by MV Ellis
“It’s not getting me off even in the slightest,” I deadpan, pushing against him again experimentally. I’m relieved when this time, he actually lets me sit up, raising his body from mine, and standing by the desk. I do the same.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar, Bambi? I don’t believe what you just said any more than I believe that your legal research is for schoolwork.”
He throws me a casual grin and thrusts his hand toward me. I need to look away from his face, so his outstretched hand is the perfect distraction.
How the fuck can a guy who has just pinned me to a desk in the library cause my stomach to flip so wildly? “Thunder.” The way he says his name makes it sound like an invitation. Or a challenge. Or a threat. Or, worse still, a promise.
I stare at his hand as though he’s just rubbed it in dog shit, and leave it hanging between us.
“I know who you are, and I don’t need to shake your hand.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs like it’s literally nothing to him one way or the other, then casually slots the hand in question into the pocket of his black jeans.
“And for the record, I don’t know what Zeph has told you about me and him, but you can tell him from me that what happened the other night doesn’t mean I’m his property, or plaything to be passed around between your little gang like a blunt at a party. Hell, I’m not his property, period. All of you guys need to learn to keep your hands, mouths, and the rest of you to yourselves.”
Thunder raises a questioning eyebrow. “Zeph? What does he have to do with this?” He motions between us. “He hasn’t told me anything about the two of you the other night, or any time for that matter. But thanks for the heads up, and I’ll be sure to pass on your message to him.”
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
The blood rushes to my cheeks, and I’m burning up inside.
Thunder winks slowly, a sly grin sliding onto his face, before turning on his heel and walking away. I stand still, pinned in place, feeling like a fool for blurting out all that stuff about Zeph, and reeling in shock from the whole episode. So, when he turns around after a few paces, as though as an afterthought, I’m standing there like I’ve been turned to stone. Sadly, it’s becoming my signature move.
“Oh, and Bambi?” I don’t answer, but that doesn’t seem to deter him. “My dad’s a big-shot lawyer, so when you’re ready to admit you have a problem—” He nods toward my laptop. “I may be able to help. Failing that, the rest of the guys and I are pretty strong; we can get to work with a shovel each, whenever you’re ready to dig that shallow grave to bury the body.” With those words he’s gone, sauntering out of the historic library like what just happened is a regular, everyday occurrence.
With what I’m learning about The Fallen, I’m beginning to think that maybe that’s true.
Chapter 20
Blake
* * *
Even after my run-in with Thunder, I don’t leave the library, as I want to make the most of my research time. I figure that Mrs. Castle won’t come back now, not with the threat of Thunder putting her in her place again looming large. As a newcomer, I still can’t get over the power those boys have around here, but everyone else seems to accept it as a given, so I guess it is what it is, and I have no choice but to fall in line with the status quo.
Hours later, I’m drained and distracted as I wander the halls, staring down at my feet and trying hard not to overthink everything.
My head is spinning to the point of a headache with all the information I’ve gathered, trying to put together a plan of action for what to do about my mom. I just need to go back to my dorm and sleep off the impending migraine and the despair, and hopefully I’ll feel better in the morning.
I was reading up on missing persons’ cases and how to register them, but then I fell down a true crime rabbit hole, filling my head with the worst worst-case scenarios imaginable. I’m so stupid. Why the hell did I do that to myself?
It’s almost as bad as relying on a search engine to self “diagnose” an illness, and ending up convinced I’m dying of everything from cancer to a brain hemorrhage.
When I finally glance up, I look around, and my heart drops. Well, that’s just great. I’ve screwed up on the stairs again. I’m wandering the guys’ floor and heading toward the common room where The Fallen hang out and often party the night away, before my brain truly registers what I’m doing, and now I’m aware of where I am, curiosity is getting the better of me.
