Page 45 of Don't You Pucking Dare

Then Amanda walks in.

Her glare could freeze hell. Maybe she's pissed I've got another blonde playing my game, or maybe she's still salty about me crashing her little power play with Lola in class. Either way, she's about to make a scene. I can taste it coming.

"This fucking idiot," she announces to Sloane, venom dripping from every word, "will use you until he gets bored. Trust me, I would know."

Sloane straightens on my lap. "What I do is none of your business."

I almost laugh at Amanda's face—that perfect mix of rage and wounded pride. "Just trying to warn her. Besides, aren't you seeing someone?" Her eyes narrow. "That scholarship charity case?"

The mention of Lola makes my fingers tighten on Sloane's thigh. Time to end this shit. I tap her leg and she slides off, reading the room better than Amanda ever could.

"You want to talk?" I stand, using every inch of height advantage. "Let's talk."

She follows me to the corner of the party like the good little stalker she is. The moment we're alone, I turn on her. "The fuck is your problem?"

"My problem?" She crosses her arms, and for a second I see the girl from high school—the one who thought spreading her legs meant she owned me. "You show up in my class just to mess with that trailer trash cellist, and I'm the one with the problem?"

"Getting territorial over one fuck at junior prom?" I lean against the counter, letting disgust color my voice. "Pathetic isn’t a good look on you, Amanda."

"We were more than that." She steps closer, trying for seductive but hitting desperate instead. "Remember that summer? Before your brother's accident?"

The mention of Jackson makes my blood run cold. "You don't know shit about my brother."

"I know you've changed since then." Her hand touches my chest. "This whole bad boy Reaper act? The obsession with Lola Kemper? This isn't you, Brody."

I grab her wrist before she can get ideas. "You have no fucking clue who I am. And if you keep interfering with Lola?" I squeeze just hard enough to make her gasp. "You'll find out."

"So it's true." She jerks away, rubbing her wrist. "The mighty Brody Black, brought low by some scholarship case with a sob story."

"Last warning, Amanda. Stay out of my business."

"Or what?" Her smile turns cruel. "You'll add me to your little torture chamber collection? Yeah, word gets around. Even in the music department."

I let the silence stretch, watching fear creep into her eyes. She's always been too smart for her own good. Too hungry for power she doesn't understand.

"Careful what rumors you spread," I say finally. "There are consequences."

Amanda's threat about Lola hangs in the air, making the party's bass feel like a second heartbeat under my skin. The familiar itch starts— the need to know where Lola is right now, what she's doing, who she's with. My phone's already in my hand before I catch myself.

Distance is part of the game. Let her think she's safe. Let her wonder if she imagined the intensity between us. But fuck if it isn't getting harder to stay away.

I down another shot, letting the burn distract me from thoughts of showing up at her dorm. Of pressing her against that wall where she practices, making her play her cello while my hands—

No. Stick to the fucking plan.

The party crushes in around me, too many bodies, too much noise. Sloane tries to catch my eye again, but she's nothing but static now. These college girls playing at being bad don't understand real darkness. Not like Lola, who looked pure terror in the face and didn't break.

"I'm out," I tell Caleb, who's been watching me spiral with that knowing smirk. He gets it. We all have our obsessions.

The night air hits like clarity as I walk back to the compound. My real work waits in the basement—the footage that's going to start phase two. The clip of Lola bound in that chair, edited just right to make Rick Kemper's blood run cold.

The basement feels alive at three AM, humming with potential. I've watched this footage so many times I could draw it from memory: Lola blindfolded, vulnerable. The way her breath caught when she realized where she was. The perfect moment when fear and fascination warred on her face.

The VPN routes through servers in three countries before I'm satisfied. Rick Kemper might be tech-savvy, but the Reapers have better toys. I splice the footage together—Lola in the chair, a flash of the tools we used on Jack, back to Lola's face as she heard his screams.

The message is an obvious threat.

Once this starts, there's no going back. Lola becomes collateral damage in a war she doesn't even know she's part of.

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