Page 2 of Stalk Me

“I’m going to—” The rest of his sentence chokes off. I feel him shaking under me, and then another surge that joins mine. One day, we’ll look back at this, and instead of feeling sad, or nostalgic, or any other bullshit emotion, all we’ll remember is the release. Right now, we’re just two teenagers indulging in a little misguided hedonism.

Before I can even catch my breath, the boat’s horn blares. I force myself to pull off the stranger, avoiding his gaze as I fix my dress and collect my shoes from the floor. I head for the door without looking back, but his fingers wrap around my wrist before I can make a clean escape.

“Thank you,” he says. I finally turn to meet his eyes, and my heart stops. Somehow, I’d managed to forget that moment on the sidewalk, Alex leaning over to brush his lips against mine, the taste of his kiss and the desperation in his eyes as he pulled away. “That was?—”

“That was nothing,” I cut him off with a cold smile. I grab my designer suitcase—the only thing my parents let me bring—leaving the bathroom and moving to the boat’s rail. The wind whips my hair around my face as Shark Bay University looms closer, its ancient stone walls a promise of imprisonment dressed up as opportunity. Its gothic spires rise through the morning fog.

The sight sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the ocean spray hitting my bare shoulders. A handful of stone structures, some well-manicured gardens, and a body of water stretching in front of the campus, leaving no doubt where the school got its name.

In the distance behind me, I hear the stranger zipping up his pants, muttering something that sounds like “crazy bitch” loud enough for the wind to carry it to my ears. I smile wider, letting the sharp edges show. He’s not wrong.

As the boat docks, the stranger heads downstairs, leaving me on the deck. To a new school, a new collection of well-bred, entitled rich kids who probably think I’ve earned my spot at Shark Bay through nepotism. Every year, new members of the financial elite, kids my own age who spent most of their lives being groomed for the real world, become cogs in the giant corporate machine: the lawyers, the politicians, and the businessmen and women. We’ve all turned out exactly as expected.

Spoiled and addicted.

Vile, poisonous.

“Necessary,” I whisper. What good are nightmares with no demons? After all, didn’t the founders of SBU choose the shark as a symbol because it was “a creature of opportunity and natural predator in its pursuit of prey” or whatever crap they feed the students who haven’t gotten the memo that they’re now members of a living mafia, regardless of their political leanings.

Following my fellow prisoners, I get off the boat, my heels clicking against the dock’s wooden planks. A small group of students waits at the end, all wearing the same pressed uniforms and plastic smiles. One of them steps forward, clipboard in hand, but I walk past them without a word. My legs move on their own, turning toward the manicured lawn as I stand perfectly still. I know I should keep going, lose myself in the crowd, pretend that my pulse isn’t pounding in my throat, begging me to hold on to the present moment, to cling to it with fingernails and teeth and anything else I can use to keep from being swept under. But I can’t do that. Fear swarms me, a buzzing swarm of ants biting deep and reminding me of all the horrors yet to come.

Fear has only two modes:

Run.

Don’t stop.

Unfortunately, neither of those modes work with my parents. Based on my vast experience, with them I can only follow this pattern:

Swallow.

Close your eyes.

Forget.

The cobblestone path leads up to massive oak doors that look like they belong in a medieval castle. As I approach, I catch my reflection in one of the weathered windows—black hair wild from the ocean wind, emerald eyes rimmed with smudged makeup, designer dress slightly askew. I look exactly like what I am: a girl running from her past straight into a carefully constructed cage. A beautiful prison, but a prison nonetheless. I drop my eyes before my reflection can see the terror lurking underneath it all.

The heavy doors creak open at my touch, and the musty smell of old books and older secrets washes over me. This is my new reality—a remote island school where my parents can keep me safely contained while they continue their games back on the mainland.

Once I step through those doors, I won’t be able to escape. They’ll watch my every move, take away anything that might provide a hint of normalcy. And there’s no hope of bringing him here. If I even breathe his name, they’ll disappear him for good, and any chance I have of surviving will follow. He tried to save me once, but now he’s gone. I have to do this alone.

“Welcome to Shark Bay University,” a voice calls from the shadows of the entrance hall. “We’ve been expecting you, Miss Queen.”

My name echoes through the halls. An older woman with cat-eyed glasses waves at me. “Selena Harpsons,” she says with a polite, customer service smile. She moves so that her body blocks the last-minute students hurrying by, desperate to find their rooms. “If my last name rings a bell, you’re correct—I am the founder’s great-granddaughter.”

She motions for me to follow her down a long hallway.

“We’re very pleased to have you,” she adds. A heavy wooden door opens at the end of the corridor. Her skirt swishes back and forth as she walks. “Your parents said your grades were a bit of a disappointment, though.”

“Just my grades?” I mutter, barely managing to keep my tone light. Her brows furrow slightly, and I return her plastic smile. “You must not know everything about me then.”

I walk past her, but she grabs my wrist, nails digging into my skin. “I know enough to warn you in advance to behave. This isn’t your ordinary school. Our punishments are specifically designed for each and every student. I strongly suggest you don’t step out of line, or we’ll be forced to get… creative.”

Her grip increases until my skin turns white. I blink, surprised at her reaction. There’s something dark in her eyes, as if she can see right through me and knows exactly which buttons to push. It’s not an accident that her fingers squeeze a half inch above a long-faded scar. Something inside me cracks, giving way to the emotions I’ve been holding back since my parents sat me down to present me with their elaborate threat. For an instant, my vision splits, and instead of Mrs. Harpsons, I see my father smirking down at me. But I blink, and the expression fades.

Mrs. Harpsons doesn’t know about my past. How could she? Shark Bay may be part of my parents’ world, but there are limits to what money and power can do, and snooping into students’ affairs isn’t something they’d care to risk. Unless… What if they didn’t need to snoop? I notice the ring on her finger—platinum with a distinctive shark tooth design. The same ring my father wore to every board meeting, every threat session, every carefully orchestrated destruction of someone’s life. What if my parents willingly gave them everything they needed?

They wouldn’t. Not unless…

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