CHAPTER SIX
Why did she have to look so damn tempting?
Nixon
I took off my sunglasses and allowed myself the pleasure of slowly examining Trace from head to toe. Damn, I was going to strangle Mo for dangling her in front of me, and, by the look on her face, my sister knew exactly what she was doing.
Her gaze narrowed in, lips pressed together as if to say, "Well? How did I do with her?"
"Nice work." I nodded to Mo. "She looks like she actually belongs here."
Mo rolled her eyes. "She does belong here, you idiot." Her warm hands cupped my face as she air-kissed each cheek and stepped back. Our father had been weird about Mo showing me respect, even though we were the same age. I was the man; she was the woman. In his opinion, she would always be beneath him, and beneath me. Mo also knew it pissed me off when she faked that type of loyalty and love. Hell, I knew she cared, but that didn't make me feel any better when she gripped my hand and slid a note into it.
Well, shit.
"The way I see it…" I grinned, stuffing the note into my back pocket. "…she won a silly contest. The same contest we put on every year so that the poor underprivileged people of the world are able to join the high society. She…" I made a point of looking directly at her and leaning in, smirking so she could see all hostility, so she could freaking feel how badly I could hurt her—destroy her if I so wished. "…is just a number."
Trace's cheeks flushed red as she spat, "At least I'm not an ass."
I seriously had to fight to keep the shock from my face… and then it was nearly impossible not to laugh. Did she just call me an ass? In front of the Elect? Serious? It was funny as hell because she had no idea that in that moment there were most likely three guns trained on her, just waiting for her to make a false move. We didn't know anything about her yet — no background; therefore, she was a threat, and she'd just blatantly threatened me.
I licked my lips and approached her slowly allowing the vision of her flushed skin to burn into my memory. I lifted my hands. To do what? I wasn't sure, but the minute my fingers grazed her wrist the microphone gave some shrill feedback, making me step away.
"Is this on?" Thomas spoke into the microphone. "Attention, everyone."
Damn it. I forgot about my speech. I made my way toward the stage, my eyes slowly taking in the security around the perimeter. Hell, it would suck to get shot on the first day of school.
"Your student body president would like to welcome you all back to school!" Thomas clapped. Everyone else followed. A few girls tried to grab me but were quickly pushed away by security. No chance in hell would I let those senior skanks touch me.
People started chanting my name. Great, let Trace hear it, let her know how much control I had, how I could ruin her life, break her neck, or protect her from such things by merely snapping my fingers or nodding my head.
My eyes met hers. All color had drained from her face as I started to speak. "I'd like to introduce someone. She's new here," Trace looked ready to pass out. "And I want everyone to give her a warm, Eagle Elite welcome! Please clap her hands for…" I paused, waiting to see if Trace would pass out or lift her eyebrow in a challenging glare. Ah, so it was going to be the glare. Nice. "…Dr. Tessa Stevens, our new history professor."
Trace visibly exhaled.
I smirked at her. Checkmate.
She matched my smirk with a smile of her own — the type of smile any man would sell his soul to gain just a glimpse of — and she's back in the game.
I waited for Dr. Stevens to wave and then addressed the crowd again. "Now, I know all of you are eager to start the welcome party." I winked at Trace and licked my lips.
She paled again. God, it was fun watching her every reaction. Swear, I could stand up there all day saying whatever shit came to mind, and I'd be happy… probably for the first time ever.
Mo wrapped a protective arm around Trace and tilted her head in a challenge.
Aw, Mo had to step in and ruin my nice-guy routine. Well, fine. Two could play that game. And now was as good of time as any to throw Trace to the wolves. At least here I could control what happened. Here she wouldn't be hurt, just… embarrassed, humbled. Yes, it was the perfect environment. And though my heart for some reason decided to thump against my chest in warning, I did it anyway.
I made the next move.
With a grimace, I scooted my pawn to her side of the board.
Chase had already moved behind Trace. No chance in hell he knew what I was doing, but the bastard was too smart by half. I nodded my head slightly and coughed into my right hand.
Chase knew the drill. Bring forth the prisoner and all that shit.
