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“That boy has some real issues. He acts like I pissed in his Wheaties when I was just acting on orders,” I mutter, and Lathan’s smile drops.
“Yeah, it’s going to take him a while to get over it all. When he thought you killed Percy, he was murderous. You’re actually lucky he didn’t disobey orders and kill you then and there.”
“Well, I think he got his pound of flesh.” I point at my face, and Lathan wrinkles his nose in a cute way that makes me want to reach out and boop it, but I resist.
“Lath.” Miller’s voice is more insistent, and we look back at them. They’ve been joined by all the girls.
“I’ll catch you later,” I tell him, not wanting to draw more attention to myself. I have things I want to do this afternoon after I see Mr. Turner. I want to get the layout of the town, and I need to do it so that I’m home in time for dinner. I wouldn’t want to get on Martha’s bad side on the first day.
He looks reluctant to leave, but after studying me for a moment, he waves goodbye and hurries over to the others.
I need to change out of my PE uniform and then go see Mr. Turner. I’m not sure what I’m going to tell him I learned at my last school. Shit, I probably should have googled senior history curriculum.
I don’t bother putting my fishnets on when I don my other clothes, I just bundle them up and put them into my bag. The hassle of taking off my boots and putting them back on is going to slow me down. I don’t want to be late to meet one of my suspects. A little shiver of excitement rolls over my skin as I push the locker room door open and hurry back to my history class. I’m finally going to get somewhere on this case.
Chapter 15
There’s a note on the history room door telling me to meet Mr. Turner in his office, with instructions on how to find it. That was strangely thoughtful of him. I follow the directions, and before long, I’m knocking on the closed door that has a plaque with his name. Breathing out a sigh, I smooth the fabric of my skirt while I wait for him to answer, replaying the conversation I overheard earlier in my head. It made it sound like Mr. Turner has a predilection for young girls. Saying that, though, he can’t be that much older than me, maybe twenty-five or so, so even pretend Mac isn’t that much younger. Maybe he’s into some kinky shit. He did mention wanting to see me on my knees. Perhaps he wants a slave. Why else would a gorgeous man be interested in someone like my cover? He could easily find a girlfriend.
I’m mulling over all the information in my head and not paying attention, so I jump when the door suddenly opens in front of me. Gasping, I grab at my chest in fright. Mr. Turner’s eyes follow my hand. Looking down, I notice that my breasts are really prominent like that. Oh yeah, he’s interested alright. I hide the smug smile that wants to cross my lips. It wouldn’t pay for me to show that I know his game.
“Oh goodness, you scared me. I was daydreaming.” My voice is low and breathy as I pretend to be frightened.
Mr. Turner steps back and gestures for me to enter the room. “I’m very sorry. Why don’t you come in, take a seat, and get your breathing under control?” He peers out the door and looks either way down the corridor as I enter before pulling the door closed behind me. The sound of the lock engaging is deafening in the awkward silence.
He goes around to his seat on the other side of the desk and sits down, shuffling a few papers. He’s quiet, and it gives me a chance to study him. He and his brother could almost be twins, but Ryland is not as broad as Mr. Turner, and his hair is longer and there’s no hint of a curl, but they both have the same blue eyes and pouty lips. He keeps glancing to the corner of the room, which makes me suspicious, so this time when he looks back down at the notes in front of him, I turn my head slightly. Up in the corner of the room is a flashing red light—a camera. Well, it looks like I’m going to have to perform after all.
“So, Mackenzie—”
I interrupt him. “Please call me Mac.”
He frowns. “Please don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking,” he scolds in a delicious growly voice, and I feel my nipples pebble with excitement.
Holy shit, Mr. Turner puts off some serious dom vibes. If he wasn’t a suspect in a sex trafficking ring, I’d be all over him. I’d love to find out what it would be like to give up control to someone. I’ve spent all my life looking after myself and making sure I wasn’t captured or killed on assignment, so I think it would be freeing to give myself over to someone.
I drop my head and lower my eyes. “I’m sorry, sir,” I murmur.
“See that you don’t do it again. Now, I’d like to know where you were in your last school. What were you studying?”
Fuck! How do I play this? I need to get my shit together. I’m not prepared for this, so I take a deep breath and uncross my legs before recrossing them, letting my skirt slide up to give him a good look at my panties before pulling it back down again.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Turner, but history is not my best subject. I think we were working on world history.”
He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers, frowning in disappointment. “Well, that’s not going to work here, I’m afraid. We take our students’ education very seriously, and as a foster child, you should be making every extra effort to try harder and make something of yourself. What are your plans for your future? Do you want to attend college, or are you just planning on paying your way on your back?”
Oh wow, so we’re not even going to pretend that he hasn’t heard about my “record.”
I urge a blush to my cheeks and shake my head. “No, sir. I would really love to get into college.”
“How far are you willing to go to get good grades, Mackenzie?”
Whoop, there it is. He’s hooked, I just need to reel him in. I look up at him from under my lashes. “I’d do anything to get good grades, sir.”
“Hmm, why don’t I believe that?” He pushes his chair back from his desk and adopts a relaxed, spread-legged pose. I see it for what it is and see him look up at the camera once more. I guess he must have been tasked with getting proof of my promiscuity. I must be seen as a sure thing by the ring, one who probably won’t put up too much of a fight.
“Please, sir, I promise to be good,” I beg, shifting forward on my seat eagerly. I run my tongue over my lip before dragging it between my teeth, and I watch as he breathes deeply, his eyes locked on my lips, before he shakes himself and pats his lap.
“Why don’t you come over here and show me how good you can be,” he says through gritted teeth like he’s trying to hold himself back.
