Reckless At Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels Book 3)

by Callie Hart

  “Ahhh, sorry, ladies. Didn’t see you there. I was aiming for the trash can,” Nassem jeers. “Don’t worry, though. There are plenty of witnesses around. No need to go running to Darhower and crying rape or anything.”

  I see red.

  I don’t really see anything at all.

  One second, I’m helping Zen dab the soda from her face and her shirt, and the next I’m flying across the hallway, lifting my fist…

  Suddenly, a menacing roar fills the corridor, and I’m no longer standing on my own two feet. I’m being lifted in the air, spun around, set back down again…

  …and Alex is hurling himself at the group of football players.

  It all happens so quickly. A startled scream splits the air behind me. People collide into one another in their desperate attempts to get out of the way. Kyle looks stunned for a split second, before he’s lifted from his feet and Alex has him pinned against the wall.

  “Alex, no!”

  My shout goes unheard.

  Alex pulls back his fist and I watch as he drives it forward in slow motion, slamming it into Kyle’s face.

  A dull crack fills the air, and Kyle’s head makes contact with the wall behind him. That’s when Lawrence and Naseem seem to realize that there are more of them than there are of Alex, and they fall on him, pulling at his shirt, dragging him off their friend.

  I can only watch, horrified, as the three jocks tear into Alex. It’s simple math: three against one. My boyfriend stands to get his ass kicked. Kyle seems a little dazed, as he throws a punch at Alex and misses. Lawrence has better aim. His fist makes contact with Alex’s jaw. Naseem plays it safe and lands a winding punch to Alex’s gut.

  It seems, fleetingly, that Alex is about to hit the deck, but when I see the fury on his face, it becomes clear that that just isn’t going to happen. Alex isn’t the type of guy to go down in a fight. He’s the type of guy who’ll doggedly remain on his feet no matter how hard he’s hit, until someone rings his bell hard enough for him to lose consciousness. I don’t want it to get that far, though. The last thing I want to see is Alex knocked out on the ground.

  “Hey!” I step forward, but Zen grabs my wrist, preventing me from getting too close to the melee. The three jocks are oblivious to me. Alex isn’t. The whites of his eyes show as he finds me amongst the madness, and his steely warning drills into me: don’t come any closer, Argento. Keep back.

  Kyle hits Alex square on the jaw. He shakes his head, as if he can shrug out of the pain and the disorientation. It doesn’t look like it works, though. With Lawrence and Naseem now holding Alex by either arm, an already shitty situation begins to look even worse.

  Kyle staggers back, grunting as he hefts back his arm, swinging for Alex’s face…

  Oh god.

  Come on. Please, no.

  How many times do I have to watch the guy I love being hurt because of me?

  I flinch, my breath lodged in the back of my throat, alongside another pleading cry. I can’t work it free. It’s jammed there, unable to get out. Kyle lurches drunkenly, too far away to land his punch…

  …as Alex wrenches himself free of Lawrence’s grasp. In a predatory, swift movement, he dips, pivots his hips, rises again, and grabs Lawrence by the side of the head. The crowd sucks in a communal breath as Alex digs his fingers into the other guy’s shaggy hair, reels him in, and then smashes his head into the lockers.

  “Holy shit,” Zen hisses. “Did you see that? His eyes rolled back into his head. He’s out cold.”

  Sure enough, Lawrence is out cold. His eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling. Kyle and Naseem exchange a glance that spells trouble—their outraged that Alex has KO’d their boy. Naseem steps forward first. The hallway suddenly becomes stiflingly hot. It’s as though the walls are pressing in on all sides. Smirking like this entire fight has boiled down to this moment, Naseem eyes Alex like he’s about to give him a taste of his own medicine. My boyfriend laughs softly under his breath, eying him dubiously, though.

  “One more step, Nas. Just one more.”

  “And what? You can’t take me and Kyle, asshole. Jesus, you really do think you’re god’s gift, don’t you?”

  Alex answers with a subtle twitch of his mouth. It’s as close as he’s ever going to get to smiling in front of Naseen. “You were warned. One step closer and you’ll—”

  Naseem steps forward.