The Fallen aren’t the only guys with rooms on this floor, but everyone else is too scared of them to complain or try to use the space, even though they have as much right to it as the apparent kings of the school do. One thing I’m fast learning is that what should be true, and what is true, around here are often two vastly different things.
The door to The Abyss is partly ajar, and through the slit I spot Zeph among his friends, and my body sparks to life. If I was tired before, I suddenly feel wide awake, humming with nervous energy.
I ignore my body, and engage my brain, reminding myself to stay away from him. I’m slowly coming to realize that if I want to do that, my only real option is to keep out of his path, and hope he stays out of mine. At least it was, until I found myself here. How in the world do I keep getting myself into these situations? Not only is it starting to feel like groundhog day, but if I didn’t know better, I’d potentially believe I was doing it on purpose. I can almost see why Zeph is convinced I’m stalking him, or whatever.
Zeph has his head down over a tray. He is wearing a skintight black shirt, and actually has it buttoned closed this time, but even without being able to see his buff chest, he looks so good in it I can hardly cope. He’s wearing black leather cuffs on his wrists and skintight black jeans. The whole thing gives me rock star vibes, and I’m totally there for that. I can’t see his face, as he’s hunched over, which means he also can’t see me. Perfect.
As I start to back away to leave the scene, Zeph sits up straight and looks me right in the eye. It’s almost like he knew I was here all along, but he can’t have as his head was down over the tray the whole time. Our gazes lock. Shit. Shit. Shit. I want to high tail it out of there, but it’s too late—the connection has been made and I’m screwed six ways from Sunday. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole right now.
This is what I get for not paying attention to where I’m going, again. Maybe I need a GPS tracker, or an ankle bracelet that beeps or gives me a small electric shock when I’m heading out of bounds, like one of those dogs in the psychological experiments. Instead, I seem to have some kind of magnetic pull toward Zeph, when, for my own safety and sanity, I really need to run in the opposite direction.
Zeph’s eyes are red-rimmed. He sniffs and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. Is he high all the time? If it was anybody else, it would be a turn off, but it’s so “him” that it’s just expected. Plus, the truth is, his looks make it easy to overlook his less favorable qualities, even though there are many of them.
He’s a lot of bad things, but nobody can deny that he’s gorgeous beyond belief, and that coupled with the “thing” he has—the combination of confidence, arrogance, and all the swag—carries a lot of weight, regardless of the huge downsides to his personality.
It should be a crime for anyone to look that good and be so much of an asshole at the same time, but apparently it’s not, because he does, and he is. And it’s not just him. The rest of his crew are stupid hot too, and if Tyce and Thunder are anything to go by, total assholes, also. I guess that’s the reason they’re all so tight.
Zeph’s lips curl into a wicked smile, and his eyes sparkle. I have no idea if it’s the high making them that way, or something else. I just know it’s a wrench to walk away, but I also know I have to. I draw in a deep breath, then pivot, rapidly heading back in the direction I just come from.
I figure if I keep my head down and hurry, he’ll leave me alone. After all, he’s hardly the type to go chasing a
fter anyone—figuratively, or literally—especially not with his entire crew watching on.
I reach for the handle of the door that will take me out onto the staircase and back to my own floor, and heave a sigh of relief. Every time I avoid contact with Zeph, or one of the others, seems like some kind of win, though I have no idea what the prize is. My dignity, maybe.
The hand clamping down over my mouth, forcing me to stop in my tracks scares me half to death. I tense, with my heart hammering against my chest.
“Stop.” Jesus.
What is it with these guys creeping up and scaring the life out of me like fucking ninjas?
“Where are you running off to so fast, Bambi? Why don’t you come join the party?”
I shake my head, though I can’t speak, as the hand is still tightly in place.
My instincts kick in suddenly, and I begin to thrash around, biting at the palm of the hand held firmly to my mouth, and clutching at the solid and powerful forearm wrapped around my body. I stamp down hard, hoping to stomp some toes and do some damage that way. When that doesn’t get much of a response, I start twisting my body and kicking up and back, hoping to connect with something—anything.
