My reaction is delayed, but when her words register, I sit up straight. Rolling my lips between my teeth, I widen my eyes and nod at Maisy. “I’m okay. We’re already here, we might as well stay. Tomorrow we should do that, though.”
“Yes.” Maisy drags the word out with a languid smile and wiggles her fingers at me. It gets me to smile. “All right, there’s my girl. Want me to make us an appointment at the goat yoga studio this weekend? We haven’t been in so long. We need to release our negative energy so we can soak in all the good vibes. And with that look on your face, we need to call in the big guns. Baby goats.”
“Okay.” I smile at her and take another carrot when she nudges the container toward me.
Maisy winks and a little of my worries ebb away for a minute. She’s always had a calming effect, ever since she found me crying in the woods, lost on a hike, and guided me back to the campground.
A round of laughter sounds behind me. I hear Connor’s voice, but I won’t turn around. I won’t.
The curiosity wins out and I peek over my shoulder.
Connor is at his usual table with the most popular students—Devlin Murphy, guys from the soccer team, pretty girls from the dance and cheer squads. He’s holding court over his kingdom, talking with his hands, a big grin on his face. His eyes found me once, at the beginning of lunch when I walked in with Maisy. I haven’t been able to look his way since, purposely putting my back to their table.
He didn’t acknowledge me other than a quick look, so I guess I don’t have to put on an act as his girlfriend today.
Blackmail, lies, and secrets. These are Connor’s bargaining chips. It’s how he and Devlin rule the school. They keep us all in line through strategy with no room for remorse.
Now I’m the latest victim.
My phone sits on the table in front of me, turned over so I can see the cupcake PopSocket on the back. I’m too afraid to scroll through my message history with Wyatt—who isn’t even flipping Wyatt, as it turns out. If I look, it will only taint every thrilling memory of the last few weeks. I’ll see the depth of how Connor manipulated me, the hot and sometimes sweet morning and evening messages twisted and poisoned by the truth.
How could I have gotten the number wrong?
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself on repeat since the encounter with him.
Never in a million years would I ever want to be with Connor Bishop the way I thought I was progressing my relationship with Wyatt, upgrading from fling-adjacent to bonafide boyfriend and girlfriend status.
Goes to show me, assuming without ever talking about it. I’m so fucking naïve, playing right into Connor’s cruel hands. My throat hurts, tight with emotion when I swallow.
I fight the urge to bury my face in my arms. It’s pointless to hide from the truth—that my bully and my neighbor is the same guy I’ve been fantasizing about and having phone sex with. Well, text sex. But still. Lots of sexy stuff has gone down between us.
“Oh my god,” I mumble in horror when it occurs to me I know what his dick looks like. I’ve seen him come.
This time I give in and cover my flaming hot face.
My hands burn with the urge to knead something to calm my breathing. I wonder if I can spend the rest of the lunch period in the culinary classroom to bake something before my next class starts. I’m in the mood for bread. Maybe Mrs. Horne will let me hide out there for a while.
It would be the first time I’ve ever skipped a class, but I think the circumstances justify a break before I crumble under the emotional pressure weighing on my shoulders, stabbing at my heart with fresh reminders.
“Oh great,” Maisy says in a flat tone, grabbing my attention.
Usually she’s hard to ruffle, so it takes a lot to draw a reaction like that from her. Her gaze is locked on the doors and I swing around to see what’s got her twisted up.
A tall, imposing boy stalks through the cafeteria. Dark hair hangs over his forehead and he wears a leather jacket and heavy boots, completely disregarding the school uniform. His face is set in angry lines, mouth turned down as he glares at any student that dares look his way.
“Who is that?” I ask, not recognizing him.
“Wilder,” Maisy says quietly. “Fox Wilder. He’s in my grade, but he’s supposed to be in yours. They held him back when he came back.”
“Came back?”
“He used to live here.” Her expression is distant and sad. “A long time ago, when Holden and I were kids. He was our friend.”
