Page 50 of Bad Blood

We both cry out from the wild pleasure and surrender to the call of recklessness that takes over.

I know I do anyway, and I can see she’s trying to fight whatever it is inside her that wants this.

I’m breaking her just like I wanted to—piece by piece.

Here’s where I could destroy her by making her feel for me–-or rather make her feel more for me. I can see it in her eyes. She wants me as much as I want her and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

I just want her too damn much to sever this crazy spell that’s seized my mind and made me obsess over the girl I was supposed to hate.

I take her back to my place and we get lost in each other as I live out one fantasy after another.

When she leaves, I find myself staring after her car as it goes through the gates. As I’m greeted with the emptiness of the house after, it makes me crazy all over again.

I end my night jerking off to the video she made on the site and before I close my eyes, I look at the topless pics of her on my phone.

I can’t stop thinking about her, and I don’t want to.

Unbeknownst to most,I’ve actually started taking a few college classes at Raventhorn University. Understandably, that’s not something I want to be common knowledge.

People know me as the badass. I show them what I want them to see and it’s enough, so they don’t dig deeper.

They see me getting by on a whim and wonder how the fuck I manage to come out on top every single year.

Some think it’s because of the connections my father has, but there’s a point when it becomes obvious it’s not that, which is when I leave them guessing and baffled.

Of course, my teachers know what I’m about and most of them can’t stand it. That blowhard, Principal Kolyav, hates it. They all hate that I could potentially ditch an entire year’s worth of learning, turn up for the exams, and ace them better than those they consider to be their best students.

Today I’m starting my morning with homework—college homework, the only homework I care about.

It’s seven a.m. and I’ve been at it for about an hour. I’ll get ready for school in a little while, then head out.

I usually do this on weekends, but this weekend I’m going to visit Mom’s grave. She’s buried on a little island in New Hampshire.

Seeing her grave always stirs up my sadness and grief at losing her, but being away from here gives me a break.

When Mom’s family first came from Russia way back when, New Hampshire was where they settled. Since my parents didn’t have a love marriage, she’s buried in the private family plot. That’s where I want to lie when I’m gone, if I don’t have the family and the life she wished for me.

Chances are I won’t.

I usually stay in New Hampshire with my uncle when I visit, which has been at least twice a month.

When I’m there this weekend, I don’t want to think about anything. I have a feeling, however, that Billie Fairchild will be the exception.

I finish off my work and pack away my folders. As I’m clearing the desk, I see the file I made on Billie’s bastard father.

It contains all the correspondence he had with Mom. All the emails with his contracts and promises to fulfill his duties—which was to just do what he was hired to do.

Nothing else was required of him. No favors, nothing shady where he had to work magic, just his fucking job.

Those emails contained heartfelt messages from my mother regarding her patients in the States and third world countries who were benefiting from her treatment.

They were people who would have now died or will subsequently die because everything was shut down after the money was stolen.

The bastard was hired because Mom believed his bullshit. Her methods of treatment were all still in research and clinical trials.

She came up against all sorts of backlash from the medical world. That’s why she funded the majority of the program herself.

When the money was stolen, she tried for over a month to fix the problem, but it just got worse, and she grew sicker.

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