Page 13 of G.O.D.S Omnibus

“Well Marlow is the mellow, ‘smother you with a pillow’ type. Boston is the ‘kill you with his broody mood swings,’ or orgasms, guy—so I have heard through the grapevine—and Laughn... shit, that crazy mofo would skin you alive and deep fry you.”

We make it to English and sit together. Lucky for me, none of the guys are in my class. A group of girls sit behind me, whowhisper and giggle the entire class. I don’t miss them talking about me, but I really don’t care what they think.

After English I have Biology, and just my luck, Laughn is in my class. He makes it a point to sit next to me, keeping his hands to himself. We work in pairs, giving me plenty of time to look at his body modifications. His tongue seems to be the most drastic, and while his contacts are weird as shit, I’m not as creeped out as I was the first time I saw them. His body is heavily tattooed with lots of colours, and they seem like old-school tattoos.

When I walk out of class, Jimmie is waiting just as promised. It is a relief to see a friendly face.

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the wall.

“Hey back. I’m so hungry I could eat the ass of a low-flying duck.”

Jimmie snorts. “You’re so weird. Let’s go get you some food and save those poor ducks.” We walk side by side until he abruptly stops, and I turn to see what his problem is.

“What is wrong with you?” I ask.

He moves his head and I look at where he is gesturing.

“Stop being dramatic,” I say, noticing the group of girls walking our way with a redhead leading the pack.

Red and her posse stop when they reach me, and Jimmie shuffles up behind me.

“So, you’re the new girl,” she says with a hand on her hip. Typical mean girl stance—I would laugh if it was any more cliché.

“Yep, that would be me,” I say in a bored tone. “So glad we had this chat, but I have ducks to save.”

Jimmie chuckles quietly from behind me.

“Our chat hasn’t even started. I heard you had fun with one of our guys’ cars this morning.”

“Nope, wrong person. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I match her stance, flipping my dark hair over my shoulder as an added touch.

“Don’t play stupid with me, new girl. They’re our guys—you mess with them, you mess with us.”

“It’s funny, I didn’t see any name tag on Laughn when he had his tongue down my throat, but I will be sure to look next time.” I wink, and her face goes as red as her hair.

“Chelsea, maybe you should walk away,” Jimmie says.

“Shut up, nerd. No one asked you,” one of Chelsea’s lackeys sneers, and my last nerve is done.

Lunging forward, I grab Chelsea by the throat, pushing her back until she hits the closest wall. One thing I find useful from my non-memories is the shit my body can do automatically with no idea of how or where I learned it. Fighting is apparently something I can do, which came in handy when my foster brothers used to slip into my room.

“Take it back and tell Jimmie you’re sorry.” I ease the pressure so she can talk.

“S . . . sorry,” she stutters.

What amazing friends she has. I expected more of a fight in them, but they have all cowered away rather than help their queen bitch.

“Jolie!” a voice booms.

I know it’s Boston. I roll my eyes; here we go.

“Baby, drop the girl.”

Laughn’s sarcasm makes a smirk creep to my face. How have I grown fond of him already?

“Fine,” I snap, letting her go. She gasps for breath and scrambles away, crying to her friends.

Turning, I face the firing squad.

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