I wake up the next morning feeling exhausted. At most, I got about three hours of sleep because that night haunted my dreams. Only, instead of my attackers assaulting me, I end up beating them up. Punching, kicking, tearing them apart, my anger so scorching I thought I was going to melt .

When my eyes open, my skin is drenched in sweat, my heart is racing at an alarming rate, and my right hand feels as though it was slammed through a door .

Sitting up, I inspect my hand over and wince. Shit, I forgot to ice it last night after I punched Everette in the face. The knuckles are swollen and a couple of yellowish spots dot my skin, the impending bruises will probably get worse the further the day goes along. Lovely .

I really need to learn the proper way to punch. Maybe I’ll take a few self-defense classes. Not really my thing, or at least the old Wynter’s thing anyway. The new Wynter understands the importance of being able to defend herself, though .

“Defense class, for sure,” I say, grabbing my bowl from my nightstand .

After sucking in a few breaths of numbing smoke, I grab a notebook and pen from my nightstand. Then I make a list of everything I need to do .

1. Enroll in self-defense classes .

2. Order a can of pepper spray .

3. Get the contact info for the girls on the list .

As I jot down number three, my hand shakes, knowing I already have the contact info for one of them, her info saved in my phone .

I write two more things to do :

4. Figure out something that will get my friends off my back .

5. Get revenge on the motherfuckers who hurt you .

The last one is more for motivation purposes than anything else .

Tossing the notebook into the top drawer of my nightstand, I pick up my phone and sigh at the sight of the four missed messages, all from each of my friends .

Deciding to text them later, I quickly order a can of pepper spray online with express shipping, eliminating number two on the list .

Next, I search for self-defense classes nearby and a few pop up. Unsure which place is better, I enroll in the earliest class I can find. Then I grab a pair of torn jeans and a grey T-shirt and head to take a shower .

As I scrub the scent of last night off me, my mind drifts to Everette. He never agreed to call me after we parted ways last night. He doesn’t even have my number. I wonder if maybe he’ll try to track me down and let me know that Maci made it home okay. If he does, I’ll have to pretend the news is new to me. I will thank him, though .

Thank him for saving Maci like no one saved me .

* * *

A bout a half an hour later, I’m racing across campus, late for yet another class. I’ve really been on a roll with not being punctual lately. Half the damn time, I’m not even aware of the time until it’s too late, as if I’m walking around in a zombie state. Sometimes that’s exactly how I feel. Like a numb, dead, inside and out, zombie .

“Wynter!” a deep male voice shouts from across the campus yard .

I accelerate my pace, scared out of my damn mind that Travis is the person shouting my name .

Doesn’t sound like Travis, though .

“Wynter!” The voice grows louder .

I flick a glance over my shoulder and find Everette jogging toward me. His light brown hair is a ruffled mess, but in a sexy way, and he’s back to his normal attire, sporting a T-shirt, dark jeans, and clunky boots .

I almost don’t stop. Almost run into the building. But considering what he did for me last night—and Maci—I ditch being a bitch for a few minutes and slow to a stop. I then turn and wait for him in the shade of the trees, the sunlight flickering through the branches as I watch him jog the rest of the short distance toward me .

“Hey,” he says when he reaches me, a bit out of breath. “For a moment, I thought you weren’t going to stop .”

“Sorry.” I adjust the strap of my bag, sliding it higher onto my shoulder. “I’m late for class .”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll make this quick, then.” His gaze darts from left to right at the groups of other students hanging out on the grass and wandering toward the main entrance of the university, then he steps closer and lowers his voice. “I just wanted to let you know Maci got home safely .”

“Really?” I pretend to be surprised. “That’s awesome. Thank you so much for making sure she did.” I chew on my bottom lip, choosing my next words carefully. “How did you do it? I mean, get her to leave the club and go home ?”

“Paid her five hundred bucks .”

Liar. Then why did the entire club get evacuated ?

Why lie? And how does he lie so well ?

“Really? ” My brow raises. “Wait, you didn’t, like, pay her to go home with you, did you ?”