Wilder sweeps his gaze over the room, landing on Maisy. It seems impossible, but his face grows angrier. Maisy lifts her hand, waving. Wilder jerks his head and moves to the corner where her older brother, Holden, sits with guys from the football team.
“I don’t think he remembers you, Maise,” I say carefully.
She remains quiet, sighing and crossing her arms. “Guess not. He’s been cold every time I try to say hi, but he’s been hanging around Holden since he moved back to Ridgeview. I don’t know what I did. It was so long ago, we were only kids when…” She trails off and shakes her head. “Never mind. Oh crap. Drama alert.”
Maisy nods with her chin and I glance toward Connor’s table. My heart falls when I realize how quiet the center tables have gone, and why.
Blair Davis, the dark-haired scholarship student at Silver Lake High that seems like a punching bag for the rich, popular crowd, stands stock still in front of Devlin Murphy. He’s sprawled in his seat before her like an evil king, expression hard and commanding. I watch as Blair lifts the water thermos in her hand and dumps it over herself.
What the hell!
Heinous cackles erupt from Connor and Devlin’s crowd of friends. Water drips from Blair’s hair and her uniform shirt is soaked right through.
“Oh no,” I mumble, already reaching for napkins from a holder on the table. “Not again. Why can’t they leave her alone?”
“Assholes,” Maisy hisses.
The whole cafeteria claps and taunts, cheering the drama on.
It fires me up that no one is willing to act. “I’m going to help.”
“Wet dog alert!” Someone shouts from the other tables surrounding the central popular one. They call more vile things and make kissing sounds at Blair’s back, like they’re calling a dog.
Connor pops up from his perch on top of the table and slides in next to Devlin, muttering in his ear with a matching smirk as his friend.
He’s just as vile and arrogant as Devlin Murphy, cruel and cold beneath the mask of the cocky jokester. All I see is someone who uses people and takes amusement in the torment he puts them through.
My chest burns with anger, both for Blair and at the boys at this school who think they can get away with murder. We aren’t their toys. I navigate through the tables separating me from the middle of the cafeteria, clenching the napkins in my fist. I’ve never been one to resort to violence ever, but right now it’s too much—his threats were bad enough, but seeing him laugh as his friend bullies Blair makes me snap. I could punch Connor and not regret it.
The bravado that drove me over to the scene wavers as I stand under the full brunt of Connor and Devlin together. They haven’t even noticed me, both focused on Blair.
“Um.” I offer the napkins to Blair. “I brought you these.”
Connor goes stiff in his seat, inhaling sharply. I can feel the press of his eyes against the side of my face as I hold out the napkins.
“Thanks,” Blair mutters, accepting my help.
I don’t leave her side as she pats herself awkwardly. This is the second time I’ve stood up for her against them, and I don’t doubt for a second that they’d double down in a more cruel way if I walked away. I shoot the pair of them a hard look, hoping they stop treating her so terribly.
As Connor explodes from his seat, I jump, clutching the napkins against my chest. In a blink, he’s in my face, towering over me and invading my space.
“U-um, Connor.”
“Were you invit
ed over here?” Bishop demands.
I swallow. Is he saying I need to stay away when he doesn’t need me to pretend to be his girl? This is so stupid! He should’ve told me the rules. My knuckles turn white as I grip the napkins tighter.
What if he sends my photos because of this?
The risk is worth it. No one deserves to be treated the way these people bully Blair.
“No. That doesn’t matter, though.” My chin tips up, spurred on by the fury simmering beneath my skin. It fights with the fear settling in my gut. Connor could destroy me within minutes. Game over. “Blair needed help.”
“Blair needed help?” Connor mimics, circling behind me. My heart jolts when his hands clamp on my shoulders in a harsh and punishing grip. “You hear that, Dev?”
I want to whirl and scream at him, ask him what he wants from me if he’s going to act like this when an hour and a half ago he said he needed me by his side.
“Sure did,” Devlin says, voice like icy shadows.
