Chapter 27

twenty-seven

LOLA

Monday morning, I sat in Miss Smith's class, trying to focus on her lesson instead of the ache Hendrix had left between my legs.

A few minutes into the explanation about kamikaze sperm, a note landed on my desk.

I opened it.

Like I said, every time you fuck that Barrington piece of shit, I'll use my kamikaze sperm and fuck him right out of you.

The possessive little creature in me preened, and that was never a good thing. I'd loved every second of his brutality last night. Even if he had fucked another girl right before…although no one was there when I came in. At one-thirty in the morning. With no sign of the party he'd supposedly had, no hint of cheap perfume, no hickies on his tattooed neck. But he sure as hell wanted me to think he'd been with someone else, to be as jealous as him.

I picked up my pen and scribbled out: Smith just said kamikaze sperm is a theory. You can't fuck another guy out of me.

I knew it was a red rag to a bull, but I wanted the kind of possessive rage that got me fucked on the floor like the cheap whore I clearly was to him now.

I tossed the note over my shoulder.

Smith huffed from the front of the class before she marched down the aisle, right past me, to Hendrix's seat. Paper crinkled. "Lord Jesus…" She took a slow step back, her accusing gaze landing on me. "I'm gonna put your name down on my prayer request sheet at church because you need to be hitting your knees at night for something other than this mess." She shook the note in my face before going back to the whiteboard. "Kamikaze sperm… With Mr. Nasty."

Hendrix leaned over my shoulder, his hot breath hitting the shell of my ear. "I can fuck whatever I want out of you. In to you..."

I ignored him because the only response I had was denial. And truthfully, I couldn't pretend I wouldn't find myself moaning on Hendrix's dick again. He was crack, and I couldn't resist shooting up with his toxic shit.

Three days later and I was rabid for a hit.

I'd watched a string of girls rotate places at his and Wolf's lunch table all week. Not that it was anything new, but Hendrix and me ignoring each other—truly ignoring each other—was. The only reaction I'd gotten from him was earlier when Chad had pulled into Dayton to get me for Gracie's dance recital and Hendrix's infuriated gaze tracked the truck like he wanted to set it on fire. I knew he thought I was dating Chad, and though I probably should have denied it, Hendrix's wild imagination wasn't my problem. I wanted it to be, though.

In a way that ended with me breathless and covered in his come. Again.

After the recital, Chad had dropped me off at home.

As expected, the TV was on, but instead of the familiar sound of the PlayStation, the chilling screams from a horror flick echoed through the house.

I rounded the doorframe. Hendrix wasn't in his usual spot on the couch, but his phone was on the coffee table, and a text message thread lit up on the screen.

My gaze darted to the kitchen doorway, and when the faucet cut on, I leaned over the table. Close enough that I could read every stomach-churning word on the screen.

205-555-1538: Do you want to hang out after our group project tomorrow?

Hendrix: Depends. What the fuck does HANG OUT mean?

205-555-1538: Whatever you want it to…

Hendrix: How good are you with your mouth?

205-555-1538: Why don't you let me show you?

It was a lit match to a tinder pile. The straw that broke the camel's back. I knew he'd left it there on purpose, that he had wanted me to see it, but still…

I stormed up to my room, grabbing the magazine I'd taken from Smith's desk a few days ago and flipping to a page with Jonny Depp and a sample of Dior Sauvage. I ripped that piece of paper out, telling myself that I couldn't be with him and I had no right to be mad.

How good are you with your mouth? No, fuck him.

I rubbed that sample all over me, then stalked back downstairs, stinking of expensive cologne as I stepped into the kitchen. I felt his gaze burn into me as I passed by him at the pantry. Probably hiding more of his stupid Pop-Tarts. I was so mad at him that I hadn't even stolen any this week.

I'd just opened the fridge when his breath hit the back of my neck.

His nose swept the length of my throat on an inhale. "I'd almost think you're doing this on purpose."

The same way he'd left his phone out on purpose. My brain screamed for me to get a grip while my pussy egged on this psychotic clusterfuck.

