Page 2 of Thorned Vengeance
It’s now or never.
I close the distance between us, and the tears running down Tamara’s face make my dick twitch.
“I can stay and help you clean up,” I say, my voice calmer than the nerves swimming inside of me.
She lifts her head and narrows her eyes. “And you are?”
I stiffen at the question but mask my anger. I’ve only been this chick’s classmate since kindergarten. How the hell does she not know who I am?
Her eyes widen, and she scrambles to her feet. “Wait a sec… You’re that kid who the football team used to pick on our junior year.”
One and the same.
“My name is?—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she bites out. “If you can help me clean, that’s all I care about.”
I bite my tongue so hard that blood pools in my mouth. After swallowing it down, I force a smile. “I can help.”
Tamara rushes to the kitchen and returns with several trash bags in her hand. “Here,” she says, shoving them into my chest. “You start down here, and I’ll take upstairs.”
With that, she races up the steps while I start picking up empty plastic cups and beer cans. We’re alone in the house, and I want nothing more than to go upstairs and fuck her but helping her first seems like the right thing to do.
An hour passes, and I’ve managed to fill up three trash bags although that barely makes a dent in the mess my fellow graduates made. Knowing that time is running short, I retrace my steps to the staircase and make my way to the second floor.
“Tamara,” I call out when I reach the last step.
Annoyance washes over me at the trash still scattered on the floor. I’ve been downstairs busting my ass, and she’s been… what?
I don’t get a response, so I start poking my head in each room, and when I spot her sleeping in a bedroom decorated in the ugliest pale pink, my anger flares. Stomping toward her, I take a deep breath to calm down, but it does no good.
“Tamara,” I snap as I shake her by the shoulder. “Wake the hell up!”
She mutters in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. As I stare at her, I let my gaze travel from her peaceful face to the way her tits flow over the top hem of her low-cut, skin-tight shirt. Then my eyes drift to her short denim skirt, and my dick hardens at how the material has inched up her thighs to expose the black lace of her thong resting on her hip.
“Tamara,” I say, a little more softly as I shake her shoulder again.
When she still doesn’t stir, an idea pops into my head.
I know how to wake her up.
I quickly, but quietly, tear off my clothes and drop them to the floor. Resting one knee on the mattress, I throw the other leg over Tamara so I’m straddling her, and then I drag my finger up the inside of her leg.
She’s so soft.
“Mmm,” she murmurs. “Kyle, you came back.”
Rage burns through my veins, and I reach out to wrap my hand around her throat. Leaning forward, I snarl in her ear. “Wake up, bitch.”
Her eyes fly open, and terror shines in the blue depths. Tamara grabs my wrist, struggling to break free of my hold, but I’m stronger than she realizes.
“This could’ve been so special,” I say matter-of-factly. “Why’d you have to ruin it with his name?”
She violently shakes her head, and I squeeze harder, cutting off more oxygen. As she kicks and claws at any part of my body she can reach, I smirk.
“At least I’ll be the last face you’ll ever see.”
It takes longer for the life to drain from her body than I thought it would, and when she finally exhales for the last time, I drop back on my haunches and sigh.