Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 37 A phone chimes beside me, blaring out a pop song about an ex-lover and a long list of names. The sudden noise jolts me like an electric shock, yanking me out of...nothingness. Where the fuck am I? My hands twitch, and I look down, watching disembodied as I pick at the remnants of the glittery pink nail polish left on my fingernails. There are flakes of it all over my desk, like I've been doing this for a while without realizing. I lay my hands flat, blinking hard as I try to orient myself. Wooden desk beneath my hands. Fluorescent lights overhead.

The low murmur of voices around me. "Shit!" Melissa hisses beside me, scrambling to silence her phone. A familiar voice cuts through the haze. "If you're done interrupting my class, Miss Parker?" "Sorry, Sir," Melissa calls out. My head bobs on a loose neck as I turn to look at who she's speaking to. But the figure up ahead is little more than a blur. My eyes want to close again. I think they do, because a swell of noise forces them open again. A white glow fills my vision. I see objects, but they're just flickering silhouettes in the bright fog.

"-which brings us to the heart of what we've been discussing this semester. Cruelty isn't just an action. It's a tool. One that every single person in this room has access to." The white glow shrinks to reveal a lecture hall. A blackboard. A lectern. The low whine in my ears becomes someone's voice-deep, melodious, theatrical. That voice. This place. I've heard it before. Been here before. Right?

"The question isn't whether you possess the capacity for cruelty," the voice continues, "but whether you'll be the one wielding it, or the one subjected to it." I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. The edges of the room remain blurry, indistinct. Is this a dream? I claw for memories, for a solid thought, but my mind is as insubstantial as the room, the furniture, the figure up front. He moves with purpose and grace. Tall, slim. He turns toward the blackboard, and I catch his profile. Strong jaw. Dark hair.

The sleeves of his white button-down rolled to reveal pale, toned forearms, dark blue-green veins standing proud as he gestures passionately with his strong hands. Those hands... "Consider for a moment cruelty in relationships," he says, scrawling on the board. "In particular, intimate ones." POWER DYNAMICS He taps his chalk beside the bold letters. "Here, the capacity to inflict pain could easily intersect with the capacity to give pleasure." His eyes cut to me, sending a thousand volts deep into my lower belly. Professor Rooke. I'm in his class. What day is it? How the fuck did I get here?

Last thing I remember is⁠- The flick of his wrist as he underlines the term sends another jolt through me. A flash of memory-that same wrist flicking to unzip his jeans. ...open your eyes... But I squeeze them closed. And that's when the memory hits me even harder. Bastian's taut stomach muscles. The trail of dark hair leading to his cock. The weight of him. The smell of his cologne mixed with something coppery. ...you fight like prey, but you take my cock like a slave... My lungs seize. The room tilts sideways.

"Attachment theory gives us a useful framework," Bastian continues, eyes moving away from me like I'm just another student. Just another young mind for him to corrupt, another warm body for him to defile. "Let's focus on its darker applications. How attachment styles may become weaponized in abusive relationships." He sweeps across the front of the room, coffee cup in hand, taking a casual sip before setting it down. As though nothing has changed. As though he didn't⁠- twist me open with his fingers and spit inside my⁠- No. No, no, fuck no.

I'm gripping the desk so hard my fingers are stinging, but it's that or puke. I'm not dreaming. This is real. I've blacked out again, like the day I found myself at Bastian's door, drenched, barefoot, with no memory of how I got there. "Anyone remember the three primary attachment styles we discussed on Tuesday?" he asks, scanning the classroom. Tuesday? I wasn't in class on Tuesday, and I have no idea what he's talking about, so that tracks. That makes today...Thursday? Hands go up around me. He points to a girl in the front row. "Secure, anxious, and avoidant?" she answers.

"That's it," Bastian nods, flashing her a smile that makes my stomach turn. "And what happens when someone with an anxious attachment style, someone who craves connection, validation, constant reassurance, encounters a partner who deliberately withholds those things?" Read full story at find(ɴ)ovel.net Silence. How can they not hear my drumming heart? Bastian claps his hands together once, the sharp sound making me flinch. "Come on. You should all know this." Another student raises their hand. "Don't they, like, want approval even more? Like, they'd do anything to get it." "Yes!

