by L. J. Woods
Before I can even wonder why he’s awake, or how the fuck he has my number, the picture attached makes my body burn with heat.
It’s the photo of me dealing drugs on campus. There’s no doubt about it. I’m not cut out for this shit anymore. Besides the empty classroom we’re in, I’m not even a little bit discreet. Being back in Eden is fucking up my game.
I’m definitely awake now. Not that I was sleeping. Feels like I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in years.
My brother’s moved into the garage downstairs, leaving our crappy small bedroom to me. Stripping blue paint, exposed bulb hanging above the bed. It’s a good thing because I don’t have to explain where I’m headed this early in the morning.
With time to spare, I'll walk instead of hopping the train. I’ll text Dad and tell him I went to the library so he doesn't get worried. Or suspicious.
I’m showered and in my oversized hoodie and bike shorts by five-fifteen. Hood up, headphones on and Slayer cranked to the max, my stomach twists when I realize what I'm about to do. Have breakfast with the enemy.
Crossing the tracks, memories from my childhood flicker through my head. A childhood ripped away from me. For Christian to do what he’s doing now after all that’s happened makes me feel worse than when we left.
You are power. Not prey.
My mom’s words ring through my head and it makes me grip the straps on her bag tighter.
I won’t let this bring me down.
I’m almost across the tracks, vowing to be stronger, Eden in my view. The song changes and that's when I hear something behind me.
Before I can whip around, a grip comes around my neck.
My eyes widen but my fight kicks in, wiggling and shoving my elbow behind me before my feet lift off the ground.
When my back hits gravel, a sting flows through me before a weight settles on top of me. My chin lands between two rough fingers forcing me to look in the eyes of my attacker. “We’re not fucking around, sweetheart.”
The scar on his face solidifies who it is, Jack, and I’m ready to give him another.
Before I can reach for my knife, his hand pulls back before a sting erupts on my face. “Don’t even think about it!” Then another. “And that’s for the permanent scar on my face, I’d do more, believe me, but Ace still has a fucking boner for you.” A hand comes around my throat, tightening, silencing my voice. “Bet you didn’t think we’d find you out here, did ya?” He laughs. “You’re not getting away from the Spades.” He slaps me again, a burn rolling through my skin as my face whips to the side.
He brings me back to stare in his cold gaze. “Five days,” he says. “Five days to get your shit together.” A warm glob of spit lands in my eye and when I try to fight him off, he presses harder on my body. “Five days, sweetheart. Or we’ll do a lot worse. We're being nice.”
Sirens wail nearby before his head lifts and he releases his hold as the world around me starts to blur. Rolling over to my side, I cough, the ringing of train bells mixing with the sirens in the distance.
Pain vibrates through me. My legs. My arms. My fucking neck.
“Fuck you.” I spit. “He’ll kill you if you touch me.” I'm talking about August but he knows it.
He chuckles as the bells and sirens ring louder and if he doesn’t kill me, this train will. “Not if you don’t die first, bitch.” When I try to get up, he gives me a kick to my gut before he jogs away, right to the other side of the tracks. Eden.
The rumbling of the tracks deepen and the bells get louder before a long horn sounds.
Fuck.
Pushing myself off the tracks, I roll out of the way in time for the heavy cargo train to roll by, blocking my view of Jack.
The cops drive on by as I’m waiting for the train to pass, my fishnets tattered and torn, scratches on my legs. Glancing at my phone, it’s ten to six with another text waiting.
Christian: Don’t even think about being late, Loca.
I scoff. Loca? He’s the one who's crazy, but when you’re that rich with a dick, they don’t call it that.
August isn't awake when I call but he needs to fix this shit or I'll end up like mom. Dead. After sending an angry text, the train clears. It's quicker than I expect, allowing me to get a move-on.
Still, after my run-in with Jack, hustling across town doesn't help and I arrive twenty minutes late to the cafe.
I wouldn’t have even found the place, tucked in a quiet corner of Eden Gardens if it wasn’t for the fancy awning. Or the European look that screams “pretentious bakery.” It’s even worse on the inside, a man playing a white piano in the corner.
