Chapter 7

Sara

How long did it take a woman to get over being fucked like an animal by a man she'd fantasized about for far too long?

And for all the wrong reasons?

I wasn't certain but other than taking the second to last exam of the semester, I'd remained locked inside my room. Thankfully, I'd already taken off from work for a few days so I could concentrate on studying.

Not that I'd done a lot of that.

I'd hidden under the covers, which wasn't like me in the least. But I wasn't certain how to handle the situation. I'd ignored phone calls and even a knock at my dorm room door. I just wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone.

Worst of all was that my sinful thoughts about the man lingered long after I'd left his house. Maybe I was nuts, but it had appeared he'd truly had no clue who I was. None. That made the situation that much more surreal.

Or maybe fragile.

Since I blew the interview, at least all I needed to do was to hold my head high when I walked into the lecture hall, writing a story about whatever subject the good professor wanted. If I could even find anything to write about at all. I had a sick feeling all I'd be doing would be leering at him, envisioning just how thick his cock was.

And how amazing of a kisser he was.

And how much I craved the feel of having him deep inside.

"Get a fucking clue, girl," I whispered out loud as I fought my nerves, which I'd been doing all morning. One last test and I could effectively disappear from the man's life, never to see him again.

Oddly enough, I'd had the feeling he'd been standing outside my dorm room watching me, although every time I'd looked out the window, I'd seen nothing but cheerful students preparing to graduate or leave for the summer.

Shuddering, I finally finished dressing, moving a little too quickly. The ache remaining on my buttocks was real, so much so I'd been forced to sleep on my stomach.

But I had to fake it or Josie and Taylor would know something was wrong, grilling me to death until I confessed my sins.

And boy, did I have a lot of them.

For all the times we'd giggled over our raunchy fantasies, nothing could compare to what had actually occurred. If only I could slide into a box and stay there for a while.

I returned to the cup of coffee I'd been nursing, noticing a report on the news. I turned it up, curious as to why the reporter had such a gloomy face.

"And in breaking news, it appears the Angel of Death has struck again, this time ending the life of a graduating senior at the University of Chicago."

Angel of Death. You couldn't be an angel and kill someone at the same time. As I listened to the reporter, another shiver tore through me. Murders weren't unusual, but the poor kid had had his throat slit in a bad part of town. Was the reporter actually serious about a serial killer striking again? I'd heard nothing about it, although watching the news wasn't something I usually did.

I glanced at my watch, realizing I barely had enough time to make it across campus. I needed to get my butt—my aching butt—in gear.

Grabbing my bookbag and a bottle of water, I headed out the door, doing my best to stay focused and preventing another round of hyperventilating. That's what had occurred the moment I'd slunk into my dorm room two nights before, furious with myself for enjoying the horrid event.

I waved to a couple of girls who noticed me but otherwise kept my head down as I took long strides. By the time I walked in, I was almost the last one to arrive. I dared not look at the man's desk or toward him for fear I'd lose my nerve. And I certainly couldn't blow my final. I needed to find another decent paying job, which had me completely befuddled at this point.

"There you are," Josie hissed. "I tried calling you like six times. What happened?"

"Nothing. I was studying."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "We don't even know what Professor Saint wants. How could you study? We wanted you to go to a hot club with us last night."

I glanced from one to the other, feeling another pulsing sensation as heat rose across my jaw. And I knew the reason why.

He'd found my location inside the oversized classroom. I didn't need to be any closer to know he was staring straight at me.

Or that he appeared even more handsome than when I'd been up close and personal to him.

"I think she has a boyfriend," Josie said in a slightly loud and far too singsong of a voice.

"I do not!" My retort was equally loud, which forced the professor to rap his knuckles on the desk.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Can we all settle down?" He barked the words out even more harshly than usual.

It still took a few minutes and I could swear the man never took his eyes off me.

I was obviously right when Taylor leaned over. "Is he staring at you?"

Shrugging, I had no clue what to say.

"Confess," Josie whispered hoarsely.

Something told me I wasn't getting out of telling them something. "I fucked up a job interview with him. Okay?" Once again, my exasperation was overheard, a couple of students laughing.

"Ladies. Is there something you'd like to share with the entire class?"

I could barely think of him as a professor any longer since we'd been… intimate. Easton sounded better to my mind, less forbidden.

"No, sir," I said defiantly.

He kept his hard, cold stare on me before glancing around the room. "For the test this morning, you will need to write a three-thousand-word story. The subject? A dark fictional take on what it would feel like to be a serial killer."

The majority of the class groaned, including Taylor and Josie. I was elated and would have been more so if I was better able to wrap my mind around the lust that continued to fester with a life of its own.

"Is he crazy?" Josie asked under her breath. "I can't type that fast."

"Yes, you can if you put your mind to it," I told her, already formulating a story that would knock his socks off. Maybe it would fit my odd mood perfectly.

