Chapter 17- Thea

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That deep, raspy voice is what nightmares are made of.

Or, wet dreams.

I jolt back into the locker causing the evidence of my humiliation to slip from my hand. I watch in horror as it lands face up next to Devon's pristine white Nikes My first instinct is to snatch it up but that position would have me on my knees in front of a demonic force with pale eyes and hidden horns.

No thank you.

Adjusting his book bag, he bends to swipe up his so-called gift and straightens with the agility of a prime athlete.

"You might want to keep up with this." He waves the waxy photo and my heart races into overdrive. "You probably don't want everyone to see what a good girl you were for me."

My eyes bug out of my head as I snatch it back and quickly stuff the picture in my pocket next to the nail file. The nail file that I want to stab through his heart.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I strain out a whisper and try to act normal in front of the students passing by.

I'm so mad right now I could spit fire.

How dare he snap a picture of me and, more importantly, when did he have the time? Between his hand wrapped around my neck and the other reddening my ass, he was too busy for a photo shoot. But, I guess where there is a will, there's a fucking way.

"Wrong with me?" He shakes his head with a wolfish grin full of arrogance that I want to smack from his face.

Been there, done that which is the reason you're in this situation to begin with.

"Baby, I'm damn near perfect. I just thought you'd want a souvenir."

Souvenir?! Anger buzzes in my head like a nest of yellow jackets.

Last night I fell asleep with the hopes that his twisted payback would grant a cease fire to this never-ending battle between us. Wrong again. It's just like Devon to pull off another stunt.

"A souvenir is what you bring back from a trip to France. This is called evidence to present at your trial."

"Not going to happen, Triple T." Devon waves me off, not in the least bit concerned that I'm holding his freedom in my hand.

The probability of me actually turning him in is less than twenty percent. No one would take me seriously and it's not worth the humiliation. Having hard evidence bumps it up to fifty percent.

Wrong move, dumbass.

"And why is that?"

He steps closer, the tip of his shoes meeting mine until my back hits the cold metal. Instantly, I'm engulfed by clear skies, crisp ocean breeze, and waves. Unlike Vic's scent that only piqued my curiosity, Devon's cologne is purely seductive. I hold my breath, refusing to get trapped under his spell.

"Because you enjoyed every minute and reporting me means you'll never have my hands on you again." His voice sinks into an octave that has my lady bits doing flips.

My mouth opens, ready to refute his very degrading- very truthful- accusation only to have the air choke from my lungs by the all consuming way he's looking at me. It's the same expression from Thursday, dark and dirty. His hand flexes at his side like he's restraining himself. Probably from hurting me again. After all, he is a sadist.

I stand as still as a gazelle cornered by a hungry lion while fear mixes with shame and arousal. It's confusing as it is intoxicating. I want to scream because I shouldn't enjoy the adrenaline that floods my system anytime Devon's near me.

I really miss the days when our encounters would result in me fantasizing about busting his knee caps or shattering his hands so his football dreams would go down in flames. Now, I'm torn between inflicting bodily harm and while running my fingers over his tight abs.

Freakin' hell, it's too early for these confusing feelings and being subjecting to Devon's brand of crazy.

"Isn't that right?"

His face grows serious, almost earnest and I'm suddenly lightheaded. I swallow the lump in my throat and his gaze travels to my neck. I quickly reach up and adjust my turtleneck. The marks from his handiwork prickles and I'm pretty sure his touch is tattooed into my flesh.

"Answer me, Thea."

A normal person's answer would be a resounding no. I hated his hands on me, punishing me, and forcing me down. I'm disgusted by his crude taunts and the thick erection behind his jeans. And when he bit into my lip, I did not want to force our mouths together so he can taste the pain he caused.

I repeat, I. Did. Not.

Swapping fear for anger, I cross my arms as a barrier between me and the six foot two wall of muscle I wish would disappear out of my life. "God, you're a disgusting waste of space and if you think I enjoyed anything that happened in that classroom, you're cracked in the head." The lie struggles pass my lips but my voice is firm. "Stay the fuck away from me or I'll go to Coach. Him and my dad are good friends, just so you know."

That smooth square jaw hardens to granite and it's obvious he wants to call my bluff. His love for the game and being out on the field Friday night cautions him to stand down.

"Yeah, got ya there don't I?" I taunt.

"Uh, Thea, we should get to class."

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Lindsey is inching forward, holding her books close to her chest and nibbling on her thumbnail.

With the morning ruckus from the students standing around recapping their weekend, I pray she didn't hear our conversation. My friends knowing what happen between us is the last thing I need.

Victor, the sweetheart he is, would pull a knight in shining armor to defend me and it doesn't take genius to know how that would turn out.

And, Lindsey? Well, my little squishy dollface doesn't have the heart for the war going up against Devon would cause. Even now she's watching at us like we're two angry bulls locking horns.

"Yeah, run off to class, pet."

The emphasis on the last word has my hackles rising. Biting my tongue, I grab my book bag and slide across the bay of lockers. I don't get far because Devon grabs my arm and leans down to my ear.

"Why weren't you at school Friday?"

I jerk out of his hold and shoot him the stare of death. The nerve of this guy. What, did he require my presence so he could abuse me again?

I jerk my arm but the asshole has me firmly in his grasp like any skilled receiver making his way down the field. I want to kick him but that will only cause a bigger scene and we're already drawing attention.

So, I do the next best thing and let me mouth fight my battles.

"Why did you lose the game for the team Friday?" I rush out and you would think I asked him where the bodies are buried by the way he clams up.

Guess I hit a nerve. Serves him right since I spent my weekend in sunken place, but, seeing the news clip of Devon fumbling the ball that would've won us the game was immensely satisfying. Obviously, I wanted our team to win but the sheer pleasure of watching Karma drop kick his ass off that towering pedestal was worth the loss.

Like the petty bitch I am, I replayed the clip of him dropping to his knees, head in his gloved hands, as the other team celebrated.

Of course, it could've just been a miscalculation of the ball's trajectory but I choose to believe it was the universe dishing out payback on my behalf.

I smirk, just as smug as his earlier. I love when I'm able to get under his skin. Too bad my triumph is cut short because the Red Queen is marching our way and she does not look happy.

"Babe, why're you talking to this cow?" She sneers, plastering herself to Devon's side like a leech.

She's dressed to perfection with her sleek bob as sharp as the knife she uses to cut out her enemies' hearts. And is it bad that I think her glossy pink lips reminds me of a baboon's ass?

Devon rips his hand away with a censured expression as if I was the one infringing on his personal space.

I cock a brow. "Yeah, Devie, why are you talking to this cow?"

He bristles, not bothering to answer either of us. I mean, what could he say? That we're discuss his unhealthy fascination with corporal punishment?

Although, the glare he's sporting tells me this conversation isn't over.

Taking the awkward silence as my que, I make my escape and pull Lindsey away from the duo's bad vibes.

"What was that about and why did he call you, pet?" Lindsey peeks over her shoulder.

Devon and his big mouth.

"Nothing." I wave off her questions. "It's nothing."

Is it so hard to be called by the name my parents gave me?

First it was cow, then pig, then Triple T, and now, pet. Jesus Christ, what's next?




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