Page 497 of Lessons in Cruelty

How alive I felt.

How in control.

Briefly, but so vividly.

I laugh dryly. “I don’t want to hate you, but you make it so fucking easy.”

“Wow,” she scoffs through a laugh. “You’re a real piece of work.”

“No one pisses me off as much as you do.”

“No one?” She says, dead serious now. “Not even Ezra?”

A shudder goes through my fucking soul at the sound of his name.

Haven sighs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You fucking know he had it coming.”

Haven props herself up on her elbow, leaning into me. I turn my head, expecting us to make out, my dick already getting pumped full of blood just at the thought.

But she grabs my chin hard, her short nails digging into my skin.

“What’s your problem with me, huh?”

“Problem—?”

“No. You don’t get to weasel your way out of this. Tell me now, straight up, why the fuck you keep calling me a slut. When have I ever, in my entire fucking existence, been a whore? Huh? When?”

Her voice keeps getting louder, but when I press my fingers to her mouth, she rears back to break contact and digs her nails in even deeper. I swear she’s going to break the skin.

So it’s come to this.

I tuck a clump of damp hair behind her ear. “I admire your commitment to the whole ‘I’m a virgin’ bit. Really, I do. But we both know you’re pussy’s seen more dick than the guys’s locker room.”

Something Rooke said to me the night of the Rain Dance flashes into my mind.

…had my share of virgins over the years, but I’ve never had two at once…

But I shove it away now, just like I did then.

Her eyes narrow, mouth opening, but I cut in before she can speak.

“Don’t.” I grab her wrist, tugging her hand off my face.

I don’t want to hear any more of her lies.

I’ve never been into forgiving and forgetting, but I’m a fucking ace at burying things so deep that future archeologists will get their rocks off digging them up.

“Don’t what, defend myself?” She scoffs, eyes glittering with anger. “Fuck you, Kai.”

“I’ve got proof, Haven.”

“Proof of what?” she growls.

Turning onto my side, I plug the charger out of my phone and unlock it. It’s been there since this afternoon when Blake tried to pour bong water over my head. I open my chats and scroll through a thread. It’s not a long one—going back three years takes less than a minute.

A black hole opens in my stomach as I zoom past the picture I was looking for. I slowly scroll back down and tap it.