Page 62 of Vile Boys

There. Much better now.

I shrug off the leftover anger and grab my study books so I can prep for a quiz before I have to go to sleep.

However, when I turn around, the shadowy figure in front of me makes me scream.

Right into his hand that covers my mouth.

Caleb.

My eyes widen.

How did he get in?

A cold breeze follows him into the room, and my eyes immediately lock onto the open window.

Shit. I knew I should’ve closed it before I left.

“Shh … don’t want to wake your friends now, do we?” he whispers, eyes filled with rage.

I kick him in the balls, but he swiftly grabs my arms and wraps them together, body pressed against mine as one hand is still snaked tightly around my mouth to prevent any sound from coming out.

“Do you really want to do this, Crystal?” he asks. “After you’ve already been such a bad fucking girl, slashing my tires?”

I knock my head back into his so he loses some of his grip, and I tear away from him.

But he holds my arm and drags me right back to him, this time with a knife pointed right at my neck.

I stop fighting and hold my breath. “Now are you going to behave? Or should I make you feel the same pain you gave my beautiful car?”

“You ruined my face, so I thought it’d be fair game to ruin yourprecious car in return,” I spit. “An eye for an eye.”

His fingers dig into my skin, jaw tensing up.

Suddenly, he shoves me up against the door, one hand firmly planted on my belly.

“An eye …” he growls, holding the knife closer to my face, lifting it up high. “Is that what you want me to take?”

Panic fills my bones, but I stay put, trying to remain calm.

Don’t show them any weakness. Zero fear.

“You do that, and my mother will know exactly what kind of family she’s attached herself to,” I tell him.

His hand slowly lowers between my legs, and I struggle to stay put. “Is that before or after you tell her about how you writhed all over my tongue?”

I spit on his face.

He deserves it.

His nostrils flare, eyes looking more incensed than ever. And all it does is make me smile.

He wipes his hand along his face and gathers my spit while lowering his knife until it touches my bottom lip.

“Open your mouth,” he growls.

When I slowly part my lips, he pushes his own two fingers inside and gives me back my own spit.

“Pretty girls like you don’t need to act dirty,” he says.

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