Crack!
I hit LaQueefa right in the eye.
Her head snaps back briefly, but it doesn’t bother her.
I’m already throwing another punch.
Which she catches in her ham hand.
Shit.
I may be quick, and I may be strong for my size, but I’m not cavewoman strong.
She has me by the wrist and ninjas me to the dirt ground of the yard, knocking the wind out of me. Then she drops on my chest, squashing my breasts as she sits down with all her weight.
I thought I didn’t have any wind left to wheeze, but I do.
Now I really can’t move and my vision stars.
Next thing I know, she has one hand on my throat, and the other is holding a toothbrush like a knife, pointing the sharpened handle an inch from my eye. Her hateful lips peel back over cemetery teeth and she cackles, “Bitch, you gonna get it now.”
The toothbrush is so close to my eye, it’s blurry.
Did I mention I’ve always dreamed of being a badass lady pirate with a sexy eyepatch?
LaQueefa snarls, “I’m gonna blind both your eyes out, you punk-ass little bitch.”
I didn’t say two eyepatches!
“Blind them right out!” She smiles a hateful grin.
I’m ready to piss my panties, but I’m not giving up either eye for this witch. Time to bitch-slap her smile into submission. Hard as I can, I slap cupped hands over her ears.
LaQueefa screams in pain and rolls off me. Her fingers explode open and she drops the toothbrush so she can cover her ears. She rolls writhing on the ground and I grab the toothbrush.
I spring to my feet and spin a circle, expecting her friends to jump me from behind.
“Break it up, break it up!” the guards shout as they rush over.
What do they find?
LaQueefa on the ground with blood dribbling out her ears and me standing over her with a deadly plastic prison shank.
<(—)>
“Felony assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder,” the tired public defender says as she reads over the charges from the paperwork laying on the table between us. She’s older and wears a cheap navy skirt suit. Her name is Nadine Something.
I can’t remember what because I’m a little frazzled. I say, “I didn’t try to murder her! I was trying to get her off me!”
Nadine levels a look at me over her reading glasses and purses her lips. Her eyes say she’s heard it all before. Her mouth says, “Her ears were bleeding. She has two punctured eardrums. You were holding a sharpened toothbrush. Six witnesses say you stabbed her in the ears.”
“I did not! They’re lying! That toothbrush isn’t even mine! It’s hers!”
Nadine arches an eyelid because she’s been arching the eyebrow over it ever since she came in here, and the eyelid is all she has left to work with. She says, “It doesn’t look good.”
“You have to believe me!” I plead.
“I’m not the one you have to convince, Mary. It’s the jury I’m worried about.”
I shriek, “Jury? What jury?!” I know from extensive experience that juvenile cases are decided by a judge, not a jury. They only use juries when—
“They want to try you as an adult.”
“No!” I gasp.
“I’m very sorry, Mary.”
“Not half as sorry as I am! This isn’t right! That big bitch attacked me! She had the shank! I was just trying to save my own ass because you people won’t!” Now I am crying. I can’t help it.
Nadine reaches across the table and gives my wrist a motherly squeeze.
“Don’t touch me!” I bark and yank my arm away. Having spent nearly half my underage life getting kicked around in foster care, and I hate being touched unless—
((((pitch black))))
((((pain))))
—I’m warned at least a week in advance.
“We’ll get through this,” Nadine encourages softly.
“We?!” I sneer and shoot to my feet, “Oh! Are you going to jail with me, Nadine?! Are you going to be my cellie?! Are we going to spoon together every night so none of the other women try to rape me?! That’s right, Nadine! Female rape is a thing! You don’t need a dick to do it! They use other things! Sharp things! Oh wait, let me guess. You’ve never been to jail, have you?! Have you?!” I’m inches away from her face because I’m so damn mad and scared at the same time.
Nadine gives me a pained look. “I’ll do everything for you I can, Mary. I won’t let you down.”
“Bullshit, Nadine! That is total bullshit and you know it! The system has let me down my whole life! That’s not changing now and we both know it!”