Which means..." He turns and scrawls a word on the board, tapping his chalk beside it. "They become the perfect victim." VICTIM The word glows, shivers, and shakes as I stare. Icy tingles start up in my fingers. My face goes cold. "Now here's where it gets interesting," Bastian says, sliding his thigh onto the edge of his desk, hand holding the chalk dangling over his knee. "The cruel partner understands this dynamic instinctively.

They create a cycle of intermittent reinforcement, alternating between affection and rejection, kindness and cruelty." He takes his phone out of his pocket, tosses it onto the desk beside him. The clatter makes my stomach tighten, my eyes blink, my head twitch. "A relationship as toxic as yours and that free pay-to-win game you swear you're going to delete...tomorrow." Scattered laughter ripples through the class, and the side of his mouth quirks as he scans his class with dark, glittering eyes. He's so handsome. So charismatic. So fucking normal.

This can't be the same man who⁠- ...you were meant to be eaten alive... "This power dynamic," Bastian continues, rocking forward, "creates what psychologists call traumatic bonding. The victim becomes emotionally dependent on the very person causing them harm." Beside me, Melissa snorts quietly. "That's us, Haven." It feels like an impossible task to tear my eyes from Bastian. When I finally manage it, she's sending a tiny frown my way. "Trauma bonding?" she says, her voice billowing in and out of hearing. "Remember?" What the fuck?

The panicked thought flutters through my mind like Bastian's butterfly, trapped inside a crystal ball that looks invisible from the inside. "You okay?" Melissa asks. No. Not now. Not ever. Please, God, help me. But Bastian starts talking again, and she turns away from me with a lingering frown. "The most insidious aspect," Bastian says, voice dropping to a near whisper that somehow carries through the silent classroom, "is that the body, especially if there's physical abuse, often betrays the mind." I'm drawn back to him too, but out of sheer morbid curiosity.

Watching Red Riding Hood's wolf parade around in class like no one can spot his fur or claws under Granny's nightgown. "I see you're itching to take out your phones and disassociate like Miss Lee's been doing the entire class," Bastian says, leaning against the blackboard. My eyes sting as they widen, unblinking. Did he just say my name? "Let me paint you a picture, Miss Lee," he says, gaze locked with mine. Dark. Intent. Unrelenting. Forget a trapped butterfly-he's got me fucking pinned to a cork board. Incapacitated, but alive...because it's more fun that way.

"You're at a party when you spot a cute guy. You're both drinking. Getting high. Having the time of your adolescent lives." Bastian tosses his chalk into the air and catches it without taking his eyes off me. "You kiss him, he kisses you, or vice versa. He gets handsy. You don't stop him. Things escalate." As desperately as I want to, I can't look away. He puts down his chalk and dusts his hands, sparing the rest of the class a brief glance as if to make sure they're still paying attention. Because he loves a fucking audience, Professor Rooke.

"You're too intoxicated to consent to anything, and he's too drunk to care. The tequila eradicated a large percentage of your brain cells, along with any and all inhibitions, and your poor hormone-flooded bodies can't get naked fast enough." There are a few chuckles, mostly from guys. Beside me, Melissa shifts in her seat. But my eyes are glued to Bastian, and he doesn't look away as he stalks closer to me. Every step he takes feels like another bucket of ice water being poured down my back. I feel lightheaded and bolted to the ground at the same time. Breath fast and shallow, heart racing.

He speaks as if he's whispering the words into my ear, like they're meant just for me and him. But loud enough for everyone can hear. Everyone. Because he doesn't fucking care. "Next morning, a few fragments come back to you. Perhaps even physical reminders. Not just of the violation...but the pleasure." I blink, and in the moment of darkness behind my eyelids I hear him grunt as he thrusts into me...and I hear myself moan. Not in pain...in ecstasy. But that's not what happened. I didn't enjoy it. I wanted him to stop. ...Right?

"Thing is," Bastian says, turning on his heel and pacing back the way he came, "physiological arousal can occur during any kind of contact, consenting or otherwise. Pleasurable...or otherwise. Just another spectacular way our bodies like to fuck with our minds." There's a sharp edge to his words, and when he turns back to the class, back to me, his brown eyes are deeply shadowed as he frowns. He circles the word VICTIM on the board. "Put yourself in their shoes for a moment," he says, circling the word over, and over, and over again. "Imagine the profound confusion. The shame.

