Page 9 of Defiant
In the far back corner, I saw something out of place. Someone, actually.
A guy on a bike. A guy with a thick head tattoo on the sides of his skull, an unkempt mop of hair on the top of his head. He wore way too much leather, and he seemed far too at ease here, even though he definitely wasn’t a Midpark High student.
And, the kicker, he wasn’t alone.
No, someone else stood beside him, laughing at what he said, holding onto her backpack like she’d gone to class instead of ditching it, even though I knew that wasn’t true.
Jaz.
Brittany noticed where my gaze was, and she spotted them, a smile creeping along her face. “Would you look at that?” she asked. “She moved on pretty fast.” Her amber eyes turned to me, icicles shooting from them. “I don’t think you meant as much to her as you wanted to.” Looking back at Jaz and the stranger, she muttered, “Wonder who he is. Neither of those freaks belong here.”
I knew what that was code for: she’d dig up dirt on him. If he was an old friend of Jaz’s, or an old boyfriend, she’d find out. And if that guy was somehow important to her, Brittany would find out a way to tear them apart, too. It’s what she was good at.
I said nothing, knowing whatever I said next would be used against me, regardless.
Brittany was slow to let go of my hand, and she said, “Meet me at my house?”
What could I do besides nod?
As Brittany left my side to head to her car, I stood there for a few moments more, watching Jaz with the tattooed guy. It wasn’t even our local tattooed loner, Vaughn Scott, who I heard Jaz sat with at lunch.
Who the hell was this guy?
And why did just watching him interact with Jaz tick me off?
I had no right to feel the anger I did in my chest, no right to have a monopoly on Jaz’s affections—not after everything I did—but an uneasy, annoyed feeling rose in my gut nonetheless, soon swallowing me whole.
Though I shouldn’t be, I was jealous.
Chapter Four – Jaz
Spending the day with the guy who’d tried to kidnap me hours earlier was actually—and surprisingly—fun. He had no filter, said whatever was on his mind, though no matter how many times I asked, he would not tell me what happened during that phone call or why I was so important to him. I’d never seen him before in my life, and yet he acted as if we were destined to be together.
He was crazy.
Maybe a little psychotic, too. I noticed he liked to fidget with his knife. It had been a bit unnerving, at first, but as the day wore on, I got used to it. I’d never claim he wouldn’t pull it on me in public, because he was clearly missing a few marbles, but I felt weirdly safe with him at times.
It helped that he was attractive, of course. Tall, dark, and handsome, radiating a danger that no one could deny. We got strange looks everywhere we went, partly because I should be in school, but also because Dante clearly didn’t belong here.
He looked like he was in a gang, or something.
We walked around Midpark. I didn’t know most of the town, but I knew a few places. I didn’t have to worry about Mom seeing us, but I did worry that she’d arrive at the school before we did in the afternoon. I took him to the small diner I’d first met Jacob at, and it was there we ate lunch. The strange part? We even sat in the same booth; it was kind of like deja vu.
I didn’t tell Dante everything about my life, even though he was clearly trying to make the day all about me. He’d been watching me for a while, so he knew more than I’d like him to. Instead, as we waited for our burgers, I asked him about himself.
“So, what did I ever do to merit my own stalker?” It probably wasn’t the best thing to do, to make light of the situation—because today could’ve ended quite differently—but oh, well.
“You were born,” Dante spoke with a smirk, fiddling with his knife under the table. I prayed the waitress wouldn’t see it, because surely she’d flip shit. Seeing someone like Dante toy with a switchblade was bound to give rise to worry.
I was about to ask why me being born had anything to do with it, but then something occurred to me. “You…you’re not like, sent by my dad, are you?” The possibility caused my heart to skip a beat.
If my father was a dangerous man, it would make sense why my mom was so protective of me. Why she never wanted me to date. Why friends always had to come over our house instead of vice versa.
Why wouldn’t my mom tell me, if that was the case?
“Your dear old daddy?” Dante cocked his head, causing some of his dark brown hair to fall over his forehead. “What would make you think that?”
I played with the straw in my drink. “I don’t know. I really don’t know much about him. Literally the only thing I know is that I look like him. Until my mom slipped up and said that, I was under the impression she didn’t know who he was.” AKA, for my whole life, my mom basically lied to me.