The door to the interrogation room opens and a big deputy sticks his head inside. He says, “Everything okay in here, Nadine?” They know each other.
She says over her shoulder, “I’m fine, Jeb. It’s a lot for her to process right now. You understand.”
I barely notice because I’m freaking the fuck out about spending years in a women’s prison. Years. Everyone knows American prisons ruin people. I’m already ruined enough. I don’t need more ruining. For once in my life, I need less.
You know that saying, “When you hit rock bottom, the only place to go is up?”
It’s bullshit.
When you hit rock bottom, you still haven’t hit prison.
I eye the open door. If I wanted, I could slip under Jeb’s arm and make a run for it down the hallway. I tense my legs under the table, ready to spring from my seat.
A commotion in the hallway attracts Jeb’s attention. His eyes glance to the side.
Time to make my move.
Before I can launch into action, some stuffy old dude in a fancy suit is beside Jeb and blocking my exit. Stuffy’s skin is so pale and translucent, it’s almost vampiric. Not that that’s a thing, but you never know.
Stuffy the Vampire makes eye contact with Nadine and says, “A moment, if you please.”
Nadine frowns, “Who’re you?”
“I’ll explain outside,” Stuffy says.
“Are you from the DA’s office? Jeb? Do you know him?”
Jeb shakes his head.
Nadine glances at me.
I roll my eyes because I’ve never seen Stuffy before in my life.
A very serious looking middle-aged man in a rumpled suit steps up behind Stuffy like he’s catching up to the man.
Nadine says to Mr. Rumpled, “Colin? What’s going on?” Nadine turns to me and says, “Colin works at the courthouse. For the district attorney.”
“Is that a good thing?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” Nadine shakes her head uncertainly.
“Shall we?” Stuffy asks the room.
Colin gives Nadine a nod.
She says, “Is this in regards to Mary?”
“It is,” Stuffy says.
“Okay then,” Nadine nods, stands, and brushes down her skirt. On her way out she says to me, “I’ll be right back. Hang tight.”
“Take your time,” I smirk. The longer the better.
Jeb closes the door.
I immediately start looking for a way out. I’ll climb through the ceiling if I have to. No, it’s solid. So is the floor. Anybody have a jackhammer? Like, a team of hot muscled sweaty construction models from Abercrombie & Fitch or wherever to dig me out of here? No? Not today? A girl can dream.
In lieu of that fantasy, I wrack my brains for an escape plan.
<(—)>
When they come back in, I’m clutching a paperclip from Nadine’s papers in my fist. It’s the best I could come up with on short notice. I can use it to pick a lock later if I have to. Not that I know how, but necessity is the mother of invention and desperation is her cheerleader.
Nadine is beaming a smile when she sits down. I know that look. Seen it a thousand times. It means I’m not her problem anymore.
“Good news,” she gushes.
I try to perk my resting bitch face up into a smile, but I just can’t
. I know better. “What?”
“Nothing like this has ever happened before…”
“Tell me about it,” I grumble.
Nadine glances at Stuffy, then smiles to me, “Mr. Ralston has arranged to have your charges dropped.”
Stuffy is obviously Mr. Ralston.
I snort a laugh at him, “Whose dick did you suck to make that happen?” I know how the system works.
Nobody laughs.
“Sorry,” I mutter under my breath. “I should’ve said blood.” I don’t believe in vampires, but Mr. Ralston is seriously pale. “Whose blood did you suck?”
They still don’t think it’s funny.
Flustered, I hiss, “I’m kinda stressed out, okay? Sorry!”
Nadine regroups and weaves her fingers together, clasping her hands on the table. She says cheerily, “As I was saying, Mr. Ralston would like to make you an offer.”
I almost blurt out that I’m not sucking his dick for any price. He’s grandpa old. Ew, just, ew. I sigh, “And?”
“And,” Nadine nods and smiles enthusiastically, “you should really hear him out.”
