Page 35 of Ruthless Deliverance

“Because he funnels in the supply.”

“You don’t know from who or where?” Creed shakes his head when I glance over at him. “That’s hard to believe since he bows at your every command.”

“Sure he does. But he has to protect his source, or he’d lose the only leverage he has.”

Makes sense but doesn’t. “Then we need to look more into him.”

“So, checking out his office should be our next step.”

“Yep. Discreetly, Creed. Some of us can’t take risks.”

He leans over, snatching a fry off my plate and chomps down on it. “Discreet isn’t my style.”

“It needs to be.”

“Where’s the fun in that? I need to escape my mundane existence after all.”

Motherfucker. He has something planned that I’m not gonna like from that foolish grin stretching across his lips. “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t what?” He reaches over, grabbing another fry off my plate.

“Stop eating my lunch, asshole. And tell me what’s bouncing around your hollow head.”

He leans towards me as he rises from his seat. “It would taste better off of you anyways.”

Before I can tell him he’s a dumbass, his hand grips the side of my tray, lifts, and tilts it over, the contents spilling down my chest and into my lap.

Jumping out of my seat, food flops to the floor, including my dessert. And I really wanted that freakin’ cupcake in my mouth and not on my fuckin’ pleated skirt. I’m stunned to silence for a few seconds and take note of every single person in the café watching the exchange. Yeah. Discreet is really not in his vocabulary. And I’m about to match his energy.

Grabbing the tray that is within my nearest reach, I swing it, the contents splashing over him as he merely shifts to the side and brings an arm up to shield his stupid face. Food particles cover his uniform, but it still doesn’t make me feel any less pissed off. Whipping the tray at him, he raises his other arm as the hard plastic smashes into his forearm with a loud whack.

Dropping the tray, I swing my fist and connect with his gut. He winces a bit but quickly shifts behind me. One hand seizes my wrist, the other snatches my hip as he rotates me around, his front against my back. My chest hits the table as he hovers over me, his mouth next to my ear. “Now, this is so much more fun.”

“Not as much fun as kicking your stupid fuckin’ ass will be.” Jerking my head back, he anticipates the move. I’ve already gotten him with the same thing, so he’s probably bracing for what he thinks will come next, an elbow jab. Instead, I wait a second before using the little space between us to throw my head back again. My parietal bone hits somewhere against his hard head. His grip loosens somewhat as I lift my leg to stomp on his foot. When he loosens the remainder of his grip, I shift, pivoting to bring my ass on the table and kick my legs up, my feet hitting him in the stomach. He lets out a grunt, but quickly snatches me by the ankles, his fingers gripping tight as he pulls me to the edge of the table. My hands come up, smashing into his chest as I steady myself from the forward momentum. Swiftly, he leans toward me, laying me out. My back lands against the hard surface of the table.

There’s absolute silence around us as we are locked in a stare down, his blazing eyes fixated on mine. He’s not playing, there’s no teasing or jokester clowning around. He’s fuming. And from my guess, it’s because I dared to fight back. And I’m not done. “Get off of me. Before I really get pissed the fuck off.”

“Mr. Kincaid,” Cabot calls across the café, “that’s enough.” I can see him warily approaching from my peripheral vision, but I don’t dare take my eyes off the dickhead still sprawled out over me on the goddamn lunchroom table. “Miss Graham, both of you, stop this instant and come with me.”

“I will as soon as this stupid fuck gets off of me.” My hands push against the lug who remains in place for a few seconds.

Then he closes the space between us and whispers in my ear, “So. Much. Fun.”

He shoves off me. With his weight removed quickly from me, I lay sprawled out on the table for a second before sliding to the ground where there’s food littered around. I grab my bag and jerk the strap onto my shoulder as I walk across the café. When I spot the same worker who handed me my burger, I give her a sympathetic smile. She or one of her colleagues has a mess to clean up because of the one I’ve gotten myself into. “I’m sorry,” I mouth to her, to which a smile stretches across her face, and she gives me an encouraging wink. Yep. She doesn’t like him either.

Discreet might not be in his vocabulary, but you’d think he could understand my wanting to stay under the radar a tad bit. But another word he’ll never comprehend—cautious—is lost on him because Creed Kincaid is the exact opposite.

32

DANI

I’ve lost count, but I can guarantee I’ve visited the principal’s office more times in these first eight days of school than the average student does all year. Not that there’s been anything average about a single day I’ve spent as a student here, today is really taking the cake for my least favorite. And the longer I sit in the stiff chair beside Creed while we wait on Cabot, yet again, the more my temper flares.

“That was really fuckin’ stupid.” My arms cross over my chest that is now only covered by the tank I wear under the stiff uniform button-down. Some of my water managed to get to it, but it’s less saturated than the blazer and shirt I stripped off. The skirt is a mess but walking around Sacred in my boyshorts isn’t an option right now.

“One of us had to make a move.”

“‘Make a move’? That’s what you call it? I call it a freakin’ disaster. Even if we managed to get into Cabot’s office, that scene in front of the entire damn school was unnecessary.”