"Doing what?" I said, closing the fridge door.

His arm came around my waist, his fingers moving to my zipper before he lowered it. Triumph washed through me when he yanked down my shorts.

"What did I fucking tell you, Lola?" He tugged me away from the refrigerator, and I half fell, half tripped into the kitchen table—right before he forced me face down over it.

Papers and bills scattered to the floor.

"I smell that shit on you." He grabbed my hair, jerking back my head with a bite of pain.

I caught our reflection in the window across from the table, and my pussy tightened.

"You're going to watch me fuck you so you remember exactly what you look like when you come with my dick inside you."

The only warning I got was the clink of his belt and a rip of foil before he slammed inside of me.

Hard.

Brutal.

Claiming.

But I didn't want sweet. I didn't want anything that felt like love. I wanted his anger, craved the twisted rage and hate that seemed to ignite every bit of fire in me.

"Fuck—" The smack of his hips against my ass echoed around the small room. "Your pussy." He fucked me hard, sinking so deep that I knew my thighs would be bruised from hitting the edge of the wooden table.

And just like that, the first sparks of an orgasm trickled through me.

"I told you to watch." His fingers gripped my chin and forced my gaze up. "Fucking watch."

Two more thrusts and I came harder than I ever had. My pussy pulsed around his dick as I watched him pound into me like he hated me.

The second I started to come down, he pulled out. A low groan slipped from his lips before he tore off the condom. Warm come hit my ass.

Without another word, he zipped his jeans and left the kitchen.

I felt used, empty. But wasn't that exactly what I'd wanted?

I pushed off the table, grabbed the paper towels, and wiped his come off before pulling my shorts back up.

The noise on the TV changed. Then changed again. He was channel surfing like he hadn't just hate fucked me on the kitchen table. Asshole.

I walked through the living room and to the stairs without sparing him a glance.

As soon as I slammed my bedroom door, my phone pinged.

I clicked on the new email from Waffle Hut, frustration bubbling inside. We regret to inform you that your application for employment has not been accepted . That was the final rejection from all the applications I'd put in last week.

Groaning, I flopped back on my bed. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do for money.

I didn't have next week's rent, seeing as I gave Hendrix the fifty bucks I'd stolen from the church. I'd tried to do things legally, but I was running out of options.

As if the dickhead could sense the need to kick me when I was down, I got a text from Hendrix. Who was only downstairs and still had the smell of my pussy on him.

SATAN: The power bill is $200

SATAN: Water is $100! Stop taking long showers.

He couldn't even talk to me after we had just fucked? He really made it easy to hate him.

Me: Stop pointing a box fan at your balls and playing stupid video games.

Didn't change the fact that I needed money, even if he did stop using so much power on his stupid PlayStation.

While risking jail time really wasn't on my to-do list, there was only one person I knew I could go to for money…

I fired off a text to Sweet Willy, praying to God I could remember how to hotwire a car since Hendrix had never really taught me. Then I pushed to my feet and went downstairs, stopping in the living room doorway.

The box fan was on high, gunfire from his stupid game blaring through the TV speakers. On a huff, I marched over to the wall and pulled the plug for the extension cable. Silence descended, and I turned to find him staring at the slowing fan blades.

"Plug it back in, Medusa."

"If you think I'm halving the power bill for you to sit here and play video games, you're wrong."

"You're the bane of my existence." He shoved off the couch, took the cord, and plugged it back in, then went into the kitchen. Bottles rattled in the fridge.

I yanked the plug for the PlayStation out, then pulled the console free and tucked it under my arm before marching out of the house.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind me, I broke into a run. He wanted his two hundred bucks for power, then I'd get him his two hundred bucks.

I made it to the bus stop just in time to catch the number twenty-three to Northside. That was the easiest place to steal a car. Lots of crime, not enough cops.

When the bus drove back past Hendrix's house, he was standing in his drive in just his boxers. His gaze met mine. I grinned, holding up the console. Then I flipped him off.