“Really, does he?” his brother asks, and then they're both standing up in unison and turning to face me. I swallow hard and take a drink of my soda to cover up my sudden nervousness. They're both looking at me like they can see straight through me. “Either way, you should just leave Jenica alone.”
“Unless …” his brother starts, and then they're all up in each other's faces again, glaring daggers. If they thought that small bit of information was going to dissuade me, it's done just the opposite. I want to know how she died, and why Ranger thinks she was murdered. Or why, after ten years, there's literally no information available either way.
“Let's go, Tobias,” Micah says, and I'm surprised that I actually did guess them correctly. Really, there's no way to be able to tell. As far as I can see, they're exactly the same in every way. Same hair, same eyes, same uniform, same voice. “I don't even know why we came all the way out here in the first place,” he murmurs, but then both twins pause on their way out and glance back at me. “Be careful out here. Strange things have happened on this campus.”
The twins turn and head for the door while I gape at their retreating backs.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” I call out, but it's too late. The twins disappear, closing the door behind them, and locking it. I never thought to ask where they got the key.
Culinary Club is my least favorite part of the week; the Student Council is intent on making my life hell. On Tuesday, Spencer grabbed me by the arms, and Ranger rubbed a hot pepper on my lips, making them burn. Today, I walked in the door and got a pie to the face.
As I stand at the sink, cleaning bits of banana and cream off my glasses, I notice that Spencer's missing. Not that I care. He's probably the meanest of the bunch.
Well … I glance over and find Church sitting in the chair in the corner, a glass of … something that looks like wine in a wineglass. I mean, it's probably not wine (probably some type of iced coffee), but the effect's the same. He looks like some sort of rich aristocrat, lording over his subjects.
My lip curls.
The way he looks at me, from those honeyed eyes of his, I can sense a deep well of cruelty just waiting to be tapped. When he smiles, I shiver. When he passes by me in the hall, I cringe. Pretty sure he's, like, a psychopath or something. Scares the crap out of me.
Turning back to the sink, I ignore him and finish cleaning up. A while later, the assholes send me down the hall to fetch some extra flour from the cafeteria. I jingle the keys as I walk, heading down the empty stone hall. But when I get into the cafeteria and over to the pantry, I see that the door's already cracked.
I decide that I don't care who the hell is in there, and throw it wide.
My mouth drops open, and I end up letting the keys fall to the floor.
Spencer is leaning over, his forearm on the shelf above a first year student's head. The boy is gaping up at him, Spencer's fingers gently touching his chin, their lips close. The asshole glances over at me with those stunning turquoise eyes of his and raises a dark brow.
“What do you want, Chuck?” he snaps, and the other boy blushes, ducking underneath Spencer's arm and shoving past me. He takes off at a run and disappears, leaving the two of us alone in the massive pantry.
“What were you doing to that guy?” I ask, bending down to pick up the keys. I slip them into my pocket and move forward, pretending like I don't give a shit that I'm in a tiny, dark little room with a guy who sort-of, almost tried to kiss me the other day.
But I can feel it, a sort of tension stretching between us that I refuse to acknowledge. Not only is Spencer Hargrove a jerk, but if he thinks I'm a gay dude, and he ends up being a gay dude … Kissing him would be wrong. And it couldn't lead to anything. Not that I'd want it to or anything.
“Doing to him?” he asks, standing up straight and watching me as I look through the shelves, searching for a sack of flour. “I wasn't doing anything to him. He was confessing his love for me.”
“His love?” I scoff as I turn around and find Spencer far too close to me. He pens me in with his arms on either side of my body and leans in close, his scent that woody warmth, like cedar and hyssop. His mouth gets far too close to mine for comfort, and I wish it was last week when I had that stinging pepper sensation all over my mouth. Then you bet your ass I'd kiss him back and burn him with that capsaicin.
“Yeah, it happens. I mean, not only are there gay and bi dudes at the academy, but it is an all-boys school.” Spencer drags his knuckles down the side of my face and captures my chin in his fingers, forcing me to look at him. “Sometimes even straight boys get lonely.”
