Chapters (53)
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- Chapter Thirty-Eight
- Chapter Thirty-Nine
- Chapter Forty
- Chapter Forty-One
- Chapter Forty-Two
- Chapter Forty-Three
- Chapter Forty-Four
- Chapter Forty-Five
- Chapter Forty-Six
- Chapter Forty-Seven
- Epilogue
- Preview of Malice
- Preview of Incognito
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
“Focus,” the Voice barks. She sounds feminine, but I can’t tell if she’s young or old. “Do you want this pain to stop?”
The flames roar back, burning even hotter. This is the worst food poisoning ever. I’m never cooking again. “Yes!” I moan. “I’ll do anything. Just make it stop.”
The pain shuts off like a door being slammed, and I collapse against the tree trunk, panting.
“Good. I’ll go away, once and for all. You won’t have to deal with this pain anymore. You just have to do one thing for me.” She pauses, as though gathering her thoughts. “Tell Bandit that you love him.”
“Huh?” The electricity must’ve fried my hearing. “Who?”
“Bandit,” the Voice bites out. “You know. The Thai boy playing basketball across the field?”
Pushing myself off the tree, I peer around the trunk. Across the courtyard, a guy with electric-blue hair raises his hands to shoot the ball, and his shirt rides up, revealing nicely defined muscles.
That’s right. Now that I can string two brain cells together, I know exactly who she means. Bandit Sakda. We don’t travel in the same circles, but his reputation precedes him—he’s as smart as he is aloof.
I should know. We had Visual Studies together last year. The one—and only—time I tried to talk to him, I complimented him on a photo he’d taken of an older woman holding a garland of jasmine and roses. Instead of responding, he just pressed his lips together and turned away.
“You’ve g-got to be kidding,” I sputter. “I’m not listening to some voice that I’m probably just imagining. I don’t even know him! I’m not going to profess my love to some random guy.”
The Voice sighs. “You’re not imagining me. And yes, actually. You are.”
The sharpest, most intense lightning bolt yet sears my brain. The world fractures into a dozen glowing stars, each one bigger and brighter than the last.
When I can see again, my heart rate has tripled and I’m heaving in air. This can’t be happening. If it’s not food poisoning, then I must be dreaming. Or maybe I’m having a bona fide break with reality. Better still, I’ve been kidnapped by aliens who are putting me through a sick simulation.
Voices don’t randomly appear in people’s heads. They just don’t.
Except…this one keeps talking.
“Well? I’m not sure how much more you can take, but I’m willing to find out.”
I’m not. I may not know what’s real anymore, but apparently I’m going to confess my infatuation to a stranger.