GLYNDON

Red drips onto the concrete.

Dark.

Ominous.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I follow the direction from which the blood is pouring and

pause.

Killian still wears the red shorts and has thrown on a black Tshirt. His muscles flex, but he doesn’t appear to be cold, or in pain

due to the bruise peeking from his arm or the cut on his lip.

That’s from where the blood drips, smearing his chin and

collarbone.

“Get in the car,” he orders with complete assurance.

Someone honks because the crazy bastard stopped in the

middle of the street, but Killian doesn’t pay them attention.

I shake my head and try to bypass him.

“I can always go back in there and pick up where I left off.

The only difference is that you’ll regret the decision once your

precious Creighton ends up in a body cast.”

My fists clench. “Don’t.”

“I heard he doesn’t tap out. So maybe he’ll be hooked to a

machine in a hospital next time you see him.”

“Stop it!”

“Get in the fucking car, Glyndon.”

The guy honks again and while Killian doesn’t seem to hear

him, the sensory overload nearly drives me up the wall.

“Get out of the way, motherfucker!” the guy screams from the

window in an American accent.

Once Killian stares at him, he swallows and reverses, then hits

a rubbish can on his escape route.

“You have until the count of three. If you don’t get in the car,

I’m going back to Creighton.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Three.”

The bastard didn’t even count.

He slides back into his car, and I don’t let my brain think as I

throw the passenger door open and get inside.

I’m breathing harshly, my skin crawling and my heart about to

leap out of my skin. It isn’t normal that I’m on an emotional

upheaval whenever I’m in his orbit.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other casually lying by

his side, he faces me. “That wasn’t so hard.”

I glare at him and cross my arms over my chest. “For your

information, I still don’t trust you. In fact, I distrust you even

more now that you proved you’re not only prone to violence, but

you’d also threaten my family with it.”

“All humans are prone to violence. I just have better control

over it.”

“You don’t sound so convincing with blood dripping all over

your face.”

“Worried about me, baby?”

“You’d be bleeding out and I wouldn’t even notice. In fact, I’d

use the blood to mix colors on my palette.”

“Ouch.” His voice drops. “Though you’re such a horrible liar.

You looked as pale as a ghost when I was being punched.”

“I dislike violence, so it’s not about you. I would’ve reacted

that way to anyone.”

“I choose to believe that you felt especially aggravated

because it’s me.”

“That’s called delusional.”

“Semantics.” He reaches for the glovebox and I push against

the leather of the seat.

The squeaking sound fills the interior and I whisper, “What are

you doing?”

Killian grabs a tissue and smiles. Or more like smirks. “Don’t

worry, I won’t bite you.” He wipes the blood, smudging it all over

his mouth further before making it go away. “Yet.”

The engine revs and I startle when I’m physically flung back

against the seat as he speeds forward. My mind races with

endless possibilities about where the hell he’s taking me while I

fasten my seatbelt and hold on to it for dear life.

Logically, the northern side of the island isn’t that big. Aside

from the two campuses, there’s downtown, shops, a library, and

some restaurants and hotspots that the students frequent.

So he can’t kidnap and kill me around here.

Still not a reassuring thought, though.

“I figured you’d be a good girl.”

My eyes leave the road and focus on him. He motions at my

seatbelt that I’m digging my nails in.

“It’s for safety.”

“Don’t worry. I’m an excellent driver.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are. I bet you’re

good at everything.”

“Pretty much. I’m good at what I’m interested in.”

“And what are you interested in?” I sound nonchalant enough

that it flies under the radar.

Because I’m changing gears here.

I can’t just keep getting blindsided by him and thrown around

like a helpless doll. I need to somehow make the first move.

If my previous interactions with Killian are of any indication,

then I’m sure he’s on the antisocial spectrum. Like Lan—maybe

even worse.

Because while he’s a beast to the world, my brother chooses

to spare us. The keyword being chooses. Because Lan can

become insufferable when he’s bored. It’s why we stay away from

him—it’s just impossible to figure out what goes on in his

unpredictable head.

And if Lan is of any indication, then like him, Killian must have

an obsession. A stimulus. A need for something to keep his

tendencies regulated.

For my brother, it’s sculpting. He became a more socially

accepted being after focusing on his art. The only time we

voluntarily approach Lan is after he exits his art studio.

It’s when he’s the most elated, somewhat normal, and even

jokes with us.

I choose to think that Lan would never be as subhuman as

Killian, though. I choose to think that deep down, my brother

cares about our parents and us.

Back at RES, he beat up a bunch of entitled kids who called

Bran a fag. He came home bloodied, but those kids had to be

admitted to the A&E.

He also slashed the tires of a teacher who called my painting

mediocre and told her she had no business judging me when she

was a tasteless, talentless piece of rubbish herself.

