Page 96 of Controlled Burn
At 9:17 p.m., she moved like a ghost—down the hall, past the lockers, past Dean’s closed office door. Past the place where she’d once felt safe.
She didn’t knock. Didn’t speak.
Straight to the bunkroom—in to the bathroom—the one with the flickering light above the mirror, the one where she’d cried with her fingers in her mouth, the one where she’d tasted shame and arousal, alone and wanting someone to see.
She didn’t lock the door. Let them come. Let them see.
She waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen.
The note hadn’t said when. Just where. Just what.
Another five minutes.
A knock. Two, soft, deliberate.
She tensed. Turned. The door opened slowly.
Not Dean. Not Jake. Not Ryan.
Brooks.
He stepped inside fast, shutting the door behind him. No words—just eyes. Dark. Hungry. Triumphant.
She backed up a step, voice brittle. “What the fuck are you doing?”
His smile was soft. Patient. “You came.”
Her mouth went dry. “You sent those.”
He didn’t deny it. Moved toward her, calm, casual, like he had all the time in the world.
Her hands fisted at her sides. “You think this is a game?”
“I think you’re beautiful when you’re scared.”
She flinched. “I’m not scared.”
“Sure you are. You’re just too proud to admit it.” His gaze dropped to her chest. Her thighs.
She swallowed hard. “If you touch me—”
“I’ll stop,” he said gently. “If you really want me to.”
And that was the problem. She didn’t want this—not him, not the threat. But she wanted to be wanted. She wanted to own the power even if it destroyed her.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Then lower—to her throat.
Her breath caught.
“You’ve been such a good little slut for them,” Brooks murmured. “It’s my turn now.”
She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t stop him. Some broken part of her wanted to see how far he’d go.
His mouth brushed her ear. “All you have to do is show me. Just once.”
She shivered.
“You do that, and no one ever sees those pictures. No one ever knows.”
