Page 17 of Devious Obsession
Back in my room, I grab dark jeans and an olive-green sweatshirt. I put in little earrings and clip up the top half of my hair, pulling the loose ends over my shoulders. A necklace, a few rings, and I’m ready.
Thalia waits for me by the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. “Ready for battle?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I answer lightly.
The nerves get worse when I’m on campus. But I make it through my first two classes, then the last of the day. Everything is… normal. No weird looks, no out-of-the-ordinary texts.
It isn’t until I get to the student center with Thalia that the dread picks up again. Because Steele is lounging against the entrance to the dining hall, an apple in his hand. And when he spots me, he slowly straightens.
“Uh-oh,” Thalia murmurs. “Um, do you need backup?”
“Nope, let’s ignore him.”
I get as far as holding my ID out to the dining hall worker—but before she can take it, he snatches it out of my fingers. I turn to him, my jaw dropping. He’s already striding away.
Gritting my teeth, I face the worker.
“Sorry, honey, I can’t let you in without swiping. It’s policy.” She seems apologetic… but completely unmoving.
Thalia is already inside, and she takes a step in my direction.
I hold up my hand. “It’s okay,” I call. “I’ll go get it.”
He’s disappeared through the doors to the stairwell, and I march after him. I hear his footsteps on the landing above me once I’m in it, the sound echoing down to me. I hurry after him and round the landing between the floors.
I almost bowl right into him, and he grabs my shoulders.
His smile is alarming. On the edge of cruel. And he walks me back to the edge of the step I just walked up, until my heels are off it.
“Maybe I should just push you down the stairs and be done with you,” he muses, almost to himself.
I grab his wrists. “You wouldn’t.”
He shoves my shoulders back, and I yelp. Only my grip on his wrists keeps me from tumbling. The noise bounces around us as he drags me forward again.
“I could, though.” He sneers. “Right now, you’re at my mercy. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Nothing compared to you at mine,” I counter.
“Is your rags-to-riches story worth a year of suffering?” He tilts his head. His fingers move up, catching on the strap of my bag. And in an instant, he has it off my arm.
I lunge for it, but he blocks me. He seems completely unbothered as he unzips it one-handed and tips the contents out.
Books, sheet music, notebooks. Loose papers from class. Pens and pencils I had just left at the bottom, not bothering to shove them in a case. It all comes tumbling out.
The notebooks and books slide down the stairs, thumping with every step.
The papers goeverywhere. Some slip through the railings and flutter all the way down.
He steps on one. One of the pages of sheet music I was planning on learning this week. He picks it up and squints at it, a scowl forming.
“What do you play?”
“Piano,” I say, crossing my arms and backing away from the ledge. I only stop when my ass hits the railing against the wall. “Why do you care?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t. Just gathering ammunition.”
My throat closes. His gaze lingers on me, dropping down to my breasts.
