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But explaining the tangled mess of Daxson and his minions, the art class refuge, and the rebellion against his football tyranny was a luxury I couldn't afford. They wouldn't understand.
And speaking of the devil, Daxson himself swaggered into view, a smirk dancing on his lips. Perfect timing, as always.
"Running…" the whisper sliced through the air, a phantom echo that sent shivers down my spine. Like a wraith, Dax had materialized behind me, unseen by my panicked glance moments ago. My breath hitched in my throat as I spun around, the scene before me morphing from potential detention to a twisted tableau of high school hierarchy.
"What the-" I started, but the words died on my tongue as I faced him.
Dax loomed over me, his presence filling the hallway like a storm cloud. The students, who moments ago were itching to punish me, now fawned over him like sun worshippers.
He was, after all, Rosedale Academy's golden idol, its sun king.
A smirk played on his sculpted lips as he ran a hand through his obsidian hair, the gesture as smooth as his charm. "Sorry, boys," his voice, a low velvet growl, cut through the sycophantic air. "But this little lamb needs tending to." His hand, cool and firm, settled on my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine.
A chorus of "Of course, Dax," The hall monitors, their faces a study in instant obedience, scrambled to retract their threats of detention dissolving faster than snow in July.
Dax's power was absolute, a gravitational pull that forced everyone to bend to his will.
Without him, I'd be facing the grim prospect of detention, another notch on my colorful disciplinary record. Now, the students bowed like courtiers before their king, their reverence almost comical. I rolled my eyes, a silent defiance in the face of their fickle allegiance.
Without a word, Dax's fingers tightened on my shoulder, the heat of his touch branding through my clothes, a silent leash guiding me away from the spectacle. His entourage, a shadow court of loyal followers, glided behind us, their presence a constant reminder of the invisible walls he built around himself.
Dax's sneer was a razor blade against my nerves. "Always running into trouble," he drawled, each word a barbed comment dripping with mock sympathy.
"Only because your Neanderthal minions were hot on my heels!" I spat back, frustration prickling my skin.
"Honestly think you can outrun them, little firecracker?" He stretched out the question, his voice laced with a dangerous amusement.
"Worth a shot, wouldn't you say?" I retorted, my chin held high even as his hand clamped down on my shoulder, heavy and possessive.
"Where'd you think you were going, anyway? Skipped out of class faster than a cheetah on espresso."
A flicker of curiosity sparked in his eyes, momentarily eclipsing the usual smirk. "Maybe somewhere far, far away from you," I shot back, my voice laced with defiance.
His laugh, a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine, escaped his lips. "Oh, Skye," he cooed, his voice suddenly velvety smooth.
"Don't tell me you actually tried to ditch me for… football practice?" He spoke as if he could see right through my carefully constructed walls, into the secret corners of my heart.
Confessing the truth about Dax's classroom antics felt like tossing a lit match into a tinderbox. So, I opted for a deflection, a desperate attempt to shield myself from the inferno. "Needed air," I blurted, my voice clipped and raw. "Anywhere but your face."
He scoffed, a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Or maybe you were running because I..." His voice trailed off, a loaded pause pregnant with unspoken threats, a barb dipped in venom.
"No escape," I countered, steeling my spine. "Just space."
His eyes, dark and fathomless, raked over me, searching for cracks in my resolve. "Space, huh? Where, exactly?"
The library, I thought, startled by his uncanny lack of surprise. It was as if he'd orchestrated this chase, weaving a trap I couldn't outrun.
A smirk played on his lips, cruel and calculating. "Now that I've cornered the little runaway," he drawled, his fingers claiming my shoulders in a vice-like grip. "Care to grace my football practice with your presence? Starts now in an hour."
"And what's your agenda there, puppeteer?" My voice was a low growl, simmering with barely contained fury.
"Just having you near," he murmured, his voice a silken snare. "Your face, a soothing balm. Though, if cheering me on tickles your fancy, I wouldn't say no."
"Cheering you on? As if I'm your goddamn mascot!" My anger flared, a beacon against his suffocating control.
He laughed, a sound that scraped against my nerves. "Funny thing, little sparrow," he purred, his voice dripping with icy superiority. "I can make you sing my praises if I choose."
The weight of his power pressed down on me, a suffocating cloak. My lips pressed into a thin line, the battlefield now my own churning emotions.
