Page 192 of Glutton for Punishment

How did he even get to her? How could he have gotten into the academy?

Atticus moves beside me, but I don’t register what he’s doing or saying. The image of her burning in my mind, overlaying everything else. All I can think about is the message. Come and get her.

Chapter 61

Arwen

The servant leads me through the halls again, the same way she did before, and I don’t question it because there is nothing to question. There never is.

When she opens the door to his office, my heart reacts before I even see him.

Vex is behind the desk, an arm slung over the back of his chair. The surface is a mess of papers and maps held down by heavy crystals.

He pulls me like gravity itself, and relief hits me. It feels like coming up for air.

He’s here. He still wants me.

Even after the beautiful redheaded woman visited. I try to remember who she was but come up blank.

Oh well.

She’s not important.

“Come sit, Angel.” He says with a smile, patting his knee.

I float to him without hesitation, like my body already knows where it belongs. I sit on his knee, and he wraps an arm around my waist, steadying me in place.

“Look at something for me, Angel,” he whispers, leaning back. “It’s very important.”

“Anything,” I breathe out.

He reaches forward and taps a photograph on the desk in front of us. I obediently lower my eyes.

A man stands in front of a helicopter. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that stretches across broad shoulders, tattoos spilling down both arms. A phone held to his ear, his expression hard and irritated.

I can’t stop staring at him. It stirs something up inside of me.

A faint tug.

Is he familiar?

It’s probably nothing.

Vex’s fingers trace slow circles against my thighs. He likes me in short dresses, so I like short dresses.

“It’s very important that you remember this, Angel,” he says, voice low. “This is a very bad man. We can’t trust him. He’s trying to hurt me.”

Hot fear spikes me instantly. Because the idea of him being hurt feels unbearable. Something inside me would break if that happened.

“You don’t want me to be hurt, do you, Angel?”

“No,” I growl, the answer ripping out of me.

“Good girl,” he says, nuzzling his face into my hair. Satisfaction floods through me at his praise.

But I look back at the picture, and something doesn’t sit right.

A strange feeling presses against my ribs, through the dizzying fog. Like a memory trying to surface. It goes against the instructions.