“Is that what you're telling me right now?” I ask, breathing so hard I fog up my own glasses. “That you're just a lonely straight boy?” Spencer narrows his turquoise eyes on me, and leans in a little bit closer, our lips brushing together just barely and giving me the most intense jittery feeling of my entire life. I feel like I've just downed ten Red Bulls in straight succession.
“I've gotten dozens of offers over the past few years,” he says, biting his lower lip. His lids are a bit droopy now, and I'm tempted to punch him in the stomach and run. Instead, I just stand there and wait. “Maybe more, but … I've turned them all down. You're the first boy that's ever captured my interest.”
“Lucky me,” I drawl with a roll of my eyes, but our mouths are still so close, it's hard to concentrate.
“What is it about you?” he starts again, crinkling his brow, and sliding his fingers into the hair on the back of my head. “Something about that mouth …” And then he swears, turns away briefly, and then spins back to face me, pulling my mouth to his in a crushing, possessive sort of kiss.
My hands come up and cling to his blazer, and even though my first intention is to knee him in the balls, all I end up doing is opening my lips and letting him put his tongue down my throat.
Holy shit, that kiss! I think, giving an internal squee and trying not to melt into a puddle on the pantry floor. Spencer kisses as good as he bullies: hot, intense, crushing. It's too much, and I hate how good it feels.
He presses his body into mine, and I feel his hardness through his navy blue slacks. Good God. After a moment, Spencer pauses and chuckles, this warm, heady sound that travels through me and makes me shiver. “I've never kissed a guy before. Who knew you'd have such a hot mouth?” Spencer takes my chin in his hand and kisses me again, reaching down to grab my hand and put it over the bulge in his crotch. And then he moves his own hand like he's intending on grabbing mine.
Only … there's nothing to grab.
That, and I have a boyfriend. Back home in California, Cody's waiting for me, and I'm freaking cheating on him?!
Guilt surges up inside of me in a fierce wave, and I shove Spencer back as hard as I can with both hands. He's so not expecting it that he ends up falling on his ass, his head snapping back against the wall with a curse.
I race past him, forgetting the flour completely, and then retreat back to my room for the rest of the night.
There's no part of me that wants to pick apart what just happened. But I know that when I go to California for winter break, I'm going to have to tell Cody what happened. I have enough secrets to keep without having to worry about another one.
I'm struggling so bad with the coursework at Adamson, it's not even funny. I'm seriously in the bottom ten percent of the class. Not that I've ever been an A student—far from it—but I'm used to skating by with straight Cs.
“This is unacceptable,” Dad says, shaking his iPad menacingly in my direction. He has one of those rubber childproof covers on it with the PAW Patrol logo on the back. He grabbed it at the store, and when I tried to suggest a more appropriate case for a fifty-something year old man, he practically bit my head off and said it served its purpose, so what did I care?
Maybe he secretly watches the show? What do I know?
“I'm … sorry,” I hedge, biting my lower lip and sliding my gaze to one side. It's hard to look at him when
his face gets all purple-colored like that. There are veins protruding from his neck that throb, too. It's all sort of graphic. It’s also a bit of a victory, too, considering how hard I’ve tried in the past to work him up with no results. This, at least, feels like maybe he does care. “The work here is really hard.”
“Charlotte Farren Carson,” he snaps, and that's when things get really scary. My dad doesn’t like to yell, so once that starts, you know shit is about to hit the fan. “If you don't bring these grades up, you can just kiss that trip to California goodbye.”
My mouth drops open, and my heart explodes into tiny pieces, spattering the inside of my chest with metaphorical blood. Sure, it sounds dramatic, but it feels dramatic, too.
“I'm nearly seventeen!” I choke out, thinking that's a good argument for him backing off and letting me do my own thing. Doesn't seem to help. Actually, I think it makes him worse.
