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I was at my locker, swapping out my books. I had history next, with Mr. Tyson. He was by far my favorite teacher at Slateview, the only one who actually seemed to care about the students who walked through these doors. I liked his assignments, and I liked that he seemed to really enjoy history. It wasn’t my favorite subject, but at least he made it an interesting class.
With my history textbook in my hand, I was just about to close my locker when a large body suddenly slammed into the locker beside mine. I jumped back, clutching my books to my chest as my heart tried to crawl up my throat. For a fear-filled moment, I thought that the Lost Boys’ warning to the school had been for nothing. That Logan or someone even worse had decided to come for me after all.
But I wasn’t the target of the fight.
Two boys threw angry fists at each other, slamming each other against the lockers in a brawl that rivaled a pro wrestling match. I shrank back against the bay of lockers, keeping my books in front of me like a shield, my eyes wide as other students started cheering and shouting, egging the boys on. The crowd in the hallway had parted around them as if by magic, and the two boys crashed around the space, yelling and cursing at each other.
I glanced around, adrenaline flooding my veins as one of the boys slammed the other into a locker again, feet away from where I was standing. Where were the teachers? The admins? Was no one going to step in and stop this? Maybe they were just as used to it as the students were and just couldn’t be bothered to care anymore.
A door opened down the hallway, and I caught Mr. Tyson’s gaze. But even he looked on, shook his head, and retreated into his classroom.
I was so distracted by the sight of Mr. Tyson that I forgot to watch out for the fight. There was a shout and a grunt, and before I could react, one of the boys stumbled backward, plowing into me. My shoulder caught the lockers painfully, and I let out a yelp as my books tumbled from my arms.
“Watch it—!”
“You motherfucker—!”
“Break this shit the fuck up.”
The voice that spoke over the fighting boys was calm but cold. The shouts and taunts of the gathered students died out immediately, and I looked up, gripping my bruised shoulder with one hand.
It was Kace.
He pushed his way through the crowd without trouble, students parting for him quickly when they saw who it was. He grabbed one boy by the back of his shirt, pulling him off the other. But the guy obviously didn’t realize who it was breaking up the fight—or maybe he was just pissed enough to be reckless. He swung his arm back, his fist catching Kace in the face with a glancing blow. Kace reacted like lightning, his own right hook flying through the air to smash the boy in the face.
It didn’t knock him out, but it did knock him down.
Blood spurted from the boy’s nose. He curled up on the floor, hands clawing at his face as he whimpered and groaned.
“I thought I said break this shit up.” Kace said, standing over the downed boy’s body and glaring at the other one. “We don’t have a place for this dumb shit here. Now beat it before I beat you.”
It wasn’t just the two boys that followed his command, but the entire crowd. Someone darted forward to help the guy with the bloody face, and the hallway cleared out moments before the bell rang.
I blinked, staring around at the suddenly empty corridor. It was still a shock to me to see how much pull the Lost Boys had over the school. More than even the teachers, who did nothing to control their students’ actions. Not even Mr. Tyson had been willing or able to step in and stop the fight.
Kace hadn’t moved since he’d issued his order. He’d just stood still and silent, watching the other students scurry away, as if waiting for one to linger too long so he could pounce.
As the ringing of the bell faded, he glanced over at me. “You should get to class too.”
I was about to obey just like every other student had—the impulse to follow Kace’s commands was almost too strong to ignore, and I really did need to get to class. But as I bent to pick up my books, I glanced up at him. The kid who’d hit him hadn’t gotten in a good shot, but a small line of blood dripped from Kace’s nose anyway, and his knuckles were smeared with it.
Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I hesitated, warring with myself. It’s not your business, Cora. This isn’t one of the stipulations of your agreement with them.
But even as the rational voice in my head reminded me of that, I remembered the weekend and the food Kace had brought me to combat my hangover—something I was pretty sure Bishop hadn’t actually told him to do.
He had taken care of me.
And although it was probably stupid of me, I wanted to take care of him too.
Sixteen
Making a snap decision, I shook my head and reached out, taking hold of the blond boy’s un-bloodied hand to drag him along.
There was resistance, but he didn’t actually stop me. I knew he could’ve if he’d wanted to, so I kept tugging, accepting that as a win.
“What are you doing?” He sounded honestly confused for the first time since I’d met him.
“Cleaning you up, Mr. I-Want-To-Be-A-UFC-Fighter.”