  In a blur of arms and smudged black clothing, Alex flies at him. Naseem braces, ducking a little to take the brunt of Alex’s weight as he crashes into him, but he’s massively underestimated Alex’s strength. He goes down. Alex grabs the front of his shirt, pulling the guy off the ground to meet his fist, which he pulls back and unleashes again and again, until the asshole falls limp, his head lolling back.

  “Darhower!” a girl cries on the far side of the knot of people. “Darhower’s coming! Get the fuck out of here!”

  The crowd breaks, scattering like a bunch of cockroaches across a kitchen floor. Students flee in every direction, tripping over one another, pushing each other out of the way as they attempt to distance themselves from the fight. Alex lowers his fist. He also drops Naseem, letting him fall to the blood streaked linoleum beneath his feet.

  Curses under his breath, Kyle braces himself against the locker door beside him; looks like he’s still winded from the very first hit Alex landed on him.

  “Go on and get to class, Silver,” Alex says grimly, clenching his jaw.

  What the…? Of all the ridiculous things he could say to me right now, this tops the charts. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither’s Zen. We’ll tell Principal—”

  His nostrils flare. Shaking his head, he steps over Naseem and gently tugs me toward the rear exit of the building, urging me to move. “Come on, Argento. If Darhower’s shitty to you, even remotely shitty, then I’m gonna lose my temper and hit the fucker. This is already bad enough as it i—”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Fuck.

  Too late.

  Principal Darhower’s enraged voice booms down the hallway as he draws closer. Sounds like he’s already clocked the two kids lying on the floor, and Kyle leaning awkwardly against the lockers, with Alex and me standing right in the middle of the carnage. It’s too late to go sneaking off now, even if I wanted to.

  I turn just in time for Darhower to arrive. He places his hands on his hips, pushing his suit jacket back, disbelief etched into the lines of his face. “Heaven help me, but I thought this week was gonna be it,” he huffs. “This week, I figured things would be normal for once. Quiet, even. Hah!” His small snatch of laughter makes me jump. “I’m delusional. What is it, what’s the saying?” He clicks his fingers, urging the phrase he’s looking for to reveal itself to him. “Repeating the same act over and over and expecting a different result…that’s the definition of madness. Well, I must be out of my fucking mind, because I really did, once again, let myself believe that you two weren’t going to cause any more trouble. Yet here we are…again…”

  “Alex was defending us,” Zen says, stepping forward. Her voice sounds strong. Her attitude—the way she’s set her jaw and is looking Darhower dead in the eye—is night and day from the anxious, scared demeanor she was rocking not five minutes ago. “These idiots threw a can of soda at us. They were threatening us,” Zen announces, everything about her tight and controlled. “I was scared. You know. For the baby.”

  Whoa!

  What the fuck? Did she just say that out loud? I jerk back, startled by Zen’s statement. I’m not the only one surprised by what she’s just said, either; Darhower pales, his cheeks turning ashen white. I can only image the looks on the faces of the students around us who didn’t run, because I can’t tear my eyes away from the man in the wrinkled suit standing five feet away.

  “I—y—wha—” Principal Darhower’s mouth opens and closes a number of times before he breaks eye contact with Zen and looks briefly down at his feet while he gathers himself. He wasn’t expecting her t
o bring up the fact that she’s pregnant. Not in a hallway full of people. I wasn’t expecting her to bring it up, either. Darhower kneads the back of his neck, pressing his fingertips into his skin like he’s attempting to ease a sudden pinched nerve. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a tight, unfriendly smile.

  “Y’know what? I should suspend the lot of you. Send you home and demand your parents do something about this…this mayhem. It’d be a complete waste of time, though, wouldn’t it? You’re like goddamn wolves. I can’t handle a second more of this, I swear. Ms, MacReady, get yourself to the nurses’ station and get yourself checked out. We wouldn’t want any harm to have come to your baby. Once she’s finished, you three idiots drag your asses over there and get seen, too. Lawrence Davis, were you unconscious just now?”