One that held very dark urges.

I smiled at the thought, thankful I was able to type very fast. As I pulled out my laptop, Easton still allowing the information to sink in, I did what I could to avoid looking at him altogether.

"You have one point five hours to complete the assignment. I will not grade you down for spelling mistakes, but the story needs to be dark and gritty, a depiction of being in the mind of a madman."

"Just like Poe," Taylor whispered as she pulled up a new Word document.

It was funny how my thoughts were centered on the broadcast I'd heard only minutes before. What would it be like to be the Angel of Death and more important, why had the man found it necessary to kill a young man who held such promise? If he said anything else, I wasn't paying any attention, becoming absorbed in the piece with ease.

I'd always felt there was a sense of darkness inside me, a moment where I could easily cross the thin and fragile line of right versus wrong.

Even if I'd been a very good girl all my life.

The twenty-fifth shiver of the day tore through me.

Maybe there was just a little evil in me after all.

The time flew by I was so absorbed in the story, able to develop a contrasting voice in the piece, where by day the killer was a kind, gentle man with a heart of gold, but by night he avenged atrocities done to the kind of people he called innocent and deserving. Of course, I couldn't paint him out to be a hero, but more of an antihero that readers could relate to, even gravitating toward given something that had occurred in their lives.

A tragedy.

A crime scene observed firsthand.

An untimely death.

I could have easily written about my uncle, enough of the stories I'd been told by my older brother returning to my mind. But that could force Easton to ask questions I couldn't answer. I'd met the man twice, had been forced to sit by his side during a family gathering as he'd leered at me, asking way too personal questions about my life. If I had a boyfriend. Even if I enjoyed older men. It had seemed creepy at the time, not that I'd told my mother. She and her brother had been estranged for years, only coming together when my other aunt had begged my mama to bring us to the family reunion.

Only six months later, accusations were made, my uncle arrested for the horrific murders of nine people, dismembered body parts found on the same property where we'd had a barbeque. All of us had been sick, my mother cutting every tie to her side of the family. The humiliation had been terrible, our entire family crucified in the press. My mother had come close to having a nervous breakdown.

They'd also lost the ranch because no one had wanted to buy any product from them. The nightmare had been traumatic, something I'd tried hard to forget. But I had to admit, being told far too many of the gruesome details was helping me paint a better picture of my antihero.

As I reminisced about what I'd heard regarding the investigation, I wondered if the Angel of Death also took trophies as my uncle had done. No one had talked about that with regard to my uncle. It was a piece of evidence they didn't want let out to the public.

Sighing, I shut down that part of my life as my mother had insisted all her children do. This was my story. My little foray into something dark and ominous. Just because I wanted to be a horror author didn't mean I had any of the same psychotic tendencies as my uncle. I was just… creative.

Plus, I wanted the man standing like some godlike figure to realize what he'd fucked up. As I read it over one last time, skimming over half of it, I gave myself a mental high-five.

I was thrilled with my work, so much so my heart continued to race as I prepared to hit send to Easton's email. I'd written five thousand words in the time allotted. When I lifted my head, I realized I'd taken a little bit longer, no other student left in the lecture hall.

However, Professor Easton Saint was, his eyes pinned on where I was sitting. I felt as if he was doing more than just undressing me with his eyes. He was dressing me up to be his plaything, including a ball gag and a pair of handcuffs.

Clothing not allowed.

I closed the lid on my laptop, doing my best to act nonchalant. Of course the man had to make it all but impossible for me to slip out unnoticed. God. What if he issued a failing grade?

I knew where he lived. I'd break into his house and rip out his eyeballs.

At least I could almost smile even thought my teeth were chattering as I shoved my computer into my bag. I was determined not to highlight the shame running through me like wildfire, so I walked slowly, almost believing he was going to allow me to walk out without speaking to me.

"Ms. Adams, I'd like a word with you before you go."

His voice was even deeper than two nights before, huskier in a way that forced hundreds of butterflies into my stomach. I could pretend I hadn't heard him but somehow, I had a bad feeling he'd seek to discipline me again if I did.

I moved toward his desk, still managing to hold my head high. "Yes, Mr. Saint?"

He studied me for almost a full thirty seconds, the quiet drifting between us keeping my knees knocking. I'd always wondered if that was such a thing.

Yes, it was.

"I'm looking forward to reading your story, Ms. Adams. You have a darkness inside of you that I covet."

Was he talking about the passion that had erupted between us or my writing? I couldn't be certain. "Thank you. I do enjoy creating worlds where evil has a stronghold on society."

Another ten seconds passed by, but he finally smiled, a knowing expression that kept me on edge. "Yes, I believe you. As I said, I'm very eager to read your piece."

"Thank you." That was it? I wasn't certain what I was expecting. A date? An apology? I could tell I was getting neither.

