It reminds me of the calm before a storm.
That moment of unnatural silence before a predator strikes out at its prey.
And I think—no screw that, I know—I made a mistake.
Slowly, he drops his hands from the girl’s shoulders and turns to face me. I gulp and a small fissure of fear shoots up my spine at the ice behind his gaze. His eyes are fascinating, like smoke and blue flame, burning hotter than a regular fire, and when he stares at me, I feel like he’s scorching my soul.
I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders, refusing to let him see how scared I truly am. That would only feed him, I know. That’s what bullies like him thrive on. Fear and submission and I refused to give this bastard either.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he asks at last, his voice still alarmingly soft, his words slicing into me like daggers. “This is none of your business.”
“I can’t just walk by when I see some entitled dick picking on someone just because they’re poor,” I snap back. “You’re disgusting.”
He tilts his head, and honestly, he looks a little crazy. A little wild.
A little unstable.
“You think I’m picking on this bitch because she’s poor?” He grins, as though he finds the idea amusing. “I don’t give a shit about her. I don’t care about her in the least.”
“Then why are you harassing her?” I demand to know. “Let me guess, she hurt your wittle ego?” I hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart and make a point to shift my gaze toward the crotch of his black slacks.
He steps closer to me, and I realize that he’s at least a foot taller than me. I want to back away, but I don’t. I stay very still as he shoves his face so close to mine that we share the same breath. “Because she’s a fucking liar, and I hate liars,” he spits.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the girl scurry away, disappearing into the dining hall without a backwards glance toward me. Fuck. Now I’m stuck dealing with the consequences of my big mouth, all alone with this psychopath.
“Well, whatever you think she lied about, she didn’t deserve your shit,” I retort.
He’s staring at me like he wants to tear me apart, piece by tiny piece, and I decide I’m not going to give him the chance. With the girl gone, there’s no reason for me to stay and put up with his venom either. Turning my back to him, I make my way over to the dining hall doors.
“You’re not getting away that easily,” he growls at me.
I hear him follow me, but I ignore him, even though I feel his breath heating the back of my head and neck.
“You get off sticking your nose into shit you know nothing about?” His voice is low and taunting as he hounds me through the doors. “Huh? You nosy bitch?”
I swallow and walk into the dining hall as if I haven’t heard him. It’s already packed inside, and as we make our way through the breakfast crowd, curious eyes turn toward us, and I see people whispering to each other with expressions of shock and fear.
Who the hell is this guy?
And why’d I have to go open my big mouth and piss him off?
He’s unrelenting in his goading of me, barely leaving an inch between our bodies as we walk. “You’re just like her, huh?” he demands cruelly. “That why you couldn’t mind your own fucking business, right? All you trailer park sluts sticking together?”
His words irritate me, but they don’t stab as brutally as I’m sure he’s intending. I’ve heard worse in my life. Been called worse and sometimes by my own mother. I’ve got a thicker skin than he’s probably used to in his victims, and so I continue walking, as if nothing is wrong.
“You can ignore me all you want,” he says. “But that’s not going to save you. Nothing will save you now, cunt.”
When he calls me the c-word, my stomach twists and knots with hatred. I want to hurt him. Make him feel as low as he made that girl feel. As he’s trying to make me feel.
Entitled pieces of shit like this guy get away with everything, and it’s not fair. He deserves punishment. He deserves humiliation.
He deserves pain.
“Fuck, you’re not worth my time,” he snaps before I can hurl an insult back at him, and I feel him turn away from me. He’s given up. Is leaving me alone.
I should let him go.
I know that I should let him walk away and put this whole thing behind me.
But I can’t.
I just fucking can’t.
There’s an apple on the table next to me. I pick it up, and without thinking my actions through, turn on my heel and launch it at the back of his head. He lurches forward a step at the impact, and the apple falls to the tile floor with a bruising thump.
The entire hall falls deathly silent.
All eyes bounce between me and him. In that moment, I realize who he was heading toward when he gave me the verbal middle finger.
Gabe Carlson and William Halloway.
They’re both glaring at me as though they want to attack me, too, and my heart thumps madly as the reality of my situation sets in. Dread unfurls in my belly as I put two-and-one together in my head.
I’ve just fucked up in a major way, and I don’t know if I can dig myself out of this deep of shit.
Slowly, the blond boy twists around to stare at me, wrath and disbelief staining his gaze. Gabe and Liam flank him, all three setting their sights on me as if preparing to unleash holy hell.
I know who the blond guy is without anyone needing to tell me.
The third “god” that Alondra mentioned.
Satan himself.
Saint-Fucking-Angelle.
5
The rest of my day is a nightmare.
News of what I’ve done to Saint spreads through the school like wildfire, and by fourth period, I’ve gone from a nobody to public enemy number one. Everyone I pass or interact with either ignores me or glares at me like I’ve committed some unforgivable sin. I’ve gotten on the wrong side of Angelview’s “gods”, and my divine punishment is being turned into a social pariah. Alondra is the only person who doesn’t act like I’ve just spent my morning kicking puppies across the academy’s courtyard.
She had found me after I left the dining hall. Or, rather, fled the dining hall, but in such a way that it wasn’t obvious I was running away.
“Mallory!” she cried, catching me before I walked into the building for my first period English class. “Hold up!”
I stopped, hauled in a massive breath, and turned to her. She ran up to me, her ponytail flapping behind her, and a concerned expression twisting her features. A guy was with her that I hadn’t seen yet. He was handsome—go figure since this school seemed to be full of Hollister models—with light brown hair and amber eyes.
She quickly introduced him as Henry Reynolds, one of her best friends, before she demanded, “Holy shit, Mallory, what did you do?”
I didn’t know how to answer, so stupidly, I sloughed off a lame shrug. “He’s was being a dick to this girl, and I—”
She grabbed my shoulders and shook me like a rag doll. “What did I tell you? Steer clear of Saint Angelle! He’s beautiful on the outside, but poison on the inside. Everyone will be against you now, babe.”