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I crumple my failed math test in my palm, heading for my locker. A hand grips my shoulder, spinning me and pinning me against the wall. My head hits the brick behind me with a soft thud, my hand instinctively coming up to rub at the small knot forming there.
“That’s mine,” Knox says pushing the hood away from my face.
“Was that necessary?”
Knox straightens his shoulders, dark eyes narrowing on me. The warm scent of his expensive cologne he wears fills my nose. The scent is so much more pleasant than he is.
“That’s mine,” he repeats a little more sternly.
“You weren’t using it.” I look away.
“Don’t steal from me, Violet. My father hates thieves and so do I.”
I always knew he was unkind, I just never realized he was so damn dramatic.
“If you say so, Mr. Reyes.” With an acidic, biting laugh, I start to pull the black hoodie over my head, fingers brushing over bare skin. His scarred hands stop me, roughly shoving the material back down my stomach.
The brush of his hand against my skin is like searing heat that tingles right through me.
“Are you not wearing a shirt under it?” he hisses, his warm knuckles still skimming my navel.
A few students stop to watch our exchange, but Knox gives them a menacing glare, and they continue on their way. No one else is brave enough to say anything to Knox Reyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mention that. I was too busy being beaten down for borrowing a fucking hoodie. Kylie had another accident this morning and threw her cappuccino at my chest. Hence the disgraceful thievery I committed. Feel free to hang me at the gallows whenever you’re ready.” I shove his lingering hands away but he’s fast to react.
Both of his large hands slam against the wall on either side of my head, my shoulder flinching hard from the violent sound of it. The fury that lights up his eyes has his jaw clenching tightly. His chest is rising and falling quickly, brushing mine with every inhale he takes.
I don’t want him to see it. That chill that leaves me trembling slightly underneath him. Fear from a childhood filled with too many of my mother’s crazy ex-boyfriends. Memories of men who got too close, too angry.
Show them fear and they capitalize on it.
It was so damn easy for me to fake it here among all these rich kids.
Because I’ve been faking my emotions my whole life.
Now is no different.
At this point I expect it. I expect Knox to only push me further when he smells how terrified I am shrunken beneath him.
Breathlessly, he stills. Something registering in his mind, something softening his features. Knox licks his lips then looks around slowly, his gaze shifting over the people watching our every move.
Welcome to my show, thank you for coming, so glad you could make it.
This is my life now, everyone just waits for something to watch.
He leans down toward me. I freeze not evening allowing myself to exhale the tension pressing within my chest.
“You don’t belong here.” He speaks in a quiet hush that’s laced with venom, a true snake about to strike. The long fingers of his right hand slide along my throat, over my racing pulse before skimming down my arm and lingering at my side as he trails his index finger up and then down the side of my bare thigh, hiking my navy skirt up a little higher and a little higher with every flick of his drifting hand. “You should leave. Today. Run away and don’t ever think of this place again, don’t you ever fucking come back.” His full lips brush so lightly against mine that I sigh even as he starts to speak again, “If you don’t go, you’ll end up dead, Vi. You know I don’t want to see you like that, Vi,” he whispers low and sweet as he kisses me slowly one more time with steady fear and irrational want stinging through my veins.
Before I can take another trembling breath, he’s gone.
And I’m left processing the sweetest kiss and the deadliest threat that somehow happened simultaneously.
Twelve
Landon
If I know anything, it’s that when Knox starts pacing he’s about to go on some sort of bender. The first time I saw him pacing was two years ago when he returned after meeting his twin brother for the first time. He wasn’t wounded, barely a scratch on him, but blood saturated his shirt and stained every tattoo he had on his hands.
