Saint

He lunges at me and snags my arm, yanking me toward him. I crash into his large chest and his fingers dig into my biceps painfully. He turns me and presses me up against the bookshelves in the exact spot they had the Freshman pi

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

This is bad. This is really, really bad and suddenly, I can’t quite breathe as panic shoots through me like lightning.

Fi

“This is our lucky night, Fi

“Let me—” I start, but he squeezes his fingers, stealing my words and breath and any last threads of courage. I struggle and claw at his arm, but he doesn’t relent until stars start exploding in my vision. Before I can pass out, he lets up his grip and I gasp air into my desperate lungs.

“Did you fuck them all?” Fi

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s let them all go at her at once.” Jon Eric vibrates his hand a little and I gag. “Is that it, slut? Do you let them all fuck you? Is that why they all seemed so fucking pussy-whipped? Wonder who gets which hole…”

“Go to hell,” I manage to spit out.

Jon Eric squeezes again and my lungs burn. I dig my nails into his arm, drawing blood, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. He’s smiling like a madman as he chokes the life out of me, and I think he might be capable of actually killing me. Fi

“Careful, she’s going to pass out,” Fi

“That’s fine,” Jon Eric replies. “I don’t need the bitch conscious. Not as long as I’ve got spit and—

“And just what do you think you’re doing, touching something that belongs to me?”

Jon Eric’s hand instantly loosens, and air rushes back into my lungs. It burns but is such a relief I let out a cry. He and Fi

Standing at the end of the aisle, his face dark with quiet fury, is Saint.