Gabe is strolling through the dining hall with a cocky smirk, looking for all the world like he owns the place. The boy walking next to him looks a little less arrogant, but a lot moodier. He has that tortured rock star vibe—lankier body draped in a black long-sleeved shirt and dark worn jeans, lips thinned in a brooding line, a swagger in each step he takes. His artfully disarranged black hair and dark eyes only add to the air of angst that seems to radiate off him.
I turn back to Alondra. “Why’re they such a big deal?”
Besides the obvious. They’re outrageously hot but then, just about everyone at this school seems to be.
She seems a little surprised by my question, but quickly launches into a thorough explanation. “For starters, they’re only the most egotistical, rude bastards you’ll ever have the displeasure of meeting.”
“Oh.”
She waits until a couple of girls sashay past our table to continue, “Basically, their families have been coming here since the 1800s and they don’t let anyone forget that shit. There are three of them, but like I said before, those two”—she gives a shallow nod toward the redhead and the dark-haired boy—"are just Satan’s minions. Gabriel Carlson and William Halloway. Gabe’s dad is Bud Carlson and Liam’s family owns Halloway Motors, not to mention his mom’s family are like the Waltons of South Africa.”
My gaze lights on Gabe, who has his arm wrapped around a waifish, big-boobed brunette with over-plumped, shimmery lips. He’s whispering in her ear, and she’s positively giddy over whatever he’s telling her. “Bud Carlson, the televangelist?” I ask, suddenly recognizing the name from my late-night channel surfing expeditions. Loni nods, and I shake my head in disbelief. “Gabe’s the son of a televangelist?”
“Yup. You should see the new Porsche the Lord has blessed Gabe with for this school year. The boy’s even got his own set of commandments—thou shalt bang all the bitches being at the top of the list.”
I snort and turn back to her. “So, where’s the other guy?”
“Who knows? Probably opening the Chamber of Secrets or getting a blow job from Laurel somewhere.”
“They’re together?”
“Not technically. He dumped her last year, but she’ll still run to him when he calls like a pathetic little puppy. She’s convinced they’re made for each other and she’s saving her real virginity for him.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Ass and mouth not included, of course.”
“That’s kind of … sad.” I’ve been in her shoes and can almost feel sorry for Laurel.
Almost.
“Don’t bother feeling a damn thing for those two except grateful that he’s not here. Remember how I said those three guys ruin lives? It’s mostly because of Saint Angelle.”
I tilt my head, certain I’ve misheard her. “Wait … this school is religious?”
Alondra drops her hand onto her fist, rests her chin on them, and blinks at me like I’m adorable. “That’s his name.” At the face I make, a big smile cracks her features. “Extra as hell, isn’t it? His family founded this place and his dad is one of the richest shitheads in the country. He co-founded NightOwl.”
Wow.
“I used to have a profile on there,” I murmur, my stomach tightening as I remember how I’d scrubbed all my information from the social media site after the accident.
“Take my advice, Mallory. Steer clear of Saint if you can help it. This is his world. We’re all just living in it.”
4
By the time the first day of class rolls around on Monday morning, I’ve nearly forgotten Alondra’s warning. I can’t think of much beyond getting to class on time. I’m nervous, and when I get nervous, I tend to over-plan things. In this case, I’ve ironed all my uniforms until they practically stood up on their own, mapped out my entire route to each of my classes and typed up an hour-to-hour schedule for myself that I saved on my phone. It’s going to be hard enough fitting in at this school, but I’ll be damned if anyone accuses me of slacking in my studies.
Since I can’t sleep, I crawl out of bed early, and once I’m showered and dressed for the day—every inch of my appearance checked twice, from my black knee socks to my starched uniform to the neat French braid resting against my back—I head toward the dining hall to grab breakfast, as dictated by my schedule. My nerves begin to morph into excitement. I had worked hard with the guidance counselor to make my class schedule perfect and fit in as many advanced classes as I could to begin beefing up my transcript before I start applying to colleges. My workload will be brutal, but ultimately worth it once I make something of my life.
As I near the dining hall, the sound of angry voices pauses me in my tracks. Two other students, a girl with frizzy chestnut brown hair and a tall guy, are standing just outside the doors to the d-hall arguing about something. Assuming it’s just a couple fighting, I make my way closer as quietly as I can. I don’t want to get involved or be noticed, but I have to walk right past them to get food. Ducking my head until I’m staring at the toes of my cheap black flats, I move to dash by, smoothing my hands over my navy and forest green plaid skirt.
“We’re not done until I say we are.”
It’s not the guy’s words that draw my attention back to them, it’s his voice. Low and lethal. Suddenly, he pins the girl up against the wall, and I freeze, terrified that he’s going to hurt her.
“You make things right, or I swear to God, you won’t last a week this year,” he hisses. I’m close enough that I can see his profile clearly when I dare peek up at him. My heart hammers furiously in my chest as recognition sets in.
It’s the hot blond I literally ran into on my first day here, the one with the cold eyes. Then, he’d seemed cocky, but intriguing. Now, his muscular body is tense, his broad shoulders straining against the expensive navy-blue fabric of his uniform blazer, and his smokey eyes are burning with a fury that makes my blood run cold. I think he might actually be capable of violence in this moment.
If the girl’s tears are any indication, she thinks that, too.
“Please, I’m sorry! But … but I could lose my scholarship! I had to tell them what I saw that night.”
“You think I give a shit about your scholarship?” The laughter that spills from his lips is dark. Dark and cruel and taunting. “You think your worthless, white-trash ass means a thing to me? To anybody here?”
The girl is sobbing softly, and my temperature spikes. She’s just like me. I study her more closely, and I can see that her uniform is clean but worn, and a surge of protectiveness overwhelms me, along with rage. Does this rich prick think he can harass that girl just because she’s not wealthy? Because her parents aren’t business moguls, international superstars, or old money royalty?
The injustice of the situation makes my teeth clench and my hands ball into tight fists that leave my palms stinging from the impact of my fingernails.
My anger gives me courage, and I march right up to the pair without a second thought. “Hey, shithead! Let her go!”
The girl lets out a startled gasp and stares at me over the blond guy’s broad shoulder, her eyes wide and alarmed. I pretend she doesn’t look more frightened now instead of relieved at my intrusion. A stillness settles over us as I wait for the guy to respond. I can see his shoulders are tense, but he’s quiet. So, so quiet.