Which is nothing.
They jerk me forward, snapping at me to keep up, but I barely hear them.
Cars fill the parking lot ahead of the courtyard, but there isn’t a single police vehicle in sight. No flashing lights, just darkness, save for the tiny lights lining either side of the sidewalk to my dorm and a few fixtures in the lot.
As I glance around and take in the utter stillness of the night, a slimy foreboding feeling penetrates the anxiety, settling heavily in the pit of my stomach.
Once again, the officer jerks my arm and snaps at me to keep walking.But now, I’m really not listening. Narrowing my eyes, I focus on the officers, scrutinizing their side profiles. Now that the tears are drying and clarity is setting in, I can get a better look at them. They’re both young. However, it’s not their ages that set me off, but their familiarity. The officer walking beside me is incredibly tall with a lankier build, though he certainly isn’t lacking in muscle. His short, dark strands peek out from the hat at his nape, and though it’s too dark to see the exact shade, I have the sinking feeling it’s a deep auburn. The officer dragging me through the yard is the same height, with a slightly bulkier build, his hair shaved close to the scalp. But what confirms my fears is the tattoos covering his hands and the barbel in his left eyebrow glinting in the moonlight. A horrifying realization overcomes me, and my mouth drops.
Fuck.
Me.
“Keep up,” the officer with shaved hair snaps again, keeping his eyes pointed forward.
Except he's not really a fucking officer. Far from it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I screech, digging my heels into the ground. I gain no traction, though, sliding across the snowcapped grass.
Now, my heart pumps for an entirely different reason. Because, like a fucking idiot, I now realize I’m not being dragged out of my dorm by police officers, but by two other college students who happen to be best friends with the one man who wants to see me suffer.
ThiswasDread’s doing.
And I’m too fucking pissed to be relieved about it.
Too distracted by the utter panic from finding a dead woman in my room, the possibility of it being my father, and then thinking I was being arrested for murder, I didn’t register their faces or their goddamn voices.
You’re such an idiot.
Fucking Rogue Cameron has a hold of me. He's Dread's teammate on the swim team and the smart-ass of the three. He exudes a punk rock vibe with his buzz cut, eyebrow and cartilage piercings, and tattoos covering the majority of his body. But while his attitude is carefree and he prefers to spend his days partying and cracking jokes, he has no qualms about dishing out cruelty on Dread’s command, usually doing so with a grin on his face.
Beside me is Severen Fox. He’s the softer, quieter one, though not any less enigmatic than his friends. I've seen too many women trip over their own feet when they catch sight of his deep auburn hair, amber eyes, and the dimples on either side of his killer smile. When he’s not helping his best friends torture me, he has his nose shoved in a romance novel, which has always been really fucking confusing to me. Being both a romantic and a bully makes no goddamn sense.
“Let me go,” I snap, harshly tugging at my arm in Rogue’s grip and ignoring the sharp pain flaring in my shoulder.
“So she finally comes to her senses,” he croons, dropping the act and aiming a smirk my way.
“Rogue, I’m serious! Let me the fuck go!”
“Not gonna happen, little murderess,” he sings.
My survival instincts kick in full force, and I thrash against him, digging my heels in.
“We got a live one, Sev! And she's a fighter!” Rogue shouts, laughing as he does.
He and Severen easily pull me forward, despite my efforts.
“Stop it!” I squeal.
I can’t do much with my hands in cuffs behind my back, so I throw my body around like a wrecking ball, but my struggle only heightens as they both drag me toward a flagpole in the middle of the courtyard.
My eyes blow wide, and I instantly know what they’re planning. I’m shaking my head, chanting “No” over and over as we near it. It doesn’t matter how deep I dig my heels in or thrash against them, their holds only tighten to bruising levels, and an amused chuckle releases from Rogue’s throat.
“Let me go!” I screech, tripping over my toes. They keep me from face-planting, but it’s a fate much preferred over what they have planned.
We reach the flagpole, and Rogue holds my biceps while Severen disappears behind my back to unlock my handcuffs. I stare up at Rogue pleadingly. His rugged features make him look like he belongs in a motorcycle club, with his strong jawline, a nose with the slightest bump at the bridge, hinting at a past break, and his unsettling raven eyes.
“Please, don’t do this,” I croak, unable to mask the desperation in my tone.