“Exactly, which means you are most definitely not eighteen. If you want to run off on your eighteenth birthday and join the circus, then fine. But until then, you belong to me. When you're attending school on my dime, you will conform to my rules. Bring these grades up to a C average, or you're not going on the trip, young lady.”
Dad pushes past me and heads up the stairs, his shoes loud and clomping on the wood steps. I flip him off behind his back, gritting my teeth, and punching the wall next to the fancy woodwork that wraps the doorjamb.
It hurts like fucking hell, too, and I end up making my knuckles bleed. Cursing under my breath, I head for the bathroom. As I'm passing through the kitchen, I notice that the window above the sink is open, and outside … there's a rustling in the bushes.
I lean against the counter and peer out through the screen into the darkness.
“Who the hell is out there?” I growl in my deepest, most rumbling voice. All that does is make me sound like I have a sore throat. The rustling intensifies, and I push off the counter, shoving open the front door and pausing as the sound of shuffling feet sounds from the side of the house.
I'm not about to go after whoever it is, but now my heart is racing, and I'm wondering how much they might've heard from that conversation with my dad. Did they hear him call me Charlotte? How about young lady?
With a groan, I slump down on the steps and slide my palms over my face. Between the kiss with Spencer, the shadow in the doorway on Halloween, and the mountain of schoolwork I'm behind on, I feel like I might have a nervous breakdown.
Since when did life get so damn hard?
Sand, sun, and surf. That used to be my motto. Now it's … secrets, standoffs, and syrup. Yep, syrup. After I bailed on Culinary Club the other day sans flour, the Student Council tracked me down, and the twins held me still while Ranger poured maple syrup in my hair.
“I hate my life,” I groan, wrapping my arms around my head and putting my forehead to my knees.
“Why's that?” a voice asks cheerfully, and I lift my head up to find Church Montague standing in front of me. He smiles, and it lights up his whole face. Everything but his eyes. His skin even crinkles at the edges, but his gaze … it stays ice-cold.
“You wouldn't understand,” I grumble, glancing over at the forest on my right. The woods are thick and dark and untamed, and in the distance, I hear an owl hooting again. They're everywhere out here—some species called short-eared owls—but I hate them because they add an ominous tint to every moment.
Dickheads.
“Wouldn't I?” Church asks, tucking one hand into the pocket of his slacks. “Because your father called me over here, so I could offer up my services as your tutor.” I snort, and shake my head. What a ridiculous idea. There's not a snowball's chance in hell I'm letting Church tutor me. He'd give me the wrong answers just to fuck with my head.
“Why don't you just beat me up instead?” I retort, standing up and moving away from him toward the car. I've somehow stained the crisp white shirt that goes with my uniform, and the Student Council looks for any excuse to tag me with detention. I've got another uniform, unopened and in the trunk.
Opening up the front door, I lean down and pull the lever to pop it. Church looks at me like I'm an archaeologist on a freaking dig, like he's never seen such an ancient piece of technology.
“Yeah, it's not a Beemer, I know, bummer.” I head over to the trunk, and then pause when I feel movement behind me. Spinning around, I find Church far too close to me. He isn't smiling anymore.
He shoves me into the trunk and steps forward, grabbing my chin with his fingers so hard that it hurts.
“I warned you to stop digging into Ranger's sister,” he says, voice cool and smooth and matter-of-fact. It seems so at odds with his gold-brown hair and honey colored irises. But his gaze … no, that darkness fits right in with his black, broken soul.
“Let go of me,” I snarl, but Church just squeezes harder, and a small whimper escapes me. There's something about that sound that gives him pause, and his grip relaxes just enough that I'm able to turn my head away. But when I try to get out of the trunk, Church shoves me back in, pushes my legs in after me, and closes it on me. “Hey!” I shout, starting to feel a small surge of panic. If Dad's already retreated to his room for the night, then he might not hear me out here. I could be trapped all night. “Church!”
I can hear his footsteps moving off down the path before he pauses, and a small surge of relief races through me. He moves back in my direction, and I get ready for the trunk to open. Instead, it sounds like Church is bending down and putting his mouth near the lock.