The spiral of thoughts..." He tosses the chalk back into the ridge beneath the board. "If my body responded, then I wanted it. I was sending mixed signals, so of course they didn't stop. They're my friend. My parent. My pastor. They wouldn't do that to me, would they?" I feel Bastian's hands on my thighs, wrenching them open, the pressure of his fingertips digging into my soft flesh, slipping inside me⁠- ...you're lying with your mouth and begging with your cunt... The memory hits so hard, I can't breathe. My chest constricts, each breath shallower than the last.

Sweat beads on my forehead, the room spinning around me. Bitter saliva floods my mouth, and it feels like the ground opens up beneath me, that I'm seconds away from plummeting down into the depths of hell. "Stockholm Syndrome is perhaps the most widely recognized example of trauma bonding," Bastian is saying, his voice cutting in and out like a badly tuned radio. He's talking about me. About us. Here, in front of everyone. The fucking arrogance. The lecture hall door slams open. I rip my eyes away, staring at Kai as he stalks over the linoleum toward Bastian.

There's a stack of papers in his hand, but he holds it like an afterthought. He ignores Bastian, scanning the students with narrowed eyes, only stopping when he spots⁠- -me. The moment he sees me, his gaze locks on and doesn't look away until he's at his desk on the podium. Even then, it's only to glance toward Bastian as he holds out the stack of pages. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Jordan," I hear Bastian say. Kai answers without taking his eyes off me.

"You said you wanted these before end of⁠-" "Yes, thank you." Bastian waves a hand at the desk, and Kai stiffens before turning to sprawl in the chair. "Now, as I was saying⁠-" "Hey, are you okay?" I turn my head with effort, Melissa's concerned face swimming into focus. "Breathe," she mouths, demonstrating by taking an exaggerated breath. I try to copy her, dragging air into my lungs. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The darkness recedes. "You look like you're going to pass out," she whispers. "Do you need to leave?" I shake my head slightly, still trying to regulate my breathing.

"I'm fine," I mouth back, though I'm anything but. "-we see the same psychological mechanics in domestic abuse, cult indoctrination, even toxic workplaces," Bastian continues, out of sight as I let Melissa bring me back to reality. "The cruel figure becomes the center of the victim's universe. They even begin to speak the language of their abuser, to see themselves through the abuser's eyes. 'Damaged goods,' 'asking for it,' 'deserved it'. These phrases become internalized." ...you're damaged goods now, sweet girl. Broken, branded, mine...

He's not looking at me now, addressing the opposite side of the room. Without his eyes drilling into mine, it's easy to dismiss the sinister thoughts in my head. Am I imagining the knowing looks? The way he's speaking to me as if no one else is in the room? My breathing slows, the vise around my chest loosening. I uncurl my fingers from the edge of the desk, blood returning to my whitened knuckles with a prickle. "What happened?" Melissa asks. "I-" I clear my throat. "I'm okay. Just a little dizzy." "No, I mean Tuesday." My jaw clenches. She knows?

How can she⁠- "They were convinced you had alcohol poisoning," she hisses. "If I hadn't convinced campus security that you were fine, they'd have taken you to the hospital." I blink at her, struggling to process her words through the lingering panic attack that felt like it almost claimed my fucking life. "What?" "You don't remember? They found you out by the woods, wet, in the freezing cold." Fragments float back-rain on my face, the taste of liquor burning my throat, shouting at shadows. But everything after that is blank. "I just..." I trail off, not sure which fucking lie to tell.

When I glance away from her insistent stare, I catch sight of Kai. He's glaring at me, toying with a sucker in his mouth, his other hand tucked under his elbow. "Don't tell me you're fine again," she says. "You slept the whole day yesterday. Wouldn't speak to me this morning. Now you almost pass out in class?" Her eyes narrow, then widen, glimmering with concern. "When last did you eat?" She gives me a quick scan, laying a hand on my shoulder. "You are eating, right?" I twist my body away from her touch. "Jesus, Melissa, I said I'm fine." My gaze drifts over to Kai.

He's rocked back on his chair, glare gone and a sucker in his mouth, but there's nothing relaxed about him. He stares at Bastian with undisguised hatred-jaw clenched, shoulders rigid with tension. Guess he has every reason to hate Bastian as much as he hates me after what happened on Saturday morning. God, how did this all get so fucked? "-and to quote van der Kolk, 'the body keeps the score'." His eyes hunt mine out, no mistaking it. "The idea being that trauma lives in our physical being even when the conscious mind tries to deny it.

