LOGINRIVER
For one glorious second, I just stare at her. Did she seriously— My jaw tightens. She did. The girl has been standing there mouthing off to me for the last five minutes, and now she’s decided insulting my breath is the line. The corner of my mouth twitches before I can stop it. I lean a fraction closer. Close enough that I catch everything I shouldn’t. Fuck. She’s beautiful. Annoyingly, unfairly beautiful. Up close it’s worse. Those sharp eyes. The full mouth that’s been throwing attitude nonstop. The way her lips part just slightly before she delivers another hit. Soft. Pink. The kind of mouth that would look better wrapped around my cock than around more sarcasm. And she smells fucking delicious—warm and sweet under the hallway air. The kind of scent that short-circuits my brain every time I inhale. If Lisa wasn’t involved, I’d already have her pinned against this locker for a completely different reason. My cock is heavy and interested, pressing hard against my jeans. That fact alone should piss me off. A girl talking back this hard is supposed to make me want to shut her down. Instead it’s making me harder. The more she pushes, the more I want to push back in ways that have nothing to do with threats. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” I tell her, voice low. Her brows lift. “Is that supposed to scare me?” “No.” I force myself to hold her gaze. Fail for half a second and drop it to her mouth anyway. Those lips curve into that infuriating little smile and all I can think about is how easy it would be to wipe it off—with my mouth, my teeth, my cock. “It’s supposed to tell you that most people would’ve learned to shut up by now.” She gives me the smile again. “Well, I’m not most people.” No. She fucking isn’t. She leans her head back against the locker, still staring straight at me. “Back up. You’re blocking my locker, taking up oxygen, and somehow managing to make both look like a personality.” My jaw clenches. She’s unbelievable. Most people would’ve backed down five minutes ago. Most people wouldn’t have made it past the first warning. She looks at me like I’m an inconvenience, and every second she keeps talking my eyes drift back to that mouth. “Honestly,” she adds, looking me dead in the eye, “for a campus king, your hospitality is a little disappointing.” A low sound leaves my throat. My eyes drop to her lips again—longer this time. Anger. Hunger. Something darker I don’t want to name. A visible shiver runs through her. Good. “Hospitality?” I repeat, voice rough. “You mean why I haven’t shoved my cock down your throat or fucked you against this locker yet? That kind of hospitality?” Her eyes flash. “I wouldn’t touch you or your cock if you were the last guy on campus. And I sure as hell wouldn’t let you fuck me.” I hold her stare. The corner of my mouth curls. “Feeling’s mutual. I don’t want to fuck you either.” I lean in another fraction, eyes on her mouth. “But I *will* fuck with you.” She doesn’t flinch. Just gives me that same sharp smile. “Cute threat. But if ‘fucking with me’ is the best you’ve got, you might want to workshop it. I’ve dealt with worse than a campus king with a bruised ego and a hard-on he can’t control. Now move. Some of us have class you fucking moron.” “Watch it,” I say quietly. “Or what?” The bell screams. She’s late. I catch the end of a blonde curl between my fingers and tug just enough to make her notice. My gaze stays on her lips the entire time. “You don’t want to find out, new girl. But I can promise it’ll be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.” I hold her there another second, staring at that mouth, then drop my hands and step back just enough to give her air. My jaw is tight. My cock still hasn’t gotten the message. She glances at Jax, then Knox, then back at me. “You can keep standing there looking scary. You can keep your friends flanking me like this is some kind of power move. None of it’s going to change the fact that I’m not apologizing for telling Lisa and her pack to back off. And I’m not asking permission every time I open my mouth.” The hallway has gone quiet. Everyone’s watching. My eyes keep dropping to her lips anyway. I lean in again. Close enough to catch her scent. Close enough that another inch and I’d taste that smart mouth myself. “You’re going to learn real quick that this campus doesn’t work the way you think it does.” “And you’re going to learn real quick that I don’t care how