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners, the roughness he usually carries with him softening. “No, I didn’t. And I actually didn’t pay her five hundred dollars.” He peers around again, then whispers, “I pulled the fire alarm then waited for a blonde-haired girl wearing a pink dress and silver shoes to exit the building with Travis. She actually got into a limo without Travis about five minutes after wandering out and went straight home .”

“How do you know she made it home?” I ask quietly, unsure why we’re whispering. “Did you follow her ?”

“I did. There wasn’t really another way to make sure she got home safely. Unless I offered her a ride myself. That might have made me come off a little bit stalker-ish, though.” The corners of his lips twitch. “And despite what some people may think, I’m not a stalker .”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” After what he did for me last night—helping me out when I was desperate, then believing me enough to actually help—I owe him an apology. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you. I promise it’s not personal. I just …” I shift my weight. “I’ve just been going through some stuff lately and it’s messing with my moods .”

His brows crinkle. “Is everything okay ?”

I wrestle back a grimace. “There you go again, asking that question .”

“Maybe that’s a sign that something seems wrong .”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I want everyone checking in on me all the time, though .”

A soft smile touches his lips. “It’s a good thing when people check in on you. It means they care .”

I adjust the handle of my bag again, fidgety and restless. “I get that—I do—but not everyone wants to talk about their problems.” Not everyone can .

“Just because someone doesn’t want to talk about their problems doesn’t mean they shouldn’t.” He inches closer, the tips of his boots clipping mine. My heart races in panic from his nearness, yet for some bizarre reason, I don’t budge. “I’ve done the whole keeping-shit-to-myself thing before, and trust me, it didn’t get me anything, other than a nervous breakdown .”

“You had a nervous breakdown ?”

He nods. “It happened a little over a year ago. I got shitfaced drunk, confessed all my dirty little secrets to my friends, then broke apart .”

I gulp. Is that what’s going to happen to me ?

“Then what happened? I mean, after you broke ?”

His gaze seems almost too intense. “I got help .”

“ From whom ?”

“My friends. My family. My therapist .”

“Oh.” My lips turn downward. Family. I don’t really have one of those. Not one that will try to help me anyway. As for therapy, that could work if I was ever able to get past the urge to vomit every time I even think about uttering my secret. “That’s good your family cares about you like that. Not all people have that, unfortunately .”

“What about your friends?” he suggests. “Could you talk to them ?

“No …” I shake my head. I need to stop talking about this. “Look, I appreciate what you did for me last night and for making sure I’m okay, but I promise I’m fine. I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown. I’m just a little stressed out; that’s all .”

He sighs. “Wynter …”

God, why does he keep saying my name like that? All soft, as if I’m something precious. It makes me want to kiss him. I almost did last night in the club, after he said he’d make sure Maci got home safely .

But I’m not precious .

I’m tainted .

Ruined .

Angry .

And I just want to be left the hell alone .

“I gotta go.” I back away, throwing him a wave. “Thanks again for doing that for me last night.” I spin on my heels and take off toward the front of the building. Running away again. But if he’d stop popping up in my life, I wouldn’t have to .

Everette doesn’t call out my name, and I make it safely inside. Then I sprint down the hallway like a lunatic. Getting gawked at beats running into class late again .

As I’m rounding into the wide hallway lined with classrooms, my sneakers squeaking on the floor, a shadow moves from my peripheral vision. I have no time to react before a set of fingers wrap around my arm .

Everette has done that so many times to me I just assume it’s him. Then I glance up and meet the dark eyes of Travis .

A slow smile curls at his lips as our gazes collide, and fear and anger simultaneously ripple through me .

“Let me go,” I warn in a low, shaky voice . “Now .”

He chuckles, peeling his fingers off me then raising his hands in front of him. “Don’t be a bitch. I just want to talk .”

“I’m not being a bitch. And I sure as hell don’t want to talk.” I sidestep to leave, but he mimics my move .

“Relax,” he says. “I just want to talk to you .”

“And I already said I don’t want to talk,” I hiss through my teeth .

“I’ll make it quick,” he assures me, shoving up the sleeves of his blue shirt .

I inch to the side again, but he moves with me, sticking his hand out and blocking my path .

