Page 6 of Cruel Games

With Ms. Reddy in the lead, we rushed through the gangway between the his-and her’s BMWs, toward the social worker’s little red Vauxhall Corsa. I glanced around the headmaster’s thin frame at the rest of Beddington Road.

To our left, the old lady who lived at number ten watered the miniature roses on her window boxes, and to our right, a black guy with short dreads delivered an Amazon box to the family at number eighteen.

By the time I’d turned around to check on Crawford, Mr. Burgh had opened the Corsa’s back door and shoved me inside. I landed with a welcome thud. The headmaster flung his own door open and apparated into the front passenger seat.

Ms. Reddy started the engine and tore down Beddington Road at top speed, leaving the rest of us to scramble with our seat belts. “What the bloody hell was that?”

I twisted around in my seat to find Crawford between the BMWs rubbing his eyes. “Sammy’s one-man revenge squad.”

“You’re coming with me to Templar Academy,” said the headmaster, sounding like James Bond—the Scottish version—facing down a villain.

My brows rose. Who did he think he was, my dad?

“What are your options, Delilah?” he continued. “You’ve gotten in with the wrong crowd and offended the wrong people. Not to mention assaulting a man with a knife.”

Irritation prickled my skin. Until the punch in the face, Sammy had been a decent boyfriend. And he sold weed, not the hard stuff that got people killed.

The wrong crowd was people like my shitty stepfather. I tapped at the tender skin around my cheekbone and sighed. And now, I guess I could add Sammy to the ‘wrong crowd’ list.

The car passed the Velvet Lounge, which had only just reopened after the gas leak that killed Alice, Steph, Kate, and Leah. A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t even stay for the memorial. Mr. Burgh was partly right. There was nothing for me in Richley. And Mother wouldn’t have me back. Even if she did, Billy was getting out of prison in mere weeks.

Sammy had set his loyal watchdog to grab me, and most of my friends were Sammy’s as well. They’d all take his side. No one liked snitches. And they considered those who called nine-nine-nine and leaving the door to a cannabis farm open the worst of betrayers.

Blowing out a long breath, I said a mental goodbye to the town center’s pubs and clubs—all the places Sammy and I had enjoyed together.

Ms. Reddy stopped the car outside Richley station. “It was wonderful to meet you, Mr. Burgh. Please keep us updated on Lilah’s progress.” She turned around and gave me a dazzling smile. “Good luck at Templar Academy!”

“Thanks.” I opened the door and stepped out onto the street.

The old me would have kicked up a little more of a fuss, but experience told me that the rest of Sammy’s friends would visit sometime this evening.

Mr. Burgh thanked the social worker and stepped out of the car. He swung his arm out in that ‘after you’ motion the gents used on TV, and we walked into the station.

The scent of Burger King wafting in from the concession made my mouth water, and I eyed the display of juicy-looking burgers in the window. The food at the juvenile detention center had been one step up from slop. Barely edible and devoid of taste.

“Where are we going?” I stared up into his bearded face.

“Gatwick Airport first. Then we’ll fly the rest of the journey.”

Swallowing hard, I dropped my gaze to my feet. This would be my first trip on a plane. Mother and Billy went to Benidorm all the time when I was little, choosing to leave me with Mrs. Roundtree, a childminder who fed me nothing but strawberry jam sandwiches. They’d return all tanned and relaxed and full of good humor.

I really didn’t mind being left out. Mrs. Roundtree’s house and garden were overrun with kids and not oversized dogs like the ones Billy kept. Those times I spent with the woman were a welcome holiday for me, too.

Mr. Burgh bought our tickets at the machine, and then we boarded a sleek, Gatwick Express train that sped us through the countryside toward the airport.

I chose a table seat, and he sat opposite, his long fingers tapping on a discarded copy of The Metro, one of those free papers crammed with more adverts than actual news.

“How was the juvenile detention center?” he asked in a low voice.

I raised a shoulder, thinking about the sheer number of fights that broke out despite the regimental structure of the day. “Rough. Like how I imagine a girl’s boarding school.”

His silver brows drew together. “My academy has a mixture of male and female students, and everyone comports themselves like ladies and gentlemen. Our disciplinary systems will iron out any rough behaviors.”

I raised my brows. “You realize I only went in the car to escape that bloke?”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” I folded my arms across my chest and stared at the concrete industrial estates whizzing past out of the window.