Page 126 of Arrogant Puck

Slater: Fine. Find me

I lead him through campus via shared locations, away from populated areas, toward a section of academic buildings that should be empty this late. I scope out the cameras as I move—there are some, but not many, and definitely blind spots I can work with.

I’ve got hockey tape ready, a sharpie, and a knife. It’s game time.

He enters the empty hallway, glancing at his phone.

“Sage?” he calls out, his voice echoing.

I’m hiding in a nearby bathroom, listening to him get more confused and agitated.

“Where are you?” he calls again. “Sage?”

I stop sharing my location and shove the burner phone in my back pocket. Time to make my appearance.

I walk out of the bathroom casually. The guy is still staring at his phone, trying to figure out where “Sage” went. I have to give her credit—she likes her men tall and built. This asshole has about an inch on me and looks like he could handle himself in a fight.

Too bad for him, I’m not planning on fighting fair.

“Can I help you?” he asks as I stop in front of him. He looks up from his phone, not putting it together yet.

“You know this girl?” I say, showing him a picture of Sage on my phone.

Understanding dawns on his face, and his expression shifts from confusion to something darker. “Is this a sick fucking joke?”

“No joke,” I say, and then I waste no time.

I punch him so fucking hard that he goes down immediately. Before he can recover, I grab his head and slam it against the metal railing, then drag his semiconscious ass into the bathroom.

He tries to fight back, throwing weak punches, but I get him in a headlock that cuts off most of his air supply.

“If you ever fucking threaten Sage ever fucking again,” I whisper in his ear, “I will fucking kill you.”

“Fuck you!” he manages to choke out, so I tighten my grip.

“No, fuck you, you piece of fucking shit!”

He’s strong, trying to claw at my arm, using his legs to push off the ground, but I’m stronger. I wrap my legs around his body, keeping him pinned while I slowly choke the fight out of him.

“I should just kill you right fucking now,” I hiss. “Save everyone the trouble.”

He struggles for another few seconds, then goes limp. I hold the position for a few more beats to make sure he’s really out, then force myself to let go. Can’t kill him—that would cause more problems than it would solve.

I work quickly, using the hockey tape to bind his wrists tightly behind his back. Then I pull out the Sharpie and write RAPIST across his forehead in big block letters. I rip his shirt and write the same thing across his chest. FUCKING RAPIST.

When I drag him back out to the hallway, he’s starting to come around, groaning and blinking in confusion. I slap his face a few times to wake him up fully.

“Rise and shine, asshole.”

He’s still too dazed to resist as I position him against a concrete pillar and start wrapping hockey tape around him and the support beam. Around his torso, his legs, even a few strips across his mouth to muffle any screaming. By the time I’m done, he’s completely immobilized. I yank his pants zipper down and let his small dick hang out. I wish so badly I could cut it off, but again, I have to remind myself that I’m not trying to go to fucking jail and never see my girl again.

I pull out the burner phone and take several pictures. Then I grab his phone from where it fell and unlock it with his face and take a ton of pictures with his small dick out and all.

I start posting the photos to his social media accounts—Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—with captions like “I’m a rapist. A sick fuck.” “This is what happens to guys who threaten women” and “Karma is a bitch.” Then I send a few of the best shots directly to Sage’s number from his phone. She’s going to love this.

I wipe his phone clean of my fingerprints.

I pull out my knife and get to his eye level. He’s fully awake now, eyes wide with terror above the tape covering his mouth.

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