Page 1 of Pretty Threats

1

KILLIAN

Is something a sickness if it makes me strong?

I do dark things and never regret them. Where other people’s minds apparently crack and break down from the pressure of carrying violent memories, mine’s unfazed.

I was probably born this way. If not, the fucked up beginning of my life twisted me into what I am.

My origin story isn’t something I dwell on. Wouldn’t think about it at all, except being a sociopath has cost me something… someone.

I can still get to my stepsister. That’s never gonna be an issue for someone like me. I can track anyone down eventually. And Raine, well, her movements are predictable. Usually.

As I stand naked in the locker room, tearing a bag of lime tortilla chips open with my teeth, my phone pings. I pour some chips into my mouth, reaching for my phone as I chew.

There’s a message on the WildSide app, which connects people who engage in deviant sex acts. I’ve only got two contacts on Side. The one who’s messaging me, NightOn, is a guy I met once while we were competing for the same play partner for a particular type of hardcore scene. I won. Apparently, there are no hard feelings.

For me, that night was an experiment. I wanted to see if very rough sex with a beautiful woman could satisfy my dark urges. The answer is no. My demons are fixated on one particular girl.

I tap to display NightOn’s message.

Never have I ever wished I was in college again until now.

There’s an image attached. A screenshot of a petite platinum blonde in a black lace carnival mask and matching bra and panties. The caption reads, Seeking: experienced play partner for cnc scene. If you have to ask, this message isn’t for you.

A location marker hovers above Foxgrove. Granthorpe University, where I’m enrolled, makes its home in Foxgrove.

I send a one-word response back.

BadW0lf: enjoy

NightOn: looks legit. u not interested?

I don’t respond.

Another beep. He’s persistent. As though we’re friends, which we’re not. Friendship isn’t really in my wheelhouse. Or that’s what I’ve heard. There were some mandated counseling sessions in high school when, according to the school, my high-risk behavior put other people in danger. My take on things? Anyone who can’t control their car at high speeds shouldn’t fucking drag race. That kid’s crash was Darwinian. But, of course, adults didn’t see it that way.

NightOn: someone with skilz should vet her, then make use of her. Shes in your backyard right?

I drop my phone on the bench, sit down and pour some more chips into my mouth. I’m fucking starving.

Unfortunately, I’m hungry for more than food. Rolling my shoulders, I glance at the ceiling. One of the things that hovers right beneath the surface is my thirst to trap a certain girl beneath me and fuck her like she has it coming… while she fights.

I’m so fucking angry it eats at me. My mind is an even blacker place than normal.

I flex sore muscles and have a flash of Raine lying on her bed the last time we didn’t have sex.

I could’ve taken what I wanted. I’m six-three and solid muscle. If a girl gets away from me, it’s because I let her.

After I lick the salt from my lips, I glance down at my cock. I’ve got a semi from just contemplating her in bed. I guess I better borrow the dance team girl from my housemate, so I can get my cock sucked. Otherwise, my hunger could cause me to do things Raine would never get over. She hates me enough right now. I’m not gonna fuel that fire.

Plus, this isn’t the time to let outside noise fuck with my focus. I’m about to go on my first deadly work assignment.

I delete NightOn’s messages and close the app. While I’m pulling on my pants, my phone dings again.

Fuck him.

Ignoring it, I grab a black t-shirt from my locker.

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