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  The vibration of my phone disrupts my stony glare, and I slap the mirror shut. I answer and press speaker while coiling my other hand around the steering wheel. “Hey.”

  “Where are you, Carolina?”

  “School,” I respond matter-of-factly.

  “You need to drop out and leave.”

  I bite my tongue. We’re like oil and water, but I try to keep our arguments at a minimum. He’s gotten so much worse over the years since Mom died. “Dad, I’m fine where I am.”

  “The hell you are,” his voice lowers into a whisper. “He’s inbound to your location.”

  Shit. I impulsively check the rearview mirror. It’s clear. This asshole isn’t going to stop until he kills every last person in my family. It’s why I call him Reaper. He’s been after Dad for years for a reason I don’t know, one in which I obviously can’t be trusted with knowing. I’ve begged to know why his location is always confidential, but just the same as the many secrets in my life, it’s on a need to know basis. Since Reaper can’t find Dad, he’s been trying to work his way through Krissy and me. And since I’m the last daughter standing, I will continue to be his target until one of us has the last shot.

  “Okay,” I reply earnestly. “Four days and out.”

  “No. I want you out of there now. I want you to head to Boston. Is that clear?”

  I press end and drop the phone back into my bag. Dammit. I reopen the mirror and look back at my reflection. The bright blue hues that used to reside within my irises are now dull, making the color appear gray. My eyes are always half-lidded, and my complexion is pale. I’m worn out, and I’m constantly in battle with the mission my attention is focused on. I’m doing this for the right reason. Krissy. The end of her short nineteen years were filled with lies, deceit, pain and suffering. And now I’m going to make sure anyone and everyone who caused her pain will get back what they have given.

  I flip the mirror shut and duck back out of my car. I guess I don’t need four days. I can do it today. I send Lex a text message telling her something came up, and I have to leave for the day. She responds with a sad face and tells me she’ll see me tomorrow. But she probably won’t.

  I poke my head back into the classroom I left minutes earlier, spotting my target. It’s his lucky lunch hour. I enter into the room and close the door quietly behind me, pressing my thumb into the lock button at the same time.

  “First name?” I ask in a tempestuous voice.

  “Zach.” He visibly swallows the rising lump in his throat, and I now realize how much I’m going to love this moment, knowing he has no fucking idea what’s about to happen. “Can I do something for you, Ms. Sullen?” I allow my eyes to draw a slow line from his lips down to the bulging seam in his pants.

  “Yeah.” I let the strap of my bag fall off my shoulder and drop to my feet as I unfasten the top button of my blouse, giving him the okay to move in toward me—which he does, timidly. His eyes dart back and forth between my face and the doorknob. “Locked,” I whisper.

  His hand wraps around my back, and he pulls me into his hardness. “I don’t like games, Ms. Sullen.”

  That’s not what I heard.

  “That’s too bad.” I lean forward and skim my teeth against his ear lobe, breathing heavily for extra measure. “Because, I love them.” I utter the words into his ear, and his grip tightens in response. His other hand cups my chin and he pulls my lips into his. He smells like coffee but tastes like mint. He’s rough in all the wrong ways, and he’s impatient as well as unpleasantly forceful.

  His hand slips down the back of my jeans and palms my ass as he lifts me up, forcing my legs to straddle around his thin, bony waist. My shirt is pulled up over my head, and his tongue connects with my skin, tracing a line over my collarbone. His movements are animalistic and untamed, and his slobbering is making this hard to work through.

  I lower my lips to his ear. “You want me?” I honestly scare myself with how well I can pull this off.

  “You’re a bad girl, Ms. Sullen.”

  You have no fucking idea.

  “Have you ever raped anyone in here?” I ask while running my tongue over his earlobe. He hesitates, and I graze my lips down to his jawbone. “I get off on that kind of shit. Did you know that?”

  “In that case, yes.” Got it. “She asked for it, though.”