Instead of releasing me, he grabs me tighter, bending one arm behind my back.
“Keep still. I just want to talk.” Really? You could have fooled me. I shake my head vigorously, both to demonstrate that I think that statement is total bullshit, and to continue my bid for freedom. “Stop flailing around like a fish out of water, and I’ll let you go. I’m going to remove my hand... now.”
I spin toward him, channeling the fury of a thousand hornets, and fold my arms tight in front of myself as I turn. “What the fuck do you want, Zeph?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? Look around.” He gestures with his arms. His smile has morphed into a leer tinged with danger, like a lapping flame in an open fire.
“I made a mistake.” In more ways than one. “I was heading for the laundry to pick up the stuff I dropped off earlier and took a wrong turn, I guess.”
“A whole wrong floor, you mean? Funny how that keeps happening ‘by accident,’ isn’t it?” The menace in his tone suggests that he thinks that it’s anything but funny.
Zeph’s eyes trail hungrily over my body as if he wants to devour me from head to toe. He hooks his hand around my elbow and pulls me toward him again.
“As for what I want... well, since you asked, I’ll tell you. Your timing is impeccable, actually, because I’m really fucking horny right now, so…?” He’s crazy.
“I was just going,” I say curtly, gripping myself even tighter.
“Why leave so soon? It’s still early, and obviously you didn’t get what you came for yet…Come join the party, and I’ll give it to you.”
“You know the rules. I’m not allowed to be here.” I remind him.
“Who gives a fuck about that? Rules are for pussies.” Zeph shrugs casually. I guess it seems weird to him that anybody should want to follow the rules when he constantly flouts them, and gets away with it.
“I do. So I guess that makes me a pussy. And someone who has a lot more to lose here than you do.” I flash him an annoyed look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He returns my glare, and moves in closer.
“It means that it’s easy to be above the rules like you are, when Daddy Dearest can pay your way out of trouble.” A hint of offense quickly flickers in his bright blue eyes, but it fades equally quickly.
His brows knit together as he studies me, stepping forward again so that his chest presses against my folded arms. His body heat is incredible, burning like an industrial furnace, and mine reacts to him accordingly, heated both by his physical presence and by the memory of what went on between us the night before.
Still, a little voice inside my head warns me to be careful, reminding me of the way he treated me during our last encounter. I feel like Icarus flying toward the sun—too close, and I’m going to get burned to a crisp.
“You can cut the poor little match-girl routine. I know you’re not who and what you say you are.” What the hell is he talking about?
“If this is about the ‘videos,’ you’re wrong. I told you that on Saturday.”
“I’m not wrong. You are.” What? He’s not even making any sense at this point. I wonder if maybe it’s the drugs talking. Maybe whatever he just took is messing with his mind.
“Don’t start this paranoid shit again, Zeph.”
He lowers his head so that it’s close to mine, and his breath is hot on my neck. I stay facing forward, and though my lips part instinctively, I don’t cave.
“No.” He hasn’t asked a question, but then again that’s not his style. Still, I know what he wants, even before I feel the telltale press of his erection against me, and I’m determined not to give it to him.
“I’m not proposing marriage. It’s just a fuck. Lighten up; it’s not like we haven’t done it before.” He slides his tongue across my earlobe and nibbles on it. I want to moan and yield, but I pull away instead.
“Zeph…”
“Whisper my name like that again. It’s hot as shit, I fucking love it.” He presses his forehead to mine. Our noses touch and rub against each other. He inhales deeply for a moment, then sniffs rapidly a few times. Is he… smelling me? So fucking weird.
The whole situation is weird, especially as, despite the obvious physical spark between the two of us, I know he doesn’t want me. Not me the person, anyway. He wants the challenge that I represent—something or someone to play with, like a cat with a mouse. A conquest.
