Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

me.
I almost laugh. What? Does she feel guilty about hurting me or
something? It’s not like she should. I got her good this morning, didn’t I?
That video had eighty-five-thousand views before I took it down at three a.m.
But, of course, by then it had already done its damage. What’s on the
internet stays on the internet somewhere.
Jesus, what did I do?
I grab the package off the ground and pull out a wipe. “Where?”
She pauses a moment, staring at her locker, and then stalks over, taking it
out of my hand. Pushing me back around, she wipes off whatever is on my
neck, and my thighs are burning with her touch. God…
“It’s going to take every ounce of pull I have to protect you,” she says.
“You know that?”
Protect me?
“Once my brothers find out what you did,” she warns, “their women will
rebuild your fucking face.”
“I’m not scared of Tryst Six,” I say over my shoulder.
My father eats that side of town for breakfast.
But then I hear the click of her blade behind me, and I stop breathing.
“Take out your phone,” she tells me.
“What for?”
I turn around, meeting her eyes, both of us eye to eye.
Her arm hangs at her side, the blade in her hand. “Do it.” She cocks her
head, calm. “I’m sure you have notifications by now.”
Notif—
What did she do?
I quickly turn around and grab my phone out of the locker, turning it back
on.
It lights up, loads, and in a moment, I hear dings and see tabs pop up.
Clicking on one, I watch as YouTube loads, my heart pounding hard as
the same video I posted—and deleted—starts playing again. The jewelry in
Olivia’s ear glimmers in the moonlight, and her flowing, white tank top
makes her slender neck look warm and tan as she bends it back for the girl to
kiss.
The account is registered to Vaudevillian Vix—not me—and it already
has seven-thousand views.
I drop the wipes. “What did you do?” My eyes lock on her.