his friend group.”

“You showed him,” I reply weakly. “You stole his girlfriend. She cheated on him?—”

“Fat lot of fucking good that did.”

“Your problem isn’t with me.” My voice is low. The fear is strangling me the closer he gets.

He’s too close. Heat pours off his body, radiating into mine. My stomach knots, and I swallow sharply against my nervous nausea. He releases my chin, and I duck my head. I don’t want to see whatever madness is on his face.

“My problem is most certainly with you.” He wraps his hand around my throat.

When I just stare at him, he slams me back against the tree, and his grip tightens. Not enough to suffocate me, though. I can get in the smallest gasps of air. I keep my hands at my sides. If his goal is to make me beg, he has another thing coming.

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