Page 39 of Forget Me Twice

“I know,” I whisper.

He didn’t question my need to careen over the edge this afternoon.

He just took one look at my soiled uniform and the frustration simmering around me like a living thing and simply asked what I needed.

He never asks for more, he justdoes.

But, I wish—more than anything—that someday he would.

And that I could learn how to give it to him.

I stare moroselyat the small handful of Xanax in the palm of my hand. Two days. That’s exactly how long I got before the peaceful afterglow of my playtime with Rhett began to wear off.

Three, before it was gone completely.

Parts of my body still bear the tell-tale signs of our elicit afternoon, but the only evidence of our activities I care about now is how little chemical assistance I needed during the come-down.

Because now it’s the end of the first week and I’m alreadyitchingfor a fix of something—anything, really—that will give me back more of that blissfulnothinginside my head.

I consider my progress. I think I’ve made a pretty decent start here, at least for a rookie. After the dining hall Prefect Bullshit, I doubled down and now I have several new recruits and viable prospects in tow. Seven in total, including Jasper and the young receptionist, Janey. Two of Jasper’s team mates with the stereotypical penchant for performance-enhancing drugs were my next logical targets, along with a couple of members from the janitorial staff.

If I maintain this pace, I should be able to keep on track with my target goals.

I could take the night off, right? Go and snort or fuck some of this restlessness out from where it’s buzzing beneath my skin.

I throw the pills back dry and stare blankly ahead into my locker.

The siren call of addiction are usually hard to ignore, but a small voice of reason—which oddly sounds just like Jax—is doing its best to cut in for once.

I can see him now.

Dark eyebrows would pull together, the small crease forming there the only outward sign of his quiet vexation.

He’d remind me, in that deep, sensual baritone of his, that although this latest power play was a long time coming—and his father’s betrayal a foregone conclusion—wemustn’tlose sight of the forest for the trees. Wariscoming, and nobody knows just how the goal posts will shift when the battle lines are finally drawn.

“Stay on track. The senior back-to-school party is tomorrow night,” he’d point out evenly.

“Yep. I haven’t forgotten.”

“The intel on your target was largely insufficient and you’ve yet to lay eyes on the location.”

“Yep.”

“Sabine.” His voice is now thick with warning, but laced with exasperation. Hypothetical Jax is secretly a daddy andlovesBratty Sabine.

Christ.

My horny hindbrain is taking over and now my thoughts have devolved into a very vivid and recurring fantasy—one that involves a growling Jax, tie loose and shirt sleeves rolled up, wanting nothing more than to bend me over his knee and punish me for all my slack groundwork and sassy back talk.

Telling me how much of a bad girl I’ve been.

I really do need to just go out and get laid.

My conscience did make a good point while masquerading as Hypothetical Jax, though. The upcoming partywillbe an important opportunity to observe my classmates outside of school, and I really wasn’t able to find out much about the location.

The Guardhouse, despite only opening last year, has quickly become the favorite off-campus haunt of the older Academy students. Investigations into the building’s records gave us nothing concrete—only a slew of shell corporations, the mysterious amendment of its heritage status, and a distinct lack of Council-approved blueprints for me to study.

A clandestine nightclub, owned and operated within Roxborough City limits? Employees who turn a blind eye to underage patrons on the regular?

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