Bran says Lan only does those things to protect his own image

that we’re an extension of. But I’m not as pessimistic as he is.

Anyway, I need to figure out what makes Killian tick and try to

counter it.

“For now, you.”

I swallow at his neutral tone as he keeps his attention on the

road. He’s speeding, the lights and trees blurring in my peripheral

vision, but I’m unable to focus on that right now.

“Why would you be interested in me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The fact that we don’t know each other? Oh, and you

assaulted me the first time we met.”

“As I said, I saved you. You should learn to become more

grateful.”

“That was assault, Killian.”

“Call it whatever you like.” He tilts his head in my direction, a

dark gleam shining in his eyes. “By the way, I like the sound of

my name on your lips.”

“Then you won’t be hearing it anymore.”

“You know, defying me every step of the way will only tire you.

It could be so much better and easier if you enjoy this and try to

free yourself.”

“And let me guess, I’ll have to give in to your every whim?”

“It’s highly recommended.”

“I would rather choke to death.”

“I can make that happen, but I prefer feeling that wild pulse in

your neck.”

My palms turn sweaty and I rub them against the sides of my

shorts. There’s no need to guess if these are casual words or not,

because I have no doubt that this psycho would make them come

true.

He’s really unhinged.

“You should work on quitting that habit.” He motions at my

palms that are slowly going up and down. “It gives away your

discomfort. Or is it anxiety? Maybe nervousness? Or the three

combined?”

It hits me then.

If he’s like Lan, then he doesn’t process emotions like the rest

of us. It’s not only about a lack of empathy for these guys. They

literally don’t see emotions through the same lenses as normal

people.

Almost every single socially acceptable emotion they have to

portray is gradually learned through their environment. Little by

little, they perfect their outer image to the point where they’re

indistinguishable in a crowd.

But if anyone gets close, close enough to see behind the

façade, they find out just how dysfunctional, how cardboard they

are.

How…lonely they actually get.

Lan has never liked how Bran and I get along—how alike we

are—because he can’t fit in with us. He thinks he reigns over us,

but I’ve almost always pitied his lone wolf status.

He’ll never know how to love properly, laugh properly,

experience joy, or even feel pain properly.

He’s a mash of molecules, atoms, and matter with complete

and utter emptiness for which he needs constant stimuli to keep

filled up to the brim.

Like a house of cards, he can scatter at any second.

He’ll never live like the rest of us.

And neither will Killian.

I just feel zero sympathy for this bastard.

And that’s why I can provoke him.

“Giving away my emotions is my business. At least I have

those unlike a certain someone.”

“Is this the part where I should act offended? Maybe try to

shed a tear or two?”

“Yeah, and look into ways to grow a heart while you’re at it.”

“The world won’t function correctly if all of us are emotional,

morally right creatures. There needs to be a balance, or else

there’ll be chaos.”

“Are you kidding me? You guys are the ones who instigate

chaos.”

“Organized chaos is different from anarchy. I choose to uphold

society’s standards by reigning over it instead of ruining it.” He

pauses. “And who are you guys?”

I huff but say nothing.

He taps a finger against the steering wheel. “I asked you a

question, Glyndon.”

“I obviously refuse to answer.”

A large hand falls on my bare thigh. The touch is callous and

so possessive that my skin erupts in a wild heat.

“As much as I like your fight, there are situations where you

should read the atmosphere and not defy me.”

I grab his wrist, attempting to remove his hand, but it’s like

I’m pushing a wall. It’s scary how much strength he has and how

weak and fragile I feel in his presence.

It’s impossible to stop his fingers from sneaking up my skin,

leaving goosebumps in their wake. There’s pure command in the

way he touches me with dripping control, as if I’m a conquest he’s

set on finishing off.

I know the best method to get off his radar is having him get

bored of me, and that any resistance on my part will probably

flame his interest, but I can’t.

I just can’t let him have his way with me.

It’ll break me this time.

It’ll make me drive to that cliff with no chances of coming

back.

So I claw at his fingers, my heart hammering faster and

harder. “Let me go.”

“How else am I going to get an answer for the question I

asked?” His fingers slip under the hem of my shorts with expert

ease. It doesn’t even matter that his other hand is on the steering

wheel or that he’s driving.

“Don’t,” I whisper as the pads of his fingers hover close to my

underwear. “I’m telling you no, Killian.”

“The word no doesn’t scare me, baby. We guys don’t give a

fuck about its meaning or the lack thereof. Besides, doesn’t no

mean yes sometimes?”

“Not this time.”

