Page 21 of Brutal Game

“You guys, we have a new student in our class. I know it’s a week after classes started, but even though he’s a Classics major, he made a good argument for being included and well, I couldn’t really turn it down.” Dylan muttered something under his breath.

Curious, I turned to look at the newcomer. What was a Classics major doing in an advanced psychology seminar?

My heart got stuck in my throat.

Jack sat next to me, a smirk on his gorgeous face, turning the harshness of his chiseled face and square jaw almost warm with mischief.

Ihatedhim.

“Surprised to see me, princess?” he asked.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed.

School was my safe place, where I could get lost in intellectualism and what Asher teasingly called “mental masturbation” and forget all of my stressors and worries for a bit. Where it didn’t matter that I was one of the poorest students at this school, because all my professors cared about was my brain. I missed my old university, but I’d managed to carve out a small space for myself at Reina already, and didn’t want to lose it. Or worse, have it taken from me.

Having Jack here was like reality forcing its way into my safe place—without my fucking consent.

“My independent study got canceled, so I needed a new elective.” A private smile played across his lips. “Deviant psychology sounded…intriguing.” He leered at me, lust and mockery turning his gray eyes silver.

“Bullshit,” I snapped under my breath.

He nodded. “It’s cute you thought I’d let you out of my sight.”

The implication that he was following me made my cheeks go hot.

They turned hotter when he casually wrapped an arm around the back of my chair.

“Stop it!” I whispered, glancing around the room to see if anyone else was looking at us.

They all were. That’s what happened when you were the target of the most popular, powerful guy on campus.

Fuck my life.

Some students had awed looks on their face, probablyfrom having Jack in their near vicinity. Some had lust in their eyes, which I wasn’t going to hold against them. Not when Jack was in a gray t-shirt that strained over his abs, displaying a small sliver of his stomach and the beginnings of a treasure trail. Besides, they didn’t know he was evil.

A couple had sour looks on their face—pointed at me. I resisted the temptation to curl up in my chair and hide from their scrutiny, making myself straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. It had an added benefit of creating a few inches of distance between my back and Jack’s arm.

Tilting his head toward mine, Jack murmured, “Sit back and get comfortable. Whenever, wherever, whatever, remember?”

I froze, and then with a deep breath, forced myself to lean back against my chair and his arm.

“Good girl.”

Even though the praise felt like an insult, it sparked unwanted arousal in my belly.

He raised his voice, looking around at the rest of the students in my—our—class.

“Hope you’re all hockey fans.” He bestowed a movie star smile on them, and they laughed in delight. I watched him, sensing that this was for show. It was common for predators—especially those who exhibited deviant behaviors—to hide their sociopathy or psychopathy behind a mask. Had anyone else seen what lay behind Jack’s hockey king mask, or was it only me?

“Maybe we should start class? I know I have a lot to catch up on, and I can’t wait,” he said to Dylan.Thatseemed real. Pointed.

So did Dylan’s barbed, “Of course. Happy you’re here,” as he stared sourly at Jack’s hand on my arm. I had no idea what that was about, but it made me deeply uncomfortable.

Even more uncomfortable when Jack slid his hand up my arm and rested it on the back of my neck in a light but threatening grip. I felt like a fly in a spider’s web.

Trapped.

Caught.

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