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I stare at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Barely there. But I catch it.

“You think this makes you powerful?” I ask. “Because all I see is a coward hiding behind a mask.”

He lunges again. One hand at my throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to talk. The other fumbles with his belt.

“Open your mouth,” he growls.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes from the slap, but I glare straight into his face. “Do it again. I dare you.”

He stills.

For a second, I see the decision weighing in his eyes. Something jagged. Unstable.

Then the door swings open.

Everything halts.

His head jerks up. Mine too.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Rushed.

The mask doesn’t move. But his grip loosens. He backs away, fast.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says.

Like I could.

He exits, slamming the door behind him.

I’m left tied, blinking under that awful flickering light, cheeks stinging, adrenaline still roaring through my bloodstream.

Chapter 21

The mask itches against my skin as I adjust it back into place, the elastic biting into the nape of my neck. I’m still hard. Not just aroused, but tight with something sharp, something hot under the surface. That girl Sienna. Everything about her throws me off balance, and I hate it. I hate how the memory of her pressed against the wall refuses to fade, how her breath caught when I whispered filth in her ear. I wanted to break her just then. Still do. But Logan’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade.

“New kid’s drunk. Making a mess in the hallway.”

I know exactly who he’s talking about. There’s only one new kid on the Reaper’s radar who matters enough to cause problems, and that’s Eli.

The hallway reeks of beer and weed when I round the corner. I don’t need Logan to point him out. Eli’s swayingagainst the wall, shirt rumpled, hair a mess, eyes glazed over with whatever he downed. He sees me and stumbles forward, sloppy and slow.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” he slurs, fists half-clenched.

I don’t answer. Just step in and drive my fist into his gut, then one across his jaw. He crumples to the floor with a dull thud, finally quiet.

“Idiot,” I mutter, grabbing his collar and hauling him up. Dead weight. I sling his arm over my shoulder and drag him out the side door of the frat house.

No one stops me. No one dares.

The air outside is colder, biting through the heat of the party. My car’s parked in the shadows behind the fence. I shove Eli into the back seat. He slumps sideways, out cold, mumbling something incoherent.

Two problems. One drunk. One disobedient.

I down a shot of bourbon from the flask in the glove compartment. It burns, but I need it. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and head back inside. She’s still in the upstairs room, probably plotting something. Probably waiting to try and outsmart me again. Not tonight.