Page 466 of Rage

"And they will," Jaz assures me, his eyes glittering dangerously. "I promise you, by the time we're done with them, they'll be begging for death."

His words should horrify me, but instead, they send a thrill of dark satisfaction through my body. I lean in closer, drawn to the promise of vengeance like a moth to flame.

"Teach me," I breathe, my lips barely brushing against his. "Show me how to make them pay."

Jaz's breath hitches, his pupils dilating with desire–for revenge or for me, I'm not sure. Maybe both. He cups my face in his hands, his touch gentle yet possessive.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion. "Once we start down this path, there's no turning back. You'll be changed forever."

I meet his gaze unflinchingly, steel in my voice as I reply, "I'm already changed. They saw to that. Now it's time to show them exactly what they've created."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Jaz's face. "Then let the lessons begin," he purrs, sealing our dark pact with a kiss that tastes of vengeance and forbidden desire.

As his lips claim mine, I feel something shift inside me. The last remnants of the old Bee–naive, trusting, vulnerable–crumble away. In her place rises someone new, forged in the fire of pain and trauma.

Chapter Four

The weeks become months, each sunrise bringing me closer to the reckoning I crave. Jaz is my dark guardian angel, guiding me through a metamorphosis both beautiful and terrifying.

My body heals, scars fading to silvery reminders of what was stolen from me. But it's my mind that undergoes the most profound transformation. Jaz teaches me to hone my pain into a weapon, to channel my rage into cold, calculated purpose.

We spend hours poring over information, piecing together the lives of my attackers like a macabre jigsaw puzzle. Tyler's drug habit proves easy to exploit--a whispered word in the right ear, a strategically placed bag of white powder. Within weeks, he's spiraling, paranoia etched into the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes.

Marcus's obsession with the freshman girls becomes our key to unraveling him. Anonymous tips, fabricated evidence, and suddenly he's facing a restraining order and whispers of "stalker" follow him across campus. His carefully cultivated image of the sensitive writer crumbles, revealing the predator beneath.

Ethan proves the most challenging, his golden-boy facade seemingly impenetrable. But even Teflon can't withstand the acid we drip onto his life. Rumors spread like wildfire, fanned by strategically leaked photos and whispered confessions. His teammates start to eye him warily, his adoring fans drifting away one by one.

Through it all, Jaz remains my anchor. He holds me when the nightmares come, his strong arms a fortress against the terrors that haunt me. His voice, low and soothing, talks me through the panic attacks that leave me gasping for air, convinced I'm back on that beach with sand in my mouth and cruel hands on my skin.

"Breathe, little Bee," he'll murmur, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on my back. "You're safe. I've got you. They can't hurt you anymore."

And slowly, painfully, I start to believe him. The flashbacks come less frequently, the panic attacks lose their paralyzing grip. In their place grows something new--a steely resolve, a hunger for justice that burns away the last vestiges of the girl I used to be.

Jaz teaches me self-defense, his hands guiding my body through forms and strikes. There's an intimacy to these sessions that goes beyond the physical. With every blocked punch, every perfectly executed throw, I reclaim a piece of myself that was stolen that night on the beach.

"Good," Jaz growls as I pin him to the mat, his eyes dark with pride and something else, something that sends a shiver down my spine. "You're getting stronger every day, little fighter."

Our training sessions grow more intense, the line between violence and intimacy blurring with each passing day. Jaz pushes me to my limits, his hands alternating between brutal strikes and gentle caresses. I learn to read the tension in his muscles, to anticipate his movements before he makes them.

One day, as we grapple on the mat, something shifts. I pin Jaz beneath me, my breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes lock onto mine, dark with a hunger that has nothing to do with combat. For a moment, we're frozen, the air between us crackling with electricity.

"Good girl," Jaz growls, his voice low and rough. The praise sends a shiver through me, igniting something primal in my core.

I'm not sure who moves first. One moment we're staring at each other, chests heaving, and the next his lips are on mine. The kiss is brutal, all teeth and tongue and pent-up desire. I taste blood, unsure if it's his or mine, and find I don't care.

Jaz's hands roam my body, no longer gentle but demanding, possessive. I arch into his touch, craving the burn of his calloused fingers against my skin. He flips us over, pinning me beneath him, and I feel the hard length of him pressing against my thigh.

"Tell me to stop," he pants, his eyes wild with need and a hint of desperation. "If you don't want this, tell me now."

I answer by pulling him down for another kiss, pouring all my rage, pain and desire into it. Jaz groans, a sound that reverberates through my very bones. His hands make quick work of our clothes, leaving us bare and panting on the training mat.

There's nothing gentle about what follows. It's a clash of bodies, a battle for dominance that leaves us both bruised and gasping. As Jaz enters me, the world narrows to just this moment--the stretch and burn, the fullness, the exquisite pleasure-pain that shoots through my core. I cry out, my nails raking down his back, leaving angry red welts in their wake.

"That's it, little Bee," Jaz growls, his voice rough with desire. "Let me hear you."

He sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving me higher, closer to the edge of something I can't quite name. It's revenge and healing, punishment and absolution all at once. I meet him thrust for thrust, my body singing with sensations I'd thought lost to me forever. Jaz takes me hard and fast, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks. I welcome the pain, relish in it, using it to ground myself in the present.

"Look at me," Jaz commands, one hand gripping my chin. "I want to see your eyes when you come undone."

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