Page 154 of Lady Killer

Stumbling from the bed, I made my way to the bathroom where I poured myself a glass of cold water and chugged it. Then I drank another one and then another half glass before my mouth stopped feeling like sandpaper.

When I finally braved a look in the mirror, I winced.

My hair was a bird’s nest, my waves tangled and frizzy. Distinct rings of purple sat beneath my eyes, and my skin was pale and dull.

Worst of all was the ugly band of red wrapped around my throat.

Running my fingers over the bruised skin gingerly, I grimaced.

My father had choked me to death. More than once.

The killer, they knew that, and still they thought me one deserving of death.

Splashing cold water on my face, I forced myself to go through the routine of washing my face if for no other reason than the pretense of normalcy.

Michael . . . my Introduction to Japanese instructor.

Never had I suspected him. He was barely a blip on my radar. Had he been stalking me, hunting me, from the very first day?

Burying my face in the fluffy towel, I shivered at the thought.

“You need to put some clothes on.”

Startled, I released the towel, and as it fell from my hand, I looked into the mirror to find Nixon standing in the doorway.

Worse, he was right. I stood there in nothing but my oversized sweatshirt and still half-done bra.

“Get . . . out.” I had to force the words out, my throat even more tender than before.

“Lucian wants to talk. He and Alister are done with Michael, for now.”

“For now?” I attempted to push past him, but he held his place in the doorframe.

When I looked up to meet his eyes, there was nothing in them.

Shaking it off, I ducked under his arm.

I was the one to run away last night, so his complete and utter indifference to what we did only several hours ago shouldn’t bother me.

“Locke’s going to work his magic, but he’s not back until the evening. Even then, it can take days, sometimes weeks, to break someone.”

Pulling on the first pair of underwear I could find, I pretended Nixon wasn’t hovering on the periphery of my vision.

After I slipped into sweatpants, I turned back to face him.

Holding up a hand, I croaked at him, “Five . . . minutes.”

His lip curled the way it did when something ugly was about to come out of his mouth.

“Please.”

Nixon’s expression looked strained as something flashed in his eyes. Standing up straight, he walked over to me, stopping at my side to look down at me. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Take a second a more, and I am throwing you over my shoulder and dragging you down to his office. I don’t care what shape you’re in, I’m not getting in fucking trouble over you.”

He stomped away, the door slamming behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Autumn . . .

Panic rushed over me, and I spun around looking for my phone, worried it was in my dorm or Nixon’s room.

---