An exhale flees from my lips, tears burning the back of my eyes. “Leave me alone.” I cringe at how pathetically weak I sound .

“No. Not until we talk about you harassing Maci and spreading lies about me.” He slants closer, his stale breath hot on my face. “I know you went to her house, Wynter. Maci told me .”

“I don’t even know a Maci.” My fingers curl into a fist as last night’s nightmare blares through my mind .

I want to hurt him like he did me, but I can’t .

Helpless. I feel so helpless. And I hate it .

Hate .

I hate him .

I hate his friends .

I hate myself .

“I know it was you,” he insists with a smug smile. “Maci said it was a girl with short blonde hair who was wearing a cheap leather jacket and boots, yet drove a BMW .”

“There’re a lot of blonde girls in this town who drive BMWs.” I carry his gaze, despite how scared shitless I am .

“Not ones who wear second-hand clothing.” He pulls a disgusted face at my outfit. “You’re the only girl I know who fits that description. And the only girl I know who’d be stupid enough to try to get back at me .”

I stick my hand into my pocket and start pushing buttons, hoping I can get the video recorder to turn on and record this conversation. “If you’re implying I want to get back at you for something, isn’t that like you admitting you did something to me that made me want to get back at you ?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re so stupid sometimes. Seriously, you live up to that whole dumb blonde cliché.” He snags ahold of my arm as I start to step back. “Go ahead; press that button. Make a recording.” He yanks on my arm, causing my hand to jerk from my pocket. My phone falls out and bounces off the floor .

Adrenaline courses through me, my pulse sprinting. How the hell did he know ?

As if reading my mind, he says, “You think this is the first time I’ve had to deal with an uncooperative participant ?”

Did he basically admit he’s raped more than just me ?

I stare down at my phone, cursing my inability to turn on the video more discreetly. “I wasn’t a participant,” I growl out. “I was drugged up and had no clue what was going on. And I told you guys to stop at least a hundred times .”

He presses his fingers firmly against my wrist, imprinting my skin. “No, you were drunk. Hammered, actually. And you wanted it. Begged for it .”

My gaze snaps to his, my fingernails piercing my palms. “No, I wasn’t, and you know it .”

He shrugs. “It’s your word against mine. And my friends. Plus, everyone else who saw you shitfaced that night.” Yanking me closer to him, he dips his mouth toward my ear and whispers, “Do I need to remind you what’s going to happen if you don’t leave this alone? I think I made it pretty clear that night. Let this go and move on. If you don’t, you’re going to regret it.” He digs his fingernails into my flesh. “You don’t want to mess with me, Wynter. I’m like a fucking god around here, and I can break you in half with a snap of my finger.” He reclines back, grinning. “Oh, and tell your dad I said hello next time you see him, will you? We’ve been on fantastic terms for the last couple months .”

My dad has talked to Travis ?

Travis and my dad are on great terms ?

My dad who knows what Travis did to me !

Traitor .

Traitor .

Traitor .

Blood roars in my eardrums as I inhale and exhale, about to explode .

Traitor .

Revenge .

I want to make him hurt .

I’m about to explode and who knows what else I’ll do, when a guy around my age with short blond hair, strangely familiar green eyes, a pierced lip and brows, and a couple of skeleton tattoos on his arms exits a classroom near us. As he moves closer to us, he glances up from the book he’s reading, concern rising as his eyes stray from Travis to me .

“Everything okay? ” he mouths .

For the first time in the last couple months, that question doesn’t bother me .

I discreetly shake my head .

With a subtle nod, he tucks the paperback into the back pocket of his jeans and walks up with his gaze fixed on Travis. “Is there a problem ?”

Travis tears his attention from me, a scowl forming on his face. “This is none of your damn business, so walk away , man .”

The stranger lets out a low laugh. “Yeah, that’s so not happening .”

Travis releases his death grip on me and turns to face the stranger, standing close with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m going to give you five seconds to walk away, and I’ll let this go. If you don’t, you’re going to regret it .”

Curiosity sparks in the stranger’s eyes. “Why? What’re you going to do ?”

Travis works his jaw from side to side. “You think I’m joking ?”

The guy amusedly shakes his head. “Nope. Not at all .”

