Chapter 16: Red Thorns: Chapter 15

Coming to The Grill used to be normal. In here, I’m the center of attention and I also enjoy the mindlessness of it.

The feelings that reach me from everyone around me are a much-needed distraction from my ominous ones.

Coming from my background and being my grandparents’ favorite charity case has forced me to turn off my ability to feel. Or rather, to stop relating to others and only watch them from a clinical view.

When I’m with my group of friends, I can decompress by observing them and letting their emotions wash over me.

Like Owen, for instance. He’s loud, crude, and only thinks about getting his dick wet and being drafted into the NFL.

He’s currently telling the girls his famous story of when he killed a bear with his dad.

And while I’d usually relisten to his ego-retelling and even encourage him to go on, I’m in no mood for anything.

Correction. I’m in the mood for kidnapping Naomi and chasing her.

Or fucking her against the hood of her car—or mine.

But that’s not even the worst of it. If it were up to me, I’d do just that…and more. I’ve been holding on to my fatal thoughts so she won’t run the next time she sees me.

There’s so much more I’ve been plotting for her and those pouty lips that I need around my dick at least once a day.

But I’ve been playing it safe the past week, taking her to lunch or going to that rock in the forest just to talk.

I do kiss her sometimes and I went down on her again on the top of that rock, then fucked her mouth, but I didn’t go any further.

Because one, she instantly pulls away the second I’m about to release my beast. It’s like she senses when she’s in danger and her survival instinct kicks into gear.

Which brings me to the second reason I’ve held back. She needs to feel safe first.

She needs to be able to let go on her own without any force on my part. Because while I’m certain we’re compatible, while I’m almost sure she craves the depravity I hide, I want more proof.

Anything will do. A gesture, a word—or even a silent agreement would be enough. Without any of those, it’s no different from grooming her and confiscating her will, and I have no interest in a shell.

I need her fight, her kicks and claws. I need her steel-like will to bend for me only because she wants it too.

But most of all, I want her genuine screams.

Her fear.

Her everything.

And in order for her to give me that, she needs to willingly open up.

Judging from how she talks about school and home, I say we’re getting close to that phase.

How close, is the question now.

I used to take pride in my patient nature, but that characteristic is nonexistent when it comes to Naomi.

Devouring her lips and eating her sweet cunt for dinner aren’t enough anymore. And neither is how submissive she gets when she’s on her knees, letting me fuck her face.

I need more.

To own her whole.

To taste all of her.

I take a sip of my beer and relax against the booth. Maybe if I start telling a horror story, Owen will stop with his one-man show.

Or I can stop pretending that I like it here and just go to her.

That would sound like the best idea if I hadn’t planned to make her miss me today. It’s the weekend, so I haven’t seen her since I dropped her off at her house after the game and kissed her senseless on the porch.

During the whole game, I was barely able to concentrate with her in my view. I couldn’t stop staring at her tiny clothes and imagining her naked—or running.

In that moment, I fantasized about giving the game the middle finger, kidnapping her from the sidelines and getting the fuck out of there.

The thought itself was alarming, but no more than how much I’ve yearned to see her face every day. Or how I’ve looked forward to simple platonic meals with her where I’ve listened to her nerdy side talk about manga and anime and serial killers.

She loves the latter more than I’d like. And no, I’m not jealous of damn serial killers.

So after last night, I decided that she might be starting to take me for granted. Since I first got her in my sights, she’s been reluctant about everything, acting as if she doesn’t want me or what I’m offering, even while her cunt tightened around my fingers and tongue.

That’s why I created the distance.

I didn’t call or sext, as usual.

It’s time she gets in contact first.

I scroll through my phone and find messages from Grandma telling me good morning and reminding me of her party schedule. Then there’s a text from Nate and some others from random people on campus.

Nothing from Naomi, though.

It’s been a whole day and there’s still no news.

My lips twist. Is she really going to ignore me? Fuck her stubbornness.

“Do I smell defeat in the air?”

