Me: You left your screwdriver here.
I lift the tool and flip it in my hand as my students walk in. One giggles that Kade Mitchell looked at her, and her friend mentions how angry he was, which only made him appear hotter. Another girl fans her face like she’s close to passing out.
My phone dings, informing me the message has bounced back, and I roll my eyes with a tut.
Still blocked, it seems.
7
KADE
My hands are fucking shaking.
As soon as I get into my car, I slam the door with more force than necessary and grip my steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. Then my fist slams into it. Once. Twice. Three times. None of my anger fades; none of the thoughts slow down, not the way they used to when I lashed out.
Not when it comes to her.
I can’t see past my fingers clutching the leather of the wheel, can’t fill my lungs, can’t see past the blinding rage that surges through my veins from the sight of her. The sound of her voice, the feel of her soft skin. Every single thing about her pisses me off.
The erratic beats in my chest don’t calm down, even though she’s nowhere near me. She’s in that stupid building, dancing around unaffected like the venomous snake that she is.
Fuck.
What is she playing at?
The fuck am I playing at?
I’ve dodged her for the past two years. I kept my distance when I visited at the weekends. Yet here I am, sitting with a solid, raging hard-on, imagining fucking my sister’s best friend in every position possible.
All I wanted to do, when her hand was wrapped around me, was rip her clothes off and remind my dick what it feels like inside her. I wanted to have my fingers between her legs, to hear her moans in my ear as I sank into her. I wanted to bend her over and twist that idiotic ponytail around my fist while she screamed for me.
Jesus fucking Christ. If I wasn’t in a car park, I’d finish myself off.
As soon as her students leave, I’m going back in. This is just an itch to scratch. That’s all. I’ll fuck her against the wall and tell her to stay out of my way until I have to leave town again.
The fuck? No.
Then I’d just be playing into her little game of emotional fucking turmoil, and I refuse to go down that road again. Not this time. But I’d be lying if I said that seeing her tonight hadn’t woken a side of me that needed to touch every inch of her body.
Stupid urges.
Repress that shit.
That’s all they are. Urges. Because am I fuck ever going back to that .
Not that I could, even if I wanted to.
Stacey Rhodes is the devil in disguise. She’s hot as hell on the outside, has a personality that makes you fall for her, but is utterly ugly and fake on the inside. My traitorous cock clearly doesn’t know the difference between a snake and an angel and needs to stand the fuck down.
The hard-on is painful, even as I adjust myself and lean back.
I shouldn’t have watched her dance. I shouldn’t have volunteered to fix the stupid ceiling. I should’ve known after seeing her at the party that I should be keeping my distance. Now my dick is twitching in my shorts and begging me not to drive away.
Did she reply to Base? He’s been saying for weeks that he wants her after seeing a video of her dancing with my sister. He’d messaged our group chat, asking if we thought he should send her a text. I ignored him obviously, but Dez told him to enjoy the full-on rejection she’d toss at him.
Which seemed to have egged him on more.
I nearly cracked his head open when they planned to partner up at the weekend. The girl on my lap was about to be thrown off me and a blade thrust through his skull.
She’d warp his mind like she did to me, and no one wants a broken Base.
But if he were to go there, I’d kill him. I’d regret it as soon as I did, but I would slaughter him in a heartbeat.
Impulsive. I’m far too impulsive.
Thank fuck I made my friends leave the party. I watched her through CCTV going to sleep in the guest room and felt like I could relax .
But then Tylar left her on her own.
My obsessive tendencies – a trait pointed out by my old therapist – meant I kept checking on her. I couldn’t sit at peace without the need to make sure Base, or some other drunken wanker, hadn’t snuck into the bed against her will. I was fully prepared to sleep against the door with my gun, just to make sure that didn’t happen.
I’d quietly opened the door and ushered my dogs in with her, because I knew no one would try to slide into the room if they were there.
Plus, irritatingly, Milo and Hopper missed her.
I watched her sleep through the cameras and drank until I could barely see while she cuddled into our— my dogs.
But then she called, and I had to leave.
I got dressed, made sure my gun was fully loaded, and filled my holsters with blades and other weapons before leaving.
My phone dings – a reminder to download my boarding pass.
When Luciella said that Dad had booked two extra tickets so I could also visit, I’d thought about asking Dez to come with me instead. Not out of favouritism, but I didn’t want to spend the entire time listening to Base talking about how he should approach my bitch of an ex. He doesn’t know about our past – she begged me to keep it between us until she was ready to tell Luciella, so my best friend now wanting to screw her is just fucking great.
Maybe I’ll burn his passport before he can board?
No. Impulsive, controlling prick. They can do what they want. He’ll be the one to look like an idiot when she fucks him over. Because that’s what she does. She draws you in, feeds you lies and feelings and fake bullshit, only to drop it all on your head .
To say that I’m a bitter cunt about it is an understatement.
I hate her with a fucking unrelenting passion.
I grab my packet of smokes and light one up, rereading the message I received in the studio. Safe to say my cock has gone soft.
Bernadette: You were warned not to make a mess. You had a contract to eliminate the owner, so why were eight bodies found at the casino?
Me: They shot at me first. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
Bernadette: Watch your tone. Do something for me.
An annoyed huff lets out, and I inhale as much smoke as possible to burn my lungs.
Me: What?
Bernadette: Come see me tonight.
I sigh, quickly firing back a response and hoping she leaves me alone.
Me: Can’t. Busy.
Bernadette: I wasn’t asking, Kade.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter, flicking my cigarette out the window.
Me: I fly to America in the morning. Have your husband fuck you instead.
As usual, her response is immediate.
Bernadette: You have an hour to get here, or there will be no visitation rights for your father for the next year.
I roll my eyes at her go-to threat, toss my phone on the passenger seat and head to her address while I play music. It’s loud enough to drown everything out.
Bernadette is nearly forty, married with a kid nearly the same age as me. She can literally do whatever and whoever she wants, and her repulsive husband allows it. She approached me when I was nineteen, told me a bunch of lies about being able to help with my dad’s case and I’ve been trapped with her ever since.
I wanted to get the fuck away from her the first night I woke up after being drugged, but after everything she’s made me do – all the people I’ve killed for money – it’s not something I can walk away from, especially with clean hands.