  “Krissy, wasn’t that her name?” I nibble on the skin below his ear, letting my teeth linger on his lobe so my words vibrate within him. “So, if I stop you from going any further—” I pant a little, for effect. “Are you going to pretend I’m Krissy?”

  “You-you knew her?” he stutters.

  “I guess you could say that. But don’t let it distract you from this.”

  He pulls away and looks at me for a brief second, studying the look on my face. I’m a good actress, though. All he sees is a seductive grin and my wanting eyes. “I’m not distracted, and I don’t need to pretend,” he says, breaking up the moment of silence. “After these little teasing games of yours, you will be mine, one way or another. You can call it rape, but I’ll call it retribution for you coming in here like this and looking like that.” He looks me up and down shamelessly and bites down on his bottom lip.

  I uncoil my body from his as I hop down, pushing him away so I can take a few steps back. In a honeyed voice, I say, “Before you rape me, I need a second.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and click upload.

  “What the fuck did you do?” he asks. “Get over here you fucking bitch.” He grabs my arm and pushes me over to his desk. He pounces on top of me from behind and claws at my bra, so I let out a few cries—pretend cries. But he doesn’t know they aren’t real. He flips me around and tries to shove his hand down my pants, which gives me the perfect opportunity to attack. I lift my leg and wrap it around the back of his knee. Then he lifts me up to his chest, and I wrap my arms around his head, putting him in a choke hold.

  “It’s your move,” I let out a small laugh. “But I warn you. You make the wrong one, and I’ll kill you.”

  He releases his hands, so I release mine, but then he shoves me to the ground. I rebound quicker than I fell, though, and while I want nothing more than to attack him again, I’d much rather get the hell out of here. I slide my shirt back on and fix the few stray hairs curled up on the top of my head. Then I pull my lipstick out of my back pocket and glide it slowly over each lip. I’ve pushed him to the point of no return, which is precisely where I intended for him to go.

  “What the fuck is your problem, psycho?” He moves in behind me, and I back kick, shoving the stiletto of my boot right into his perpetrator.

  “Fuck you. That’s what,” I respond, turning around to stare down at his crouched body and flushed face. “Oh, and you don’t have to worry about hiding that rape from your wife, the dean, or police anymore.” I slide my phone back out of my pocket and play up my smug grin while checking the screen. “YouTube works so freaking fast nowadays. I’m pretty sure this is record timing, actually. Don’t you think?” I ask, playfully. I show him the display on my phone screen. “Damn. I’m good. This is totally going viral.” I laugh a little more, knowing I’m pushing him far over the edge.

  His jaw drops open as he adjusts himself and backs up until his knees buckle at the desk chair. “What the . . . “ He stumbles over his words as a white pallor clouds his strawberry licked cheeks. “Why would you . . . ?“

  “Krissy Tate? The girl you raped—you know, your straight A student?” Confusion washes over his already flushed face. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. “I lied about that not being a distraction. You see . . .“ I lift my hand to check out my nails, dragging this out to build up the suspense. “I’m her sister. Carolina Tate.” I shove my hand out to him. “Nice to meet you, asshole.”

  “Oh shit,” he says with a sickening sneer. “You two do look alike.”

  “You think because you’re a psychology professor you can work a girl’s mind over?” I quirk my brow. “Did you ever w
onder what would happen when one of them worked your mind over?”

  I straighten my sweater and lift my bag up from the ground, ending this encounter once and for all. “By the way,” my voice rises in tone as I turn around and tap my finger into the air for effect, bending my thumb down as if pulling an invisible trigger. “If I were you I’d go ahead and off yourself. I mean . . . your wife is gone.” I count the reasons on my fingers. “Your career is gone.” I press my fingertip into my chin and grin for the final shot. “Oh, and you’re looking at some serious jail time—you know, the place where you’ll be raped by massive dudes every day? Fun times ahead, I’m sure.” As I saunter toward the classroom door, leaving him dumbstruck with his hand cupped around his mouth, I make sure to leave him with a proper message. “Consider this little visit . . . payback for what you did to my sister.”

