Page 40 of Twisted Ties

“Out!” I bark, louder this time, holding the door open in my left hand and pointing through the doorway with my right.

Sissy and Naomi jump off the bed, grabbing their clothes and racing out the door like two scared little rabbits. They can hear the menace in my tone. They’re not prepared to hang around for a shitstorm. Aysha takes her sweet time skimming her top over her head and shuffling to the edge of the bed.

I tap my foot and she loses her nerve, sliding onto the floor and hurrying away.

Summer doesn’t move from her position kneeling on the floor.

“Did you not hear me, Summer?”

“I heard you,” she says in a bright tone, “I thought maybe you wanted some alone time, just the two of us.”

“I don’t.”

“But it’s been such a long time,” she says, coiling a lock of hair around her finger. “I miss hanging out with you.”

“You’re sleeping with Spencer, Summer.”

“Not any more,” she says with obvious annoyance. “And anyway we were never exclusive, Tristan. Plus it’s never bothered you before.” She tilts forward onto her hands and knees. “We can do that thing you like, if you want.”

“Not interested.”

She scowls up at me. “You know, you and Spencer are turning into right bores lately. It’s starting to get really tedious.”

“Get out, Summer.”

She huffs, rolling upright and padding closer to me in her bare feet.

She isn’t scared of me like some of the other girls are. That’s because she thinks her status as queen bee and her family’s reputation means I’ll never hurt her. She’s wrong. I don’t care who her daddy is. When your own father is a sick and twisted bastard, everyone else’s look like fucking pussy cats in comparison.

She halts right in front of me. “It’s ever since that pig girl arrived.” Her gaze flicks round my stony face. “I’ve seen how you look at her.”

I lean forward, getting my face right up and personal in hers. “Same way I look at you, Summer. With boredom. Now get out.”

I grab her arm and swing her through the door, slamming it shut on her startled cries.

She doesn’t know shit and she certainly hasn’t seen shit … has she?

I scrub my fingers through my hair, yanking the strands until my scalp screams.

Then I fling my arms into the air and seal the commonroom with an impregnable spell. I don’t want anyone else coming in and I don’t want anyone outside to see what I’m about to do.

I take a deep breath, letting the oxygen race down to my lungs, my hands fisting when I taste the sickly smell of perfume. Fucking girls.

Then with a yell, I swing both my arms out wide, hurtling magic across the room. It slams into a mirror on one side, and a window on the other. Both smash instantly, shards of glass crashing to the ground.

I hurl my arms above my head. Magic collides with the ceiling. Cracks fissure along the plaster, chunks fall to the ground.

I punch magic behind me, this time breaking the bed in two, feathers streaking high into the air.

I don’t stop. Magic blasts through the air, hot and sizzling, melting everything it touches.

The beam above my head moans; the walls buckle.

I do it again, and again and again, growling and snarling, the magic hot on the ends of my fingers.

Until I’m standing, panting, sweat sliding down my face and my chest, in nothing but wreckage. Everything smashed and shattered to pieces.

I prefer it this way. I always have done.