HATE CRUSH Page 10

  “Is everything all set up?” I take a seat on the park bench beside him.

  “Yeah.” He pulls out his phone. “Let me show you how it works.”

  With a few taps of his finger, he pulls up the app he created just for the occasion. It’s password protected and requires an invitation to join. An invitation Patrick assured me will only go out to a select number of clients from the escort database he hacked into. Technically, what we are doing is illegal in Connecticut, and although I’m sweating bullets, Patrick assures me his system is foolproof.

  “The money will be untraceable by the time it gets to the school. I linked it to a fundraising campaign for your education along with a few small details about you and your goals. Payment will be made directly through that site to Loyola, and the buyer will remain anonymous. As far as the federal government is concerned, you received a bunch of random donations, and that’s that.”

  “How can you be sure?” I ask. “If the LA Underground app got removed, isn’t this a risk too?”

  Patrick gives me a funny look. “The LA Underground app got taken down because Mr. Carter threatened to expel me if I didn’t remove it. I thought you knew.”

  I suck in a breath and shake my head. “I didn’t know that.”

  “I removed the photos Ethan posted as soon as I realized what was happening, but it was already too late. Mr. Carter was on the warpath.”

  Again, this is something I didn’t know. It gives me hope that he will find a way to help me before I go through with this, but at this point, it’s anyone’s guess.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Carter tore into you,” I offer. “I didn’t realize. But I appreciate you helping me out regardless.”

  “No biggie.” He shrugs. “This isn’t even the craziest thing I’ve been asked to do. When kids with huge amounts of money at their disposal figure out all the shit that’s available on the dark web, the sky’s the limit.”

  I’m just glad he isn’t judging me. Patrick seems like a cool kid, albeit a little nerdy. But I’d expect nothing less from someone who’s off-the-charts genius.

  “So Saturday night at the charity gala,” I breathe. “Unless I pull the plug before then?”

  “Absolutely,” he agrees. “I won’t go live with it until I get the go-ahead from you.”

  “I just need the link for the private invitation along with the passcode,” I tell him. “There’s one more I want to deliver personally.”

  “STELLA?” Sebastian blinks at me when he opens the door to find me standing there. “What are you doing here?”

  I frown at his disheveled state. He doesn’t look like he’s slept in days, and he smells like a whiskey distillery. His shirt is rumpled, only half tucked into his trousers, and for a second, I wonder if he’s got someone in there with him. The thought makes me feel sick, but one glance inside the house confirms that isn’t the case. There’s only one glass on the table next to the empty bottle of whiskey, and no signs of anyone else.

  “Are you, uh… sick?” I ask.

  “No.” His gaze lingers on my lips, and I feel it deep between my thighs. “Why are you at my house?”

  “I came to give you this.” I offer him my essay. “I was supposed to turn it into you this week, but you’ve been absent.”

  He stares blankly at the red envelope in my hand. “So, you came here instead?”

  His voice is gravelly, and I can’t read his face. Something is obviously going on with him, and suddenly, I’m doubting everything. I don’t want to admit how vulnerable I feel in front of him. This plan could completely backfire. For all I know, he will be happy to see me go. But I still have to try. He’s the only hope I have left.

  “Mr. Carter, can I talk to you?” I whisper. “In private? It’s really important. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

  He drags a hand through his hair and sighs. “You need to go, Stella.”

  The detachment in his voice turns my stomach, and I feel pressure building behind my eyes. How can I make him see?

  “In that case, will you just promise to read my essay tonight?”

  He snatches the envelope from my hand and shakes his head. “It’s Friday night.”

  “Please.” My voice cracks. “I need you to read it.”

  His eyes soften for a fraction of a second, and in that second, I can see a well of pain inside him. I forget all about my own problems as I reach out to touch him, but my hand falls short as he pulls away from my grasp.

  “Good night, Stella.”

  Before I can answer, he slams the door in my face.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SEBASTIAN

  I WAKE up with the hangover from hell, and a glance at my clock confirms it’s just after three in the afternoon. Saturday, I think. I’ve been on at least a three-day bender since my father’s visit this week, but I’m officially out of whisky and fucks to give.

  Scrubbing the sleep from my eyes, I strip off my clothes and head for the shower. The water is scalding hot when I step inside, but I don’t move. It singes my nerves and washes away any emotions I may have allowed to creep back in over the past few days. It’s time to pull my shit together and get back to the grind.

  I don’t want to think about my father dying. I want to bleach our entire conversation from my mind. And even though it’s easier not to think about her, I wouldn’t dishonor my sister by pretending she never existed. So, when I exit the shower and wrap a towel around my waist, I reach for her necklace in the cabinet. Sitting down at the table with her memory is how I punish myself. Every time I stare at that faded gold pendant, I force myself to remember she isn’t here. If she was, she would have done a hell of a lot more with her life than I have. But she never got that chance.

