Page 168 of Midnight Curfew

Softly, I pick up the gavel on the table. I used to like cologne on men.

“Callum wants to make Marymount a boarding school,” Vincent tells him.

I move around him.

“Fuck yes.” Milo’s eyes widen. “Please tell me it’s just for females.”

But before he realizes what I’m doing, I grab his wrist, pin it to the table, and slam the hammer down on his knuckles.

“Ah!” he howls.

Fire lights up in my veins and my fingers tighten around the handle; I swing it again, hearing the crack of his metacarpals.

“What the fuck?” he screams.

I back off as he collapses over the table.

“Hold him.” I move around the other side.

Vincent is standing, and Jerome looks at me, stunned.

“Hold him,” I prompt again.

Quickly, they grab him as I move to the other side of the table. I jerk my chin at Jerome, gesturing to Milo’s other hand.

Putting his weight on our friend’s back, he pushes his fist up the table.

“What are you doing?” Milo growls at me, the scar running down his face wrinkling with his grimace.

“You know what.”

He falls silent, searching my eyes. Then it hits him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he cries. “Are you seriously not fucking her?”

I clench my teeth, fisting the gavel.

“Why not?” he charges. “Your father made it very clear what she was for!”

My chest boils with anger, and I rear my hand back, slamming the hammer down on his other hand.

“Ah!”

His face contorts in pain, and I watch blood spill from his hand.

I hit him again, ignoring the looks from all of them. “I’ve wanted to do this for years,” I say, “and I’m just sorry I didn’t do it when I should’ve, before you put a hand on her.”

He’s shaking with every breath, but his guttural words still taunt. “Everyone knows who all she fucked in the Wolfe Room,” he grits through his teeth. “She’s not some virgin!”

Murder erupts from deep down in my stomach, and I can’t stop myself. Whipping the hammer, I crash it across his face, the end flying off the handle.

He gasps, dropping his head to the table, whimpering. Blood spills from his cheekbone. I toss what’s left of the gavel.

“The only reason I’m stopping is so you can drag your own ass out of here,” I bite out. “The locks will be changed tomorrow. Get out.”

They release him, and he stumbles back, hunching over and keeping his broken hands close to his chest. The door opens of its own accord, Mrs. Calderon on the other side, no doubt having heard everything.

He scurries out, the door closes, and I fix my tie and my cuffs. My breathing slows, and I lift my eyes.