The body remembers pleasure even when the mind remembers pain." For a second, we lock eyes. Just long enough for a flicker of something to pass between us before he looks away. It feels like a silent question. What do you remember, Haven? "This contradiction creates cognitive dissonance. A psychological state the brain desperately attempts to resolve," he says, voice dropping low. "End result? Anxiety. Guilt. Shame. And at the furthest end of the spectrum...? Attachment.

The victim finds themselves longing for the very hand that hurts them." Bastian goes to fetch his coffee from the desk, taking a long, slow sip to let his words sink in. He turns to set the cup back down, catching Kai's eye. From my angle, I'm the only other person in the room who sees what Professor Rooke does next. He licks the rim of his coffee cup, and then languidly runs his tongue along his bottom lip...right where Kai bit him. It's an obscene, pornographic taunt directed straight at the green-eyed boy across the desk from Bastian.

Kai jerks his sucker out of his mouth, color leaving his face as his chair legs thump down with a loud thud. An unwelcome pulse of heat flickers between my legs, burrowing deep inside me as I witness their exchange. Shame engulfs me, burning hot on my face. I shift, pressing my thighs together, seeking relief even as I grind down into my chair. What in the goddamn trauma bonding is this? How the fuck can I be turned on by this? By him? Professor Rooke just gave me all the reasons I need, but logically, I'd have to be fucking crazy to be sitting here like nothing happened. Maybe I am.

What are the signs? Blackouts? Mood swings? Depression? Suicidal thoughts? Hallucinations? Risky behavior? Hi, sex with practically-strangers, drugs, and neon rave parties in the woods wearing nothing but a fucking trash bag. Remember me? It's Haven fucking Lee! "-bringing us back to our core question," Bastian says, walking back to the board to draw a circle around his triangle diagram. "What keeps someone trapped in a toxic relationship? Fear? A touch of psychological conditioning?

Or is there something more primal at work?" He paces slowly across the front of the room, every movement fluid and controlled. A predator in his natural habitat, surrounded by prey. "What if..." He stops talking, stops walking, staring silently at the words scrawled on the blackboard. Then he ambles back to the desk and perches on the corner with one leg, swinging it idly as he crosses his arms over his chest. "What if we're hardwired to form attachments even in the face of cruelty, because for our ancestors, being cast out meant certain death.

What if this so-called 'trauma bonding' is actually an evolutionary adaptation meant to keep us safe, like so many other trauma responses?" His eyes find mine again. Latch on. Bore deep. "What if some part of the victim not only responds to the abuser, but recognizes it," he says, voice carrying effortlessly. "Remember, we all know what cruelty looks like. We all know how to be cruel. What if we find comfort in that familiarity. Kinship..." He strokes the edge of his lower lip, then drags it through his teeth. "...Like recognizing like." To the casual observer, he's just musing to himself.

A brilliant intellectual, simply polishing the filigree eggs in his mind palace. To me, he's getting ready to spit inside my cunt again. "The monster in me calling to the monster in you." ...the dark in you craves the dark in me... His words warp and transform to those he whispered to me in Laramie's dressing room. Right before he told me to control myself. Me, control myself? Me? The motherfucking hypocrisy. But he's right. He's fucking right, and I hate him all the more for it. I can't control myself. I am broken. I am damaged goods. The dark in me doesn't just crave the dark in him.

I hunger for it like a starving beast. That's why I haven't stood up and denounced him in front of everyone yet. Why I spent the whole of yesterday-according to Melissa-asleep in bed, when I should have been down at the sheriff's office, laying a case of assault against my professor. I shudder, biting down so hard on my lower lip that pain radiates through my flesh. Bastian looks away, snapping the ghostly cord between us. I sit motionless as he reminds everyone of overdue assignments, required reading, and midterms coming up before dismissing them. I hear everything, but register nothing.

I'm too busy willing my clit to stop tingling. I should have escaped. Instead, I'm still planted like a fucking flag when my professor looks over at me and beckons with a flick of his hand. "Miss Lee? A moment, please." Around me, students gather their things, chattering as they file out of the lecture hall. Melissa gives me a curious look. "Want me to wait?" she asks quietly. "No," I blurt. She hesitates, then nods stiffly. "Alright. See you later, I guess." I steel myself as I stand, but my legs still quiver under me when I approach Bastian's desk.

