Page 10 of Reckless
Something else I inherited from my dad, maybe?
When Jacob pulled up to the doors, I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my bag, about to hop out—the routine my mom and I had taken—but Jacob reached for me, grabbing my wrist and stopping me. I met his hazel eyes, instantly lost in them and hardly hearing his uttered words: “Be careful.” And then he let me go.
Right. I had to be careful. This wasn’t just a normal school day. No school day would ever be normal again, I had the feeling.
I nodded once and got out, pausing as Jacob’s car drove off to stare at the Midpark High wording attached to the outer walls of the school. Shiny, sparkling metal in the early daylight, sitting on a building that couldn’t have been older than ten years. Never had I hated seeing two words as much as I did right then; Midpark High might look normal from the outside, but its inner guts were as ugly and vile, as rotten and evil as anything could possibly be.
I mustered up my courage and went inside, turning to head straight to my locker. If I kept my head down, my eyes averted, maybe I could avoid hearing the gossip that surely was on everyone’s mind and tongue. I made it to my locker without issue, but I knew the day was only just beginning. Things would get worse.
Working on imputing my combination, I nearly had a heart attack when a tall, leather-wearing frame slammed its shoulder into the locker beside me. I jumped, my heart in my throat, and I threw a glare Dante’s way. Totally unnecessary for him to do that, but that could be said of anything Dante did. Would that ever stop him from doing it? No, no it would not.
Dante was Dante—or, should I call him, Storm?
Nah, I wasn’t going to call him Storm.
Ever.
“Dude, way to give me a heart attack,” I muttered, shooting him a frown as I yanked open my locker and shoved my backpack in. I got out my books and notebooks for my first few classes, trying to ignore those bright, hypnotic blue eyes. An icy blue, a blue whose waters you’d freeze in if you let yourself get lost in them.
Me? It was strange, but over the course of getting to know him—and in spite of everything I knew he’d done—I found I kind of liked the pain that came with being frozen by that stare.
“Excuse the language, but what the fuck is going on?” Dante said, absolutely not one to ever excuse any language, ever. “People are saying you killed Brittany. Tell me it’s true, babe. Just fucking tell me it’s true.”
He…he actually wanted me to be a murderer? Somehow, that didn’t surprise me.
I glanced at the students walking by, meeting their eyes, though they quickly looked away and hustled along, not wanting to be stuck nearby two psychotic outcasts who shouldn’t even be in Midpark to begin with.
Dante’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “Your feat is overshadowing the fact that Ryan died in the hospital Sunday, too. I’m so proud of you, babe. I really am.” He ran a hand through the brown hair circling the top of his head, the tattoo on the sides of his skull visible. An almost boyish grin spread across his face as he took a step closer to me, lowering his voice to whisper, “Why don’t you and I go find someplace quiet? There’s ten minutes until first period.”
I nearly dropped my books at what he was suggesting. He thought I was a murderer…and so he wanted to get a quickie in before first period? I mean…just…what? Whose mind worked like that, besides his?
And—hold on. He mentioned Ryan.
Was I that horrible of a person to have completely forgotten that Ryan was dead, too? He was a would-be rapist, but still. Students were dropping like flies here; it was worse now than it was when Celeste Chambers made her not-so-glorious comeback a few years back. This was so much worse.
How many more would be dead by the time all of this was over? Would I be included in that number?
It wasn’t something I wanted to entertain, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that might be the case. Whoever had killed Brittany wanted me to look bad, wanted me to be even more of an outcast than I already was. Maybe the next step of all of this would be to kill me.
I must’ve been silent too long, for before I knew it, Dante grabbed my books from me and started to walk away. For a moment, I stared at him, wondering what I could tell him to convince him that I didn’t, in fact, dirty my hands with Brittany’s blood. Not something I ever thought I’d have to confess: Dante, I’m not a murderer. I didn’t kill her.
I mean, that shit should go without saying. My guys might be borderline and/or straight up psychotic, but I was not.
Knowing, at the very least, I needed to get my stuff back from him, I stormed after him, following him down an adjacent hall. Dante was over six feet tall; I wasn’t exactly short, but his legs moved faster than mine. He disappeared behind one of the doors to the auditorium. Suddenly I had flashbacks to that stupid choir concert; who knew my life would change so drastically after that night?
That night was when Dante killed Ryan’s friends, and I was about to be alone with him—not for the first time.
I pushed into the auditorium, finding the bare minimum amount of lights were on. Enough to create shadows, to illuminate the seating area creepily. If someone were to get murdered in Midpark High, this was where it would happen. Or maybe I’d just seen too many horror movies.
I didn’t see Dante anywhere, so as I walked further in, I whispered in a hiss, “Dante? Where’d you go? You have my books—”
A hand shot out from the sound booth area, the small room on the side of the auditorium where someone could control the lights and the microphones on stages. I was pulled inside and pushed against the door to close it. My books lay on the floor in a heap, Dante having set them down the moment he ran in here.
His hand moved to cover my mouth, his other arm pressing against my stomach, holding me flat against the door. No one else was around; the auditorium was empty as could be, and yet I knew at any moment, someone could walk in and see us.
“Before you say anything,” Dante spoke in a bare whisper, his hand rough on my face, his wide body blocking out everything else, “let me worship you like the goddess you are.” The ends of his lips curled into a smirk, and what could I do besides let him do what he wanted? You didn’t face down a guy like Dante and not feel your core heat up and your pussy tighten in anticipation.
Some things were just beyond your control, you know?
