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“I gave you one rule.”
I blanch. “Rule.”
Rule?
“I told you when I call, you answer, and guess what?” He dips a little closer. “You didn’t answer.”
I gape at him, and then a not so quiet laugh escapes, my hand coming up to cover it as I stare wide-eyed at the guy in front of me.
The crazy thing is he’s not joking, and my laughter is far from amusing to him.
And then I remember I’m in class.
The teacher is in class.
He is in my freaking class!
I chance a glance around the room, at the teacher in the front of it, and as if I woke him from his frozen state, Mr. Lin jerks forward.
“Young man, what do you think you’re doing?” he asks.
“Talking,” Royce snaps, and my cheek burns with his stare.
Mr. Lin pauses his advance. “Well, that will have to wait until later.”
When Royce doesn’t move or show any sign of listening, I face him again.
“Royce,” I hiss.
Mr. Lin heads toward the class phone. “You need to leave my class.”
Royce’s eyes burn into mine and he nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I do.”
He lets go of my chair and pushes to his full, overwhelming height.
I breathe a sigh of relief... that lasts a whole three seconds, on the fourth, Royce is behind me, bends and lifts my chair off the floor... with me still on it.
A light scream leaves me, but I quickly cut it off because there is absolutely nothing I can do about it... nothing but hold on for dear life.
Once we’re in the hall and around the corner, he sets me down only to grab me by the hand, tug me up, and out the double doors.
I stumble to keep up with his quick steps but he makes sure I don’t lose my footing, and then we’re standing in front of a fancy town car, the back door wide open and waiting for someone to climb inside it.
He lets go and turns to me, but before he can say anything, Micah is beside us, handing him my backpack.
“That everything?” He takes it without looking.
Micah nods. “She doesn’t have a locker.”
I frown between the two, my face pulled tight with confusion.
Were they not about to fight two days ago?!
Royce nods, and Micah disappears as fast as he showed.
It’s just the two of us again.
He shifts closer, grips my wrist and lifts it between us, inspecting the small strip of gauze wrapped tight around my palm.
“Me versus a broken vase,” I feel the need to explain. “The vase sort of won.”
His fingers flex against my skin, near the hints of super glue I couldn’t get off, and those dark eyes flick to mine.He releases me, tossing my backpack onto the black leather seat. “Get in.”
I suck my stomach in, cutting a quick glance at the driver in the front seat. “Why?”
“Because you want to.”
My eyes fly to his, and his head falls back lazily, almost daring I challenge his statement, yet somehow confident I won’t.
Because I want to.
Do I want to?
Questions knock heavily within my mind, but they’re a jumbled mess of half spurred thought.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I look inside the dimly lit space and back to him. And then I slide inside.
It’s not until we’re pulling up at an airstrip where Mac stands outside of a small plane with the airstairs open and waiting, that I remember I’m the underdog, locked in a car with the top dog.
My head snaps to Royce, who watches me intently.
My mind races as I stare at the stranger in front of me, at a guy I was warned about, and for some reason, my head decides to nod when not a question was asked.
Satisfaction flashes across him, but it’s gone as soon as he blinks and slowly, he steps out, helping me right behind him.
Royce’s eyes move between mine. “Hope you’re ready, little Bishop.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Ready for what... exactly?”
He looks up at the plane that has his last name printed large and proud on the side with open eyes and an answer that steals my voice. “To come home.”
A harsh and fast breath slips past my lips and my palm flies to my stomach, in an attempt to settle the somersaults going strong inside it.
Home.
As in to Brayshaw.
I think I’m going to puke.Chapter 8RoyceI spent the last twenty-four hours going back and forth with myself, but if I’m real, I knew before I even made it home I’d see her again and why—to bring her home with me.
Like I talked to the girls about, I don’t know what happened to any of the people we didn’t bring into our group homes, but I do know what happened to this one, so I’m going to fix what was fucked.
It was on the word of a punk who believed he knew what was best for her that we sent the girl away in the first place, but now I know that punk was wrong.