Christian’s eyes lock on me the minute I enter, my stomach tightening. After the morning I had, it can only be disdain that I’m here at six in the morning to meet his stupid fucking face.
He looks like he put a bit of extra effort into his hair, slicked back and shiny. And the green sweater he wears matches those eyes almost too perfectly. If he thinks this is a date, he must already be high.
As I walk towards him, the couple of other people sitting inside the cafe watch me as I do. I’m a contrast to the pristine walls and the golden fixtures, the velvet on the chairs I’d never afford. But Christian’s watching me like that’s the least bit of his concern when his eyes drop to my thigh.
“What do you want?” I ask when I reach where he’s sitting, on a velvet stool at the marble coffee bar. “Need someone to order your breakfast for you?”
He stands, green eyes brighter than the bags I’m only now noticing under his eyes. His grip tightens around the mug he’s holding before his hand comes closer, a whiff of fresh linen and spice coming with him. Crisp. Comforting. When he pulls his arm back, a stale french fry sits in his hand.
Shit, was that in my hair the whole time?
“The fuck happened to you, Rayne-bow?” Hearing that nickname come from his mouth makes me stall but I shrug.
His eyes drop to my thigh again before his brows raise. “You’re bleeding.” He drops his cup on the counter before he reaches for my thigh but like a well-oiled reflex, I slap his hand away.
“Why am I here?” I ask again. His brows furrow before he takes my hand, a warmth spreading up my arm. He pulls me away from the bar. “I didn’t come all the way here for you to toss me around.”
“Will you chill the hell out?” His back on the men’s bathroom door, he glances around before pulling me inside.
He looks the door behind him.
“If you think we’re fucking in here—” My feet lifting off the ground cuts me off. I fight against him before he holds me on top of the counter like a tired child.
“You’re bleeding, Ray,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “Let me handle it.” He reaches into the cupboard under the sink, pulling out a red and white first aid kit.
The bathroom is what I expect from Eden. Gold fixtures and marble. Resting it on the counter, he keeps his eyes on me, his gaze wandering over the scratches on my leg before he reaches out and touches my face. My stomach twists again, tingles on my skin. “You gonna tell me what happened?”
“Why do you care? You’re the one forcing me to come across the tracks at this fucked up hour.”
“Fine.” His jaw tightens before a sting comes to my thigh.
“Motherfucker!” A hiss escapes me and when I look down, he’s holding a piece of wet cotton against my leg. Rubbing alcohol.
He smirks. “Thought you were tough, Loca.”
“Loca? Is that some unoriginal nickname?”
“Would you prefer Rayne-bow?” That smirk turns into a smile, the lights above shining on him like he’s posing for the cover of a magazine. My core tightens. “Every couple has their nicknames, right? This fits.” My eyes narrow before he mutters something in Spanish. “Como unha caldereta.”
“If you want crazy, you’ll get it, Perez,” I warn.
He looks up, a bandage half off out of its wrapper and I’ll admit it’s odd to have someone caring for me. “Finally bru
sh up on your Spanish?”
“Most people don’t call what we speak Spanish, but yeah.” My mom comes to my mind and forces my smile a little wider, hers in my head. “Mom was from Ourense.”
“How can I forget when my mom's from Coruña?” His smile brightens the room before it disappears, his dazzling greens catching my eyes again. “Wait … was?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” I fight the glob forming in my throat.
“No, I didn’t.” He shakes his head, looking away like he’s digesting it but the bit of pain I see on his face is too much for six in the morning. When he looks back at me, I ignore the blur in his eyes, reminding myself he’s as fake as the rest of them. “I’m sorry, Ray. She was …”
Amazing?
Beautiful?
Perfect?
“Yeah. She was," I say as he continues placing the band-aid over the fresh wound. “It’s why we—” I freeze when he brings his lips to the bandage, a flutter rising up my thigh to my folds. I clench my legs, my brows furrowing. “Forget it. Thanks for showing off your first aid techniques, but why the fuck am I here?” We’re not going there. Not now. Not with him.