  ***

  I pull my Elios pizza out of the microwave and drop myself onto the couch for what’s going to be my nightly entertainment. But right as I’m about to shove a greasy slice of pepperoni into my mouth, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. Dammit. I snatch my phone up, staring at the caller ID for a second—a random number, as always. But no one else knows my number except Sasha. So I know it’s Dad.

  “Hi Dad. Don’t worry, I’m leaving soon,” I say, sounding as unfazed as I normally do.

  “I received some information today, Carolina.” Hello to you too. He sounds worn and tired, making me wonder where he is now. “Did you approach that professor at Krissy’s old university?”

  “Depends,” I say playfully.

  “What did you do?” Dad whispers, as if someone were tracing our call—not that whispering would keep the listener from hearing this.

  “Just had a little talk with him.” I can’t hide the pride in my voice.

  “Dammit, Carolina. I was told about the YouTube video. He’s dead now, and who knows if that will be traced back to you?” He forces a long heavy sigh into the phone, making his annoyance with me clear. “Leave. Tonight. You hear? There’s a flight heading to Boston at twenty-one-hundred hours. Flight number AA220. Your ticket will be waiting for you. I want a text in two hours confirming you have your ticket.” I flick the TV on, hoping one of the local stations is reporting on the death of Professor Lance.

  “Okay,” I say as the call ends. Love you too, Dad. Ass.

  I shove the slice of pizza into my mouth and turn up the volume. Sweet. I love when people take my advice.

  Breaking News: Dead at thirty-five. Psychology professor and a recently reported rapist, Zach Lance was found in his classroom dead. The cause is unclear at this time, but rumors of a drug overdose appear to be the cause, leading us to believe this is an alleged act of suicide.

  Job complete.

  I press Sasha’s number in my phone, and she answers after one ring. “Cali-girl, did you see?”

  “Good riddance, huh?” I say, listening to her breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Maybe it all finally caught up to him,” she says. “I still can’t believe Krissy didn’t tell anyone.” She was like that—she always kept her head down, but the weak link usually seems to be the target. And she was twice—unfortunately in the wrong places at the wrong times. “Cali, did you have something to do with this?”

  “It was suicide. Nothing more,” I reassure her. Or at least I try to reassure her. But if anyone in this world knows me and what I’m capable of, it’s her. “I gotta run, Sash. Talk to you soon.” I hear her kisses being blown into the receiver as I click end.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CALI

  I READJUST the heavily weighted carry-on over my shoulder as I scan my gaze down the departure screen, confirming the flight number Dad gave me. Looks like it’s on time—there’s a plus.

  With sluggish strides, I pick up my ticket then make my way through security, needlessly earning myself numerous once-overs.

  “Ma’am could you please remove your sunglasses?” the woman with the wand asks me. I let out an exaggerated sigh and slide them off my nose. The light burns my eyes, and I squint in reaction to the pain. “You do know you are inside, and it’s dark out, right?”

  I narrow my eyes at her and cock my head to the side. “Have you considered it may not be to hide my eyes from the sun?”

  “We’ll need you to step aside. You need to be searched.”

  I do as they ask, spread my legs apart and lift my arms out to the side. “Search away,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can squeeze into two words.

  I’m patted down by two different TSA agents and asked to walk through the full body X-ray booth. “Nothing,” the second woman shouts over to the first woman who has returned to the metal detector.

  Who would have thought? This isn’t my first rodeo, peeps. “Duh,” I blurt out. I snatch my bags and shoes off of the belt and brush by the guards. “Hope you enjoyed copping a feel,” I say, blowing them each a seductive kiss.

  I shove my feet into my boots and continue walking while checking my ticket again to see what gate I’m supposed to go to.

  As I arrive at Gate 88, I scan the small area, noting it’s going to be a very full flight filled with people who all look as if they’re going to a funeral. What is it with Bostonians and wearing all black in the winter?

  At least I’ll fit in there.

  I plop down in a corner seat in the waiting area as I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out and respond to the question mark I’ve been waiting for from Dad. I respond with:

  I have my ticket. Leaving soon.

