Page 92 of Never Give Your Heart To A Hookup

The terrifying reality slaps me in the face almost as hard he did. I look around with new eyes, everything a threat now.

There’s a bunch of my Bedroom Heaven toys on the floor next to Stephen, and I realize that’s what he hit me with. He smacked me with one of the products that’s supposed to make people happy and satisfied. But hitting me with one seems like the least hurtful thing he could do with those now, and pure, hot fear dumps into my bloodstream, coursing through my veins and clearing my head.

When I look at him again, the cold darkness in his eyes is shocking. “Now, you’re getting it. You’re just another bitch, leading good guys around by the dick because you’ve got all the power between your legs in that cunt. Not anymore, Samantha. Now, you’re mine.”

I kick out hard, making contact with his chest, but though he stutter-steps back, he doesn’t fall over. He catches my ankle, and grinning evilly, he says, “Feisty. I like it. And I know you do too.”

He’s up in a flash, dragging me a few inches until I’m flat on the floor as I scream. “HELP! HEEEELP!”

I’m still fighting, kicking with my free leg and flailing, trying to grab anything I can use as a weapon. But Stephen’s bigger and stronger than me, and when he climbs over me, sitting on my hips with his feet locked over my thighs and his hand wrapped around my throat, I freeze.

“Fucking slut, you want my hand necklace, don’t you?” His hand tightens, and it’snothinglike what Chance and I do and is definitely not a necklace. Stephen is choking me, hurting me, wanting to punish me. I grab at his arm, scratching him as hard as I can as I try to pry his hand off. “Don’t try to deny it,” he hisses. “I saw him push you up against the wall like this. You nearly fucked him right there.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about and then...

After the podcast, in the storage closet, Chance put his hand on my neck, sandwiching me between the wall and him. Stephen must see the memory coming back to me because he nods. “Yeah, this mouth, pussy, and ass are mine too. You’re giving it away anyway. It’s all you’re good for.”

He drops down, trying to kiss me, and I manage to turn my head the barest bit so his lips land, wet and sloppy, at the edge of my lips on my cheek. “No! Stephen, STOP!”

“Scream all you want, Samantha. I know it’s a false flag. I’m a Red Pill man now. I’ll give you what youreallywant,” he vows.

The only reason any of that made a lick of sense is because I’ve heard Chance and Evan talking to the guys at the club. Every word Stephen is spewing is Jake McGibbons propaganda.

False flag? McGibbons says it’s when women say one thing but mean another. Red Pill? It’s the belief that women want a strong Alpha male for fucking but a Beta to mate with. It’s some throwback to the red-pill/blue-pill thing from the Matrix, like the red pill is supposed to be some hard truth to accept but once you do, you’re free from the illusions created by society.

I squirm, trying to bump his weight off center with a jerky lift of my hips. It doesn’t work exactly as intended, but it does get me enough space to scramble away.

“This is not what I want, Stephen,” I shout, and I see his brows knot together like he’s confused.

“It’s not?” he says quietly.

I’m looking for an exit, anywhere I can go to get away, and scanning for a weapon. But my best defense is my mind. I know Stephen, or I did before he went head-first into Incel territory.

“No, I love Chance,” I tell him. “Remember, in class, we talked about communicating with your partner? Chance and I did that. We still do, all the time.”

He’s slowly stepping toward me, unconvinced, and I’m just as slowly moving back to keep the distance between us. “He called you names, was rough... you liked it.”

I nod, holding my hands out to keep him at bay. “Because I told him to, and I say things to him too. But other times, we’re gentle and sweet and slow. We make love.”

Tears slip down my face. “I love him, Stephen. I love Chance, and I think... I think he loves me too.”

Stephen’s confusion is growing, his eyes jerking left and right as he tries to make sense of what he’s heard and what I’m telling him.

I take advantage of his distraction... and run for my life.

CHAPTER28

CHANCE

Thirty Minutes Ago

“Sir, tell me again. Who do you think took Miss Redding?” the police officer asks for probably the fifth time.

Thankfully, the ambulance hasn’t left with Jim yet. He pulls the oxygen mask down and rasps, “Stephen Simpson... six-two, one-ninety ... brown hair and eyes.” He stops to take a hit from the mask, obviously out of breath. “Drives a ’14 Toyota Corolla, silver, damage on tha front right corner. Piece’a shit, couldn’t’ve gone far.”

I blink, completely unaware that Jim had that type of description at the ready for any of us.

The officer nods. “I’ll put out the info. Thanks, Delaney.”

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