this campus works,” she fires back. “I care about people leaving me alone when I tell them to. Lisa didn’t. Now you’re here. Same result. Leave me alone.” Silence stretches. My eyes are on her mouth again. Fuck. Without the Lisa situation, this would’ve already ended with her legs around my waist. “You have no idea who you’re talking to,” I say, quieter. “I have a pretty good idea. You’re the guy everyone else is afraid of. The one who walks down the hall and expects the crowd to part. The one who gets texts the second someone doesn’t treat his people like royalty. Congratulations. You’ve got the whole school trained. I’m just not part of the program.” Jax shifts beside me. "This bitch isn't gonna fold, man." "No," Knox says, almost thoughtful. "She's not." I don't look at them. My eyes stay on her — specifically on the mouth that keeps saying things that should make me want to ruin her in every non-sexual way possible. Instead I'm just... aware of her. All of her. More than I want to be. "Last chance. Apologize for what you said to Lisa. Mean it. And stay out of her way."* *She smiles. Small. Sharp. "And if I don't?" The air between us pulls tight. I force my gaze back up where it belongs. *l"I'll make sure your time here is a lot less comfortable than it needs to be." She lets out a short breath that might almost be a laugh. "There it is. The threat. Took you long enough. Most guys lead with that — you at least tried the cold stare and the looming first. Points for variety." She straightens, still giving me nothing. "Here's my counter-offer. Take your two friends, step back, and go find someone who actually wants to play this game. I don't. I'm not interested in your hierarchy, your rules, or your protection detail for Lisa. She came at me. I handled it. If that's a problem for you, it's still not my problem." Jax is openly grinning now. Knox has stopped looking amused and started looking interested — which is worse. *Something in my chest sharpens, tightens, refuses to let go. "You're going to regret talking to me like this." "Maybe. But not today. And not because you said so." She holds my stare another second, then looks past me toward the hall. "Class is about to start. You three planning to stand here all period, or can I get to the lecture hall without an escort?" I keep looking at her — the set of her mouth, the way she refuses to drop her eyes, the blonde curl I tugged twenty minutes ago. Fuck. Without Lisa in the picture, I'd already know exactly how far I could push this. How fast she'd fold, and whether she would at all. Finally I step back. Half a step. Jax and Knox follow. The wall around her loosens. "This isn't over," I tell her. "I'm sure you'll text me about it. Or have Lisa do it. She seems good at that." I stare at her one last time — eyes, mouth, eyes again — then turn. Jax and Knox fall in beside me. The hallway starts breathing again as we move. I don't look back. I still don't know her name. But I already know I'm not done with her. ---**EMERSON**The second I get into my bedroom, I slam the door behind me and lock it.Then I stand there.Just stare at the door.Once.Twice.I check the lock again because apparently my brain has decided one confirmation isn’t enough after spending the morning with River fucking Knight wandering around my house like he pays the mortgage.“Who the hell does he think he is?”The question comes out breathless and furious.I yank the wet sweatshirt over my head, peel it off with far more aggression than necessary, and toss it onto the floor. I grab a towel and start drying my hair. Hard. Much harder than my hair actually requires.“Demanding breakfast.”I scrub the towel over my head.“Inviting himself into my kitchen.”Another vicious rub.“Searching through my cupboards.”I drag the towel down my face.“And then acting like I’m somehow supposed to accommodate him.”I stare at myself in the mirror.“What am I, his fucking personal assistant?”I throw the towel over my shoulder.“His mai
