Page 82 of Defiant
Things were going good. The dance was in a week, and I was ready to take that bitch Brittany down.
But, of course, I should’ve known the week leading up to the dance would be the hardest week of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Jaz
Monday morning came, and gossip was flying. Something had happened over the weekend, something that set literally everyone on edge. I had no idea what happened, but I could feel the air had changed inside Midpark High. It was heavier, weightier. Tense.
I shoved my bag into my locker and gathered my shit for first period. I kept my head down as I walked to homeroom, though I did hear a few groups of students talking about me. One of them even went so far as to shout at me: “Why you’d do it?”
I stopped, turning to glare at the group of girls who’d spoken to me. “Do what?” Okay, I might’ve sounded a bit bitchy, but that’s because I didn’t trust them. They weren’t Brittany or any of her close friends, but still. I knew better.
“Don’t act so innocent,” the middle one, a girl with long, thick black hair, not unlike mine, spat. She had long, pointed nails, their color red and decked with jewels. “Why’d you have your thug go after Ryan and his friends?”
I blinked. It was about all I could do. “What are you talking about?”
“Ryan and his friends were jumped at the park over the weekend,” she said, eyeing me up, her bravado faltering when she realized I really didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. “Ryan’s critical, but the others didn’t make it.”
The words hit me like a physical slap. “What?”
One of her friends shook her head. “They’re dead, and we’re all betting they’re dead because of you.”
“Why would I have anything to do with this?” I wanted to scoff, I wanted to scream. Holding back had never been harder. Ryan was in critical condition, but his friends were dead—the same friends who’d jumped me in the locker room?
The girl with nails that could kill glared. “Ryan and his friends were bitching about you all last week. Said you kept teasing them but never gave what you promised. They were getting fed up. Everyone knows that tattooed freak probably did it. He was already dragged into the station over the weekend, from what I heard.”
What? How…
I said nothing, turning and storming away, my mind racing a thousand miles a minute as I headed to homeroom. That’s why the air felt so heavy in Midpark today—students had been attacked and killed. Ryan was still in the hospital.
How the hell could it be my fault? I never told anyone to kill them. That wasn’t how my mind worked.
Although, frankly, the world would be a better place without them—
No. I couldn’t think like that. Not yet. Not right now. Not when it could align me to being guilty.
Dante was dragged into the police station? As I entered homeroom and sat in my seat, I was lost in my own head. Was that the work emergency Bobbi’s dad had to deal with on Friday? Was that why Dante was already out and about, so he decided to come to the choir concert?
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I looked up, finding everyone kept tossing me looks. Did the whole school seriously think I was at fault here? That I’d ordered a hit out on them or something? Hah, as if I had enough money for that.
“I assume you heard what happened,” a low, masculine voice spoke beside me, and I turned to look at Archer. Out of the entire class, he was the only one staring at me the same way he’d looked at me before: with sorrow, lust, and denial, all thrown in and mixed together.
“And I assume you heard that everyone thinks I had something to do with it?” I shot back, cocking a brow at him, waiting for him to either confirm or deny it. Brittany wasn’t here, lording her relationship with Archer over me, which meant, I bet, she was the one spreading rumors like that through the school.
My fault. It was all my fault, of course.
God, I really had to talk to Dante. The only problem was I didn’t know his schedule, so I would have to wait until lunch to see him. To ask him if…if any of this was true.
Hey, Dante. Did you happen to attack and murder a few people before you strolled into that auditorium on Friday and made me orgasm within two minutes?
Archer was quiet for a few moments, and I watched a muscle in his jaw tense as the teacher strolled in, yawning and looking miserable. Mondays sucked for everyone, apparently, especially those who weren’t here to see it, like Ryan’s friends.
“Did you?” Archer asked me.
If I could’ve punched him, I would’ve. “No.” The announcements came on, but it didn’t stop me from saying, “Do you believe me?”
