Page 70 of Brutal Obsession

One thought keeps circulating in my head. If I’m becoming something new… where did the real Violet go?

22

GREYSON

Violet and Willow come out of Amanda’s apartment an hour before our meeting with the school’s publicist. My teeth have been grinding for the last ten minutes, but I refused to go pound on the door—or text her. Not when she couldn’t have been bothered to text me back yesterday.

Her indifference in the daylight irritates me. All week, she’s been acting like nothing is wrong. Like a former friend didn’t dump a drink over her head and then make out with me. Like she wasn’thurtby that.

Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Paris has always been the enemy, and she’s used to her behavior.

I could dig deeper.

Cut harder.

My cock twitches, and I lean forward. I rest my chin on my forearm, on top of the steering wheel. I can almost see her as I will when I’m finished with her. I can’t get the thought of blood out of my head. The little winces of pain, the distrust.

The other day, Knox reminded me of our bet. He said Willow was coming along, and it didn’t seem that I gave a shit about Violet.

That’s wrong.

I don’t give a shit about thebet.

But it keeps him occupied.

I reach down and grab the folding knife from my cup holder. I flip it open and press the point into my thumb, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to draw blood.

Seeing her handcuffed last night just deepened my fascination. She squirmed, she seemed scared, but then a switch flipped.

She wanted me.

Violet and Willow reach the sidewalk.

Her head comes up, and she finds my out-of-place sedan a good ten seconds before Willow has even noticed something is amiss. She stares at me, her brows furrowing.

Hmm.

The windows on my vehicle are tinted, making it impossible to see in unless you’re right up against the glass.

I’ve become a certified stalker.

But we’ve got limited time, and I need to make sure that she’s ready for what I need her to say. Coach Roake wants us to deny anything. The picture was a coincidence, the party was just a hockey house party, and someone else invited her. Her roommate, maybe, or another player.

They begin their walk home, and I drop the knife back to the cupholder. I put my vehicle in drive. I roll behind them, uncaring that I’ve raised the alarm bells in Violet’s head. She seems ready to bolt.

I smirk.

This scared version of her is new.

Is it because of what happened last night?

Willow finally clues in and looks around. She glances at my sedan, then faces forward again. Their pace increases.

Finally, we reach their apartment. I pull over, ready to jump out, but Violet is already stomping toward me.

I open the door and hop out.

She skids to a stop, her mouth dropping open.

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