“Sleep well, Chuck. And remember: this is your last chance. If you keep digging up old skeletons, you might just get shoved in the grave along with them.”
And then Church is walking away, and I'm left to scream myself hoarse inside the trunk of my dad's car.
Eventually, I give up and fall asleep. Dad will be up early, and then I can start screaming again. There's no point in it now. That, and like an idiot, I left my phone sitting on the kitchen island. Fat load of good that does me.
After god only knows how long of listening to the owls, I drift off. When I wake up later, shivering like crazy, I find that the trunk's been opened and moonlight's spilling in and across my skin in silver beams.
Blinking stupidly, I sit up and rub at my eyes. Church must've come back to let me out. Maybe even he realized how screwed-up leaving me in the trunk of a car was?
“Asshole,” I mumble, climbing out of bed and yawning as I stretch my arms above my head. I have no idea what time it is, but it's freezing cold and there are tiny white snowflakes drifting down from a navy sky.
My feet crunch across the icy pebbles as I make my way up to the front door.
It's locked.
Seriously?
“Fuck,” I curse as I rub my hands over my face again. I want my phone, but whatever. I'll check the back door, and if it's locked, I'll just go back to the dorms.
I'm starting around the side of the house when I hear something rustling in the woods not fifty feet from where I'm standing. My heart starts racing, but I tell myself it's just a deer, or a raccoon, or maybe another stupid owl.
I make myself keep walking, pretending like I'm not a wuss and that my hands aren't shaking. They totally are. Just be cool, Charlotte. Be cool. I grab the handle on the back door, and find that it, too, is locked. For some reason, I don't feel like it'd be a good idea to bang on the door and wake my dad up. Even if I told him what Church did to me, he probably wouldn't believe it. No, somehow, I'd probably end up getting in trouble over it.
When I turn around, there's a man standing in the shadows at the edge of the woods. He's got a dark hoodie on, and I can't see any identifying features. But holy hell, he's still creepy as fuck.
“What do you want?” I snap, my voice echoing across the empty lawn between us. Crossing my arms over my chest, I tell myself that I look like a tough guy … even with my floppy blond hair and glasses. Right. “Because I'm getting tired of you sneaking up on me.”
&nbs
p; The man stands there for a long moment, and then I see a flash of silver at his side. Like … a knife?
My breath catches, and I feel a scream building in my chest. My choices now are to stand my ground, yell, and pound on the door in the hopes that my dad will wake up and get down here in time … or run.
But Archie Carson is a heavy sleeper, and sometimes he puts his noise machine on, and … I take off like a shot, heading for the boys' dorm and that open fire door that I'm just praying is still cracked.
I can hear pounding footsteps behind me, the panting breath of someone running full-tilt. Fingers brush against the back of my blazer, and I slip right out of it without pausing for even a second. Thank god I had that front button undone.
Coming around the bend with the main building on one side, and the boys' dorm straight ahead of me, I slip on the gravel, and the man tumbles right over me. I'm crouched down, my knee throbbing with pain from hitting the path so hard, and the shadow creeper flies over my head to land on his back in the grass.
This is my chance.
I stand up and kick the hand with the knife as hard as I can, knocking it loose. There's not enough time to reach down and grab it because the man is lunging for my ankles, so I just take off, sprinting so hard that it feels like my heart might just beat straight out of my chest.
I'm more careful when I take that second bend, skidding slightly but keeping my feet. When I glance over my shoulder, I don't see anyone.
Unfortunately, I'm so busy looking behind me that I don't bother to look ahead.
My head whips back around just in time to see Ranger's sapphire eyes widen in surprise. We collide with a pair of double grunts, tumbling to the ground with me on top. My hands are fisted in his nightshirt, and our mouths are … disturbingly close.
He exhales, and I can taste minty toothpaste on his breath, see the surprise in his eyes as we adjust to the feeling of my body settling against his. He's got long, dark lashes, made even more obvious by the silver moonlight. As we breathe, our chests rise and fall in tandem with one another.
The Secret Girl Page 8