One - Revenge mission

"You came for revenge. Too bad you're about to get fucked instead," he says darkly against my lips, waves of heat blazing through my traitorous body at his deep, husky voice.

I stifle a moan as his hand smoothly glides down my stomach to cup my core. The sensation is intoxicating, but I hate it.

I hate him, I remind myself.

"Get away from me, you disgusting pervert," I sneer, wanting to shove him off me, but I struggle to do that.

Not because his physical hold on me is that firm and inescapable, but because my heart is already racing with excitement and anticipation at his touch.

His lips curl into a dangerous smirk, his surreal dark-green eyes gleaming with mischief as he rubs his fingers between the sensitive skin of my thighs.

Clutching onto him, I shudder unintentionally when he pushes my panties to one side and drags one of his thick digits past my damp folds. My heart hammers, and my hands, pressed to his chest, falter.

Gosh, this is embarrassing. How can I possibly be wet in this situation? I must be sick in the head.

"Pervert?" he questions tauntingly, his eyebrow arching with mockery as he locks eyes with me. "Don't you think that's a strong word now, given how well your pussy is coating my fingers with your juices? Might as well drop the holier-than-thou act and let me fuck you right here."

Then he pumps one digit into my warm channel, and my whole body wrecks with forbidden relief.

Fuck. An unintended moan escapes my lips as my eyes roll to the back of my head.

This wasn't the plan.

A FEW HOURS EARLIER.

"This is a bad idea, Whit. And by bad, I mean the worst of all bad ideas. Do you have any idea what he'll do to you — to us — if he finds out? He'll fucking end you!" My best friend, Ava, whines with dread as we stride through the darkness of the night.

As we make our way through the woods that lead to that motherfucker's house, I reply coldly, "And that's why he's never going to find out."

I pause to observe the area. Ava halts beside me.

We're close to our destination since we're already on the side of SIHL, aka Southern Imperial Hall of Learning — our rival college and the Spanish institution that harbors arrogant pricks like Carlos fucking Martinez as one of their top students in academics and sports.

Properly introducing him — he is the target of my bloodthirsty revenge mission.

I've waited a long, seething few days to enact my wicked plans for him tonight.

"This is an amateur plan," Ava's fear-filled voice pulls me from my thoughts. "I swear I don't know how I ended up with the likes of you. You're trying to get us killed for real. How the hell did you even convince me to embark on this insane revenge mission with you?"

I shoot her a glare, reminding her with irritation, "That assface is the reason Jayden is currently fighting for his life in the hospital." I cock my brows. "Or have you suddenly forgotten?"

Ava purses her lips, her expression twisting with skepticism and frustration. But she wouldn't dare say anything else that might provoke me now.

She knows the reason I'm doing this. And who I'm doing it for. She knows this mission isn't 'pointless'. It's relevant.

If not to her, it is to me. And I'll stop at nothing.

"Of course I haven't forgotten," Ava mutters, biting her bottom lip in defeat.

"Then how about you shut the hell up and let's finish what we came here for quietly? We need to return to the dorm ASAP before they notice we're gone," I say.

"Okay."

I refocus as we resume scurrying cautiously through the woods.

Gradually, the place that holds my target materializes in front of us.

It's a huge house that resembles a mansion — if it isn't one already. And it's apparently filled with sorry-ass losers — I mean teenagers — who have come to mingle with other sorry-asses.

Ava and I can hear the blasting music streaming from the massive hostel apartment. There's obviously an ongoing party. There always is. Because that's what the southerners are known for.

And according to what I've heard about him, he is the host behind every chaotic party at SIHL.

We Westerners — the Americans — can never be found in such pathetic gatherings. We take pride in being organized and focused solely on our studies. At least that's how I am. Not partying like maniacs with no bright future.

Lol, who am I kidding? Carlos Martinez may party 24/7, but I can't lump him in with the bunch of partying losers with no future. Because that guy sure has a future brighter than dazzling diamonds.

According to my informant, at just 22, he has achieved more sports awards than anyone in the school's history. He's known as the notorious hockey beast, aka the Rink King.

Top brands and even coaches from the NHL are desperately queuing to scout him.

Let's not forget he already comes from money. His father is a renowned lawyer with no worthy competitor, while his mother is the secretary advisor to the president of his country.

I think all that money has gotten to his head and sculpted him into this arrogant piece of shit. Made him believe he can trample on whoever he likes and get away with it.

He sure has been doing that for years, no doubt. But two weeks ago, he made the terrible mistake of touching one of my friends.

JAYDEN LOGAN. The only guy in my tiny friend circle, who is currently lying in the hospital as we speak. And you're damn right Carlos is the reason he's there.

I still don't know exactly what happened between the two of them, but I don't think whatever it was is a valid reason for Carlos to send my friend into a coma after breaking several of his bones.

Carlos will pay for his mistakes tonight. And I fucking mean it with everything in me.

No one touches my friends and gets away with it.

"We're here, Whitney. What next?" Ava asks quietly as we both hide behind a huge pine tree in front of the mansion to avoid security and CCTV cameras.

The music is louder now, and the dazzling lights flash across us occasionally. But we're barely noticeable out here.

My jaw clenches with the burning chip on my shoulder as I survey the area once more before my eyes stray to the entrance.

Two hefty bodyguards are positioned at the gate.

We obviously don't have invitation cards, so we'd have to break in. After all, what we came here to do is illegal anyway.

