Page 35 of Reckless At Raleigh High
“Don’t,” she pleads under her breath. “He’s not worth it. They’re just clutching at straws. Jake’s guilty. The cops know that. There’s no way they’re gonna let some asshole like Lowell stab holes in their case.”
Lowell’s still smirking like he knows better. He gives Dr. Harrison an arrogant bow of his head before slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans and slowly sauntering out of the classroom. Forcing my body into submission, I ease the tension out of my shoulders and sit a little straighter in my chair, shaking free of my anger. Gripping onto it so tightly isn’t going to make me feel any better. No, I need to save it for later, for a more opportune moment. Lowell needs to let his guard down at some point. There’ll come a time when he gets distracted and he forgets to watch his six…and by then I’ll have figured out where he lives. I’ll have picked the lock on his front door. I’ll be waiting for him in the dark.
Smiling, I squeeze Silver’s hand, which is still gripping mine tightly under the desk. “No worries,Argento. My shit’s on lockdown. Nothing to worry about here.”
For now, at least.
* * *
The rest of the day, I’m wound so tight I’m on the verge of snapping. Silver’s none the wiser, since I make sure to maintain an ease around her that requires an obscene amount of energy, but on the inside I seethe away like that storm on the surface of Jupiter that’s been raging for hundreds of years. I fidget in my seat in the last class of the day, anxious to get the fuck out of school.
“Students of Raleigh High, we’re pleased to announce that your votes have been counted and a theme for this year’s senior prom has been chosen,”Karen, Darhower’s assistant drones over the P.A. system. “By popular demand,James Bond: Spies and Villainswill be our party motif. Principal Darhower would like me to mention that all dresses worn by our female student body should be modest, with no slits above the knee, and shoulders should be covered at all times.”Karen huffs wearily. “It’s ludicrous that I should even have to read this part out loud, given the year we’ve already had, but please note, no weapons, real or fake, will be permitted on school property during senior prom. Anyone found in possession of a weapon of any kind, even as part of a costume, will be immediately expelled from this establishment of higher education without discussion. That is all.”
The bell rings once Karen’s done speaking. My fellow students are all too excited about the prom theme announcement to realize that they’re free. I, on the other hand, am already out the fucking door.
I drop Silver off to teach her first guitar lesson of the evening, and my blood is still churning with irritation over Lowell. I spend three hours on the internet, trying to bully my way into the DEA’s personnel files, but hacking is not my forte and so I don’t get very far. A simple google search reveals that Agent James Lowell is from Index, an hour east of Seattle. He went to Holcombe High, then on to USC, at which point it becomes difficult to find any information on him at all. The DEA probably don’t appreciate their agents splashing their personal lives all over the internet, which explains why he doesn’t have a Facebook or an Instagram account.
I make myself some food, all the while boiling away, replaying the bastard’s targeted words as I down a beer and try to distract myself in front of the television. It’s no use, though. I can’t soothe the maelstrom of emotions that are tearing around the inside of my head. I need to get into the DEA personnel database, and to do that I need to engage the services of someone far more proficient at hacking than I am.
I used to know plenty of people at Bellingham who could breach government level cyber security, but here in Raleigh my options are pretty thin on the ground. Thin on the ground meaning one person, and that person being Zander fucking Hawkins.No chance I’m asking that douchebag for a favor. I’d rather drive all the way over to Bellingham and drag one of my other contacts out of their beds than owehimshit.
I pace the apartment until nine, at which point I realize that I’m gonna go out of my fucking mind unless I do something, so I throw my ass into the Camaro and drive over to Silver’s place. I’m a man about it this time. I park in the driveway, right behind Cam’s van, and I march right up the porch steps. The door’s open, just as Cam said it would be, so I let myself in. I haven’t even texted Silver to let her know I’m coming over. If I had, she probably would have given her dad a head’s up. Halfway through the door to his office, Cameron looks back at me over his shoulder, one eyebrow curved into a question:what the hell are you doing here?His surprise only lasts a second.
“Shoes off,” he commands. “Cleaner’s just been. No dirty footprints on the hardwood ’til Tuesday at the earliest.”
“When d’you turn into such a mom?” I toe off my sneakers, though, kicking them under the mail stand beside Silver’s Chucks. “Is that grilled cheese I can smell?”
“It’s mine. Make your own.”
“Fair enough.”
“Harry asked me if you and Silver would play a couple of songs at the diner next week. Don’t look at me like that. She told me you could play.”
I hit the stairs, flashing Cameron a shit-eating grin over the handrail. “I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll tell him you’re in.”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
Cam grumbles under his breath as he heads into his office. I resist the temptation to turn around and follow him in there just to torment him some more. He makes it too damn easy and giving him shit just took my mind off Lowell for a clear ten seconds. My mood’s already improved dramatically because of it.
I concocted another plan to relieve my tension on the way over here, though, and I’d much rather follow through on that one. Silver’s door is closed when I reach her room; I can hear music playing softly on the other side of it, along with the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of typing on a keyboard. The tapping stops the moment I knock lightly on the wood.
Silver stands in the open doorway a second later, drowning in a huge Raleigh High sweater, her hair tied up into a messy knot on the top of her head.
Lord have mercy on my soul…
The temperature outside’s bordering on Arctic, but it’s plenty warm in here. Her legs are exposed, the tops of her thighs barely covered by the tiny little grey shorts she’s wearing, and my dick stirs treacherously in my pants. I hadn’t planned on getting hard until I’d convinced her to take a drive with me but looks like my cock has other plans. She’s so fucking delectable. I want to strip her down, lift her up, pin her to the wall and drive myself up inside her right here, right now.
“Alessandro.” She tries not to smile.
“You expecting someone else?” My voice is a rough growl. My expression—brows drawn together, head lowered, eyes blazing—probably seems a little sinister, but fuck it. I’m feeling a little sinister. I have a number of intentions and none of them are good. I step into Silver, my hands claiming her hips, guiding her back into her room, and her eyes go wide.
“Oh. It’s like that, is it?” she whispers, lifting her arms to wind them around my neck. I kick the door closed behind me. “You could have messaged. I would have shaved my legs.” She stands up on her tiptoes, trying to plant that delicate, pale pink little mouth of hers on mine, searching for a kiss, but I lean back out of reach.
“I didn’t want you to shave your legs. I didn’t wanna give you the opportunity to clean yourself. I wanted to taste you just the way you are, Parisi. Your sweat. Your pheromones. Your come. I wanted to bury my face between your fucking legs and savor every last bit of you without you smelling like soap.”
Two tiny little dots of pink blossom like shy flowers high on her cheekbones. “What’s wrong with smelling like soap?” she asks in a high-pitched voice.
