Page 17 of Play Dirty

Needing to move.

Needing to forget.

Something feels off about today, I feel it in the tightening of my chest, the itch between my shoulder blades. When I turn the key and open the door, the smell punches me directly in the face.

Sandalwood and smoke.

My stomach turns.

He’s never ventured this close to home.

Sitting on my bed is a square black box tied with a black silk ribbon. A thick white envelope taped to the lid, with my name neatly scrawled across withheavy red ink. My hands shake as I grab the envelope and open it. Inside, I find a note.

That’s all it says. No threats. No instructions. Just a time. A place. And that same fucking neat handwriting I’ve seen so many times before.On contracts. On invitations. On the collar I keep in the bottom drawer of my desk, under a pile of socks I never wear, still stained with the blood that ran down my legs that night all those years ago.

So much for looking for June, I let out a shaky breath as I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the box.

Don’t open it.

Don’t set it on fire.

Don’t walk away.

For a moment, I contemplate what to do, but there’s only one answer, and that’s me untying the ribbon. Opening the lid and seeing the contents inside, this one is more humiliating than the last. On top of the velvet insert, folded nicely is a crisp white linen shirt. Under it, latex black shorts that open in the back for easy access. Beneath, a black pair of slacks. Designer. Tailored to fit, and below that, another blindfold.

Velvet. Of course it is.

I ball the shirt up in my hands, pressing it to my face roughly, inhaling it deeply. It reeks of him. His fucking cologne.

His power. His rot.

I fucking hate it.

My hands tremble— no, my entire fucking body trembles. They dress you before they break you. All under the guise of celebrations, but it’s all a fucking lie. It’s all a way to fuck with you, another layer to show you their ownership.

A fucking uniform I’ve worn too many times before.

I push the box away and collapse onto the bed, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, counting the lines in the plaster to keep myself from screaming. I don’t know how long I’m there for, but the sound of a knock at the door pulls me back. I don’t answer, then I hear the key turn and the door open.

His gaze slowly moves from the box and clothes on the bed to me.

“I’ll be back late,” I reply as I get up and grab the clothes, and head to the shower. I never need to explain where I’m going.

We all just understand. We all know.

Because the only thing worse than going… is what happens if you don’t.

Chapter Seven

Shiloh

Have you ever had a sinking feeling that something is off, but you can’t put your finger on it? A shiver slithers up my spine, causing every hair on my body to stand. I focus on the empty bed for a moment, then look at the phone in my hand. It’s been too quiet…

No sign of June, which is unlike her.

Especially on the first day of class, and the day of Delta Kappa Theta’s annual welcome masquerade. Like everything else in Villalargos this is more than just a party. It’s tradition. A rite. A performance.

On the surface, it’s for show—welcoming the new petals and letting the crowned ones handpick their preferred athlete for the season.