  Lawrence has woken up and has gotten to his feet while Darhower’s been ranting. “No,” he lies, shaking his head blearily. “I was fine. I was just…”

  “Don’t even bother. Just make sure you don’t have a concussion, and then get the hell to your next class.” You can practically see the fumes billowing out of his nose as he turns his attention to Alex and me. “You were so sweet and easy when you were a freshman, Silver. I swear to god, puberty is a curse sent from the gods to punish me specifically. And you…” he says, narrowing his eyelids to slits as he considers Alex. “The day you were foisted onto this school was a bad day indeed. Honestly, I literally pray at night that you all graduate with flying colors, purely so there’ll be no chance of you repeating your senior year. At this rate, I’ll be in an early grave before June. Get out of my sight.”

  Alex arches a cool eyebrow at the principal, his dark eyes sharper than razors. “No suspension? No threats?” he asks. “Don’t you want to finally expel me from the school?”

  That is what Darhower’s wanted for a very long time. This, right here, is plenty of cause to expel Alex from Raleigh, and Maeve wouldn’t be able to save his ass this time.

  Darhower’s lip curls up. “I’ve learned the hard way that getting rid of you isn’t as easy as it sounds. Enjoy prom. Enjoy what’s left of your senior year. Just do me a favor and keep the hell out of my way, boy.”

  37

  ALEX

  You’re expected to look smart in court, but I’ve stood before judges and juries in a t-shirt and jeans every single time I’ve been dragged up onto a dock. I haven’t given a single fuck about the impression I’m supposed to give them. Those uptight stiffs, perched on their benches, heard the charges against me and immediately made their decisions about me and the kind of person I was. In their eyes, I was a criminal. A waste of space. A piece of shit that didn’t deserve to share the same oxygen as them. I always knew that a collared shirt and a tie wouldn’t do much to sway them when it came down to it, and so I dressed accordingly. No sense in being uncomfortable for nothing.

  Tonight marks the very first time I’ve ever worn a suit. It’s black and tailored, and the woman in the store cooed over me like a fucking psychopath when I tried it on in the store. She told me I was the most handsome guy she’d ever fitted. Yet all the while, she made sure to avoid looking at the ink that covers half of my body, fussing nervously around the tie clips and the cufflinks, watching me out of the corner of her eye like I was about to burn the place down to the ground with her still inside the building.

  I straighten out the thin black pencil tie I just fastened around my neck, and for a moment the guy staring back at me from the bathroom mirror doesn’t look like me at all. He looks like someone who might have a promising future ahead of him. I can see him accomplishing lofty goals and making something of himself, and that is frightening as fuck. Because failing is easy. Being the guy everyone expects me to be—that tearaway thug who’ll never amount to anything but trouble—is the path of least resistance. Working to be better, to be more, is a much harder path to walk. If I convince people I’m a good man, there’s a solid chance that, at some point, I’ll actually end up letting them down…and that possibility, especially where Silver’s concerned, is unacceptable.

  Then don’t let her down, asshole, I tell the guy looking back at me in the mirror. Give her the life she deserves. Keep her safe, and never, ever hurt her.

  I already know I’m not gonna hurt her. I might not be the perfect husband but fuck me if I don’t damn near kill myself trying to be. For her.

  I walk away from the mirror, feeling like I’ve entered into some kind of contract with the promise of the man I might become, and I feel strangely optimistic about the whole thing.

  As tradition dictates, Cameron opens the door to the Parisi household. I’ve knocked, even though I’m perfectly comfortable with walking through the front door unannounced these days. It’s prom night, and I want Silver to get the whole experience. Wouldn’t have been right if she didn’t hear the boy who asked her to be his date arriving on the doorstep, as she checked her hair and straightened out her dress.

  “Mr. Bond, I presume?” Cam says, putting on a thick non-descript Eastern European accent. He waggles his eyebrows as he looks me up and down. “Prepare to die. Mwahahahaha!”

  “I don’t think any of the Bond villains were vampires, old man,” I tell him, skirting past him into the hallway. “You ever even seen a Bond movie?”

  He folds his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow at me suspiciously, like this is a trick question. “No. You?”

  I shake my head, laughing softly. “Guess I haven’t.”

  “We should probably rectify that. Have a movie marathon or something. I don’t think we count as real men until we’ve at least seen the Connery years.”

  I lean back against the wall next to the mail stand. “You asking me on a date? ‘Cause you should know, I’m already seeing someone.”

