Page 85 of The Vipers and Their Vendetta

I consider my options. I’m out numbered, five to one, so attempting to fight them isn’t an option. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if several of them are also armed. The only place I can think of as refuge is my car. If I can get inside and lock the doors, I hope it’ll buy me enough time to use my cell. There’s nothing to stop them shooting my windows in, but if they do that, it’ll get the attention of others.

The sky flashes with a bolt of lightning. A beat passes, and then, closer now, thunder booms and rolls. The storm is getting bad, but that’s the least of my concerns. Unless, of course, everyone mistakes gunfire for thunder, in which case I’m completely screwed.

Not allowing myself to hesitate any further, I throw myself into the back seat. The moment I move, the men run at me. I pull my legs in and scramble for the door, aiming to yank it shut.

They surround me, grabbing at the doors to open them. Fuck. Where are the keys? I’m sure I’d dropped them into the middle console.

One rips the door handle out of my grip, and then his fingers lock around my bicep. He pulls at me, and another of his friends joins him, and then another. I’m not a small man, but their sheer number overwhelms me. Their hands are all over me, and I’m dragged back out of the vehicle. I hit the gravel heavily. My t-shirt rucks up again, and the small, sharp stones scrape my back. I kick and punch and thrash, determined not to go without a fight.

Thunder booms above me.

One of the men pulls a weapon.

I open my mouth, aiming to plead my case, but the butt of the gun comes down hard and fast, connecting with my skull. It’s as though another crack of thunder just exploded inside my head.

I try my best to sit upright, but I’ve lost all connection with which way is up and which is down.

All I can do is sink into nothingness.

CHAPTER 33

Vani

Those bastards.Those absolute fucking bastards.

I run up the stone staircase, one of the fliers with my face and the words ‘Daddy’s Little Whore’ scrawled across them, screwed up in my fist.

I remember saying ‘Thank you, Daddy Zane’ while I was getting fucked by the twins. No wonder they call me a whore.

I’ve never experienced such fury. It’s one thing sending me secret notes, but it’s another to put a copy in everyone’s mail slot. I’d thought the stunt with the graffiti on the lockers was bad enough, but this is even worse. Now the entire college is talking about me again, and none of it is good.

I regret the day I ever laid eyes on those assholes.

My lungs are tight, my thighs burning, and my breath leaves my mouth in gasps, but I’m not stopping, and I’m not slowing down. Fucking Zane is coming after me, and I do not want to talk to him.

I’m also terrified. They must have realized right away who was responsible for fucking up all their precious belongings to have created the fliers so fast. They care about their stuff more than they’ve ever cared about me. I didn’t expect them to reactso quickly, though, creating the damned fliers and making sure everyone in the college got one.

They’re fucking crazy, but maybe so am I.

His legs are longer and stronger than mine, and he’s gaining on me. I’m not even sure exactly where I’m going, only that I want to be far away from him. From all of them. My eyes brim with tears, and I swipe them away with the back of my hand. I refuse to cry over them. They don’t deserve my tears.

I reach the top of the staircase and burst through a heavy wooden door. I find myself outside. The sky is dark, more night than morning, and a crazy wind whips my hair from my face. I suck in air and stagger away. I need to push the door shut again, but is there any way I can lock it? Or perhaps I can find something to push up against it to stop Zane coming out.

Where will this stop? Would Zane go as far as hurting me?

I’m not going to apologize to him for what I did to his table, or to Lex’s car, or Saint’s paintings. After what they’ve done to me, it’s the least they deserve. In fact, after this most recent stunt with the fliers, I wish I’d done more. Humiliated them in public the way that they have done to me. Is this how they treated Reagan? Is it the reason she died the way she did?

Thunder booms and cracks again. The storm feels too close.

The door flies open, and Zane stands there like something out of a slasher movie. I’m the stupid-ass white chick at the start of the film who had sex and drank alcohol, and now deserves to die.

Where I am suddenly dawns on me.

I’m standing on the top of the tower that Reagan fell—or jumped, or was pushed—from. My stomach knots. It’s such a long way down, and the wind whips around me, making me unsteady on my feet.

“Leave me alone, Zane!” I scream, though the wind picks up my words and carries them away. “I mean it. Don’t make me do something stupid.”

And I take a step backward, bringing me closer to the edge.

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