Page 23 of Into Ruin

Free of the temptation of Harper Shay.

I pop back out into the bathroom, and I’m in my room before my phone ticks over to midnight. I strip and lie flat, put on the playlist with its sleep timer, and shimmy until I can get fully comfortable.

My mind buzzes on whiskey and thoughts of Harper. I take my time imagining how she looked in all the different times I’ve seen her. At the party, in this very room—leaving her scent of arousal in her wake—and later, at her dorm. Her naked body.

Bad Church, I chastise.

She didn’t scream. She fought, but she didn’t… She didn’t really mind it all that much.

It’s the whiskey in my blood telling me shelikedit.

I could prove she likes it.

The music shuts off, and my eyes open in the darkness.

I never stay awake long enough for it to turn off.

Routine broken.

I fling the blankets off my legs and stand. In the darkness, I pick my way to my door and crack it open. Voices downstairs filter up, and it takes a second, but then Royal’s separates. He’s talking about Shadow Valley, which is an adjacent topic to the stalker. He could go on for a while with his hostages.

I mean, teammates.

Better he be downstairs, occupied, than already in his room and in danger of intercepting me on his way to the bathroom.

No, the hallway is empty and dark.

At Harper’s door, I reach up and feel along the top of the doorframe. There’s a long, thin nail there, ready and waiting. We put it there once when someone accidentally locked the door on their way out, and I learned how to pick it.

It just requires a littlepop.

And then it gives. The knob turns easily under my palm, and I slip into the darkened room. I close and lock the door behind me and take stock.

There are shitty blinds on the single window, doing nothing to stop the full streetlight from flooding in. Harper is splayed out on an air mattress in the middle of the room.

As much as I want this for just me, something else, darker, wants to ensure she won’t do anything crazy—like tell her brother. Which means I need to collect dirt on her. Something to smear her name just as surely as she’d hurt mine.

My hand goes to my pocket. To my phone in it.

I pull it out and set the shutter timing. Technology these days can make a dark room seem well lit. It used to be old, fancy cameras that could be manipulated like that. Now, the everyday cell phone can handle it, too.

I hold steady as the little bar on the bottom runs, taking the photo. And, sure enough, Harper’s features are clear. Shadowy, somewhat mysterious, but good enough.

Will she wake up? The thrill of not knowing rolls through me, and I peel the blankets off her legs. Pausing, waiting. There’s no change in her breathing, she doesn’t shift. Her face remains relaxed, her lips parted.

Perfect.

Hate and lust roll through me. She’s fucking with me, even when she’s asleep. Just being in this house—just beingher. I take a breath, then go for her sleep shorts. I maneuver them off her body and toss them to the floor.

Her panties can shift aside.

I take another photo, then set my phone on the windowsill. I angle it so her face can’t be seen. The neck down, though, seems like fair game. Her breasts, her nipples visible through the thin fabric of her t-shirt.

I hitrecord, then circle around. If I keep my angle right, I won’t be in the frame either. I’ll just be an anonymous body fucking another anonymous body.

I spread her legs and climb over her, my gaze trained on her face.

Still sleeping.

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