  Katie was one of those rare people who genuinely cared about others. She was good and kind and pure. She spent her time volunteering and brainstorming ways to solve problems and make the world a better place. It never occurred to her that the world was a better place simply for having her in it. I didn’t inherit the same benevolent genetic makeup. As much as I’ve tried to resist the notion, there is so much of my father in me. Self-loathing is a familiar friend of mine, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered ending it all as my contribution to world peace.

  Except this year, I haven’t. Not since Stella came into my life like a bright, burning flame. She gave me purpose. A new project. She’s the one I keep telling myself I will save somehow. But how the fuck can I save her when I don’t even know how to save myself?

  My attention drifts to the red envelope she hand delivered yesterday. The essay on choices and consequences that at the time of my ruling, I thought was rather clever. Now, I don’t know how I feel about it. But I pull it out of the envelope anyway and set the necklace and my warring thoughts aside as I begin to read.

  Stella goes into great detail about the choices she has made to get to where she is. The choice to stuff down her emotions to appease her parents. The choice to fit in when she knows she was never meant to. The choice to follow her father’s path only to be led astray. Her words are full of passion and emotion and an insight atypical of other students her age. Stella is legally an adult now. Yesterday was her birthday, and I intentionally chose to disregard it like the bastard I am. I sent her away to prove how little she matters to me. My default setting is programmed to push everyone away, and that includes Stella, especially, because she’s the most hazardous of all.

  I want her to hate me, but worse yet, I want her complete submission and devotion. She is so pliable. So soft. She craves my guidance and attention, and that’s a dangerously intoxicating feeling. I don’t have as much self-control as I should when it comes to her. So many times, already, I have toed the line and even stepped over it altogether. It’s only going to get harder with time. Every day, I find myself studying her, reading her expressions, and watching the way she moves. I’ve committed these things to memory, and I don’t want to let them go.

  While I read through the rest of her essay, a fleeting urge prods me to abandon this project. She doesn’t have to be the one. I could pick someone easier. Someone who doesn’t challenge me and make me question my methods. There’s a boy in my first period class whose mother has convinced him he wants to be a doctor. Meanwhile, he spends all his free time dreaming up new video game ideas. It would be easy to set him on the right path. But would it fill the void in my soul?

  The end of Stella’s essay draws nearer, and the escalating desperation of her words reaches a crescendo. She’s being vague, but something is off. I can feel it in the hopelessness of her tone. Stella looks at the world through rose-colored glasses, and these bleakly chosen words are more suited to my personality than hers. How can someone so bright possibly be so conflicted? She speaks of being disappointed, abandoned, and completely alone, but it still isn’t clear why she feels that way. At the end of the frantically written mystery, there is only one haunting final sentence.

  I have to save myself now.

  Below that is a link for an app and a passcode. It’s written in red lipstick, and I wonder if that choice was intentional, or if she’s been taking notes on her homework again. When I type it into my phone, my finger hovers over the download button as I consider what I’m doing. Moments ago, I told myself I needed to purge this infatuation with her. But the burning question in my mind won’t be ignored, and there is no justification for this insanity.

  I download the app and enter the code. When the information loads, horror and rage creep into every muscle fiber of my body as I read through the description. In the back of my mind, I think this must be some sort of sick joke. Stella wouldn’t do this. But I recall the desperation on her face last night when she asked me to read her essay, and now I understand why. She was trying to tell me something. She was begging for my help, and I sent her away. This is the irrefutable proof that every choice has a consequence, even for me.

  Stella is auctioning off her virtue, and the bids close in five minutes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  STELLA

  AFTER GIVING Sybil a raincheck on the birthday celebrations, she decided to head home for the weekend. I felt awful for brushing her off and used the excuse that I needed to study, but she accepted it as Sybil always does. There was no way I’d be able to pull this off with her here, and I have a feeling once she comes back, everything will implode. Her father will most likely tell her what mine has done, and things will inevitably be different between us. I just hope that once it’s all said and done, she won’t cast me aside too.

  My phone chimes with a message from Patrick, alerting me that the bidding for the auction has closed. He’s sent over some notes from the buyer, and I have never been more nervous in my life as I read over them.

  We are meeting at the masquerade charity gala at the Grand Hotel, and I’m requested to wear a dress of my choice and the mask that will be held for me at the front desk along with a key card to the suite. In addition to that, the buyer requests that I enter the suite and wait for him on the bed, and that I do not turn on any of the lights. There is a small note that candles will be provided.

  My stomach flips as I read the words repeatedly, wondering if it’s possible that this is actually Sebastian. Did he read my essay? Did he find the code, and does he even care?

  The uncertainty is bearing down on me, and I feel like I might be sick as I begin my preparations for the evening. In my mind, I’ve already decided I won’t be able to accept any other option. If it turns out to be another buyer, I will have to turn him away, regardless of the consequences. It’s the only way I can feel at peace as I prepare to sacrifice my virginity at the altar of Sebastian Carter.

  Please let it be him. Please let it be him. Please let it be him.