How could he not have known? My teeth clench. Fuck that. If he called, if he cared, he would’ve.
He rises from his crouch, taking a second with those eyes boring into me like he’s waiting for me to say something. When I don't say anything more, he sighs, “Fine.” With his eyes still on me, he confesses, “I’m gonna fail the next English test.”
“How is that my problem?”
Christian folds his arms. “It’s your problem ‘cause it’s my problem.” He takes a step closer. “Or do you need a reminder of our contract?”
“Contract? I don’t remember signing anything.”
“You signed something when my phone took that photo. So if you don’t want anyone to see it, you’re helping me pass my test. Study sessions. Every day after class. I need to get this, or dating you won’t be enough to keep me on the team. I need grades to prove it.”
“Every day?” Shaking my head, it’s hard not to laugh. “Fuck that, I’ll give you the answers.” I’m not spending another second with these assholes.
“The answers? You know the questions?”
“Henry tipped me off.” Shrugging, I gaze into those hardened emeralds.
His lips tighten with his jaw, the muscles under his shirt bulging. “Henry?”
“Yeah, you know, our professor?” I’m about to hop off the counter, when he takes a step further, keeping me in place. “Chill, I can text you everything I know later. How’d you get my number anyway?”
“When did Henry tell you this?”
My brows lower before a smirk comes on my face. “What? You jealous? I mean, that’s understandable. You’re the classic jock your dad always wanted you to be. A fucking cliche. And Henry’s well … elevated.”
His hand comes to each of my knees, spreading my thighs open before he gets between them. “Stay away from Henry.”
“Our professor? Kinda hard to do when he’s our professor.”
He’s in my face, his scent mixing with his cologne. A new smell that adds a bit of sweetness to his usual. One I didn’t recognize before. Did he put that on for this? “You know what I mean, Ray.”
“What does it matter?” I push on his chest but his hands come to my wrist, his hold strong. “You’ll get your answers, Perez, you won’t fail. Let me go.” Pulling against his hold does me no good and I’ve had it up to here with people manhandling me. “Chris—” My back hits the glass, hard. The pain from the tracks resurface again but before I can protest, Christian’s chiselled face is in mine.
“You’re not gonna make me look a fool either,” he says, firm and rigid like my dad. A knot twists tighter in my stomach. “You got that, Loca?” I’ve been here before but I never expected Christian to be putting me in this position.
“Are you gonna make me look like a fool, Perez?” There’s a shake in my voice and I hate it as much as I hate him but his lips are so close to mine it makes me nervous. Meeting his eyes, he looks more like a dragon than the charmer he was moments ago. “You're a king, right? Eden royalty? You can ruin me any moment."
“And you bet I will if you don’t play ball.” One hand sits firm on my thigh, the other sliding up until his fingers slip under my fishnets. His skin on my bare leg gives me a shiver and I hope he doesn’t see it. “If you wanna fuck Henderson, you’re not doing that on my time.”
“Fuck Henderson?” My lips twist. “You’re pretty jealous about something that’s not real.”
“You want real?” His fingers slip into my shorts, leaving nothing else between us, and when they slide between my folds, I know I should push him away. But I’m frozen, thrown by his forward movements. His touch sends a shockwave through me, a flutter in my guts and I hate that I crave more. I try to remind myself that Christian’s the player on campus. And everyone else is just his prey.
But I’m power.
Biting on the inside of my lip, I keep my stare on him, trying my damndest not to react to this feeling. Warmth takes over when he moves his finger in a circle, my breath shaky when his face comes close to mine.
Then he stops, his lips grazing my mouth and if I’m not careful, I’m gonna pull him in for a replay of that party. “Get off me, Perez.”
“You’re wet, Ray,” he says against my lips, a smirk appearing. “How’s that for ‘real’?” Moving his hand, he wipes it on his shirt, my hands gripping to the counter. “Get me those answers.” He heads towards the door.
Shaking my head out of my daze, I hop off the counter. “So you’re gonna demand I help you and just leave me? Not even gonna take your girl to class?”
“Nope. This isn’t real, right?” He looks over his shoulder. “So figure it out, Loca.”