“Debatable.” His voice drops to a dangerous rumble. “The

thing is, I might not feel emotions the same way everyone else

does, but I can understand them in others, oftentimes better than

they do. And right now, I can smell your fear mixed with

something entirely different. You’re terrified I’ll repeat what

happened at the cliff and confiscate your control, but at the same

time, you’re buzzing with the possibility, secretly wishing for it.”

His fingers curl against my knickers and a whimper escapes me.

“You’re soaking wet for it, baby.”

“Don’t touch me,” my voice breaks and I can’t help the shame

that coats my words or the tears that fill my eyes.

“You can’t entice a predator with prey and ask him to go

hungry.” His fingers glide against my folds, the weight of his hand

forcing my thighs apart despite my attempts to close them. “I bet

you were also wet when you were choking on my cock with your

life hanging on the edge. Did your little cunt throb and demand to

be touched, too? I bet it was getting all drenched and achy. I

loved your lips with my cock wrapped around them and cum

coating them, but maybe I should’ve gone for your pussy, too.” He

reaches a finger beneath my underwear and thrusts it deep

inside. “I bet these lips would look even better with my cock

tearing into them.”

My upper body hunches over, half due to the intrusion and half

due to the shame that must be written all over my face.

The combination of his crude words and his dominant touch

have triggered a weird part of me. A sensation I’ve never

experienced before. It’s even worse than when my state of mind

crashes down and dark thoughts swirl in my head.

These are darker but more erotic and damning in nature that

it’s impossible to control them.

“You said you wanted me to trust you,” I croak, changing

tactics. “This isn’t the way to do it.”

“You said you’ll never trust me, so why should I keep on

trying?”

“I…could consider it if you stop, but if you keep taking away

my choice, I’ll hate you.”

“You already hate me, so that more or less has no meaning.” A

slight smirk curves his lips as he adds another finger and drives

deep. “Besides, I did give you a choice. It’s not my fault you

picked the high road. You’re already enjoying this, so let go.”

My breath comes out in a shattered exhale as an ache builds

between my legs.

And builds.

And builds.

My nerve endings resurrect to life all at once, and no matter

how much I try to suppress that need for pleasure, I can’t.

But I also can’t allow him to take this from me. So I hold on to

his forearm with all my might and shake my head. “What should I

do to get you to stop?”

“I can feel your tight little cunt clenching around my fingers.

Do you really want me to stop while you’re on the edge?”

“None of your business. Just let me go.” I’d rather die with

sexual frustration than have an orgasm on his hand.

He lifts a shoulder and cuts me a glance. “I’ll consider that if

you tell me who the guys are in you guys?”

“My brother and cousin,” I breathe out. “They’re different from

the rest of us.”

“Hmm.” His expression doesn’t change, but his hand stops

even though his fingers are still deep inside me.

The throbbing heightens and I wince, trying and failing to

contain it. My thighs shake and I think I shift forward.

My eyes widen when I realize what I’ve done. I think… I just

grinded into his hand.

I hope and wish and pray to every deity under the sun that he

missed it.

But who am I kidding?

A wolfish smirk lifts his lips as he plunges in with renewed

energy. His thumb circles my clit as he savagely thrusts so deep, I

think he’ll really tear me apart.

“You said you…would consider it.”

“I did, and I decided against stopping. Besides, you’re a slut

for my fingers, baby.”

I don’t get to pretend or stop this. Even my hands no longer

claw into his as the wave crashes into me.

The fact that we’re speeding down a dark road doesn’t even

scare me. In fact, it adds to the thrill.

I slap a hand on my mouth to muffle the scream as I break

into pieces around his fingers.

I thought about the fall before, a different fall, and I always

imagined it to be dangerous.

A terrifying shadow.

This one, though? It’s completely freeing. And I don’t have the

energy to hate myself for it.

Not now.

“You said you’d stop,” I repeat in the silent darkness, holding

on to the vain belief that I wouldn’t have fallen the way I did.

“No, I didn’t—you assumed that yourself. Not to mention, you

were grinding your hips like a horny little whore, so quit the

defiance for the sake of defiance.” He removes his fingers from

inside me.

Heat covers my ear and neck when he lifts his fingers in front

of his face and stares at them glistening with my arousal.

“I have another question for you.” He rubs the fingers that

were inside me against his thumb, smearing the stickiness in a

way that makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. “I felt

something just now and I’m curious.”

He slides the first finger into his mouth and make a show of

licking it clean before proceeding with the other one. His eyes

never leave mine through the whole process and I should be

worried about us crashing into something, or falling to our deaths.

But I can’t seem to think of that right now.

Either the orgasm hasn’t really finished or I’m sick in the head,

because my mouth goes dry and my thighs tremble.

After one last dart of his tongue around his fingers, he pops

them out. “Tell me, Glyndon. Was I just touching your virgin

cunt?”