Hours later, after my little make-out session with… Bianca? Was that her name? She'd said it, but I hadn't exactly been paying attention, and who needed names to kiss anyway?
The party was coming to a close, and I noticed that Tex and Mo had all but secluded themselves in the corner, swallowing each other whole. Yeah, I snapped a picture of that and sent it to Nixon. Let him be the one to go head to head with Tex. I sure as hell didn't feel up to it.
When I couldn't find Trace, I panicked. Maybe she was at her dorm. When did I nominate myself her protector anyway? Cursing myself, I ran out of the house and nearly collided with Phoenix. I looked down and almost pulled my gun on him. "What the hell, Phoenix!"
His cold eyes met mine. "She's drunk. I'm taking her back to her dorm."
"Like hell you are! And her dorm isn't in that direction. What are you doing?" I pushed against him, and he stumbled slightly. Great. Still drunk. Freaking awesome.
Trace's eyes were unfocused as she looked at me then back at Phoenix.
"I'm doing her a favor, doing us a favor. Back off. You're already on Nixon's shit-list. I'm making everything better. You'll see."
He was right about that. Nixon was pissed I was getting too close to his territory, not that it would be a problem anymore. Liar.
Trace moved her hand, almost like she was trying to reach me. Shit. This was bad, and it was going to get worse.
"I'll take her," I mumbled, knowing exactly what Phoenix was doing. For the past few years we'd bullied and drugged both guys and girls that were pushing us too far. But they'd always deserved it. We'd never picked on the weak. We'd never, and I do mean never, made the innocent look as bad as Trace was about to look.
"You're going to do it? Really?"
"Just let me do it." I held out my arms. "And this comes straight from Nixon? He said to do this?"
Phoenix snorted. "You think I would actually do this on my own? Nixon wants to teach her one final lesson, and he can't make it, so we do the dirty work. Story of our lives, right?"
"But she didn't do anything wrong."
"Oh, but I think she did." Phoenix grinned. "She does… After all, she has you and Bossman fighting to keep your pants on, and she refuses to bend to our rules even after she's been warned. We can't have the rest of the campus thinking we've lost our touch. She makes us look weak. Nixon knows it, Tex knows it — hell, I'm wasted, and even I know it. We have to make an example out of the cowgirl."
In a twisted really dysfunctional way, he was right. I nodded my head and slowly made my way toward the guys dorm, cursing Nixon the entire time.
Had he finally snapped? Clearly, killing his father had done something to him, because we were about to make an innocent girl look like the devil. And look who was carrying her? Me.
I glanced up at the sky. It was a clear night. You could see thousands of stars, and I thought again about the astronaut-thing. Yeah, even dying in space would be better than taking the girl I liked into the guys' dorms and putting her in bed with the quarterback.
I was already reaching for her, already making the choice I knew would change the course of our lives forever. But I couldn't bring myself to let Phoenix do it. Something in his eyes told me that I couldn't trust him. They were empty — they'd been that way for a while, as if his soul no longer possessed his body but had long ago given up on him, leaving him damned for eternity.
"You're going to do it?" he snarled. "Really?"
"It's not like I haven't done it before," I whispered so Trace, if she was still conscious, wouldn't hear me. We'd done this prank more times than I could count, but it had always been to people who'd deserved it. Girls who'd whored themselves around and made fun of others… bullies. Basically, we took care of the bullies in the only way we knew how: take it too far and hope that when they woke up in someone else's bed without any recollection of what had happened, they change their ways or leave the school.
Trace screamed innocence.
So I was doing it — not because she was a slut.
But because I knew it was what was best. We needed her to leave school because things hadn't been the same since she'd arrived. Nixon was more pissed than ever, and he'd invited her into our group, into our lives.
"Just let me do it."
Her body fell into my arms, and I almost winced. She was so light, so soft. In another time, maybe another world, she'd be mine. I'd carry her to my dorm, take care of her, tell her that all guys weren't like that, they weren't like us. I'd tell her that one day a guy would earn her… not take what wasn't his to take.
"It's what Nixon wants," Phoenix said slowly. "He just doesn't know it. You know it's divided us too much already. When was the last time you went against him, Chase?"
I said nothing.
"That's what I thought. Deal with it in your way, or I'll deal with it in mine." Phoenix's eyes greedily took her in, and then he placed a kiss on her forehead. "It's a pity. She really is beautiful."
Not a chance in hell. I pulled her away, walked back to the SUV, and placed her in the front seat.
"Damn Mafia," I muttered, turning on the car.
"Wh-what?" Trace asked.
"Shh." I touched her cheek with the back of my hand and noticed a blood stain on my wrist.
I jerked away.
But it was too late.
I was tainted. And I'd touched her.
And I was reminded again of how different our worlds were. Mine was bloody. Hers was pure.
"It will be okay, Trace," I whispered. "Tim won't hurt you, and in the end, you'll leave. It's better this way. You'll be safe. And everything…" My voice shook. "…everything will go back to normal."
By the time I made it to Tim's room, I was full-on sick. He opened his door and looked down. "For real?" The girls loved him because his Asian looks pegged him as an exotic, yet he still had the whole football-body thing going for him. He worshipped the Elect— Then again, we had so much shit on his family it wasn't even funny. Homebody had signed his life in blood. He'd never be rid of us, and he knew it.
"Make it look real." I placed her on the bed. "Nixon wants to make an example out of her."