  “Hah hah. Very droll.” He clears his throat, his expression turning serious. “I’m supposed to tell you to have my daughter home by midnight now. And tell you to keep your hands to yourself. Seems a little futile now, since she already agreed to marry your sorry ass. You should still keep your hands to yourself, though,” he adds on the end. “I don’t condone your hands anywhere near my daughter, just so we’re clear. If it were up to me, neither of you would be allowed to make physical contact of any kind until you’re both at least thirty.”

  “God, Dad, please stop talking.” Silver’s standing at the top of the stairs. It’s an undeniably cliché moment—Cameron giving me his fucked up, messy version of ‘the talk’ while I wait by the door for the girl of my dreams to appear. But fuck it. I don’t give a shit, because Silver looks like she is a dream. Her hair’s loose and wavey, styled to look like it hasn’t been styled at all. She’s wearing hardly any makeup, maybe just a touch of mascara and some lip gloss, and she looks fresh and vibrant. And her dress…it hits me that I’ve never seen Silver in a dress before. She lives in her jeans and t-shirts just like I do. The little black number she’s wearing isn’t your typical prom dress. It’s a little edgy, and short, and the long expanse of her legs instantly makes my dick hard. Awkward, since Cam’s standing four feet away.

  The shoulders and the top of the dress that covers her cleavage is made of some kind of lace that sparkles and catches at the light as she hesitantly begins to come down the stairs. “What do you think?” she asks, running her hands over the material.

  “Beautiful.”

  “Beautiful.”

  Cam and I say it at the same time. We look at each other, and Silver’s father coughs uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Right. Screw you guys for growing up and leaving me here at home on my own. I’m gonna get the camera.”

  “No! Jesus. Dad, we don’t need embarrassing prom photos. We’re both covered in bruises.”

  We are, too. They’re fading fast—a few of mine are fresher than others—but you can still see them if you look close enough. Cam doesn’t give a shit, though.

  “Uhhh…yeah. You have to have embarrassing photos taken. How else am I gonna remind you how dumb you looked in thirty years, when fa
shions have changed and everyone’s wearing bell bottoms again?”

  He ducks into his office, and Silver races down the remaining steps, grabbing hold of me by the suit jacket. “Come on, let’s bail before he manages to find the Polaroid.”

  I scoop her off her feet, holding her up against me for a moment, placing a long, smoldering kiss on her lips. No tongue. I just hold her, lingering as I enjoy the sensation of her pliant lips, until she begins to melt against me. I love kissing this girl so fucking much. Each and every kiss I steal from her is a gift I don’t deserve. Cameron clatters, dropping something in the office, and his hissed, “Shit!” echoes out into the hallway.

  I release Silver, setting her back on her feet, pleased with the fact that her pupils are so blown they’ve almost swallowed her irises and she looks dazed as hell. I know I have an effect on her but witnessing it with my own two eyes makes me inordinately smug. God, she’s so fucking beautiful, it feels like my insides are on fire. With a light touch, I skim the palm of my hand over her hair, humming softly under my breath. “Let’s give him the moment, Argento. He’s your dad. He should play his role in this whole prom debacle, just like we do.”

  “Urgh. Fine.” She pretends to be annoyed, but a pleased light dances in her eyes. I think she loves the fact that I consider Cam from time to time. He bursts back out of his office, brandishing a DSLR like a weapon, as if he knows his daughter was planning on making a run for it. “Stand by the painting,” he orders. “And I know this is gonna painful for both of you, okay, but I’m gonna need you both to smile.”

  Once the obligatory modeling shoot’s over with (yes, we both smiled), Cam lets us leave. Silver gasps when she hits the end of the path that leads to the turning circle in front of the house and sees our ride for the evening. “Alex! What the hell have you done?”

  Shrugging, I suddenly feel out of sorts. “I thought about renting a limo for the evening and having someone drive us to the school, but I couldn’t make myself do it. So Cam gave me the keys to the Nova, and…well…” I gesture to her car, as if the sight of it alone is all the explanation she needs. The gleaming new cherry red paint job speaks for itself. She can’t see the brand new chromed out engine block from here, though. Or the newly upholstered leather seats.