Page 53 of Wicked Little Secret

“This is the last time I participate in your schemes. Both of you,” I say in a mix of calm rage. “If you ever come near me again, I will do something to make you regret it. I will make things very insufferable and painful for you. Stay away from me. Stay away from my life.”

I stride toward the exit with only Theo bothering to follow. Wise on their part.

I’m vibrating from the inside as I enter the blusterynight. I’ve contained the rage as long as I can manage and now it’s busting at the seams.

“Theron,” Theo pants. “What’re you?—”

“I’m leaving. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

“The dinner? Your dinner! It’syourbirthday!”

“Which is why I get to leave any time I want. Have a good evening, sister. Feel free to bitch slap Veronica. She deserves it after calling you what she did.”

I leave Theo staring in shock after me, sliding behind the wheel of my BMW XI.

In no time, I’m speeding on the freeway with only one destination in mind.

Nyssa’s still on campus. She’s at the frat house… doing who knows what.

And with who.

Samson.

I’m drunk on rage and jealousy by the time I’ve parked in the faculty lot and am getting out of my car. Both toxic emotions surge through me, rampant and unfettered ’til I’m blinded by them. I’m a new man altogether as I cross the courtyard, headed straight for the frat house.

What I’m about to do—how reckless I’m about to be—I’m not sure.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lost my temper. But it would be the first time I’ve done so publicly.

I’ve ripped off my mild-mannered, mysterious, intellectual mask to reveal the true obsessive living underneath.

The man who would rip his beating heart out of his chest for the woman he loves and present it to her as a gift. The man would torch the world ’til it burned down just for her if she asked. The man who comes across her in a grassy ditch, about to be attacked by the same guy I’ve decided to destroy, and grabs the heaviest rock on the ground.

The man who rushes up from behind and bashes in the guy’s skull.

The man who is me.

I slam the boulder into the back of Samson Wicker’s head as if it’s of no consequence I could be murdering him in cold blood. It means nothing so long as I’ve rescued Nyssa. So long as it means she’ll be mine.

Some would find it sickening, but I find it freeing—the big reveal where my growing infatuation unleashes itself in the form of the bloodiest, goriest romantic gesture imaginable.

Insane? Yes. Sick? Also yes.

Do I regret a thing? Never in a million years.

My hand’s shaking, the rock smeared in blood that’s splattered from cracking Samson’s head open. He’s flopped down into the grass, unconscious though twitching. Nyssa gapes up at me as if she’s never seen me before.

As if she’s seeing me—really, truly seeing me—for the first time.

I toss the rock into a distant bush and offer my hand to help her up.

“Professor,” she murmurs, swallowing hard. “Professor.”

It’s all she can say. All she can do but blink and stare some more.

“Shhh. We have to get the hell out of here.”

We run, fleeing into the night, far across the courtyard as if being chased. I drag Nyssa along with me as she struggles in the heels and skimpy outfit she’s wearing. By the time we stop, we’re gasping for air, stumbling through the door of my office.

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