  The mantra plays on repeat in my head as I sneak off the campus at nine o’ clock and meet the cab that I ordered. The ride to the Grand Hotel is short, only fifteen minutes, and not nearly enough time for me to catch my bearings. Once I’m on the curb, I hesitate again, glancing around, hoping to catch sight of the only man I’ve ever wanted. But he isn’t here, at least that I can see, and the only way to find out for sure is to go inside.

  I make my way to the reception desk, and the woman behind it eyes me curiously as I pick up my mask and key. She asks me if I’m here for the charity gala, and I tell her I am before excusing myself to the elevator.

  The suite the buyer rented is all the way on the top floor, and every step I take toward it feels doomed as I consider my fate. I want so badly for it to be him, but I have no idea what’s waiting for me on the other side of that door. I realize the potential dangers, but I didn’t come completely unarmed. Inside my clutch is a can of mace, and I won’t hesitate to use it if I need to.

  With a deep breath, I tap my card against the sensor, and the door unlocks, allowing me inside. I swing it open slowly, greeted by the soft glow of flickering candles. From my vantage point, I can see the bed and lounge area, and they are both empty. It’s just me here, as the note informed me it would be. Following my instructions, I walk to the bed and sit down, staring off into the void as I set my clutch beside me and smooth out my dress. The crimson floor-length gown compliments the lace mask the buyer left for me at the desk, and despite my reservations, I slip it on as requested. My vision becomes limited to what is directly in front of me, and as I’m considering that, the door to the suite opens.

  Before I can use the light pollution from the hall to my advantage, the tall figure shuts the door behind him, securing us into the suite together. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit and leather oxfords, but his face is obscured by a mask, and it’s too dark to make out any discernable features.

  “Mr. Carter?” I force the name from my dry lips.

  He doesn’t reply, at least not right away. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t know what he can see. Maybe his vantage point is better than mine, or maybe he’s reconsidering this whole situation too. The silence draws out for what feels like forever before he finally issues a husky command.

  “Turn around.”

  The command itself is as precise as anything Sebastian would say, but uncertainty still lingers as I hesitantly obey. He hasn’t answered me. I don’t know who he is, and I won’t until I smell him. Keeping the clutch in my line of sight, I wait with stuttered breaths as he draws nearer. The first thing I feel is his warmth against my back, and it sends a shiver straight down to my toes.

  “Sebastian?” I whisper.

  Still no response. His fingers feather over my shoulder, drawing my hair aside before he drags his nose down the length of my throat, inhaling me. Goosebumps erupt along my skin as I practically melt into the familiarity of this touch. Without a doubt, there is no other man on this planet who would breathe me in like Sebastian Carter does. And if that weren’t confirmation enough, the lingering notes of his cologne hit me like a sedative.

  It’s him. It’s really him.

  I relax into his touch and release a lungful of anxiety as his skilled fingers begin to explore my body. His fists curl into my dress and haul me back against him as his lips assault the delicate flesh of my throat. A tortured sound escapes me when I feel the solid ridge of his erection digging into the base of my spine.

  “Sebastian,” I chant, this time out of certainty, not question.

  He responds by unzipping my dress and sliding it down my body until it pools on the floor. I’m not wearing a bra, and I can feel his sharp intake of air behind me as he realizes that. The only barriers left between us are my red lace panties and his suit.

  I don’t dare move. I don’t even want to breathe as he unbuttons his suit coat and tosses it aside. Anticipation thrums in my veins as I realize this is really happening. Sebastian Carter isn’t just saving me; he’s claiming me. When his palm slides between my thighs and cups my pussy, a thousand volts of electricity pulse through my body. I crane my neck to the side to breathe him in, leaning back into his solid frame as his teeth nip at my collarbone. I’m soaked for him, high on him, but when he paws at my breasts, it’s all over.

  I start to beg, and his fist tangles in my hair in a silent warning. I want to hear his voice. I want to feel his breath against me as he speaks. But he doesn’t give me that. It feels like another punishment, and I have no doubt that it is. He hates me for making him do this. His resentment is written in the unyielding hardness of his body. He loathes the fact that he wants me, and even as he touches me, he wishes he could stop.

  It’s intoxicating to think I have this power over him. This man is ten years my senior, and everything about this relationship is the definition of reckless. But I want him to drink the Kool-Aid. I want him to drown in the chemistry he can no longer deny. I want Sebastian more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life, and tonight, I don’t care if he knows it.

  “Sebastian.” His name leaves my lips like a prayer when he kneels behind me and drags my panties over my hips and down my thighs. The thin lace material falls around my ankles as he pushes my body forward, and I collapse onto the bed, ass still in the air. His face is so close I can feel his breath between my thighs, warming me as I curl my fingers into the bedding. His hands come to rest on my ass, kneading into me as his nose grazes the seam of my sex. I cry out at the sensation and begin to tremble when his fingers dig into me and force my legs farther apart.

  There is a moment of stillness in which I can only assume he’s considering the strength of his resolve. Once he crosses this barrier, there’s no going back. We both know it. This living, breathing animal of lust between us is as illicit as Eve’s apple. But ultimately, Sebastian chooses to indulge his sinful desires when he buries his face between my thighs and lashes at me with his tongue.