When he handed me the portfolio I'd brought with me and left at his house, I sucked in my breath, having forgotten all about it.

"Ms. Adams. I've read over your resume and while limited in scope, it would appear your credentials with writing are very impressive. Why do you want to work for me?"

He was asking me that now? Seriously? Should I even consider the job at this point or would I be making a bigger fool of myself? I'd originally had a glorious answer prepared for him, but why not tell him what I could do for him instead of what he could do for my career? "Because I'm an excellent researcher, capable of navigating my way through any and every website with ease. I'm extremely good at putting together an outline or simply adding thoughts to help a writer's creative endeavor. Plus, as you already mentioned, I have an affinity for the darkness, which is what it would appear you plan on writing about."

I offered him a rather haughty look, refusing to blink as we stared at each other. A slight sound allowed me to realize he was twirling a Montblanc pen on his desk, tapping one end then the other, obviously weighing his decision.

When he rose to his feet, I took a step backwards, biting back a single moan. His aftershave was exactly the same as before, which instantly made me lightheaded. He seemed amused that I was having difficulty.

Oh, I should hate the man and would if I didn't find him so damn attractive.

I was itching all over, fearful I'd broken out in hives, something I'd done as a kid when I was extremely nervous.

"Ms. Adams, my expectations and needs are very high, including living on site, working side by side for very long hours with little time off. For that, I will pay you ten thousand dollars a month plus room and board, a bonus if the book is completed in time. Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"

Thirty thousand dollars for doing what I loved. That would be an incredible jumpstart to my career, whatever that turned out to be. Or maybe I could live cheaply for a little while so I could finish my first novel. I was almost giddy, jumping up and down like some stupid schoolgirl until I reminded myself what had occurred between us.

"I'll have my own room, privacy, a bathroom?"

His stare hardened until he seemed amused. "Yes, Ms. Adams. In fact, you will have your own floor all to yourself including a media room. You aren't being kept prisoner although I do expect your full attention and professionalism at all times."

The flutter of butterflies had turned into a swarm of bees, but it was an offer I couldn't turn down. Even if the nagging inside the back of my mind screamed I was about to get myself into the middle of something I could regret.

No risk. No reward.

And it was time to take life by the balls and make it what I wanted. I doubted another opportunity like this would come about any time soon, if ever.

I stuck out my arm for a friendly handshake. He lowered his gaze to my hand before accepting. The moment we touched, just like what happened before, a wild jolt of electricity shot through me, as if his touch was going to sear my skin.

"Does that mean you accept?" he asked, his voice far too sensual.

"Yes, sir, I do." As soon as I offered him the word of respect just like he'd required the other night, every part of me drifted into a fog.

"Good girl."

The haze remained as I walked out, nearly stumbling out of the building into the bright, sunny day. When Josie bounded closer, I tried my best to keep a fake smile.

"Okay, so this job you mentioned," she started.

"I was just hired."

"What?" She looked at Taylor who had her eyes opened wide. "Do you know what's been said about him, all kidding about his good looks aside?"

"You mean that he's dangerous?" I refused to stop walking, trying to get some distance between me and the window he could look out of.

"Yeah, but there's more," Taylor half whispered.

"What do you mean more? I know his family is powerful."

Josie stopped me by touching my arm. "Yeah, very powerful and influential. Trust me, my daddy told me all about it. I heard he and his two brothers used to participate in hunts on their father's estate."

"You mean like lions, tigers, and bears?" I teased. Her father was a man few messed with, someone of power and influence himself in the world of law enforcement. However, I also knew the guy believed his shit didn't stink.

"Try humans. Their father's enemies and evidently, the brutal man had a lot of them. They say if you step foot on the land at night, you can hear their souls begging for help and absolution from the fires of hell."

The girl was overly dramatic but now she was pushing every boundary. "I hope you put that ghost story into your words for the exam this morning."

She raked her hand through her hair as Taylor laughed, obviously not believing our friend. "Yes, I actually did."

"Is this a true story?" I asked more out of curiosity than anything. I had to get my car fixed, the rest of my things packed before I could start my new job.

"Supposedly; my father told me."

I took a deep breath, wondering if I could find anything on the internet like what she'd described. "And what happened to their father, or do I want to know?"

Taylor piped in this time. "From what I heard, the boys made their abusive father go on a final hunt himself where they tracked him down, killed and dismembered him. He's buried on the property."

For a few seconds I almost believed her until both of them started to laugh. "You're terrible. Both of you. It's a great job and I'm looking forward to what I can learn."

"Evidently, so is the sexy professor," Josie purred.

"Meaning what and how would you know?"

She nodded over my shoulder and I slowly turned my head. With the glint of the sun, the shimmer highlighted his figure in the window.

He was staring right at me.

Planning.

Hungering.

Needing.

Suddenly, I felt like his prey.