CHAPTER 29
AVA
English Lit has quickly becomemy favorite class, in large part due to the girl crush I’ve developed on the brilliant and beautiful Professor Turner. For two blissful hours each week, I’m able to get completely lost in her thought-provoking lectures. While I’m pondering the symbolism employed by the greats like Chaucer and Milton, I’m not thinking about the dark shadow lingering in the back corner of the room. Sometimes I forget he’s even there.
No such luck today. From the moment I walk into the lecture hall, I’m all too aware of my stepbrother’s presence. My gaze unwittingly drifts to find him in his usual seat with Chelsea practically in his lap, and I quickly avert my eyes while heading for my typical spot up front. I try to shut out all thoughts about the Kings as I slip off my backpack and get situated, but as soon as I sit down, the sting of their fresh brand on my ass is a cruel reminder of just how bleak my life has become.
There’s no escaping them.
Even if they do eventually get bored and move on, they’ve left a permanent mark– both on my skin and my psyche. I’ll never be free.
Despite knowing it’s an exercise in futility, I fish my phone out of my backpack to check for any communication from my mom, finding none. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking to one another. She’s been unreachable while vacationing with Gideon in the past, but at least I had the details of where they’d be and a way to contact her in the event of an emergency. Now, I’ve got nothing– wherever she is, I don’t even know if she’s okay.I’msure as hell not.
Nausea curls in my gut, the threat of tears burning behind my eyes. Thankfully, class doesn’t start for another ten minutes– plenty of time for me to retreat to the restroom and pull myself together. Shoving up to my feet, I leave my things behind and bolt back up the aisle, prickling under the feeling of being watched with every step. While there’s no shortage of curious stares aimed in my direction, only one tempts me to return it.
Raf.
Most of the time, he pretends I don't even exist, but his fierce, dark-eyed glare is locked onto me as I head for the exit, intense and unyielding.A predator stalking its prey.Chelsea catches on, desperately reaching up and clutching his jaw to wrench his attention back. Raf snaps his head towards her with a jolt while I hastily dart out the door, my heart pounding in my ears.
The sharp clack of my ankle boots echoes off the gleaming marble floor as I hurry down the corridor, my gaze darting around to make sure no one’s following. When I reach the restroom, I yank the door open and practically trip over my own feet in my haste to enter, a wave of relief crashing over me when I find that it’s blissfully vacant.
Crossing the room with purpose, I stop at the line of sinks that run along the wall, pressing my palms firmly onto the cold, smooth surface of the counter. Closing my eyes tightly, I focus on drawing in a few slow, deep breaths, letting the air fill my lungs and calm my racing heart before I gradually open my eyes again.
I can do this.
Gideon has always been extravagant. He probably whisked my mom away to some private island for their long-awaited honeymoon, not even realizing they wouldn’t have phone reception. As soon as they’re back, she’ll call, and this’ll all be over.
I stare at my own reflection, focusing on my breathing as I try to convince myself everything will work out. Then Chelsea walks through the door, and when I lift my gaze in the mirror to meet her harsh glare, I know I’m only deluding myself.
Chelsea storms into the bathroom with a purposeful stride, two girls from our class trailing closely behind. Her eyes burn into me, scanning every inch with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Her lips twist into a sneer, dripping with disdain as she dissects my appearance. A sharp warning rings in my mind, but in an effort to avoid confrontation, I drop my head and turn on the faucet, busying myself by washing my hands.
Don’t let them see you react; they’ll take it as a sign of weakness.
Wes’ words from this morning echo in my mind as I scrub my hands together, acutely aware of Chelsea closing the distance between us. Her heels click against the tile as she struts up behind me, pausing there for a moment like she wants me to look up.
I don’t. I just keep washing my hands, refusing to engage her… until she yanks up the back of my skirt, that is. I whip around with a startled yelp, but not before she gets an eyeful of my new ink.
“So it’s true,” she spits, glaring daggers at me. “You’ve been marked by the Kings.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but…”
Chelsea cuts me off before I can finish, backing me in against the counter and stabbing a finger into the center of my chest. “Listen here,new girl,” she snarls, icy blue eyes brimming with rage. “Whatever game you’re playing here isover. Raf and I are as good as engaged, and I won’t have some trashy little community college reject coming in here and messing everything up. I don’t care what you do with Wes, he’s fucked everyone, and that loser Ford is just gonna wind up dead or in prison, but Raf ismine. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay far, far away from him.”
“Trust me, I’ve tried,” I mutter wryly.
She makes a scoffing sound in her throat, rocking back on a heel and folding her arms across her chest. “What’s so special about you, anyways?” she sneers, eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes me with disdain. “I don’t see it.”
“Maybe she’s got great tits,” one of Chelsea’s friends suggests with a shrug.Aimee Stevens. She sits behind me in class, two rows up.“Ford’s a boob guy, isn’t he?”
“He is,” Chelsea muses, snapping a hand out to grab a fistful of my blouse. “Let’s see them.”
I stagger back, wide-eyed and panicked, but Chelsea is quick and vicious. Her fingers sink into the fabric and she gives it a wild yank, the sudden force almost knocking me off my feet.
“Get off me!” I shriek, trying to bat her hands away as I feel the delicate chiffon tear at the seams like tissue paper. I twist and turn, trying to get away, but Aimee and her accomplice–Sierra or Sarah, something like that– are now flanking me on either side, blocking my escape. Chelsea wrenches the shirt form my body, flinging it to the floor with a triumphant sneer.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand, seething with frustration and disbelief as the cool air washes over my bare skin.
Chelsea doesn’t respond, but from the malice in her eyes, I know she’s not done with me yet.
