Page 48 of Wicked Scorn
The alarm on my phone going off snaps me back to reality, and I suddenly realize I’m running late for my shift at the library. “Crap, I need to get going,” I say, mentally calculating how long it will take me to walk back onto campus and make it to the building.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Jeremiah interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. I’d argue with him, but to be truthful, I don’t want to. I secretly like when Jeremiah escorts me everywhere.
“Alright,” I agree, touched by his concern and unable toresist another opportunity to be close to him. “Let me get changed.”
Outside, the crisp air nips at my cheeks as Jeremiah guides me to the Audi sitting in the driveway. Our bodies are close enough that I can feel his warmth emanating from him, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. I turn away, ready to climb into the car, but he pulls me back gently, his strong fingers wrapping around my wrist.
“Jeremiah, what—” My words are cut off as his lips meet mine in a surprising kiss. The world seems to stand still as every nerve in my body comes alive, the intensity of our connection sending shivers down my spine.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I become aware of people passing by, stealing glances at our intimate moment, but Jeremiah simply smirks and murmurs against my lips, “You look so pretty when you blush, bunny.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. But the truth is, I don’t want him to stop—not now, and maybe not ever. This is starting to feel real to me though, not just like lessons.
As we pull apart, the lingering sensation of his lips on mine sends a delicious ache through me, adding a layer of urgency to my thoughts. Jeremiah opens the car door for me like a true gentleman, and I slide into the seat, my mind racing with unanswered questions. “I thought this was just supposed to be…”
“I’ll kiss you wherever and whenever I want. Let’s get you to work,” he says with a knowing grin, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s reading my thoughts, or if he’s just as affected by our kiss as I am. As we drive away, the world outside blursinto a mixture of colors and shapes, but all I can focus on is the man in front of me—the man who has both broken my heart and has become the only one who can put it back together.
It’s two hours into my shift and the library lobby is a sanctuary, quiet and peaceful as I walk around looking for misplaced books. The scent of aged paper and polished wood fills my senses, providing a much-needed respite from the chaos that’s recently invaded my life.
“Oakley.” My co-worker, Cindy, comes out from behind the front desk and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, giving me a forced smile. “A delivery guy was here earlier. He left this envelope for you.”
With trembling hands, I take the envelope and find a secluded corner to open it. As the contents slide into view, my heart lurches in my chest—disturbing pictures of women in bondage, their eyes pleading for mercy, then pictures of me. Me on campus, here in the library, and even in my dorm. There’s a chilling note expressing anticipation of seeing me in that state.
Can’t wait to see you like this
The scrawl reads, and bile rises in my throat. It’s the same handwriting as the note that came with the flowers.
Panic courses through me as I clutch the envelope tightly in my hands. Without a moment’s hesitation, I dial Jeremiah’s number, because I need him with me. No one else will do. The click of the call being answered screams in my ear.
“Jeremiah,” I choke out, my voice barely a whisper. “Someone sent me...pictures. And a note.” My words tumble out incoherently, but he seems to understand the gravity of the situation.
As I stand in the library, surrounded by the familiar scent of books and the hushed whispers of my fellow students, I can’t help but feel exposed—vulnerable in a way I’ve never experienced before. Instead of feeling at ease, fear gnaws at me, consuming my thoughts with the disturbing images from the envelope. Is the person who sent me these disturbing images watching me even now? Are they waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to turn their twisted fantasies into reality? I grip my phone tightly, my knuckles white as I listen to Jeremiah’s voice.
“Oakley, just stay put, alright? I’m on my way and I’ll take care of this shit.” His tone is firm, yet gentle, a balm for my frayed nerves. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Thank you, Jeremiah,” I breathe out, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Hey, none of that,” he chides playfully, his warm laughter a stark contrast to the cold terror still gripping me. “I want you to go sit at the front desk where you have a clear view of who is near you. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
My heart swells with gratitude at his words, and I try to focus on the soothing cadence of his voice instead of the sickening dread threatening to swallow me whole. Reluctantly, I hang up the call and tuck my phone into my pocket, attempting to regain some semblance of normalcy.
As I make my way to the front desk, I look around to see if anyone is watching me. I don’t see anyone out of place. No one seems to even notice that I’m here. I take a seat andtry to fix my face to a more neutral and less horrified expression so not to alert Cindy of the situation. She’s the type who would try to get me fired for receiving hate mail.
When she’s busy dealing with someone who lost the book they checked out, I look through the contents of the envelope. Even though I know what’s in it, nothing can prepare me for these vile pictures and the sinister note that accompanied them. The images haunt me, making my skin crawl and stomach churn.
Shaking my head to dispel the lingering fear, I have to trust that Jeremiah will handle it.
As if I made him appear, there he is shoving a student out of his way and stomping through the doors, his eyes locked in on me.
Oh, he looks mad as hell.
Chapter 18
Jeremiah
Iburst through the locker room doors, my heart pounding like a goddamn sledgehammer against my ribs. The air is heavy with the sweat and musk of post-practice exertion, but it’s Oakley’s safety that’s got my blood boiling, not the workout. A goddamn stalker. Some sick fuck getting his kicks out of terrorizing her—is all I can think about as I storm across campus.
Fuck that. I’m gonna find the sick bastard and make them pay.