EMERSONI shove two slices into the toaster with more force than necessary, then stand at the counter with my back to him, refusing to look at River Knight.Looking at him, in my kitchen before caffeine should probably be classified as a form of psychological torture.My sweatshirt is still damp. My arms ache. My patience died somewhere around the moment he decided my house was an acceptable place to spend his morning.Behind me, a cupboard opens.Then another.“Do you mind?” I ask without turning.“No.”Another cabinet door.“Where do you keep your beer?”I spin around.“You're looking for beer?”He glances inside another cupboard. “Yes.”“It’s seven in the morning.”“And?”“You haven’t even had breakfast and you want beer?”He glances over his shoulder, completely unbothered.“I’ve had a long fucking night. Some of us didn’t get much sleep because apparently you enjoy turning expensive cars into modern art.”I stare at him.“You blackmailed me, made me scrub your car at five in the
**EMERSON**The ache in my arms makes me fumble with the keys, but I finally find the one that fits the deadbolt above the doorknob.Since the incident back at my old college, Dad’s been extra cautious—new locks, constant reminders, the whole overprotective routine. The deadbolt being locked means he must have gone out. Good. The last thing I need is him seeing me soaked, exhausted, and climbing out of River Knight’s car two houses down.I push inside, already halfway through shutting the door behind me—Footsteps.I only catch him out of the corner of my eye before I try to shove the door closed. Not fast enough.“Wait up, Wildcat.”“What the fuck—” I plant my shoulder against the wood. “Do you have a hobby other than following me, or is this just your full-time personality now? What do you want?”He wedges his body between the door and the frame like the lock was a suggestion. With a low grunt, he shoves hard enough that I stumble backward and nearly fall on my ass when the backs
**RIVER**I pull out of the estate with her in the passenger seat and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment.Arms crossed. Soaked sweatshirt still clinging. Jaw locked like silence might kill her if she lets it slip.It lasts exactly forty seconds.“You realize I’m dripping wet all over these expensive leather seats,” she says, not looking at me. “So don’t blame me when your interior smells like a damp basement and regret.”I glance sideways, mouth already curving.“Relax. Wouldn’t be the first time a girl left my seats wet.” I let the pause stretch. “Difference is, usually she’s the one screaming for me to make her come.”Her face twists. “Eww. Please tell me you clean up afterward. If I’m sitting in the residual evidence of your conquests, I’m getting out at the next light and burning these clothes.”A real laugh breaks out of me—loud, short, unexpected.“Calm down, Wildcat. The seats get cleaned. I’m rich, not feral.” I tip my head, still grinning. “Usually.”T
**RIVER**When she tries to break away again, I catch her arm and pull her in close.“Ow—it hurts!”I’m already pushing her sleeve up before she can stop me—And then I see them.Marks.Weeks old, maybe more—no clean purple left, just the dirty yellow-brown mottling bruises leave when they’re almost gone, mixed with the thin, silvery lines of skin that’s been broken and is still finishing the job of closing. A rough patch along the outer forearm where something scraped hard enough to leave a lasting shadow. A deeper stain near the wrist that looks like it took the worst of an impact. The kind of damage that should’ve healed quieter than this, and still flinches when gripped wrong.The sight of them on her arm turns my stomach.Suddenly I’m hot inside. Boiling. Ready to tear somebody’s fucking head off.“What the hell is this?”“Let go. It hurts.”I loosen my grip but don’t release her fully. “Who did it?”“Nobody. I fell.”“These don’t look like a clean fall.”She yanks free the seco
**EMERSON**Two hours.That’s how long it takes before my arms finally stop pretending they’re capable of functioning.The Porsche is almost clean. Almost. A faint shadow of red still ghosts the edge of the hood if you look at it from the wrong angle, and there’s a stubborn smudge near the wheel well that laughs at every pass of the sponge. The rest of it—the X, the signature, the line across the black finish that felt so satisfying in the dark—is gone. Reduced to wet concrete, solvent smell, and a deep ache spreading through my shoulders.I drop the sponge into the bucket and straighten too quickly.Bad idea.My back protests immediately.“Fuck.”My wrists burn. My fingers ache. My entire body feels like it has aged approximately forty years since sunrise. And my sweatshirt is soaked. Completely fucking soaked. The fabric has gone cold against my skin, clinging stubbornly to my stomach and chest. I’ve spent the last hour pretending not to notice.River, unfortunately, has made pret







