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My throat tightens. “Do it. I don’t care.”

“Liar.”

He’s close now. The scent of him is sharp. Sweat, cologne, and something chemical.

He traps me between his arms, palms flat against the wall behind me. I refuse to flinch. Not in front of him.

“This position,” he murmurs. “Reminds me of last time. You liked it, didn’t you? The way you were soaking through your—”

“Shut up,” I hiss.

He smiles behind the mask. I can see it in the way his eyes narrow.

His gaze drops, then sweeps toward my bag. He grabs it. Digs inside.

“What’s this?” he asks, pulling out the recorder, the cameras. “Planning your own little documentary?”

I don’t answer.

His mood shifts.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

He turns the recorder over in his hands like it personally insulted him.

“You’re really stupid, aren’t you?”

I meet his stare. “Guess that makes two of us.”

He moves faster than I expect, hurling the recorder across the room. It smashes against the wall, pieces scattering like glass stars. He steps forward.

“You have no idea what you’ve walked into. What they’ll do to you if they find out.”

“They?” I sneer. “What are a bunch of overprivileged college boys gonna do? Paddle me?”

That’s when his composure cracks. For real this time.

Caleb slaps me.

Hard.

The sting lights up my cheek. My knees almost buckle, but I stay upright.

He drags me to the mattress. “You came here. Now you pay.”

I twist, claw, kick. He grabs a nylon cord from the desk drawer, ties my wrists. I spit in his face. It hits the mask. He wipes it with his sleeve.

“You don’t learn.”

He shoves me onto the bed and binds my ankles. The cords bite into my skin. My breath is ragged. Not scared. Furious.

“You don’t get to do this,” I snap.

“Oh, but I do.”

He crouches in front of me, his face inches from mine. His voice is low and even. “You think this is just a frat party? That this is some social club? We make the rules here. We own everything. Including you, if we want.”