With a deep grunt, he rises to his feet and I take a fearful step back, pressing into Connor’s chest. Between the two of them, the poison I pick to kill me is Connor. He pays me no attention as he stalks into Blair’s personal space, staring at her with his scary, dark eyes.
“Did you need help, Davis?”
Blair’s jaw tightens, then she answers in a lifeless voice. “No.”
Is this really happening? I gape at Blair, baffled that she would take Devlin’s crap. I go to take a step closer to Blair’s side, but Connor holds me in place, the warmth of his back burning through my sweater. My gaze bounces from Blair to Devlin and I part my lips, thinking I can appeal to him.
“Well—”
“You know,” Connor drawls next to my ear, startling me. His fingers skate over my shoulders, down my arms, plucking at my sweater. “The only thing a girl next door is good for is warming my dick.” He leans closer, covering my back with his chest, burying his face in my hair as he lowers his voice to a sinister hush. “You offering, neighbor? You can leave your granny sweater on.”
Breathing is hard. His words crash over me, driving spikes into my heart. Why even threaten me if he’s only going to be an utter bastard to me in front of his friends? I want to cry when I think of our messages, the way he swore I was the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. Making sure I can’t forget that it’s been him making me feel excited, wanted, good.
Tripping over my own feet, I stumble out of his grasp as soon as it loosens. “You… You—”
“Me,” Connor declares, sweeping his arms to encompass it. There’s no doubt he’s thinking along the same lines as me. I can see it in his piercing gray eyes. “All me, baby.”
He doesn’t spell it out, but he’s reminding me exactly who I’ve been intimate with. Who I’ve bared myself to. My heart aches, feeling like it’s shriveling. Everything was a lie and it finally hits me, making me gasp with pain.
Shaking my head, my face crumbles in anguish. I can’t look at him anymore. Turning on my heel, I rush for the double doors, wiping away tears as they stream down my face. Maisy calls for me, but I ignore her and burst into the hall.
I don’t think of my world history class, heading straight for the culinary room, not stopping for anything until I sag against the door. Everything blurs at the edges, tunneling my vision. My chest feels tight and my skin is hot and itchy. I rub at my neck and shove my sleeves up.
Mrs. Horne is seated at her desk at the front of the room. She takes one look at my face, probably puffy and red by now. “Thea? Everything okay?”
It takes two tries to speak. “Yes. Please, can I spend some time in here?”
“Of course. I’ll give you a pass when you’re ready to go.” She waves at the work stations. “Just clean up when you’re done.”
There’s not another class in here until last period, the class I’m in.
“Thank you,” I breathe, on the verge of tears again from her understanding.
I feel vulnerable, like a light wind could blow me over into emotional turmoil. The baking supplies call to me. I’m thankful this school has a thriving variety of courses available, because the cooking class is equipped with everything I need. It seems more like the set of a reality baking show than a high school class, but I don’t care about it right now.
Losing my sweater and washing my hands at the sink in the back of the room, I grab one of the linen aprons hanging from a hook in the corner, looping the bib over my neck and knotting it around my waist. I put my hair up, borrowing one of the fresh hair ties Mrs. Horne keeps on her desk for anyone with long hair since I left the cafeteria with nothing. Maisy will take my bag with her.
My phone pings, but I’m not ready to look. Locking every stray thought behind a wall in my head, I get to work.
Once the ingredients are mixed, I turn out the dough by hand. As I work, my lungs stop burning and I can draw air in without feeling like I might pass out at any second. Kneading the dough becomes meditative as I follow a recipe I’ve memorized for a braided cinnamon sugar challah loaf, my favorite soft bread. I need a comforting bake, and the warm scent of cinnamon will make everything better.
I move on autopilot, and slowly my thoughts creep through the wall after I’ve calmed down from my panic. One by one, they slip free.
I should delete everything—the photos, our messages. And block his number while I’m at it. My breaths turn shallow and I focus on working the dough for a minute.