Ava's fear mixes with the night air as she whispers, "If anything goes wrong, I'm bolting ASAP. I mean it, Whitney. My mom — and your mom, of course — would kill me if she found out I'm trying to jeopardize my future for this."

I huff, rolling my eyes without sparing her a glance. "Nothing will go wrong," I assure her. "Just trust me and follow my lead."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm just warning you that I'll abandon this mission if things go south."

It's ironic we're about to deal with a Southerner. Shouldn't we expect things to go south a little? Kidding.

Once I'm done surveying the area and spotting the tiny crack in the fence at the far end — the one my spy agent told me about — I beckon Ava to follow me.

She reluctantly does, clutching the backpack that contains all our tools for this mission.

I'm talking quality grease, two utility knives meant for slashing his car tires, pepper spray, plenty of tiny pebbles for traction sabotage. And more.

My plans for Carlos are wicked. If everything works out exactly how I intend, he should be in the hospital first thing tomorrow with a concussion and some broken bones from the ultimate fall.

Once we reach our designated entry spot, I tug my ski mask over my head, concealing my face. Ava does the same.

No dazzling light reaches this area, so it's dimly lit. But I won't risk using a torch. We'll have to make do with the poor illumination.

"I can't fucking see," Ava complains, as she always does.

"You sure can manage," I retort as I quietly crawl through the crack. "After me."

I make it inside successfully and wait for Ava to join me. She does shortly after, annoyance written all over her.

"Whitney, I swear—"

"Enough with the swearing. Let's just get this done and leave. We're already here."

She scowls and I ignore her.

Without further delay, I glance around and swiftly spot Carlos's garage.

Perfect. I think it's best I start with his cars.

I know for a fact that slashing the tires of his cherished Chevrolet Corvette will make him go ballistic. And that's exactly what I plan on doing.

"The knife, Ava," I whisper as we sneak cautiously toward the garage, hiding from nonexistent watching eyes.

We’re careful not to make any sound, as this area is surprisingly quiet.

Ava pauses and reaches into the backpack, pulling out the two knives. She hands one to me before we proceed.

We arrive at the garage in no time. The space is dimly lit, but we can manage.

I glance around once more, searching for cameras my spy agent might have forgotten to mention.

When I find none, I sigh in relief.

I could get thrown in jail for what I'm about to do, but the thing is — I’m not getting caught.

Not tonight.

I redirect my attention and head toward where the Chevrolet Corvette sits pretty beside Carlos's other sports car — a McLaren. This guy is literally rich rich, owning these beautiful babies. Too bad I'm about to do some damage to them.

With refined resentment simmering in my chest, I circle the car to the back, glaring at it hard.

"Whit, what are you doing? Hurry up!" I don't realize I've been stalling until Ava calls me out.

I snap out of my reverie and nod. "Keep watch," I say before lowering myself to the trunk level.

About time.

I lift the knife with the intent to stab the tire, but just as I'm about to strike, I freeze abruptly when the piercing screams of two girls slice through the air.

Actually, three. Because I recognize the third squeal to be Ava's.

My heart leaps.

Before I can turn around to see what's happening, I only catch a glimpse of her back disappearing as she bolts in the direction we came from. Without any warning.

Confusion spreads across my face. But then it dawns on me when a sudden, unfamiliar warmth wraps around me, and I hear other heels scurrying away.

Silence follows.

The intoxicating scent of cedar fills my lungs first, and I gulp nervously.

Because I know someone is standing behind me.

And I think I already know who it is.

My eyes widen in alarm, darting wildly as the person behind me steps closer.

Fuck.

An aggressive, agonizing grip seizes my hair, wrenching me to my feet before I'm shoved against the trunk of the car.

Pain radiates across my back. But I stifle a groan.

He cages me in with his imposing frame, and my heart does a violent backflip when my gaze crashes into those familiar dark-green eyes.

The eyes of my target.

His grip tightens around my wrist, and I grimace as the knife slips from my grasp and clatters to the ground. I try to avoid eye contact.

But it’s impossible when he roughly seizes my chin, forcing me to look directly at him.

My expression wavers, my eyes softening despite myself. Even in the poor lighting, I can see him clearly due to our proximity.

His brows furrow as he studies me with confusion, and for a fleeting second, I find myself enthralled by his sharp, devastatingly handsome features.

He’s not just a six-foot-four muscled monster with perfect posture. No — he’s beautiful. Messy dark hair, straight nose, piercing eyes, full lips.

His beauty is lethal though. The kind that comes with untamed arrogance and ego.

If I didn't know better, I'd agree with them that Carlos Martinez deserves all the hype for being the most handsome guy across both our campuses.

But I do know better.

Because behind that beauty lies a heartless psychopath and a fucking bully.

I couldn’t care less about his looks.

He’s an asshole!

"Well, well," he drawls in a deep, low voice, a chilling smirk curling those full lips. "Aren’t you a sneaky little bitch?"

I swallow — barely — as we hold each other's gaze.

Then he adds after a beat, "Take off your mask, motherfucker. Now. Or I’ll do it for you."

His tone is cold and commanding, making the threat even more dangerous.

I wouldn’t dare defy him at this point. He’d rip it off himself anyway.

There’s no point resisting.

And it's not like I can escape him. Not with the way he has me pinned against the car with his large frame and unwavering stare.

And fucking Ava has bailed on me.

Right now, I know I’m doomed. There’s no short or smooth way out of this.

Not unless a miracle happens. Not unless he decides to let me go.

But the chances of that happening tonight are mathematically opposite to zero.