Burning Ultimatum (Trevor's Harem #4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

I look like a sexy candy cane. Then I return to the dining hall, in time to catch Kylie taking bites of a bagel then spitting it into one of the trash cans. As a bonus, the subtle acrobatics required for eating and spitting are making her limp.  
    I wait until she’s distracted then march quickly in and body-check her into one of the tables with my hip. It goes even better than I’d hoped. I figured Kylie would hit the table and rebound, but instead she sort of flops over it, spilling the water glass on its top. This surprises her, and she grabs for something to steady herself, ending up with a handful of tablecloth. She then proceeds to slide halfway between the table’s legs, dragging the place setting down onto her body. Pity the setting hadn’t included tripe and a full bowl of scalding hot oatmeal.
    I smirk, pass her as if I noticed nothing amiss, then grab a mug and fill it with coffee. I want a huge 20-ounce cup like I get at Starbucks, but they only have these small black ceramic things — a contemporary version of grandma’s fancy tea service, and you still have to keep one or two fingers out while drinking because the space around the handle isn’t big enough for a fist. I figure why not, and turn to Kylie with my pinky finger extended like a proper lady.  
    “Oh, now, what are you doing down there?” I ask.  
    Kylie’s face is red. Fuck her for still managing to look stunning. Anger sharpens her Eastern European features. Must be something in their culture. When I’m pissed off, I just look blotchy.  
    I watch Kylie struggle on her strangely traitorous legs, drinking coffee. She somehow avoided spilling the water onto herself, so she’s dry and merely entangled. I’m pretty sure that if Logan were here, he’d already be climbing up behind her like a monkey with a boner, capitalizing on a woman found down but not out.  
    “Figured you’d be gone by now,” she says. “I guess you really don’t have any self-respect.”  
    “I can’t go yet. I have a message for Caspian White.”  
    She doesn’t respond; she just keeps glaring as she comes to her knees. It’s an empty threat. With Kat out of the picture, it’s my third-hand word against everyone. Jessica will obviously back Kylie up, saying she never heard any such story and that I must be making it up. Whatever proof I might hope to find I’m sure Kylie has erased or reframed. Shifted evidence probably now indicts me. But none of that matters. Kylie is on the floor while I’m standing. She looks stupid, and I look hot. Everything else feels momentarily inconsequential.  
    Then Kylie’s lip curls up, and she says, “You really don’t want your mommy safe, do you, you pathetic fucking little orphan?”  
    “Watch out for that water,” I tell her.
    Kylie’s eyes follow my finger. Then I take a water glass from another table and toss the liquid at her knees and clattering heels. I don’t even have to wait for her to try standing before collecting my prize. She slips and wets her entire front as her torso strikes the floor.  
    Jesus. She really does have problems.  
    I take my coffee and walk past her, heading back the way I came. I let my hips swivel as I go. I put my left hand under the little coffee cup like a flesh saucer, just because it feels proper. The virgin has her manners, after all.  
    I’m about to turn from the main hall when I almost literally run into Jessica. I stop myself in time to keep my coffee from spilling, but it’s a near-miss. Then I wonder if I’m still off center enough to just throw the shit in her face. Will it burn and disfigure her? No, it’s probably not hot enough. I’d need to knock her down and use my knee to bash her teeth out of her jaw.  
    But instead of indulging the fantasies that leap into my mind — the kind that were my bread and butter while living in foster care, scrapping to survive — I stop, frozen still like a dummy. Jessica is all subtle curves and shining brown hair.