Sighing, I set it up in the proofing oven so it can rise. I debate mixing another so I can knead something else, brushing my hands off on my apron. My teeth drag over the corner of my lip. I peek at Mrs. Horne, but she’s absorbed in grading at the front of the room.
I’m going to do it.
Pulling out my phone from my sweater, I carry it back to the workstation and put it down, bracing my flour-dusted hands on either side of it. Some dough is caked beneath my nails and around my cuticles. I tap my nails, chewing on my lip.
Come on, Thea.
But I can’t. I can’t bring myself to do it, not yet. My chest collapses as I release a heavy exhale, hanging my head.
“Stupid,” I mutter.
My face prickles with heat as mortification slithers in and chokes me with long tendrils I can’t escape. It’s not just the nudes I can’t face, but where I took them. In school, in class with that photo of my underwear. And, god, Connor was sitting right behind me when he asked for it. I swallow thickly. He’s awful.
A bastard playing me for his pleasure, taking the torment to a new level.
“Thea?”
My head pops up. Mr. Coleman leans against the open doorway with a cardboard cup of coffee, mouth turned down in a frown.
“Is everything all right? I thought I saw you run from the cafeteria when I was getting coffee. I’ve been looking around for you.” One of his handsome dimples appears as his mouth curves at my confused blink. He shrugs. “The student cafe serves better coffee than what they brew in the teacher’s lounge.”
“Oh. Um.” I dust my dirty hands against the apron and flutter my fingers against my hair, hoping I don’t look like a total mess. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” He steps into the room and weaves through the other worktables to get to me. His gaze shifts to Mrs. Horne for a moment, absorbed in her paperwork, before returning to me. With a soft smile, he puts his hand on my shoulder. “You can always come to me if you need to talk.”
The heat filling my cheeks now is a different kind. Mr. Coleman is my favorite teacher, even above Mrs. Horne. He truly cares about connecting with us, and I admire him for it.
“Thank you.” I’m smiling for the first time since that dimly lit science room. “You’re so kind.”
“You’re at a difficult time in your life,” he says, his voice soothing and warm. His eyes sparkle with his smile and his shoulders shake with a short laugh. “It wasn’t that long ago for me. I want you to know I understand what you’re going through.”
I re
turn his smile. I’m about to offer to bring him the second loaf of challah that my dough will yield when I catch sight of someone hovering in the door. My blood turns to ice and it becomes difficult to breathe all over again.
Connor looms in the doorway with a black, dangerous expression.
How long has he been there? Did he hunt me down, waiting for me to emerge?
He meets my eye and crooks his finger to call me over.
Can hearts turn into rabbits? That’s what mine feels like, racing around.
He’s the reason I ran to my sanctuary at school, and now he wants me to go to him just like that? That unfamiliar, violent urge returns. I draw a fortifying breath and rub my forehead, turning back to Mr. Coleman.
“Actually, I was, um.” A nervous laugh escapes me. “Just cooling my head off, but I feel better now. I should get to class.”
Mr. Coleman’s expression shifts to something harder to read as he glances between us. “I’ll write you a late slip. Come with me and we can chat about it on the way.”
Connor steps into the room, silent as death. He picks up my sweater from the apron hook where I left it.
Frazzled, I swipe my phone from the worktable. “No, please. I’m okay. My boyfriend is waiting for me.”
I pause, closing my eyes. It just rolled off my tongue. What is wrong with me?
Connor stills, too, watching me curiously. He tips his head to the side and lifts a brow. My stomach rolls unpleasantly.
Did I make a mistake? Isn’t that what he wanted from me?
I open my mouth, but Mr. Coleman pats my shoulder. “Well, just remember what I said, okay? I’m always here for you, Thea.”
With another awkward laugh, I nod and scurry across the room to Connor, where he seems to be kneading the material of my sweater, his hands flexing. He’s locked in a stare with Mr. Coleman as I struggle out of the dirty apron, dumping it in the laundry basket.
Ruthless Bishop: Dark New Adult High School Bully Romance (Sinners and Saints Book 3) Page 9