Page 63 of Can't Stop Watching
I shake my head, unable to believe I'm opening up to Dane.
"You weren't stupid," Dane says, his voice low and controlled. "You were young, and he took advantage of that."
I take a deep breath. I've started this; might as well finish it.
"He prepped me for months. Looking back, I can see the playbook. Single the girl out. Make her feel special. Blur the boundaries." I twist the sheet between my fingers. "Then one night, we were working late on a scene. Just the two of us. He offered me a drink to 'loosen up' for the emotional part."
Dane's jaw tightens, but he stays silent.
"I woke up with him..." My throat closes. I take another sip of water. "He had my face pressed into the carpet. Kept saying not to scream."
I can feel Dane's body tensing beside me, but I can't look at him. If I do, I'll stop talking.
"When I fought back, he got rough." I swallow hard. "Not the kind of rough that leaves obvious marks. He knew exactly what he was doing. Pressure points, hair pulling, twisting my arm just enough to hurt like hell without leaving bruises."
Dane's fingers tighten around mine, then consciously relax.
"Smart fucker," I mutter. "When it was over, he switched to this terrifyingly calm voice. Told me nobody would believe me if I talked. Said he'd make sure everyone knew I was a slutty attention-seeker who came onto him."
I laugh without humor. "And you know what? He was right. When I finally worked up the courage to tell someone—my best friend at the time, then the school—it all went exactly like he said. They swept it under the rug. He resigned 'for personal reasons' and my life imploded."
I chance a glance at Dane. His face is a carefully controlled mask, but his eyes—they're burning with something that sends a chill down my spine.
"No police report?" he asks, voice eerily calm.
"I tried. But in New Orleans..." I shrug. "Let's just say the local cops weren't exactly eager to tangle with a respected teacher over some teenage girl's 'allegations.' One officer actually asked what I was wearing that night."
Dane's knuckles go white. "Give me his full name."
The intensity in his voice startles me. "Why?"
"Just curious," he says, too casually.
"Bullshit. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one you had right before you took down those three frat boys without breaking a sweat." I pull the sheet higher. "Look, I didn't tell you this so you could go all avenging angel. It's ancient history."
Dane's face shifts, eyes darkening into something dangerous and calculated. "I wouldn't kill him," he says, voice dropping tothat quiet, controlled tone that somehow manages to be scarier than yelling. "Just... educate him."
"Educate him?" I repeat, eyebrows shooting up.
"Give him a taste of his own medicine. Let him understand what it feels like to be powerless."
Holy shit. The casual way he says it sends a chill through me—not entirely unpleasant. My brain tries to process the fact that this man I just slept with is casually offering to... what? Assault my former teacher? As if he's suggesting picking up takeout?
"Are you seriously offering to..." I can't even finish the sentence.
"I'm offering to make sure he never does to another girl what he did to you." Dane's thumb traces circles on my palm, the gentleness of his touch at complete odds with what he's suggesting. "Men like that don't stop, Lila. They just get better at hiding it."
A twisted knot forms in my stomach—part horror, part something else I don't want to name. Something that whispers: Wouldn't it be good if he finally felt afraid?
"That's..." I swallow hard. "That's illegal. And insane."
"Only if I get caught." He says it with such matter-of-factness that I almost laugh.
"Jesus, Dane. You can't just?—"
