Page 42 of Brutal Game

Sure, princess. If you think being in public will keep you safe from me, I’ll play your little game. You win.

For now.

I stared at my phone, uneasy. There was a part of me—a small part—that felt, if not happy, then excited that he hadn’t completely disappeared. I hated that part. Jack and I were adversaries, and I had to keep my guard up around him. The only games we’d played so far were his, and I’d lost all of them. And maybe in Jack’s eyes these were games, and I’d won this one, but I knew better. We weren’t playing a game. We were fighting a war. And I needed to win.

Malek Library,otherwise known as “M Libe”, was the oldest building on Reina’s campus. It was a large, dark, gothic structure, covered in climbing vines. Inside, it was dimly lit, aided by the soft glow of Tiffany lamps. Large oak tables and small study carrels filled cavernous rooms, surrounded by books that looked more for show than research.

I tried to find us a table on the first floor, hoping that all the quiet students would keep Jack on his best behavior, but there was no room, so I was forced to find us a table on the third floor, which, although not completely empty, was much less crowded. The one silver lining was that everyone was too focused on studying to take much notice of the most infamous girl on campus.

I practically jumped out of my chair when someone squeezed the back of my neck.

“Careful there, princess. You might hurt yourself,” Jack chided, but he sounded more amused than concerned.

And of course he did. Why would he be concerned for me? Sure, he’d stood up for me to Dick and threatened him, but moments later he’d humiliated me in front of everyone. I was nothing more than a hockey puck to slap around the ice until he got bored of me.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “You scared the complete fuck out of me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did I?”

He must have showered right before meeting me. His short, dark, straight hair was damp, and he smelled like lemony soap and that musky Jack scent that tempted me to lean into him. It didn’t help that his white t-shirt and fadedjeans stretched across his broad chest and powerful thighs, respectively.

He settled into the chair across from me, eyes probing my face.

“We should get started,” I told him.

He ignored me. “How are you?”

I glared. “Really? You’re going to ask me how I am? You painted a huge target on my back. Everyone here is shit talking me, in person and online. I can’t go anywhere without being whispered about or laughed at. Or cat-called, propositioned…”

His jaw worked, and there was a look in his eyes I couldn’t read. “Cat-called? Propositioned?”

“Every guy on campus thinks I’m easy. And they’ve had no problem with letting me know it.”

He growled.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said abruptly. “No one is going to be fucking propositioning you anymore.”

My eyes widened. “Why?”

He shook his head. “I already told you why.”

You’re mine.

“And yet here you are, in public,” he mused.

“Here I am.”

He looked closer at me. Was that admiration in his silver-gray eyes?

“You know, most people would have cracked under the pressure. Being mocked, torn apart online?—”

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered.

“—ostracized…it would have broken most people. But you—you’ve held your head high and it hasn’t distracted you from your priorities. I don’t understand, how are you this strong?”

My cheeks heated with the praise. “Because I’ve dealtwith so much worse in my life,” I told him. “It’s not that it hasn’t affected me, but I refuse to let it break me. I refuse to letanythingbreak me. There are things more important than my reputation.”

“So strong,” he murmured. “So brave.”

---