Page 81 of Kings of the Campus

I look up at him, terror surging through me as I realize just how much danger I’m in.

The pain throbs with each breath I take as I watch Max pace back and forth, the twisted smile never leaving his face. The fire in his eyes is more terrifying than the actual gun in his hand. Every step he takes, every movement, feels deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of my fear.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he says, voice low and menacing. “To finally get back at you for everything you did to me. For everything you took.”

“I didn’t take away anything,” I protest. “You’re the one who did all those horrible things!”

“You destroyed everything, Tessa!” he roars. “You and your damn podcast, airing all that dirty laundry about Sigma Theta. You painted me as a monster, ruined my family’s name.”

“Youarea monster,” I choke out, my voice shaking but defiant.

His grin widens. “Maybe now. But you made me this way. And now, like the monster I am, I’m going to burn this place to the ground, Tessa, and you’re going to burn with it.”

I can’t breathe. My vision blurs as panic overwhelms me. “Please, Max,” I cry. “Don’t do this. You don’t know what you’re doing! Max, please, I’m pregnant. Don’t do this.”

For a second, I think I see hesitation in his eyes. But then it vanishes, replaced with a mocking sneer. He throws his head back and laughs, a sound so cruel it cuts through me like ice.

“Of course you are. You’ve always been a whore, haven’t you?” His gaze narrows. “You’re just like I thought. Pathetic. Weak. You deserve this, Tessa. You deserve to die.”

I swallow the sob that threatens to erupt, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry and plead any longer. If I’m going to die, I’m going to go out on my terms. My chin juts upward and I stare him down. “Alec, Jace, and Devin are going to come for me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the terror tightening around my throat. “They’ll find me and stop you.”

Max’s wild grin grows even bigger, reaching into his coat pocket to produce something small, which he flashes in front of me. It’s a notebook, old and tattered and he flips the pages open to show me the contents.

“This little notebook here shows me just how much those guys care about you,” he says, tone mocking as he waves it in front of my face. It’s a list, and I manage to read a few of the items on it and my stomach churns.

Follow her to every single class.

Trash her reputation at the paper.

Make her think no one likes her anymore.

Drive a wedge between her and her friends.

Seduce and dump her.

It’s a list of ways to make my life hell. And it’s all written in Devin’s handwriting.

Something sharp pierces me in the heart, like a metaphorical knife twisting inside me.

I don’t understand. I thought we were past everything. I thought we’d worked it all out. Why would they have this? Were they working with Max the whole time? Was that his way of getting back at me, making me fall in love with them, then revealing that it was all a farce?

I can feel the despair welling up inside me—a cold, crushing weight. I don’t want him to see how much his words are affecting me, but it’s impossible to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. Despite my efforts to stay composed, I can’t help but feel the enormity of my situation.

Max’s grin widens. “So go ahead, keep hoping they’ll come to your rescue. It won’t matter. By the time they realize what’s happening, it’ll be too late.”

He steps back, walking over to the doorway. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says in a singsong. I can’t move, and the stab wound on my shoulder is making it hard to concentrate.

He comes back with a red can in his hands. A gasoline can. The cruel anticipation in his eyes tells me everything I need to know: he’s enjoying this, savoring every moment of my fear.

With a smirk, he begins to douse everything around us in the liquid, splashing it on the bed, the dresser, and the rug, then trails it out the door again and I can see from where I’m tied up that he’s splashing more on the furniture in the living area. He produces another can, then repeats the process, dumping the liquid across every available surface he can find.

Tears blur my vision as I squeeze them shut, silently apologizing to my unborn babies.

I’m so sorry. I should have protected you better.

No one can hear me out here. No one knows where I am. Any hope that the boys will come for me is fading the closer I am to the end.

I wish things were different.

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