Page 2 of Pretty Threats

Fluorescent lights hum above me and cast a sickly glow on the gray concrete floor. The lingering scent of chlorine rises from my discarded trunks. I’m a rower, so I spend more time in the gym than the pool. But with my muscles recovering from yesterday’s workout, an hour in the cool water felt good.

After packing away some more food, I pull my t-shirt over my head. Then I toss my damp trunks into my duffle and zip it.

Another ding hits me like someone’s flicking my skin with their middle finger.

Fuck you.

Finally, I blow out a breath and drop onto the bench.

This time when I open the app, there’s a closeup of the girl’s chest, young tits straining against lace. She’s filling B cups at best, but the tip of one pink nipple pokes out through the fabric, drawing my interest. Pretty little nip, anyway.

My finger slides over to delete the picture when I notice a tiny scar on the inside of her left breast. A scar I recognize.

I’m instantly sucked into a black hole, and the world around me disintegrates.

No fucking way.

My fingers spread the image, blowing up that mark. My heartbeat thuds slowly, and my mouth goes dry.

The white-blond hair would have to be a wig. And I’d have to be in an alternate fucking universe for the girl on the WildSide app to be Raine. I suck on my lower lip slowly.

Can’t be. She’s still a fucking virgin. I’m almost positive. While I was away training, I couldn’t watch her in person, but I still hacked into her email accounts and socials. She’s innocent. I know it.

There is no way she’s fishing for a consensual-non-consent scene. She wouldn’t even know that phrase. When we played around, we never went that far and I never used the popular terms for anything. That would’ve brought the outside world in. It also would’ve been a reminder that there was a world outside her bedroom. A bedroom where I definitely didn’t belong.

But the tiny scar looks exactly like the one I made with my knife after she stabbed me.

Memories from that night cause my muscles to flex involuntarily, as though readying me to reach out and grab her. Again.

My breathing turns ragged, and my cock’s full of dark blood.

Seconds tick by while I’m lost in my fantasies. Ones where she’s pinned down. Helpless. And I’m driving into her.

It takes a while for the haze to lift. I run a hand through my hair and find it’s dry.

Yeah, I’ve been sitting here way too long. I stretch my neck slowly.

My obsession with Raine is something I’m working to destroy. But so far, no joy. I want to do bad things to her. All night and day.

I type a message and send it.

BadW0lf: Send me contact info. I’ll vet her.

That’s a lie. I’ll never get back to him about the girl in the picture, no matter who she is. NightOn is a guy in his late twenties who thinks graduating from the A-list college he was quick to name drop makes him cool. He’ll never be fucking cool. And he smacks his tongue in a way that makes me want to smash a fist into his face until it’s as swollen as a balloon. What did he say he does? Oh, right, software engineer. I said something about coding, and he jumped in to say we have two things in common. Yeah, right.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I look again at the girl’s picture. The shape of the face is right. My hunger builds.

If it’s Raine, she’s in big trouble.

First things first. I need to take down the WildSide ad before some clueless dick acts on it, and I have to hunt him down and cut his fucking throat.

I stare at the image, trying to see behind the mask.

Could this really be her? Raine, of all people, would know how dangerous it is to play with fire. To send a message out into the void and wait for what reaches out of the darkness to grab her.

Before seeing this screenshot, I’d have said there was no way she’d ever post anything like it.

It can’t be her.

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