"I'm sure you've all noticed we have a new student. The winner of the annual Eagle Elite Lottery registered this morning." My smile widened to cheesy proportions. "Trace, why don't you come up here and say a few words?"
She mouthed no and dug her heels into the ground, but Chase already had ahold of her pretty tightly. Without effort, he scooted her toward the stage while Tex held a furious Mo. I tilted my head at her and offered a small smile while she managed to flip me off.
I blew her a kiss.
People clapped.
I held out my hand for Trace to take when she go to the stage. I wasn't that heartless to let her trip in those heels on the way up the stairs. I had plans for her, after all, and they didn't include that type of embarrassment.
Her eyes fell to my hand.
She hesitated.
I cleared my throat.
With shaking fingers, she gripped my hand and held on tight. And, I swear, in that moment I was transported back to my childhood.
"Nixon, Nixon!" She ran around and around in circles, driving me crazy before plopping down on the ground. "I think I scraped my knee."
"Are those tears?" I tried to sound disgusted when really my heart was breaking. I hated it when she cried.
"No." She crossed her arms. "Promise. I just got waters in my eyes."
"Waters in your eyes?" I repeated gruffly then held out my hand. "How about I help you up, and we get that scrape cleaned up?"
Her giant brown eyes ate me up. So trusting, so… loving. "Okay, Nixon… and you won't hurt me?"
"No." I gripped her pudgy little hand in mine and kissed it "I would never hurt you."
I released Trace's hand so quick I damn-near tripped, fell over backward, and collided with the back of the stage. Was that it? Was this one girl going to make me lose my mind? Maybe because she reminded me of her innocence, of what I'd lost. Of what I'd ruined by my inability to be old enough to avenge her death. Throat tightening, I quickly spoke into the microphone, "Trace Rooks, everyone."
I flexed my hand and released it, then stepped off the stage as people started clapping.
"She's going to throw up," Phoenix said next to me. We were on one side of the stage while Chase waited on the other.
"Think so?" I whispered.
"She's paler than a ghost. She looks like…" Phoenix shook his head. "Is that what you want? For us to humiliate her?"
"Yeah," I snapped. "It's what I want."
"Hmm, your new toy…"
"What about it?"
Trace waved from the stage. Good God, it was worse than I thought. Forget eating her alive. They were going to destroy her, rip her to shreds, and laugh while doing it.
"I can help…" Phoenix whispered.
What the hell were we talking about?
"Sure fine, whatever." I kept my gaze on Trace as she cleared her throat again and spoke confidently into the microphone.
"Trace Rooks. If that isn't a backcountry name, I don't know what is," she joked. "I come from a place where cows outnumber people, and the local bartender knows everyone by name. I guess you could say I'm completely out of my element, but I'm thankful nonetheless. I'm thankful for the opportunity to expand my education, and, even more so, I'm thankful that while I've been standing here, Nixon hasn't attempted to trip me or knock me off the stage. Guess there's hope for
me yet. Moo."
"Holy shit, did she just moo?" I asked aloud.
Phoenix about died laughing.
My mouth dropped open slightly as I watched her wave at the crowd and gain approval from at least half of them.
Funny. I'd meant for them all to hate her then leave her alone.
And without knowing it? Trace had just painted a cow-sized target on her back…. because she'd proven she'd fight.
And what fun is torture if your prisoner doesn't at least kick back once or twice? I mean, that's the point.
You don't shoot the slowest animal if you're hunting for sport. You shoot the one that poses the biggest challenge.
And she'd just done that.
"Her funeral." Phoenix sighed. "Am I right?"
I tried to hide my expression as it fell on Trace. She slowly backed away from the stage and took Chase's hand.
What. The. Hell.
Without hesitation.
She gripped it in hers and then offered Chase, of all people, a smile. Chase, the same Chase that spent the better part of his morning assassinating an informant and ripping his fingernails off.
Really?
He whispered in her ear.
She colored.
And I freaking saw red.
"Tsk, tsk," Phoenix whispered to my right. "Doesn't little Chase know not to mess with the boss's favorite new thing?"
With that, he walked off. Leaving me pissed and wondering what Chase had that I didn't, and why the hell it mattered in the first place.
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