My gaze slides to my right where Reina has made a seat for herself. Placing one leg over the other, she watches me with what seems like nonchalance but actually hides her cunning nature.

She’s a shark who’s sniffing for blood. The moment she smells it, nothing will stop her from attacking.

While she thinks she’s gotten a read on me, that’s not entirely true. I’ve never shown what lurks inside until that night in the forest. And only with Naomi.

Everyone else’s attention is on Owen, who’s still obliviously talking about how he killed that bear.

I grin, casually sliding my phone into my Black Devils jacket. “Defeat isn’t a word I believe in.”

“It still exists.” She tilts her chin in the direction of where I hid my phone. “She’s a hard nut to crack, isn’t she?”

“Not really.”

“Then did you sleep with her?”

The fucking bet again. No idea why she’s so insistent on something childish when I haven’t even thought about the thing. It doesn’t matter anymore. It probably never did.

“I take that as a no?” she asks. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Ever heard of the edging concept, Rei? The prey tastes better after it’s been chased and brought to its knees.”

“And you think that’s possible with Naomi?”

“If anyone can make it happen, it’s me.”

Reina raises a perfect brow, as if challenging me, but she doesn’t press the issue.

“Make what happen?” Owen drops down on my left after he finishes his show.

Reina traces her red nails over the edge of her glass but doesn’t drink. “Naomi.”

“Dude!” My friend jabs his shoulder against mine. “You still didn’t tap that Asian chick?”

Hot burning fire courses through my veins, threatening to douse the entire table, but nothing shows on the outside. Thank fuck, aka my upbringing, for that.

If I defend her or show any interest in her in front of them, it’ll backfire. Reina will smell the blood she started this whole bet for and the rest of them will turn malicious.

They need to think this is merely a bet.

“She’s such a bitch, I swear.” Brianna stabs her fork in her salad. “I can’t wait to see her fall to pieces.”

“Bree,” Prescott says in a semi-warning tone. “She’s still a part of the squad.”

“Not for long.” She flips her bleached hair over her shoulder. “You think she’ll quit after Sebastian destroys her?”

“She won’t.” Reina sighs.

“But isn’t that the whole point, Rei?”

The cheer squad’s captain stares at me. “Who knows?”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Come on, guys,” Owen says. “She’s pretty.”

Brianna rolls her eyes. “You think anyone in a skirt is pretty.”

“Not you.”

“Is that why you keep begging me for a BJ?”

“There was begging, but not from me.” He waves her off. “And you trying to divert the subject back to you is called narcissism, Bree. Don’t be jealous because I said Naomi is pretty.”

My teammate Josh licks his lips. “She reminds me of those Japanese porn actresses. Do you think she makes those erotic-as-fuck noises like them?”

In my mind, I’m jumping across the table, grabbing him by the neck, then bashing his head against the floor. Once, twice, until blood oozes from a crack in his forehead. Then I go on until he loses some of his teeth and starts wailing like a fucking bitch.

In reality, I remain still. I don’t even reach for my drink. Any change in my body language will betray my thoughts. I’ve learned not only to conceal my emotions but also to never allow anyone to read them.

Thinking about inflicting violence, imagining the whole scene and its repercussions, is what helps me to cope.

Not now, though.

Josh’s words still ring in my head. The fact that he’s picturing Naomi in a porn scenario and fucking stereotyping about it burns hot in my veins. I need payback before I’ll be able to get over it.

Most of those present at the table laugh as he goes on and on about Japanese porn and how he’s an expert. If I change the subject, it’ll be obvious, but there’s no way in fuck I’ll keep quiet for any longer.

The scenario where his head is bashed open on the ground is rushing faster to the surface, demanding to become a reality.

“Those sounds are fake,” Prescott says.

“How do you know?” Josh points his beer at him. “Did you tap a Japanese girl’s exotic ass?”

“No, but I know you’re being a racist bigot right now, not to mention an asshole.”

“Ohh, is the pretty boy feeling triggered?” our teammate taunts.

“Shut the fuck up, Josh. You’re making a joke out of yourself.” I stand and leave without another word.