"Ah, so that's what Phoenix's text was about. He said she needed to be naked so…"
"Hell no!" I spat, damn-near punching him in the jaw. "It's a setup, a simple lesson in who runs things. You actually touch her, and I'll remove every finger on your right hand and sew them on backward. Feel me?"
Tim paled and nodded his head slowly. "So what? I just take some pictures of her lying here and stuff?"
My eyes narrowed. "Wait. Nixon hasn't texted you to follow up?" Something felt wrong about it, but the last thing I wanted to do was argue with the boss, especially after he'd just shot someone in the head.
Tim's text alert went off. "Never mind. I got instructions."
So Nixon had set it up.
Bastard.
I hated him.
I wanted to kill him myself.
Then again, I was just as bad. I may not have made the order, but I'd carried out the command like a bitch. An innocent girl was going to wake up in the quarterback's bed, rumors would spread, she'd be called a slut, and she'd come running back to the Elect for protection. And everyone would see that this world was one of our own creation, and it was out of the goodness of our hearts we let them live in it.
Tim sighed. "Just for tonight?"
"Yeah, come back around six thirty, alright?"
"Cool." He licked his lips. "I'll go stay down the hall. Text me the story I'm supposed to stick with before you leave in the morning, alright?"
"Great." I nodded and moved out of the way as he left me alone in the room.
I'd never stayed before.
I usually gave Tim instructions, paid him well, considering he was technically on football scholarship, and went on my merry way.
But that's the thing about the Mafia running a university. We had everyone in our pocket, including the quarterback who just happened to have been paid
by the Abandonatos to win football games and do every damn thing we said.
Tonight. This night. I stayed.
Because leaving her there by herself made me feel like shit. I set her on the bed just as my phone rang. It was Nixon.
And I was too pissed at him to answer.
So I let it go to voicemail and tucked it back in my pocket.
How the hell did a person get so pretty? And why did it matter that her skin looked like velvet? Or that her lips were so red I wanted to taste them? Yeah, pretty sure kissing a girl while she was unconscious was frowned upon. Then again, so was undressing her.
Hating myself, I gently tugged off her clothes, leaving her in nothing but her bra and underwear and stared.
Like a complete stalker, lunatic, insane person.
My phone rang again.
I kept staring.
She moaned in her sleep.
And for the first time in years, I wanted to be different. If I had been born into a different family, lived a different life, I would have had a girl like that — a girl like her. One who was so damn innocent that when she saw French cuisine, her eyes got big.
A girl who probably didn't know the difference between a merlot and a cab. I wanted a girl who got excited when she saw things for the first time, a girl unjaded.
I wanted Trace.
For no other reason than she wasn't like anyone I'd ever known — and I'd only known her a few days.
Which again should prove the point.
I leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Pretty girl…" I closed my eyes. "…I'm so sorry, but you can't stay here. You can't be in our world. You'll either die or wish you were dead. You're already in too deep, and you don't even know it." I kissed her again, lingering so close that I could smell her shampoo.
Cursing, I looked over at the clock. It was past midnight.
I took off my shoes, jumped onto the bed with her, and pulled her into my arms. She may be unconscious, but I wanted her to feel safe — secure, even if she wasn't aware of it. Maybe it was because it made me feel better.
I held her all night, and when Tim knocked on the door early in the morning, I told him the story to stick with, ran outside, and puked.
It wasn't minutes later when I got a phone call from Phoenix. "You did good."
So why did it feel like I'd just sold my soul to the devil? My reflection stared back at me through the mirror in the room. How many times did a person have before they lost their soul for good? Before they turned to the other side?
I had a sinking feeling I was already there. And the one reason — the one person who could pull me from it — was going to hate me forever.
I found Phoenix in the main lobby. Without saying a word, I sat down next to him and closed my eyes.
The sound of laughter woke me out of my sleep. Phoenix stood, I followed, and soon the door to the hall burst open. Trace barreled through it, tears streaming down her cheeks. A coward would look away. A coward would avert his eyes in shame.
I was no coward.
So I met her gaze as if I knew exactly what I was doing — as if she deserved their ridicule.
She launched herself at Phoenix. He flinched as she pounded his chest, and something flashed across his face. Regret? I wasn't sure, but he wasn't fighting her back, almost like he wanted her to beat him to death.
Too early to deal with his masochistic tendencies, I blocked her next hit and stood in front of him. "Let it go, Trace."
"You son of a bitch!" Tears collided with her lips. "Why would you do that to me?"
Because I was weak.
Because in the Mafia we don't ask questions.
Because she was dangerous.
Take your pick.
"Maybe don't drink so much next time." Phoenix smirked.
I released Trace as guys filtered out into the lobby yelling "Whore!"
She ran out the door, and I just stood there.
The entire football team bullied her.
And I'd helped it happen.
She was crying.
And I stood there.
I deserved nothing from her — not even a smile. I deserved death, and it was about time I let go of the fantasy that I would have anything but that in my future.
"Let's get ready for class." Phoenix slapped me on the back. "It's done. Nixon texted this morning and said he didn't want to talk about it, so do us both a favor and just leave it, Chase. He's been through enough, yeah?"
"Yeah," I croaked. Like I wanted to relive what had just happened? Hell no. "You're right."
"Course I am." Phoenix's eyes flashed with sadness before he shook his head and smiled. "Now if only the English teacher would think the same thing. Been trying to get in her pants all week."
And that was it.
No more talk of Trace.
No more talk of Nixon.
Just us, pretending like we were normal college students.
What a joke.
Enforce Page 19