Stupidly, I played right into his hands last night, but today’s a new day, and I won’t be giving him that satisfaction again.
Even though we’ve already slept together, because I’m not falling all over him like I’m guessing he’s used to other girls doing, he’s still toying with me. He’s like the cat who makes the mouse think it’s going to escape unscathed, before trapping it again with a sword-sharp claw to the chest, as it makes its last desperate break for freedom.
I guess that’s what bored rich kids do for fun—play with other people, as though they’re living dolls, and screw with their lives for the sheer hell of it. Especially people who don’t have the same resources at their disposal as they do. We’re just pawns in the chess game of their empty, overprivileged lives.
Well, fuck him, and fuck them. I may have played right into his hands before, but that’s going to stop right now.
“Fuck you, asshole.” I hiss the words low and sharp, pushing my palms against his chest at the same time. It has zero effect, but it makes me feel better for some lame reason.
“Oh, don’t you like guys, is that it? Is that why you’re so uptight all the time? Was fucking me last night a moment of amnesia, or a lapse in judgement, and now you’ve remembered that you prefer pussy? Is that what’s going on here?” Zeph’s eyes flash vindictively. I barely even know what to say to that, it’s so fucking stupid.
I throw my head back and laugh, then straighten up again and glare at him.
“Jesus Christ. Grow up, you self-obsessed, entitled brat. Given, as you rightly point out, we just fucked yesterday, if now I suddenly only like girls, you do the math. It would mean you were so bad, you turned me off guys. Go you! But the fact is, I like dick as much as the next girl, it’s just yours I’m not interested in. And just to be totally clear, that doesn’t make me a lesbian. It makes me choosy.”
“You were plenty interested last night. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that you loved it.”
“I mean, you’d had a lot to drink, and the rest, so you’re remembering things differently to what actually went down. In fact, I genuinely think you experienced the whole thing in an alternate reality.” I narrow my eyes as I glare harder at him.
“You’re right about one point, though—the whole ordeal was a regrettable lapse in judgement, and you can be sure it won’t be happening again. But that’s okay, because obviously the le
gions of girls who are always throwing themselves onto your dick like desperados aren’t half as selective as I am, so it’s not like you’ll be lonely without me,” I hiss again, fuming now.
Zeph looks equally pissed. He glances over his shoulder, back toward The Abyss. His friends seem oblivious to what’s going on out here, though I doubt he’d care even if they were watching. He takes my elbow and pulls me to an alcove that’s shrouded in shadows, where he looms over me imposingly, with his breath hot on my neck again.
“What’s your motherfucking problem?” The menace in his voice and his physical stance put me on edge, but it doesn’t deter my response.
“I don’t have a problem, you do. No, correction; my problem is you, because you made it that way. I just want you to respect my boundaries and leave me the hell alone. It’s not exactly too much to ask, so maybe the real question is, what’s your problem?” My eyes flash angrily at him.
Now it’s his turn to laugh. The sound is a sharp, bitter whiplash that cracks around the cool and angular marble surfaces of the ancient empty hall.
“Are you even serious right now? You’re asking me to give you space? The girl who from the moment she stepped into this school has been all up in my grill twenty-four seven. My problem is that you claim to have nothing to do with the videos, yet everywhere I am, every time I turn around, there you are like some kind of prick-tease fucking shadow. Listening. Watching. Waiting. It’s fucking creepy.” His eyes flicker with anger, and I wonder if he is actually certifiably insane. He must be, if he thinks I’m intentionally seeking him out.
“You’re seriously saying you think I’m some kind of stalker. Are you out of your mind…? Don’t answer that; you clearly are. Maybe you should lay off whatever the fuck that is—” I wave vaguely in the vicinity of The Abyss. “And take a trip back to reality with the rest of us.” I hesitate, momentarily considering saying nothing more, but then I change my mind. At this point, I have nothing to lose, so what the hey?
