I hit send, letting him know I lost my phone, and toss it back on Clara’s bed. She’s seated in front of the vanity, her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “So you never spilled the tea about Zain the other night.” She hides her smirk.
I shoot her a knowing look from the bed as I cross my legs. “Well, we just…talked,” I supply, but she’s unconvinced.
Her mouth opens into a big O as she slams her lipstick down. “You sure did some talking, huh.” She winks.
I scoff and toss a pillow in her direction, which she dodges. “For your information, we did talk,” I admonish. “While he made me…come,” I mutter and slam my face in my palms.
“Get it girl!” she hollers. “About fucking time!”
I giggle and hide my pink cheeks. “I really should avoid the guy. He’s absolutely unhinged, but ughhh,” I grunt. “It’s like we connect…in some strange way. I can’t put my finger on it.” I lick my lips, recalling the dirty things he did to me. It doesn’t negate the fact he kicked me out as soon as he got what he wanted. That alone should have me avoiding him, but instead, I find myself looking over my shoulder, hoping to see him. Is it unhealthy? Probably. His words still stick in my subconscious.
If you need pleasure, you know where to find me.
I don’t know what hold he has over me, but I need to break it before I get completely sucked into his whirlwind of crazy.
“I’m happy for you. Sure, he’s a little weird”—she wrinkles her nose—“but he’s kinda cute in a creepy way,” she supplies.
I shrug, hoping to focus on more important things, like my symphony. “You know my performance is in a few weeks. I have another rehearsal tonight. That means no more of these parties you keep dragging me to.” I shoot her a playful warning glare.
She picks up her curler and wraps it around her loose blond tendrils. “Suit yourself. I’m going out with Val from Sovereign Hall.”
I purse my lips. “Just be careful. Jax is in that building,” I point out. I twist the blanket in my hands.
She turns to me. “I will, I promise,” she says softly.
I nod and glance over at the clock, then spring from the bed. “Will you be home after my rehearsal?” I press, hoping she’ll come back home. I hate when she goes out alone.
She sets the curler down. “Yeah, totally! No plans to stay the night. Val is a quick guy if you catch my drift,” she winks.
I shake my head and snort, “What happened to Kieran?” I raise a curious brow. She shrugs. “We fucked a few times, but that’s the extent of it.”
I reach for my jacket I’d thrown on the floor and shrug it on.
“If you say so,” I tease her. “See you later!” I wave at her as I slip through the door.
I make my way to the dean’s office. If I have no phone and no way to contact my professors and father, I want him to be aware. He is close to my father after all. I don’t always carry my laptop with me to have access to my email.
Passing through the stone archway between buildings, I look over my shoulder, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Zain, but no such luck. It’s still early morning. He doesn’t strike me as a morning type of guy, and I don’t know why, but a heavy weight of disappointment filters through me.
I thrust open the double wide doors into the main building. The hallways are quiet at this hour, and I’m annoyed that my phone is missing. I can’t even listen to music! The dean’s office comes into view with his heavy mahogany doors and carved design. Above the door is acrescent window with Grimshaw Academy displayed in the colorful stained glass. A few other Elites are congregating by his office. Valerius Ashford, Silas Thorne, and Gray Graves. They’re deep in conversation, their low whispers make it impossible to hear what.
The same Valerius that Clara is seeing tonight. Val for short. He catches my gaze and nods. I offer a shy smile in return. I’m not in their friend circle. Not any particular reason, our paths just never crossed. Father always kept me locked away when his business meetings were underway. So when the other Elites brought their kids, I was never allowed out to join them.
I approach the door. Just as I go to knock, Jax comes barreling through the doors with a look of pure ire on his face. He’s shirtless and fisting a loose T-shirt in his hand. That’s when I see it. His chest is angry and red, marred with bruises and cuts like he has been in a fight. Then my eyes drift lower. The wordrapistis etched deep into his skin just above his pelvis. So deeply, it’s bound to leave a scar for life.
My insides twist, leaving a sinking feeling of unease.
Zain. That’s the only logical explanation. He’d roughed him up a bit that night, but I didn’t think he was capable of goingthatfar. How demented is he? The fact he fucked me with his knife handle alone should be enough of a tell. This guy is volatile, and Jax, he was on the receiving end for that. This is bad. Real bad. His actions have now put a giant target on my back. Jax’s face flashes my direction, and I stand utterly still, expecting him to lunge at me or do something insane. Only…he doesn’t. His jaw molds into a tight line, and he shoots me a warning glare, as if daring me to open my mouth.
He shoulders past me, knocking me off-kilter, and retreats towards the Ops Building, which houses our school’s cafeteria. The other Elites follow in step behind him without even acknowledging me. My eyesare transfixed on him until he rounds the corner, throwing his shirt back over his mutilated body.
I take a deep breath. What could he have been doing in the dean’s office? Certainly not ratting out Zain, that would only implicate himself. I twist back around, and the dean is standing in the doorway. He beckons me inside. Despite the fact my father works closely with Mr. Grimshaw, I’ve only met him a handful of times. My father tends to keep his work secretive.
I remember Zain telling me he’s Kieran’s father, now I see the resemblance. Mr. Grimshaw is a tall man with sandy-blond hair who looks to be in his fifties. He looks exactly like Thomas Shelby fromPeaky Blindersif he was older. His dark, pinstripe suit has a pocket watch tucked neatly in the front. He sits perched in his leather chair behind a large dark wood desk. His eyes flash to my shocked face, and it takes every bit of my composure to school my features.
“Please sit, Miss Santi.” He gestures to the wingback chairs nestled in front of his desk.
I sink into the soft leather. My lips purse into a nervous line. He gets up and clicks the French doors closed. He clasps the middle of his jacket and settles into his seat adjacent to me.
