Page 68

T he dull buzz of the projector fans fills the dimly lit lecture hall as I fight to keep my attention from wandering. Professor Wilkins drones on about advanced crime scene cleaning procedures, each monotonous word lulling me deeper into that numbing fog of disinterest. Honestly, who gives a toss about forensic evidence elimination when half our bloody coursework involves creating messes to begin with?

A sharp rap against the classroom door shatters the dull monotony, every head swivelling toward the oblong rectangle of light that spills inwards. The broad silhouette filling the doorway is instantly recognizable—that rigid posture and the aura of overbearing self-importance radiating off her in waves.

Bloody hell, here we go.

“Excuse the interruption, Professor,” Hansley intones without preamble, her nasal drawl echoing through the stillness. “But I require a brief word with Mr. Whitlocke in private.”

She doesn’t bother waiting for Wilkins’ stammered acknowledgement before those cold, beady eyes lock onto me. A muscle twitches in my jaw as I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut against the pounding headache already blooming behind my temples.

Of course the manipulative old cow would make a production out of this. No summons or polite heads-up—just a flagrant display of her authority to yank me from class like a misbehaving child. I exhale a low growl through gritted teeth, thumbing the side button on my phone to kill the recording app before stuffing it into my trouser pocket.

Sliding my chair back with a screech of metal on hardwood, I button my blazer and stand, shoving both hands deep into my pockets and slouching toward the aisle. Ignoring the weight of Hansley’s stare boring into my skull, I trudge forward with an air of surly defiance.

The instant I cross the threshold into the corridor, the heavy oak slab swings shut behind me with a dull thud. Blocking out the muted titters trickling through that barrier, I pivot on my heel to face the old shrew. “Alright, what the fuck do you want?” I bite out without preamble.

Hansley’s lips purse into a thin, disapproving line. She crosses those slender arms over her ample chest and pops her hip to the side, surveying me through narrowed eyes. “Your little clique skipped out on this morning’s mandatory summons. Again,” she states, each word clipped with barely restrained distaste.

My brows climb upwards as a sardonic snort punches free. “Yeah, well spotted there, you doddering ol’ bat,” I sneer through a derisive chuckle. “Forgive me if I fail to bloody give a toss about your arbitrary rules and endless parade of meaningless rituals.”

Her eyes narrow into icy slits at that, nostrils flaring slightly as her jaw clenches. “Is there a reason for this sudden rebellious streak, Mr. Whitlocke?” she prods, each syllable dripping condescension. “Or have you simply forgotten our deal?”

The barb lands with a sickening lurch in the pit of my stomach, bile scorching the back of my throat as a wave of cold revulsion sweeps over me. My shoulders stiffen, fingers curling into fists within the confines of my pockets. Hansley must sense my rigidity, because a slow, triumphant smile curves those thin lips.

“You scratch my back, and I ensure you receive what you bargained for,” she drawls, heels clicking in a slow, predatory stride forward until she invades my personal space. “That was the arrangement, was it not? We both honour our obligations to get what we want. Your family reputation stays safe, and I get the recognition I finally deserve from those decrepit Elders.”

Rage boils through my veins, scorching and incandescent, even as that stale seed of dread lodges in my throat. Without conscious thought, one hand whips out and clamps around the soft column of Hansley’s neck in a brutal squeeze. Her eyes bulge wide with shock as I slam her back against the nearest wall, knocking several framed diplomas askew with the force of impact.

Crowding in close, I angle my body to pin her squirming form in place, baring my teeth in a feral snarl mere inches from her reddening face. “Listen here, you twisted old cunt,” I rasp, crushing her trachea tighter with every vile syllable. “Our ‘arrangement’ is officially busted. Whatever blackmail scheme you hatched with those incriminating photos is done. Go ahead, release them. Ruin my family name. I no longer fucking care, because as soon as I marry Briar I’ll be taking her name anyway. I’m done being your bloody hand puppet to manipulate and control at your whims.”

Hansley chokes out a strangled sound, but I barrel onward, riding that scorching current of fury until nothing else matters. Not the steady thud of my pulse in my ears, or the sickly-sweet stench of her perfume, or the flecks of spittle dampening my lips.

“From now on, your grubby mitts stay the fuck off me and my mates,” I hiss, giving her one final brutal shove for good measure before releasing her throat. “And if you even think about threatening us, I’ll tear this entire fucking cesspit to the ground brick by bloody brick.”