Nine
Rayne
“Time’s up.”
Henry looks up from his stack of papers, his timer beeping on his desk.
Sitting right in front of our professor made it hard to show Christian my answers. But after texting him what I know, it should be enough for a passing mark.
Perez is up from his seat first, sliding his test in front of Henry with a grin. With the confidence he has, I’m guessing he thinks he’s passed too.
Thanks to me.
He’s halfway out the door, already in his jersey before I pass my test to Henry.
“I’m sure you’ve aced it," he says with a warm smile, the classroom clearing around us. “Care to celebrate with a coffee? I won’t tell it’s spiked if you won’t.” Henry starts packing his stuff like he knows I’ll agree. “We can go over the test.”
Stay away from Henry.
Don’t make me look like a fool.
Tough, Perez. A chance at a one-on-one with Henry Henderson is something I can’t pass up.
I nod, a smile coming to my face. “That—”
“Is not happening.” Christian’s voice comes from the door.
My head whips his way, eyes glaring into his greens. He leans against the frame, arms crossed in his ERU letterman.
Fuck my life.
I groan, “It’s just coffee, you idiot.”
“And it’s just not happening, Loca.” His eyes bore into me and I don’t know if that’s a statement or a threat before he says, “Tu pareces estúpida.”
My fists tighten. “Pendejo.”
“What’s this?” Henry asks, eyes narrow.
My boots thud over to Christian and I only have one word. “Stop.”
With a tight grip on my arm, he pulls me closer. “I thought I made myself clear.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand I have a game tonight and you need to be there.” He glares over my shoulder. “Not with Henry Weinstein over there.”
“Excuse me?” When I look over my shoulder, Henry glares right back at Christian. “A friendly coffee between my adult student and I hardly makes me Weinstein or whoever.”
&nbs
p; “Hardly,” Christian repeats. He lifts his chin. “Sorry, Henry, you’re not taking my girl for coffee.” He grew into his entitlement just fine.
“Your girl,” Henry says, a stone cold stare moving over to me.
My nails dig into my skin. He’s ruining my chances. “Christian, can we talk?” I ask. “In private?”
“Why? Are you not my girl, Ray?” His jaw is so tight I swear his teeth will crush into each other. “‘Cause if you’re not, I guess our secrets don’t have to be under wraps, do they? Like how you—”
Motherfucker. “Yes! I’m your girl.”
“You’re what?” He kicks the door wide open, a crowd of students hanging in the halls. Glancing over my shoulder, Henry looks dumbfounded. I thought dealing with the Spades is a pain in my ass but Christian Perez proves to be worse. “Say it a little louder," he repeats. "I didn’t hear you.”
Fucking. Prick.
I force the words out, my jaw as tight as his. “I’m your girl.”
“Speak up, Ray!” he barks and I jump, blinking through my bangs.
Christian Perez isn’t the nice guy anymore.
Something about that twists my guts and I don’t know if I’m turned on or afraid. I’m reaching for the knife in my hoodie when Henry calls to us.
“Mister Perez—”
“Stay out of this, Henry!” Like he knows, Christian grabs the knife from my hold, but he keeps it out of sight. Then he brings his gaze back to me. “Say it.”
Jesus, if he doesn’t chill out, he’s gonna get us both in trouble. “I’m your girl.”
‘What?”
“I’m your girl, Christian!” I say it loud enough for my voice to ring around the room and when I do, Christian’s lips crash into mine.
Spinning me around, he presses me against the door, his hand hitting the space beside my head. The other holds me in place as his tongue swirls over mine, a sweetness washing over my mouth. Like sticky caramel.
“Say it again,” he groans, pressing into me, something hard against my stomach. I never thought Christian would ever be this intense. This … hot.
I can hear shuffling papers behind us but the room is a goddamn blur. His hand moves up my thigh. A spark followed by a tingly warmth. The cold handle of my knife grazes the bandage on my leg and I fight the gasp pushing from my lips. He raises it higher, up to my thighs, and between my legs until he's pushing my panties aside with the handle.