“A little better.” She winces while sucking in her bottom lip, making me wonder if she’s lying.
I grab her by the nape of her neck, tugging her hair as I tilt her head, until her eyes meet mine.
“Don’t fucking lie to me Salem. Now, try again. How are your feet?”
“The same.” She grits out, fire coating her gaze as she stares up at me.
“Now, that’s a good girl.”
“What did I tell you about calling me that?” She asks as my fingers tighten in her hair. I feel my dick twitch against my pants.
“I’d love for you to sit on my cock right now, but I can’t be late.” I release her and adjust my pants. I kiss her soundly on her lips before striding out the door to meet the man who made my life a living hell.
I step outside and feel an immediate chill run down my spine from the cool fall air. Winter is fast approaching, and if the last two years of being on this island have taught me anything, it’ll arrive sooner than expected, locking the small piece of land in a brutal fight against the elements. I’ll need to put my bike away soon, but I know if I show up on campus riding it right now, it’ll give my already volatile father something to attack me for. He hates basically everything about me, but the bike is the one thing he hates the most. I make a mental note to take it out later, and maybe throw Salem on the back of it while she digs her nails into my stomach as we careen down the curved road. The image tugs my normally serious face up into a smile. Fuck, I know I should be mourning Pierce right now, but I can’t help but bask in this feeling only Salem gives me. I can still feel her tight cunt around my cock from fucking her most of last night. I might be exhausted, but it was worth it. She was a fucking dream come true and I’d gladly lose some sleep over giving her whatever she wants.
The trees creak as the wind whistles through the pine needles, shaking the dead ones to the ground. I pick up my pace on the gravel road, the stones crunching beneath my polished shoes. The path is empty, save for a random squirrel or two. Classes aren’t scheduled to start up again until later today after being paused for the week, due to the sudden loss of the headmaster and Pierce, and the attack on Sloan.
The police weren’t buying our story that the headmaster and Emmet had forced Salem down to the beach with Pierce and Lukas following behind. They completely ignored the poisoned pie sent to Salem, writing it off as an accident. I shove my hands deep into my pockets, warming up my frigid fingers. The cuts ache as the wind bites into them. I really needed to find a better outlet for my rage, because that punching bag was eating up the skin on my hands and I needed my hands to play guitar, or I could kiss my dreams goodbye.
I enter the building that houses all the employee offices with five minutes to spare. A part of me wants to stay rooted to this spot, running down the clock to invoke his ire. My feet splay between the black and white checker pattern on floor as the seconds inch closer. A part of me feels like I’m still a child, awaiting his punishment. I’ve tapped down my Wrath for now, but there’s no knowing what he’ll say. I’ve found myself turning over scenarios in my mind to prepare for this meeting, but if my past has taught me anything, it’s that he never acts how I think he will.
Four minutes.
I push up on my toes, willing myself to move. The ornate building seeps with the cold from outside. The hallway ahead of me is bustling with teachers and what looks like a few moving men who carry random pieces of furniture, clogging up the hallway. I let out a sigh, knowing I’ll need to go around them all to make it on time.
Three minutes. Fuck.
A man wearing a white jumpsuit, who must be a mover, slams his shoulder into me, missing my head by an inch with the leg of a chair.
My Wrath revs in my chest, my hand snatching the man by his jumpsuit and yanking him towards me.
“Watch where you’re going.”
The man gulps as I tower over his small sweaty stature. His arms tremble as he whispers an apology.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” I sneer, tightening my fist in the polyester fabric. Sweat drips down his pasty face as two large round spots of red blotch his otherwise ghostly looking appearance.
“I’m sorry!” He squeaks out.
“That’s better.” I say with a feral grin, releasing him from my grip.
“Mr. Hart. Do you have somewhere to be?” Professor Whitelsbee scolds as she passes behind me, her overpowering perfume smacking me right in the olfactory.
Shit. I was late now. I roll my shoulders ignoring her, and stalk up the stairs to accept my fate. I don’t miss the sound of her scoffing behind me.
This floor is less busy, but I still have to dodge movers carrying random items that I recognize from the former headmaster’s office. Dear old dad must be redecorating.
Sure enough, when I make it past the threshold of his office, there are multiple people removing paintings, books, and knickknacks from the area. I spot my father looking out the expansive window, his hands gripped behind his back showing the suede elbow patches of his tweed ensemble. I see he’s leaning into the whole headmaster thing, wardrobe first.
He must sense my arrival, because he turns slowly, his eyes immediately finding mine. I feel the weight of disappointment settle across my shoulders with that one look.
“I see you found your way here after all.” He says with a flourish, bringing his arm out to look at the time on his watch. It’s a power move that he’s perfected over the years, reminding those he uses it on that his time is far more precious than theirs.
“Leave us.” He says to the myriad of workers like a king commanding his kingdom. They scuttle away, obeying his orders and closing the large wooden ornate doors behind them, as we square up to each other in silence.
A lifetime with this man has taught me to wait him out. He loves to be the first one to speak, reveling in the sound of his own voice. He pushes his weight onto the balls of his feet, rocking backwards and forwards drawing out my patience.
We’ve done this dance before.
