Page 55 of Defiant
“How do you want to handle him?”
Jaz pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Let’s just…let’s take it one day at a time. I don’t want to focus on Dante, not when there are other students here I’d rather focus on. He might’ve kidnapped me, but he didn’t hurt me.” Her thin shoulders shrugged. “That’s more than I can say for quite a few people here.”
All right. She and I could focus on getting back at the ones who’d hurt her at the party…but I would keep an eye on Dante, because someone like that you just couldn’t trust. Someone who thought they could waltz in and steal what was yours was not the kind of person I wanted Jaz around.
Jaz was mine. Somehow, I’d make Dante realize it.
Chapter Fourteen – Jaz
To say I didn’t focus much on anything else during my afternoon periods would be an understatement. I hardly heard a word any of my teachers said, my mind too focused on Dante and why the hell he was here.
I still didn’t get it, and I wasn’t sure I ever would.
He didn’t live around here, and there was no way he could afford to. I had no idea who he’d threatened to get enrolled at Midpark High, but I knew he didn’t belong here. That much was obvious to anyone who looked at him.
Okay, that was kind of stereotyping based on his looks, which we all knew by now was wrong, but still. The stereotypes of the rich were kind of true; no rich heir would ever shave the sides of their head and get a big, thick, black tattoo on their skull.
Vaughn…well, he was different. He might come from money, but it sounded like his family’s money was of a different sort. Like the Scotts got into the murky waters that was criminality—but I wouldn’t think about his family or his family’s business right now. I’d told Jacob to stop looking into them, and I meant it.
By the time the end of the day rolled around, I was lost in the sea of possibilities. Surely Dante wasn’t here for me. There had to be another reason. He wouldn’t do all of this for me—and if he would, I had no idea why.
I seriously didn’t know Dante. I never met him before last week, but the way he acted, as if we were long-lost friends, finally reuniting…it didn’t make sense. I honestly didn’t get it.
When the bell rang and everyone hurried out of eighth period, I gathered my stuff and headed to my locker. I didn’t ask Bobbi for a ride; I did tell her today that my mom’s car was in the shop, but I was more than okay with walking. Mom had loosened her reins on me a little, though not by much. She was okay with me walking, as long as I texted her when I made it to school. This morning she’d been in a real good mood, which I thought was odd, but as long as she was happy, I was happy.
Plus, knowing Ollie’s sons had left the picture a few years ago made me feel better.
The weather was inching toward spring, anyway. The wind was no longer bitterly cold. Still chilly, but not overly so. A hoodie was usually enough in temperatures like this.
My locker sat on the other side of the school, and since I didn’t have to rush to find my mom’s dingy van in the parking lot, I took my time. With my books close to my chest, I was so lost in my own head that I neglected to realize someone was heading straight for me, and by the time I realized it, it was too late.
A jock, a nameless face I recognized from the party. When he walked beside me, I thought he was going to shoulder-check me, but he didn’t—no, what he did instead was much worse. He grabbed my upper arm so swiftly and suddenly, gave me a good yank, and made me drop all of my books on the floor.
The hall was still busy, and I knew quite a few other students saw him grab me, but no one said anything. No one lifted a finger to stop him or try to help me.
And then, before I knew what was happening, he started pulling me backwards. My heart rate instantly spiked, and since I was being pulled, my feet fought to march forward. I couldn’t escape the iron grip this kid had on me, and he pulled me around a corner within moments, causing me to lose sight of my books on the floor.
“What the fuck,” I called out, trying to peel his fingers off me as I struggled to stay upright, but he kept pulling me along. “Let me go.”
Oh, he let me go all right, but only after he pulled me into a locker room and practically threw me to the dirty floor. The guys’ locker room, based on the smell and the jockstraps I saw hanging out of a few of the lower lockers.
I hurried to get on my feet, spinning to face the boy who’d brought me here. He stood at least a foot taller than me, looking a bit too dark for my liking. The expression he wore…it was not a good one, and a pit began to grow in my stomach. I was about to say something—though I honestly had no idea what to say to this prick—when two more guys filed in behind him, both wide and muscular in the way jocks were.
And from the lack of sound anywhere else in the locker room, we were alone.
Fuck.
It took everything in me to speak calmly, “Don’t tell me you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do.”
If ever there was a stereotype that was true, it was the fact that rich white boys could do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted, and no one would believe the victim after their money created a smear campaign or got the judge on their side.
Who would ever stop and listen to me if I said three Midpark High boys had cornered me and forced themselves on me? Who would care, besides my mom? The cameras in the hall would show the blonde kid in the middle dragging me through the halls, but that’s it. There were no cameras in the locker room, for privacy purposes. The actual crime would not be caught on tape, so these boys would be free to twist my story as much as they wanted.
The one who’d dragged me in here shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Brit promised us some fun. Since you held out on us at the party, I figured we should get to the fun stuff now.” He playfully shoved the boys beside him as a sick smile grew on his face, a laugh echoing from his wide chest.
Wow. So he wasn’t even pretending that he wasn’t going to hurt me. Good to know where I stood with these guys. Good to know they literally could not think less of me.
They wouldn’t feel an ounce of regret after this. They wouldn’t give a single shit. They would go on with their lives as if this had been just a normal Monday, like they didn’t just hurt someone else in the worst way possible.
