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But the boys were fast.
Two of them reached me before I could even make it around the corner. Large hands closed around my arms, rough and warm, their grip tight.
God, no.
My heart raced, and I struggled against their hold. No one could say the rich bitch wasn’t a fighter, even if she was punching above her weight. I dug my feet in, but all it did was slow our movements slightly as the blond boy and the one with caramel skin and dark hair brought me back to stand before the boy with enigmatic hazel eyes. He had yet to even move, standing just where I’d left him like a king surveying his domain.
I hated that he was gorgeous. Hated that they all were.
Maybe it would’ve been easier to despise them if they hadn’t had a wild, almost feral beauty that attracted me as much as it terrified me.
I tried, though. I stared the boy in front of me down, refusing to look away or cower. He jerked his chin slightly, and his buddies let me go. I didn’t try to run though; I knew better than that. I’d learned my lesson the first time, and I knew without a doubt that if I ran, they’d chase me—and they would catch me.
So this staring contest, this battle of wills, whatever you wanted to call it, would have to do.
We all stood in silence for several long beats. I could feel the other two boys at my sides and smell a faint hint of cloves and sage. It tickled my nostrils, and I breathed more shallowly, not wanting to take in any part of them.
“You didn’t like lunch,” the shaggy-haired boy said finally. “Not gourmet enough? Maybe it shoulda been served to you on a silver platter?”
I flushed angrily.
For the entire first half of the day, I’d put up with whispers and glares. I’d tried to keep my head down and ignore it all. But despite the fact that everyone here seemed to think they had me all figure out, these people didn’t know me.
“It’s not like that,” I gritted out. “I didn’t have a spoon… or a fork.”
“You couldn’t just go back inside and get one?”
“I didn’t want to cut the line.”
“Huh. Princess has manners.”
His smirk lit a fire inside me. Heavy emotion flooded me, and I couldn’t tell if it was fear, anger, or something more dangerous and forbidden. I clenched my jaw against the flush of heat spreading through me.
“It’s not like that,” I repeated.
The boy in front of me laughed. He looked to my left, where the dark-haired boy stood.
“What do you think, Misael?”
“I think princess thinks she’s too good for what everyone else eats.”
“Too bad. Rest of us have to deal with the cafeteria slop. Why don’t you?” The one on the right, the blond, spoke up.
He was the biggest one, and I faltered when he nudged me. I glared at him, eyes narrowed. He smirked down at me. The muscles in his arm flexed as he folded them; a huge sleeve tattoo in the likeness of a snake caught my eye before I looked back to the boy leaning against the wall.
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to inject more confidence into my voice than I felt. “If you’re here to whine to me about something my father did, or try to scare me with stories about the Lost Boys or whatever—”
“Oh, word travels fast. So you’ve heard of us already.”
“Jesus Christ. That fuckin’ nickname.” The dark-haired boy to my left chuckled.
My stomach dropped.
I was sure my face had gone pale, but the boy in front of me didn’t skip a beat as he dipped his head in a mock-formal greeting. “My name’s Bishop. Bish to my friends, which you are not. Then Misael”—he nodded to the dark-haired Latino boy—“and Kace,” he said of the blonde. “We call him Reaper. I don’t think I need to explain why.”
No, he didn’t. With how built the boy was, and how violence seemed to radiate from his very pores, I didn’t need to ask either.
“And why should I care?” I said, lifting my chin and giving a nonchalant shrug, even as my heart slammed against my ribs.