Travis gets in his face. “Then why the fuck are you smiling ?”

The guy gives a half-shrug. “I guess I’m just a smiley sort of guy.” A vein bulges in his neck .

Between the two of them, Travis is much more muscular; the other guy leaner and toned. But Travis is shorter and looks way less hardened than the tattooed, pierced guy. Looks can be deceiving, though—I painfully understand that—and the stranger could easily be as cuddly as a bunny, hates violence, has never been in a fight, and may just get his ass kicked .

All because of me, a girl he doesn’t even know .

I long for the can of pepper spray I ordered this morning as I stride forward to break up the impending fight .

“You’re going to regret this,” Travis warns in a chilling, cold tone. “You don’t even know who you’re messing with.” He backs away, throwing a smirk in my direction. “So are you, Wynter.” He swaggers down the hallway like he’s God’s gift to the world, when really, I’m pretty sure the devil cursed us with his presence .

A cold chill slithers down my back. What was his last threat to me? That he’s going to come after me now ?

I feel sick .

“I heard rumors he was a douchebag, but holy shit, that guy’s a prick,” the stranger mutters, shaking his head as he turns toward me. “Are you okay ?”

I internally sigh. “I’m fine. Thanks for intervening .”

“No problem.” He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze sweeping over me. “Are you sure you’re okay? He was really in your face .”

I push my lips into a tense smile. “Yeah, he’s just upset I told a girl he’s trying to date that he is a douchebag and that she shouldn’t date him.” Not a total lie. “I guess he doesn’t handle rejection very well .”

“Yeah, I’d say.” He studies me with his lips pressed together. “He grabbed your arm, and whether he’s pissed off or not, that’s crossing a huge line .”

My gaze drops to my wrist, hidden under the sleeve of my leather jacket. The area throbs. “ I know .”

“You should consider reporting him. In fact, how about I walk you to the main office and we do it right now?” His eyes are so full of compassion and strangely remind me of Everette’s .

I offer him a sad smile. “That sounds nice in theory, but I doubt it’ll do any good .”

“It won’t hurt to try .”

Yeah, it would. “I’ll think about it, but right now, I have to get to class .”

His lips sink into a frown. “All right. Well, if you decide to and need me to vouch for you, let me know .”

“Okay.” I start to step away, but freeze. “Wait. What’s your name ?”

He smiles and offers me his hand. “Reece .”

“Wynter.” I shake his hand, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my fingers quiver. “And thank you again for helping me out .”

“No problem.” He pulls his hand away from mine and hooks his fingers in the tops of his pockets. “You know, if you want to learn how to protect yourself in a situation like that, my friend teaches a self-defense class. The place is only a couple miles away from here .”

“Really?” My shocked tone causes his forehead to crease. “Sorry, it’s just that, this morning, I was actually looking for places to take a self-defense class .”

“What a freakish coincidence,” he jokes lightly. “Guess it must be a sign or something .”

“I guess so.” I scratch my wrist and wince. Between punching Everette in the face and Travis grabbing my wrist, every bone in my hand and lower arm pulsates with pain. “Do you have a card or number or something to your friend’s place ?”

He nods. “Yeah, I can give you his number .”

“That sounds great.” I pick up my phone and grimace at the cracks now covering the screen. The phone still functions enough for me to punch in the number as Reece gives it to me, along with his own personal number. Then I stuff my phone into my pocket, wave goodbye, and start on my way to class with the strangest sensation settling over me .

The entire time Reece spoke to me, I didn’t flip out. Then again, I never felt as if he were hitting on me .

Maybe I’m getting better. Could that be possible ?

The concept seems plausible, until I arrive late for class and my phone buzzes inside my pocket. The message is from an unlisted number, a message that simply contains the words: next time you think of speaking, remember this . Two photos are attached to the message, one of me looking out my window into my backyard and one of me sleeping .

Vomit burns my throat. Last night, someone was watching me from my backyard and apparently went into my house. The number may not be listed, but I’m betting it’s from Travis and his friends .

I don’t want to be afraid, but as fear rushes through me, potent and cold, I take off running. Running away again. Afraid. Always afraid .