If I’d stayed for one more second, I would’ve made my fantasy come true, but murder isn’t on the list of things I want my grandpa to get me out of.

I’d owe him for life—more than I already do.

Once I’m in front of my car, I take a moment to suck in a sharp breath.

I shouldn’t be alone, not after I didn’t act on another violent fantasy.

Maybe I should go bug Nate and sleep on his couch. He’s the only person who understands my need to purge and doesn’t judge me for it.

He’s the one I go to when memories of that night become too much.

He knows. He listens.

One problem. Nate isn’t the one I want to see right now.

I retrieve my phone in a last-ditch attempt and pause when I see a text from Naomi.

The pressure that’s been constricting my chest all night long slowly lifts.

She texted first.

It’s a picture. A sketch, to be more precise.

I’ve been taunting her to show me her sketchpad, but she always hid it. Of course, I saw it once when she went to the restroom. I was surprised by the images. She’s a hidden gem, who has a natural talent at drawing.

Sure, her technique needs work, but the gift is definitely there.

Stealing peeks at her sketches behind her back is different from how she’s willingly showing me one now.

The sketch is of a man wearing a dark hoodie and standing in the middle of a room—traditional Japanese, judging from the background texture. His face is shadowed and a bloodied knife dangles from his hand.

Naomi: Laugh at it and I will kill you.

I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips. Her tough love persona is so fucking alluring, I want to sink my teeth into her flesh and taste it up close and personal.

All these thoughts of violence that erupt at the thought of touching her are probably wrong, but I couldn’t fight them even if I wanted to.

Whenever she invades my mind—uninvited—all I can imagine is throwing her to the ground, grabbing her by throat, and taking her roughly and without any boundaries.

Those scenarios have been reoccurring to the point that my conscious bled into my subconscious and I started having the wildest dreams about them.

To me, sex has always been associated with violence, but with Naomi, they’re one and the same.

Sex is another word for violence.

Darkness is another word for freedom.

Leaning against my car, I type.

Sebastian: Tsundere.

Her text is immediate.

Naomi: Really? That’s your only reply?

Sebastian: What do you want me to say?

Naomi: I don’t know. Your opinion, maybe?

I can almost imagine the blush creeping up her delicate throat and to her cheeks.

And because I love keeping her on the edge, I wait for a full minute, watching the dots appearing and disappearing as if she’s writing and erasing what I assume are curses.

Finally, she sends a text.

Naomi: You’re a fucking asshole.

Sebastian: Because I’m keeping my opinion to myself?

Naomi: Because you always ask me to show you and when I do, you have nothing to say about it, you Machiavellian assholish jerk with the star image megalomania and rich boy issues.

I laugh out loud, rereading her choice words for me. Only Naomi would make me laugh by calling me names.

Sebastian: Nice to know what you think of me. You seem to have a lot on your chest, so let it all out.

Naomi: I also think you have narcissistic issues that your grandparents should find a shrink for. But hey, maybe it runs in the family and you inherited the right genes to be the next annoying politician.

Sebastian: Next annoying politician, huh? Not a bad idea since we get the best pussy.

Naomi: Have fucking fun. Peace.

Naomi: Actually, no peace for you.

Sebastian: You don’t want to hear my opinion about the sketch?

Naomi: You can take that and shove it up your ass.

Sebastian: How about I shove it up YOUR ass?

Naomi: Maybe when you’re the last dick available.

Sebastian: Last dick available to YOU? I can make that happen. And you won’t only take me up the ass and cunt, but anywhere I want.

Naomi sees the message, but doesn’t reply. That’s what she does when she’s speechless or embarrassed. She just retreats into her silent cocoon, which usually means she’s aroused in one way or another.

All the talk about her ass and fucking has turned me painfully hard. My dick thickens against my jeans and I grunt as I readjust it.

If I don’t do something about it, I’ll spend the entire night in pure fucking torture.

I waited for the change, for her to reach out, and it happened. Maybe it’s time to take this whole thing to the next level.

Though Naomi might not like the change of events.