He stares at me, chest heaving. “What the hell does that mean, Koa?”
“I don’t ever want to hear from you again. Beat it.”
He doesn’t move. Just stands there, fists clenched, jaw tight.
“Touch me again, and you’re dead.” I turn and walk away.
Behind me, I hear him swear. Hear his footsteps as he stalks off in the opposite direction, probably going straight to find Lexi.
A piece of me feels satisfied. More than satisfied.
I cut the dummy loose in trade for a beautiful ownership.
Easy fucking deal to make.
11
Lexi
I’m halfway through taking my first set of notes when the classroom door slams open.
Every head turns. Including mine.
Axel stands in the doorway, chest heaving, face flushed red with rage. His eyes lock on me immediately.
“Lex!” he shouts.
I mock him with a saccharine smile. “Look who finally remembered I exist?”
“Get out here now.” His voice cuts through the lecture like a blade. He looks at the professor, doesn’t even apologize. “Family emergency.”
The professor—a middle-aged man with wire-rimmed glasses—frowns but nods. “Go ahead.”
My face burns with embarrassment. Everyone’s staring. Whispering.
I follow Axel into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind us.
He’s already pacing, hands in his hair, muttering under his breath. “What the fuck did you do, Lex?”
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t play fucking dumb with me!” He spins, gets in my face. His breath smells like coffee and cigarettes. “What the fuck are you doing with Koa, huh?”
I roll my head back, stare at the ceiling and act bored. “Oh, that?”
“Yeah, that! This is not a fucking joke! You think this is a joke?”
I grab his arm, yank him closer so he’s forced to look at me. “Stop freaking out right now, Ax. If you weren’t fucking ignoring me, I could’ve talked to you about it. I have a plan.”
He rips his arm away. “No. You need to tell me what you did because Koa isn’t someone to get fucking involved with. Are you getting high now?”
I laugh. It echoes down the empty hallway. “No, I’m not as fucking dumb as you are.”
His face twists. He shakes his head, runs both hands through his hair. He looks like Dad when he used to come home after a bender—wild-eyed, paranoid, barely holding it together.
“Meet me after class and I’ll explain everything,” I say, softening my voice just a little.
“No. You’re explaining right now.”
