Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
14
VIOLET
I’m walking out of my apartment when Mario steps into view.
He came back about a week ago, his arm still wrapped in a sling. I kind of force him to walk with me now and allow me to share my food with him.
He tried to refuse at first, but I can be persistent. Whenever he attempts to keep a distance, I slow down and fall in step beside him. Whenever he refuses the food, I remind him that some people are hungry and he should appreciate the commodity of eating.
I stare at the sullied, gray streets. I used to quicken my steps, my anxiety on high alert, and my heart in my throat.
But that was before I realized there are worse monsters out there. Monsters who dress well, smell divine, and are richer than sin. Monsters who find it fun to mess with someone’s life just because they can.
So I stopped worrying about what’s lurking in the shadows. It also helps that Mario makes me feel safe for some reason. No one would dare come near me when I’m walking beside him, and I think it has to do with his ‘fuck off’ expression that mimics his dear boss’s.
“How are you doing, Mario?” I smile, offering him a mint candy. When he doesn’t take it, I place it in his hand and take one for myself.
“You should’ve stayed home,” he says in a firm voice.
“You heard me talking to Toby the other day. I agreed to go on a date.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He releases an exasperated sigh. “You do know I have to report everything back to him, right?”
“I don’t care.” I suck on the candy harder, fighting the urge to crush it between my teeth. It’s mind-boggling how my calm temperament can be easily ruffled at the mention of that bastard.
God, I hate him.
I truly do. I never thought myself capable of hatred, but I despise Jude Callahan.
First, he stalks me, then he says I can’t die until he permits it, as if I’m some marionette, and then he makes me feel like shit every time I see his face, because I failed to save his mom.
But the biggest reason I hate him is because he gave me a taste of something forbidden and wrong but so damn delicious, I keep having dreams about it. His mouth on my pussy and my reaction to his touch, and I wake up with my hands between my legs.
And I hate that the most because I have a low sex drive and have been happily celibate for a while, not even feeling the need to masturbate that often, so I can’t forgive myself for the reaction I had.
It feels…wrong.
And stupid because the truth is, the man I had that reaction with wants to kill me.
Thankfully, I haven’t seen him since the night he ambushed me in the kitchen.
Two weeks ago.
But even though I don’t see him, I feel his presence in the apartment sometimes. Oh, and he leaves a few bottles of ginger ale in the fridge every night. At first, I thought it was Dahlia, until she mentioned we have so many now. And now, I can’t even have my favorite drink without thinking of his hot tongue all over me.
So it’s not that he’s finally left me alone—he just doesn’t bother to show me his face anymore.
He still wants me to text him the stupid highlights after every Vipers replay I watch, though, or he threatens Mario and Dahlia.
As a result, I’ve been somehow forced into learning the game and can understand the decades-long rivalry between the Vipers and the Wolves.
I’d still cheer for the Wolves. At the end of the day, the Wolves players were born and bred in Stantonville, and they’re like me—they came from nothing and worked hard to play something they love without trust funds buying their coaches and sophisticated training camps.
I don’t think Jude liked those thoughts when I texted them.
Which is why I texted them in the first place.
He’s obviously super popular and a fan favorite, which gives him too big of an ego for my liking, and someone needs to deflate his god complex. I just volunteered for the task.
And yes, maybe I do have more audacity when I’m texting. It’s not like he can intimidate me through the phone.
“You should care,” Mario says in a slightly softened tone. “You already know how violent he can get.”
I lift a shoulder. “If he wants to kill me, he should do it already.”
“The more you want that, the more he won’t comply.”
“I know that.”
“Apparently not, because you’re provoking a reaction with this date, Violet. Whether or not it’s on purpose.”
I stop and face him. “So I should…what? Stop living? Wait for his majesty to issue the death sentence? I just want to have something outside of school and work and constant overthinking and anxiety about what type of unpredictable action he’ll take next. Is that wrong?”