He steps up behind her all smiles and says, “Allow me to introduce myself, Miss Angerman. My name is Mr. Ralston and I am the assistant to the headmaster at Castle Hill Academy. I have come here today to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“Which is?” I prompt, folding my arms across my chest.
Mr. Ralston puffs up proudly. “In exchange for the dismissal of all charges, we at Castle Hill would like to take you into our custody.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I say cautiously, trying not to think what sort of custody Mr. Ralston has in mind. I don’t like the word headmaster either, and when I hear the word castle I think dungeon, which is obviously worse than prison, because dungeons have actual torture chambers with toothless torturers who are ready and waiting to do their worst. I’m already seeing sizzling hot pokers aiming for my fingernails.
Mr. Ralston smiles, “I can see by your reluctance that you misunderstand my meaning, Miss Angerman. We would like to offer you admission into our program.”
“What program?”
“The Castle Hill Academy work-study program.”
I frown, “What’s Castle Hill again?”
“Why, it’s one of the most prestigious preparatory academies in the world, if not thee.”
“Thee what? Most prestigious?”
Winking at Nadine, Mr. Ralston chortles, “She has a keen mind, this one. Exactly the sort of pupil we prefer.”
I say, “Are you for real?”
“Very much so, Miss Angerman. As is our offer.”
“Why me?”
“Examination of your school records indicates that you have untapped potential.”
The only potential I’d like to tap is the potential to get the F out of here.
“With your permission, Miss Angerman, I would like to take you to the academy post haste. We are already three weeks into the first term of the school year, which according to your records is your second year in high school. Am I correct?”
“You are.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you falling any further behind than you already are. Based on your impressive test scores, I have no doubt you can handle the course load and catch up with your classmates, but I would like to ensure you have the time you need to familiarize yourself with our little quirks before too long.”
“So, erm, am I stuck at the school—”
“The academy,” he’s quick to add.
“Yeah, that. Will I be stuck working there for like, ever?”
“Certainly not. Upon completion of your junior and senior high school years, you will receive a high school diploma.”
“Then I’m out?”
“No,” he smiles. “You will remain in our custody another two years while you accrue two years worth of college credit, at which time you will be granted an associate’s degree in your chosen field.”
“Wait, I get to choose?”
“You do indeed. At the completion of your four years, you will be free to go, armed with the finest preparatory education the world has to offer. If you play your cards right, the contacts you make at Castle Hill will provide you with entré into the most prestigious universities in the world.”
I smirk, “I’ll never be able to afford one of those.”
“If you maintain a 3.9 GPA or above for all four years while at Castle Hill, you will be eligible for our scholarship program, which will cover the cost of two years worth of tuition, room, board, and books at the university of your choosing.”
I snort, “Any university? Like Stanford or Harvard or wherever?” I know those schools are crazy expensive, but I like to set my sights high, even if I never get where I’m going.
Mr. Ralston nods enthusiastically, “Yes, Miss Angerman. Any university.”
I blurt a laugh.
This is literally too good to be true. In other words, I don’t believe a word he’s saying. He must’ve bribed the sheriff or something. It’s the only explanation.
I arch an eyebrow because everyone else in the room seems to have forgotten how, and I say, “Okay, if you’re for real, what’s the catch?”
Chapter 5
Mr. Ralston leads me out to the parking lot of the Constance Q. Montforte Juvenile Detention Center. Such a weird name.
I can smell freedom already, and it smells like sunshine and blue skies. Today is going to be another hot end-of-summer day. A warm wind is already billowing through the trees. They gave my clothes back, but it’s already too hot for my leather jacket, which I have slung over one shoulder. My backpack is slung over the other.
I’d make a run for it if deputy Jeb wasn’t beside me. I’m not handcuffed, but with him here, it’s best I behave. Later, when it’s just Mr. Ralston and me at a gas station or wherever, I’ll bolt then. He’s too old to stop me. Unless he’s a vampire, which he isn’t, obviously and thank goodness. Too bad I didn’t have garlic for lunch.