My legs feel wooden, my movements mechanical. Jeans I don't remember putting on rub against my inner thighs, my tank top too tight, my cardigan scratchy. From the corner of my eye, I notice Kai shuffling the papers he brought into class with him like he's sorting them, but he's watching me under lowered lashes. Is he checking on me? "You've been awfully quiet," Bastian says when I reach his desk. "Too busy studying to reply to my messages?" The casual way he says it-like we're in some normal relationship where he has the right to expect responses from me-makes something snap inside.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hiss, keeping my voice low. Not because someone might hear-Kai's the only one left in the room-but because I don't feel like going on a fucking rampage right now, and yelling will set me off. When Bastian just tilts his head at me, my voice grows a little louder. "After what you did to me, you expect me to answer your texts?" His brow furrows. Someone else might even mistake it for genuine fucking confusion. "And what exactly did I do, Miss Lee?" My mouth works, but words fail me.

Because I'm still not sure what exactly happened on Tuesday...I just know it shouldn't have. I swallow hard, hands clenching at my sides. "You know what," I grit out through my teeth. One side of his mouth quirks up as he glances at Kai. "You mean our delightful menage this weekend?" My mouth thins, but I force out the words anyway. "After that." He laughs. He actually fucking laughs. "I'll admit, I wasn't expecting you to turn on us like that the next morning." He cuts his gaze to Kai again. "Right, Mr.

Jordan?" Kai blanches, and hastily returns to shuffling papers, his hair flopping in his eyes as he shakes his head, like he's silently opting out of the conversation. Bastian's eyes are glittering with mirth when he turns back to me, and God, I can't believe I have to fight down the butterflies swarming in my stomach. "Not that! I'm talking about-" My voice hitches. "Tuesday." "Tuesday," he repeats. "You mean when you failed to show up for class...again?" I swallow hard. "You know exactly why I didn't show." He frowns faintly. "I'm afraid I don't follow." The blood drains from my face.

"The fuck?" "Are you feeling alright, Miss Lee? You've gone quite pale." Bastian clasps his hands in his lap, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. "What happened to you at the Rain Dance was traumatizing. You could be experiencing symptoms of PTS⁠-" "Shut up, Bastian!" I storm close enough to jab my finger in his chest, because, as predicted, I've initiated rampage mode. "You fucking raped me!" "On Tuesday?" His pupils dilate, face going hard as he pushes away my arm with the back of his hand. "When I was in my office and classes most of the day?" The room spins around me.

I stagger back, gaping at him. Is he trying to gaslight me? Make me doubt my own memory? Unless... My memories are fragmented and vague. I was apparently black out drunk on Tuesday night. What if those disjointed memories are slivers of Friday night? I don't remember much of what happened between me and him and Kai. I mean, there was so much molly and booze in my system, I thought I hallucinated Kai for a while before I realized he was there in the flesh at Bastian's house. No. It did happen. I remember how it felt when Bastian put me down on the bed. His weight on me.

The pain...then the shameful pleasure. I remember how I struggled to move, struggled to speak. The terrible, awful, dirty things he said to me. The tampon. He took out my tampon and⁠- I lean forward, giving my head a violent shake. "Stop lying! You came into my room on Tuesday while I was drugged and⁠-" "Now I drugged you as well?" he scoffs. "What-" I cut off. "No, I mean...I was already⁠-" "Already what, Miss Lee? Come on, spit it out." Fuck! "You found me there, and you⁠-" He stands, grabs my arms, and gives me such a hard shake my teeth clack together.

The flash of anger on his face is gone in an instant, replaced with a curious calm, like he's wondering if the animal he just hit with his car will get up again. Kai is at my side a second later, hand latched over Bastian's wrist. "Let go of her," he grates out, not looking at either of us, eyes downcast like he doesn't trust himself to make eye contact. "You going to accuse me of something too?" Bastian gives Kai a condescending once-over, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "And after you were such a good boy for me..." Kai jerks his hands away like Bastian's skin is lava.

"You've had your fun with us. Now fuck off and leave us alone." Fun? That's what he wants to call Bastian raping me? Wait...us? What's he talking about? Amusement flickers across Bastian's face. "Do you share his sentiments?" he says, only his eyes moving as he glances over at me. I twist my shoulders out of his grip. "Stay the fuck away from me." I hesitate when Kai snaps his neck, flicking his hair out of his eyes, and add, "From us." Bastian chuckles, sliding his thumbs into his belt loops. "Fine.

