Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
The only one who gets to put an end to anything is me.
You didn’t even last a week. What a coward.
You might want to stop the provocation tactic. I see right through it and it doesn’t work on me.
No provocation is in sight. I’m only pointing out that you ran away with your tail between your legs. Can’t admit you love what I do to you, baby?
I’m not your fucking baby.
But you love what I do to you?
I was drugged. It means nothing and I’m not gay.
Hmm. Is that what you told yourself when you wouldn’t stop coming against my cock and in my mouth? Bet you recite those words like a mantra when you jerk off to the memory. Do you also play with those perky little nipples like I did?
He blocked me.
I still laugh as I stare at my phone now.
Because I know, I just know I’m getting under his skin.
Affecting his usual course of action.
Twisting him inside out.
Carson is not the type who retreats from a challenge. It’s why he doubled down on the drugs and even picked up stalking.
It’s why he looks murderous whenever I insult his looks or intelligence. He takes pride in those and everything about his person—which is why I constantly target them.
He might play the social game to perfection, might have people eating out of the palm of his hand, and even calling him well-mannered and a gentleman, but he irrevocably sees himself as superior to everyone else.
His strongest suit is his ability to mask his true nature. It’s hard for normal people to see who he actually is—the depravity, lack of empathy, and streak of narcissism. Honestly, he could get an Oscar for acting the way he has for years.
Probably his entire adult life.
Gareth Carson is a criminal profiler’s wet dream. He never makes mistakes and maintains a pretty normal, albeit privileged life.
He might not be officially diagnosed, but he has clear signs of antisocial personality disorder and possible narcissistic tendencies.
His moral compass doesn’t exist, hence the way he was ready to rape Yulian and me, and if I hadn’t turned the tables, he would’ve gotten off on that type of fucked-up power, too.
What does exist, however, is his careful, meticulous maintenance of his public persona—he spent a lot of effort to diverge from his brother’s image.
The younger Carson is a proud diagnosed psychopath. The older Carson is a closeted one, so to speak.
And while I don’t know why the golden-boy image is so important to him, I’ll find out. And I’ll break that purpose.
I’ll break him to fucking pieces until he’s a lifeless little toy.
And toys don’t get a say in what happens to them.
Therefore, they can’t decide they’ll stop functioning.
I dial the number I need and put the phone to my ear as I stare out my window at the oak tree where Carson used to linger.
“Professor,” Yulian’s slightly husky voice filters from the other side.
“I’m not your professor if you don’t attend class.”
He chuckles. “I suppose that’s true. To what do I owe the call?”
“You owe me your life after that night, but I digress.”
“I repay my saviors pretty well, but you kind of left me on a cliffhanger by not giving me the identity of the motherfucker who roofied my drink. Is this a call to rectify that oversight?”
“I clearly said that won’t be happening.” Previously, I would’ve loved to see Yulian maim Carson into tiny pieces.
And Yulian would’ve. Killed Carson, I mean. No matter how many wars that would provoke. Hell, he’d do it just to start those wars.
But that was before I touched the little monster and saw a part of him I want to toy with further.
There’s no place for Yulian in my games. At least, not this particular game concerning Carson.
Yulian trusts me and gave me access to the mansion, not because I’m his professor, but due to certain beneficial relationships I formed with his father back in the States.
His dad tells me to keep an eye on him, but I’m not his guardian, and Yulian is a lost cause who will eventually get himself killed.
It’s just a matter of when, not if.
“Just checking.” Yulian whistles as some rustling comes from his side. “If that is all, I have an important event to dress for.”
“Event?” I play dumb.
“I’m paying our neighbors a little visit.” I can hear the manic smile in his voice. “In disguise, naturally.”
“Is this by any chance the Heathens’ initiation?”
“Uh-huh. I want to see what the fuss is all about and confirm something about that night.”
I stand taller. “I told you it’s not one of them.”
“I know, but someone was in my room after you left, and something tells me it’s one of our Heathen friends. I’m getting all excited thinking about it.”
If whoever that person was arrived after I left, then it’s not Carson. In that case, Yulian can do whatever the fuck he wants.