Chapter 1
Is something a sickness if it makes me strong?
I do dark things and never regret them. Where other people’s minds apparently crack and break down from the pressure of carrying violent memories, mine’s unfazed.
I was probably born this way. If not, the fucked up beginning of my life twisted me into what I am.
My origin story isn’t something I dwell on. Wouldn’t think about it at all, except being a sociopath has cost me something… someone.
I can still get to my stepsister. That’s never gonna be an issue for someone like me. I can track anyone down eventually. And Raine, well, her movements are predictable. Usually.
As I stand naked in the locker room, tearing a bag of lime tortilla chips open with my teeth, my phone pings. I pour some chips into my mouth, reaching for my phone as I chew.
There’s a message on the WildSide app, which connects people who engage in deviant sex acts. I’ve only got two contacts on Side. The one who’s messaging me, NightOn, is a guy I met once while we were competing for the same play partner for a particular type of hardcore scene. I won. Apparently, there are no hard feelings.
For me, that night was an experiment. I wanted to see if very rough sex with a beautiful woman could satisfy my dark urges. The answer is no. My demons are fixated on one particular girl.
I tap to display NightOn’s message.
NightOn: Never have I ever wished I was in college again until now.
There’s an image attached. A screenshot of a petite platinum blonde in a black lace carnival mask and matching bra and panties. The caption reads, Seeking: experienced play partner for cnc scene. If you have to ask, this message isn’t for you.
A location marker hovers above Foxgrove. Granthorpe University, where I’m enrolled, makes its home in Foxgrove.
I send a one-word response back.
BadW0lf: enjoy
NightOn: looks legit. u not interested?
I don’t respond.
Another beep. He’s persistent. As though we’re friends, which we’re not. Friendship isn’t really in my wheelhouse. Or that’s what I’ve heard. There were some mandated counseling sessions in high school when, according to the school, my high-risk behavior put other people in danger. My take on things? Anyone who can’t control their car at high speeds shouldn’t fucking drag race. That kid’s crash was Darwinian. But, of course, adults didn’t see it that way.
NightOn: someone with skilz should vet her, then make use of her. Shes in your backyard right?
I drop my phone on the bench, sit down and pour some more chips into my mouth. I’m fucking starving.
Unfortunately, I’m hungry for more than food. Rolling my shoulders, I glance at the ceiling. One of the things that hovers right beneath the surface is my thirst to trap a certain girl beneath me and fuck her like she has it coming… while she fights.
I’m so fucking angry it eats at me. My mind is an even blacker place than normal.
I flex sore muscles and have a flash of Raine lying on her bed the last time we didn’t have sex.
I could’ve taken what I wanted. I’m six-three and solid muscle. If a girl gets away from me, it’s because I let her.
After I lick the salt from my lips, I glance down at my cock. I’ve got a semi from just contemplating her in bed. I guess I better borrow the dance team girl from my housemate, so I can get my cock sucked.
Otherwise, my hunger could cause me to do things Raine would never get over. She hates me enough right now. I’m not gonna fuel that fire.
Plus, this isn’t the time to let outside noise fuck with my focus. I’m about to go on my first deadly work assignment.
I delete NightOn’s messages and close the app. While I’m pulling on my pants, my phone dings again.
Fuck him.
Ignoring it, I grab a black t-shirt from my locker.
Fluorescent lights hum above me and cast a sickly glow on the gray concrete floor. The lingering scent of chlorine rises from my discarded trunks. I’m a rower, so I spend more time in the gym than the pool. But with my muscles recovering from yesterday’s workout, an hour in the cool water felt good.
After packing away some more food, I pull my t-shirt over my head. Then I toss my damp trunks into my duffle and zip it.
Another ding hits me like someone’s flicking my skin with their middle finger.
Fuck you.
Finally, I blow out a breath and drop onto the bench.
This time when I open the app, there’s a closeup of the girl’s chest, young tits straining against lace. She’s filling B cups at best, but the tip of one pink nipple pokes out through the fabric, drawing my interest. Pretty little nip, anyway.
My finger slides over to delete the picture when I notice a tiny scar on the inside of her left breast. A scar I recognize.
I’m instantly sucked into a black hole, and the world around me disintegrates.
No fucking way.
My fingers spread the image, blowing up that mark. My heartbeat thuds slowly, and my mouth goes dry.
The white-blond hair would have to be a wig. And I’d have to be in an alternate fucking universe for the girl on the WildSide app to be Raine. I suck on my lower lip slowly.
Can’t be. She’s still a fucking virgin. I’m almost positive. While I was away training, I couldn’t watch her in person, but I still hacked into her email accounts and socials. She’s innocent. I know it.
There is no way she’s fishing for a consensual-non-consent scene. She wouldn’t even know that phrase.
When we played around, we never went that far and I never used the popular terms for anything. That would’ve brought the outside world in. It also would’ve been a reminder that there was a world outside her bedroom. A bedroom where I definitely didn’t belong.
But the tiny scar looks exactly like the one I made with my knife after she stabbed me.
Memories from that night cause my muscles to flex involuntarily, as though readying me to reach out and grab her. Again.
My breathing turns ragged, and my cock’s full of dark blood.
Seconds tick by while I’m lost in my fantasies. Ones where she’s pinned down. Helpless. And I’m driving into her.
It takes a while for the haze to lift. I run a hand through my hair and find it’s dry.
Yeah, I’ve been sitting here way too long. I stretch my neck slowly.
My obsession with Raine is something I’m working to destroy. But so far, no joy. I want to do bad things to her. All night and day.
I type a message and send it.
BadW0lf: Send me contact info. I’ll vet her.
That’s a lie. I’ll never get back to him about the girl in the picture, no matter who she is. NightOn is a guy in his late twenties who thinks graduating from the A-list college he was quick to name drop makes him cool. He’ll never be fucking cool. And he smacks his tongue in a way that makes me want to smash a fist into his face until it’s as swollen as a balloon. What did he say he does? Oh, right, software engineer. I said something about coding, and he jumped in to say we have two things in common. Yeah, right.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I look again at the girl’s picture. The shape of the face is right. My hunger builds.
If it’s Raine, she’s in big trouble.
First things first. I need to take down the WildSide ad before some clueless dick acts on it, and I have to hunt him down and cut his fucking throat.
I stare at the image, trying to see behind the mask.
Could this really be her? Raine, of all people, would know how dangerous it is to play with fire. To send a message out into the void and wait for what reaches out of the darkness to grab her.
Before seeing this screenshot, I’d have said there was no way she’d ever post anything like it.
It can’t be her.
I click off the screen.
No, it better not be.
But as I slide the phone into my pocket, the sickness in me hopes it is.
Because that would give me the perfect excuse to finish what I started.
To keep reading, CLICK: Pretty Threats Amazon Link