On one condition." "Seriously?" I whisper-shout, right on top of Kai's annoyed, "Fuck you." Bastian exhales happily, a smirk plastered over his mouth as he studies Kai with hooded eyes. "A kiss will do. Unless you want to join me in my office..." "As if," Kai scoffs, wrapping his arms over his chest like armor. Professor Rooke tilts his head, his eyes dropping to Kai's mouth. "Kiss me right now and I'll never so much as look in your direction again." His eyes dart to me. "Either of you." He smirks at Kai.

"No biting, or it doesn't count." Kai rocks back on his heels, head down, shaking as he lets out an uneasy chuckle. "Jesus, you're a sick fuck." "Kai," I say, voice low. When he just keeps shaking his head, I tap his arm with the back of my hand. "Kai!" His head darts up. "What, Haven?" he snaps, jaw clenching as he presses his lips closed. I stare at him, wide-eyed, shaking my head. Can't he see what Bastian's doing? This is all just a game to him. Another fucked-up round of Cruel Consequences. Let this bad thing happen to you, or another bad thing will happen to someone else.

"Tick tock, boy," Bastian murmurs. "Next class will be arriving soon. I'm guessing here, but I'm pretty sure you don't want an audience⁠-?" I step between them. Try to, anyway. They're both so tall, they just keep staring daggers at each other over the top of my head. "One kiss and it's over?" I say, voice already thick with regret. Bastian glances down at me, but his eyes quickly return to Kai. "From him." I thump my fist into his chest. "We're not playing this game with you. Leave us alone, or I'm going to the cops." Bastian's eyes glide down to me, his smirk fading.

He ducks his head, like a grown-up reasoning with a kid. "And what will you tell them, sweet girl? That I raped you?" "You did," I whisper furiously. His eyebrows quirk up. "Prove it." I swallow hard. "I'm sure there's still...evidence." A phantom smile plays on his mouth as he slowly folds his fingers over my wrist, keeping my hand on his chest. "Evidence?" Behind me, Kai lets out an agonized sound. Asshole. "Inside," I say through clenched teeth. "Of course there is." His eyes flick up to Kai as he straightens.

"We fucked you full of cum on Friday night." "No, but⁠-" "Jesus Christ, do you ever shut up, Rooke?" Kai tries to shoulder me aside, but Bastian's still holding onto my wrist. I end up sandwiched between them as Kai grabs the back of Bastian's neck and hauls him in. I have a front-row seat to my professor's lurid smile, to Kai's loathing glare, and the vengeful, angry kiss Kai plants on Bastian's mouth. Every nerve ending in my body lights up, but their lips have barely touched before Kai jerks away. "There, you fucking psycho," he mutters angrily. "That's not a kiss, boy," Bastian scoffs.

"This is a kiss." Kai's body was already crushing me against Bastian's, and when my professor grabs a fistful of Kai's hair, I'm pinned even closer. Close enough for their heat to bombard me. Close enough to hear Bastian groaning into their kiss. To hear the angry sound Kai makes in return. To feel both their dicks grinding into me as they harden. What. The. Fu⁠-? The door opens behind us, noise from the hallway spilling into the empty lecture hall. Kai shoves Bastian away, growling at our professor as he grabs my shoulders and hauls me aside.

"Enough," he rumbles, pointing a shaking finger at Bastian. "Fucking enough." Bastian turns away, laughing like Kai just told the funniest joke he's ever heard. "I couldn't agree more," he says, loud enough that the girl in the pink jumpsuit entering the class can hear him. The moment Pink Jumpsuit spots Bastian, she detours straight to him. "Professor Rooke! Can I speak to you? Just need a minute, I promise." An annoyed grimace flashes over his mouth, but a smile replaces it so quickly, I might have imagined it. Pink Jumpsuit probably thinks the same.

"Fuck, Haven, come on." Kai's hand closes around my upper arm, pulling me into the hallway. I'm still too stunned to resist. I don't know what the hell happened back there, but one thing's for sure. This isn't over. Not by a long shot. When Bastian glances over at us and flashes me a cold, hard smile, it's obvious we walked right into his trap.