I can’t forgive him.
Headmaster Aldridge and Mrs. Wilmer come bursting into the room after him, slightly out of breath with their own eyes bulging.
“Mr. Angelle, what do you think you’re doing?” the Headmaster barks.
Saint doesn’t bother to look at him right away. It’s clear he doesn’t give a shit that there’s anyone else in the room. His eyes are glued to me, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves even a centimeter.
It’s unnerving how intensely he’s scrutinizing me.
“Why is she being questioned?” he demands after several moments, whirling on our principal. “She hasn’t done a thing.”
“Saint, could we please discuss this outside?” Headmaster Aldridge’s tone is surprisingly urgent and … contrite. I’ve never heard him be anything but stern. That, plus the fact he’s using Saint’s first name speaks to a familiarity between them that goes beyond student and administration.
Then again, Saint’s parents do basically own this place.
They’ve probably had Aldridge over for dinner at their fancy beachfront house in Malibu, which is an oddly sobering thought. Just one more way Saint’s life has been so blessed. Red hot anger spikes through me at the unfairness of it all, but I welcome it.
I need the anger. Have to clutch onto it and keep it close to remind myself that Saint is a bad guy, and I’m not supposed to feel anything for him other than the worst kind of loathing. Relief that he’s alive, sure, because I’m not an ogre, but that’s as tender as I’ll get.
“I’m not going anywhere, and I dare you to try and do something about it,” Saint says with a sneer, his hands balling into fists by his sides. Aldridge’s eyes pop wider, and for a beat, I get the impression that he’s scared of Saint. I might be, too, if I were facing down that brick wall of rage, but I doubt Saint would go so far as to actually hit the man.
Really. He wouldn’t do that.
Right?
“This matter will soon be out of our hands, and I’d rather you not get mixed up in anything legally speaking. Your father—”
“What do you mean, it’ll be out of your hands?” I speak up, shooting to my feet and slapping my hands on the table. “What’s going on now? I. Didn’t. Do. Anything.”
Aldridge’s eyes narrow into slits. There’s no hint of the same reverence he was showing Saint just moments before, but that’s what you get when your parent is the redneck, methed-out version of Tony Montana and not the fucking controlling interest of an elite academy and the biggest social media network in the world.
“Ms. Ellis, I need you to sit back down and remain calm. You need to be very mindful of your behavior right now.”
This is such bullshit. I’m a suspect for something I had nothing to do with, and Saint, the king of stomping all over rules and laws with no regard for those around him, is treated like a goddamn prince. It’s a blatant double standard, all because he’s rich and connected, and I’m dirt-fucking-poor.
I open my mouth, ready to lash out, but to my shock, Saint beats me to it.
“If you value your job, Aldridge, back off,” he says in that low, dangerous voice that summons goosebumps all over me.
“Now, Saint—”
“Job, Aldridge,” Saint coldly reminds him before turning his attention back to me and zeroing in on my cheek. His full lips squash into a colorless line. “I’m assuming all you motherfuckers are blind since you didn’t notice she’s bleeding.”
I hadn’t even noticed I was bleeding. My hand automatically reaches for my cheek, and my skin stings when my fingertips skim over the cut. “I’m fine,” I mutter, but he snorts.
Ignoring my weak ass statement, he sweeps the rest of the room with a dark look. “Mallory hasn’t done anything wrong, so you can just stop treating her like a criminal. This ends now.”
I’m amazed he’s defending me. I briefly have another flashback of Jenn doing the same, protecting me when I least expected. I couldn’t understand her then, and I don’t understand him now. Why go to so much trouble when he was so intent on demolishing me earlier?
What the hell is his end game?
“Ms. Ellis’s innocence isn’t for us to decide,” Aldridge pushes back. “It’s for the authorities.”
Authorities? I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that this is all about to get so much worse.
There’s a sharp knock on the conference room door, but before anyone can actually answer it, it swings open and two officers from the Santa Teresa Police Department fill the threshold. They’re both men, older than Meyers but younger than Fallon, so I’m guessing they’re right in that sweet spot where they still have something to prove, and they know just how to do it.
They peer around, taking in the scene before them.
I am so done.
I peek toward Officers Fallon and Meyers. Neither looks particularly thrilled to see the new arrivals walk in. I feel a strange sensation of satisfaction that they’re losing their lofty roles as the biggest assholes in the room, even though having the real cops here means I’m definitely screwed.
“Headmaster Aldridge?” one of the cops, a dark-haired guy with a rugged jaw, speaks up. “I’m Officer Lee and this is Officer Bennet. We were told you had a suspect detained already.”
Well, that solidifies that Fallon and Meyers were full of shit.
I’m surrounded by liars and manipulators, all with their minds set that I’m guilty before there’s any actual evidence. It’s fucked up that Saint’s the only one willing to step in to defend me. Of everybody in this room, I’d have thought he’d hang me out to dry.
Turns out the bastard is my one real ally right now, which blows on every possible level.
“What the hell did you call the real police for?” Saint demands through clenched teeth, and Meyers huffs an offended breath.
“You mean apart from the fact that one of our dorms just burned down?” Aldridge snaps back. “We have a possible arson case on our hands, not to mention manslaughter—”
“Oh god,” I moan, the blood draining from my face so fast I go lightheaded.
Aldridge shoots me an irritated look, but Mrs. Wilmer answers with a sad shake of her head. “Sadly, the firefighters and paramedics were able to confirm at least two fatalities in the blaze,” she murmurs.
Damn it, who was it? I risk another glance at Saint and can’t help but wonder about Liam, but he doesn’t look at me, so I try to read his profile. He’s clearly pissed, but when is he not when he doesn’t get what he wants? I can’t tell if there’s any sorrow etched into the hard lines of his face.
Would he feel sorrow for Liam?
Hell, would he feel sorrow for anyone he knew if they died?
All signs point to fuck no.
I want to ask if they’ve identified the bodies yet, but the air is already so tense, I’m afraid adding more to this shitstorm will only make things worse. Plus, who could forget the real gun-toting cops standing in the room with us? They don’t appear all that impressed with the drama unfolding before them. They keep sizing me up as they try to figure out how guilty the tiny girl with dirt and bruises and blood on her face might actually be.