  -Cali

  Or so I thought.

  I’ve been seated among the dozens of other passengers for the past two hours, watching the gate times change a number of times before I see the plane actually arrive. Just as I’m powering my phone down, preparing to board, an awful stench burns my nose from a few inches away. A middle-aged man with greasy black hair and a thick lip-covering mustache who smells exactly like the inside of a port-a-potty has found a reason to sit directly beside me in a row of empty seats. When my eyes unfortunately meet his, he takes the opportunity to speak to me. “Heading to Boston?” he asks. I raise my eyebrows and force a tightlipped smile. I simply follow that with a nod and give him a no shit look. “I heard winter’s coming early this year,” he continues.

  “Cool,” I mumble with a sigh. I pull a magazine out of my bag and open it in front of my face, hoping to block my vision of the man’s blackened-stained grin. But it’s only seconds before I’m taken back when his finger sweeps down the bare skin of my collarbone.

  “What does that mean?” he asks, pointing to my tattoo.

  With a smooth motion, I lay my magazine down onto my lap and place my hand over his, giving him the false notion that I’m a gentle person. I take the opportunity to offer him a slight smile before I twist his forefinger backwards as far as it will go before the expectant snap. “I’m sorry,” I say sweetly. “Did I tell you it was okay to touch me?” I pull down a little harder, and he smiles in response to the pain. But as I hold my hand there, I see the smile begin to fade.

  “It’s a free country, chicky,” he sputters as his tongue knocks around between his bare gums.

  “Why would you think it's okay to touch me?” I ask again, keeping my voice calm, yet stern. He licks his lips and looks me up and down, responding with only a look. “Do you go around touching girls half your age because you feel it's okay?”

  He clears his throat and looks around to see who’s watching or listening, but I don’t move my eyes from his. “Why not?” he says, shrugging his bony shoulders. “Besides, you’re definitely asking for it.”

  He thinks I’m asking for it? I’m wearing a fucking scoop neck, black long sleeve shirt, jeans, and combat boots. “The only reason it's okay, is because no one has ever probably told you no. But it occurs to me that after I snap your finger off your hand, you won’t be able to touch people inappropriately anymore, will you?”

  He hoots with laughter, dragging in attention he probably
shouldn’t want. “You think you could break my finger, little chicklette?”

  I pull his finger a little further, and his smile grows. “Ow, stop. You’re hurting me,” he puckers his lips and winks at me.

  “Oh, look, it’s your right hand. You a righty?” I turn his hand over and see deep callouses bubbling on his palm. “Yes, you are. So, if I rip this thing off, you wouldn't miss it, right?” I turn his hand back over and glare into his beady eyes. He’s questioning my words. He’s unsure of my capabilities. And that’s fine. “Sound okay to you? Or are you going to leave and stop touching people?” His smile fades and his eyes widen. I release his hand and offer him a smart-ass smile. “Oh, and the tattoo means death. It’s a Maori Warrior symbol. They used to eat their enemies once they slaughtered them. Cool, huh?”

  I see his Adam’s apple struggle to move. He lifts his bag from the ground and nearly trips over his own feet, darting away.

  I reopen my magazine to the page I was reading and refocus my attention on an article as I hear a soft chuckle coming from the other side of me. I turn to see who was enjoying the free entertainment and I’m faced with a man who looks to be either a wrestler or in the military—black shaven hair, stiff jaw and bulging muscles on every inch of his arms. His eyes are currently focused on a book, and I suppose he could have been laughing at that, rather than me. But as I question it, his large shamrock green eyes lift and look right at me. A slight grin tugs on the corner of his lips, and he winks so quickly I’m questioning whether it was me who might have blinked. Before I can react, he stands up and walks away.

  I swallow hard and refocus my attention on the magazine once more. Stupid attractive man causing a moment of feebleness. I didn’t react, though. He winked at me. I think. And I didn’t make a snide comment or scowl. Weakness.