Home > Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2)(9)

Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2)(9)
Author: Rachel Jonas

The edges of my vision darken and all I see is the idiot seated beside me. Without thinking, my hands plant flat against his solid chest and I shove as hard as I can, knocking him right off his chair. I don’t flinch when his ass slams to the floor. In fact, it sends a wave of relief surging through me and I don’t even regret it when he gets to his feet quicker than expected, fury raging in his eyes.

“Psycho bitch!” he thunders. “Put your filthy fucking hands on me again and see if I don’t end you!”

I’m poised to snap right back at him, fearless because I’m pissed as hell with everything right now, but before I can come to my own defense…

“Wanna try saying that shit to me, motherfucker?”

My heart pounds inside my chest and I’m suddenly riding a wave of rage and confusion. All because of who just spewed those angry words—West, full of fury, nose-to-nose with Austin as he backs him down like a trained puppy. It’s insane how quickly the loyal subject falls into place when his king delivers a swift reminder.

Dane and Sterling are late to the party, proving just how quickly West must’ve stood and rushed over. Under different circumstances, the move might’ve been seen as valiant, but nothing concerning West Golden impresses me. Not with who and what I know him to be. Actually, I wouldn’t put it past him to have set this whole thing up—some sort of ploy to fool me into thinking he has a soul after all.

From where I stand, I see West’s jaw tick, see his nostrils flare with anger—whether real or faked.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble. I was just joking with her,” Austin explains, putting his hands up in surrender as he backs away. The maneuver is so hasty his thigh slams the corner of a lunch table, knocking him a little off balance.

“Let me catch you so much as breathing in her direction and I’ll mangle you. You understand me?” West seethes, so tense the veins in both arms protrude just beneath his ink.

“Yeah, I got it,” Austin concedes, volleying a look between West and his brothers, seeming to regret having ever walked his happy ass over to my table.

By now, nearly the entire lunchroom is watching and it’s just a matter of time until a staff member notices, too. And thanks to West, I can’t afford to even be associated with trouble.

Sticking around to see how it all unfolds is out of the question. So, the moment I see a lunch monitor’s brow furrowing at the situation, I hightail it down the center aisle, headed straight out of the lunchroom. Not even stopping when I hear that deep, familiar voice calling after me.

“Southside! Wait up!”

Move faster, Blue. Don’t give him a chance to speak. Don’t give him a chance to fill your head with whatever lies he’s come up with to draw you in again. Everything he’s ever said, everything he ever will say, is a lie.

The doors burst open when I push into the empty hallway, and to my horror, they burst open a second time as heavy steps come bounding through right behind me.

“Wait,” he calls out again.

I pretend not to hear him, picking up speed as I head God-knows-where. The one thing I do know is that I have to get as far away from West as possible. The urge to kill him still hasn’t dulled and if I thought I could overpower him, I just might try it.

“I just… please.”

Those words fall from his mouth, somehow conveying his need for me to stop and listen, but he doesn’t come across as desperate, needy.

He manages to get ahold of my hand, and I hate that his touch still triggers something inside me. There’s hatred and something else, but the ‘something else’ is only an illusion, a sick addiction to emotional abuse. I’ve seen it with my parents. One does some shitty thing to hurt the other. Then, somehow, they end up in the bedroom. But not me. I’m determined to break the vicious cycle.

“I just want to talk to you.” His voice echoes off the three walls surrounding me, because I’ve somehow managed to turn right into a dead end. This place is so huge, I still get turned around sometimes.

I spin, facing him because I don’t have much choice. He’s faster and stronger than I am, which means there’s no outrunning him either.

“Get the fuck away from me, West.”

There’s no missing the strain of emotion in my voice. Which is why I’m sure my eyes are red and glassy, too. I’m also sure he knows I’m about to cry again. For like, the umpteenth time since Saturday. Only, my tears aren’t a sign of weakness. They’re a sign that I’m mad as hell and fucking sick of his ass.

I swear he’s just heard my thoughts, as those damn green eyes of his search my face, reading me like he does so well. All he’ll find there is anger, pain.

He breathes deep and his jaw does that thing again, where it flexes and tenses as he comes closer.

“I just … I need you to know I’m—”

“No!” I shout. “You don’t get to say a damn thing to me. That’s not how things work in the real world. I know you’re used to stringing chicks along, having them pine over you no matter what fucked up thing you’ve done, but I’m not like them.”

I half expect an immediate rebuttal just to spite me, but he’s silent. Just goes to show how unpredictable he is, how hard his behavior is to pin down. Ugh … and here I go with the waterworks again. I hate myself for not being able to hold them in.

He’s staring while he wears this look I can’t place. His solid chest and shoulders rise slowly beneath his jersey and I focus there, where his heart should be. Only, I know there’s nothing in its place, but a cavern filled with darkness.

He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out isn’t even a complete sentence.

“Damn, I—”

The words cut off there and he rubs a hand down his face, still keeping his gaze trained on the floor.

“Look at you,” I scoff. “The screwed up thing is, I think you know you went too far this time, but your pride won’t even let you admit it.”

Half a second later, he meets my gaze and I regret challenging him. There’s unexpected emotion swimming in his irises and I’m now more convinced than ever that he’s a great actor. Probably got a lot of practice over the years. It serves as a reminder that he can’t ever be trusted.

“You chased me down,” I snap. “Why? Didn’t get enough of humiliating me Saturday?”

“That wasn’t—”

His words trail off again and I’m sick of whatever this game is he’s playing.

“This is the last time you will ever speak to me,” I assert, only managing to take a few steps away from him before he gets a firm grip on my arm. He’s not inflicting pain, but I can’t easily pull away when I try.

I don’t have it in me to face him, but standing shoulder-to-shoulder now, I catch his stare in my peripheral, filled with some feigned look of desperation.

“I know I fucked things up,” he admits with a low rasp. “But I’m trying to make it right.”

The statement rings inside my head and I can’t tell which I feel more—anger or disgust.

“Ohhh, okay. So, you want to make things right,” I say with an air of sarcasm. “Does this miraculous fix you’ve mentioned also make me being on academic probation go away?”

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