Mr. Ralston opens the back door of a brand new big black Mercedes.
I climb in and he shuts the door.
“Oh shit!” I gasp and clutch my backpack to my chest like a shield.
There’s a huge scary dude sitting beside me in the leather backseat. From the side, he looks mean. Prison mean. Tattoos crawl up his neck from under his jumpsuit like monster vines trying to eat him alive. The hard look on his face says he doesn’t care what they or anyone tries to do to him because he’ll eat them first.
He doesn’t scare me, but he does make a snake spiral up my insides. When it wraps around my heart and squeezes, I try not to squirm.
I say, “You’re too old for juvi.”
He obviously is. At least twenty, maybe even twenty-five. Total man. He left boy behind forever ago. I may be boy crazy most days, but some days when I’m not paying attention, I go man crazy. And this one? Oh god, this man is so hot. Painfully.
I glance over my shoulder out the back window and see Mr. Ralston talking on his phone while Jeb walks back into the building.
“I said,” I say to Mr. Prison, “you’re not from juvi, are you?”
He doesn’t answer, just stares straight ahead like he’s a statue. Then his scent hits me.
Leather and motor oil.
This man smells like a freaking motorcycle. He certainly is the human version of one, a walking rocket waiting to explode. All you have to do is twist his throttle and the magic happens. Or so I’ve been told. Ahem.
I look over his clothes. Auto mechanic’s navy blue coveralls that stretch over his muscled chest. You can’t miss it. Worn black leather work boots. Hard hands. He’s got five o’clock shadow and it’s not even noon. Swoon. The stitched patch on his boulder of a shoulder looks like a badge. Some sort of elaborate family crest.
The gothic letters say Castle Hill Academy.
That’s when it clicks.
I say, “Did Mr. Ralston make you an offer too?” Mr. Prison is way
too old for juvi, but maybe he’s from the men’s jail? I know it’s not far from here. “Um, hello? Did you like, get out of doing prison time because of Mr. Ralston?”
Mr. Prison’s jaw muscles tick and he heaves an irritated sigh like he can’t stand my existence. Not even looking at me, he rumbles, “Stop talking.” His voice hits like a whip.
That snake of his wrapped around my heart rears its fangs and bites down before quickly slithering away. I snort a gasping laugh, “Sor-ry!”
He goes back to being a stone statue. Not some delicate marble thing in the Louvre, more like a hard gargoyle keeping watch over Notre Dame, ready to swoop down and devour any intruders, except his skin is tanned a golden brown and exudes masculine vitality.
Gulp.
I’m not scared of him. I’m not.
Okay, maybe a little. But he’s ignoring me so I look him over some more and see an elliptical patch on the far side of his chest. A name tag, but I can’t read the embroidered letters from here. I lean forward to see.
“Rob? Is that your name?”
His head turns stone slow to face me and he growls, “Shut. Your—” His eyes meet mine and he suddenly swallows. “Mouth.” His dark mahogany eyes fire and his face goes to war.
I’m speechless and I swallow too.
Why is he looking at me like that?
I can’t tell if it’s hate or rage, but it isn’t happy and nice and let’s be besties, that’s for sure.
That heart snake comes back in a flash. This time, instead of coiling around my heart and biting, it coils around my chest and squeezes hard. I literally can’t breathe. I’m stunned but my heart is racing.
He’s freaking gorgeous, his finely sculpted face a work of hardened art, the lines refined, the planes perfection. I’ll say it. He’s too good looking to be true, but here he sits, his eyes devouring mine with relentless abandon.
Squirming and nervous, I say, “Are you doing the work-study thing like me?” Notice how I slipped in a subtle suggestion there at the end? Like me? Because I sure hope he does. Like me, that is. Fair is fair.
Eyes pinned forward, teeth clenched like fangs, he hisses low, “If you don’t shut your mouth, so help me I will—”
Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103 Page 4
