“Why? Are you going to be sick?”
“Just pull over, please.”
There he goes again using that word. I don’t think he’s ever said it before, at least not to a Norm.
I turn on the blinker and park the car on the side of the highway. The road is completely dark in this area; the only faint glow is coming from streetlights that are too far apart to do any good. To make sure we’re not rear-ended, I turn on the emergency lights.
When Rufio doesn’t make a motion to get out, I unbuckle my seat belt and make my way to his side.
“Talk to m—”
He cups my face and kisses me again with just as much ardor as before. His tongue against mine works like a spark, starting the fire in the pit of my stomach. There’s still adrenaline coursing through my veins, and it mixes with the sudden desire in an explosive way.
“What are you doing? You’re hurt,” I whisper between feverish kisses.
“It’s nothing. Just a flesh wound.”
I don’t know if I should believe him, but I can’t stop what’s happening now. The raw yearning takes over my senses, and before I know it, I’m unzipping Rufio’s pants and straddling him. He brings his hands to my ass and squeezes it.
“Fuck, why are you wearing jeans today?” he says against my mouth.
“I didn’t think I’d need to grant anyone easy access to my panties.”
His lips abandon mine to leave a scorching trail down my neck.
“Shit. You’re wearing way too many clothes,” he murmurs.
“You should be thankful for them. It protected me from the glass when they broke your window.”
Rufio tenses suddenly, then grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling me back and staring hard at me. “Don’t remind me of what those assholes did to you. I wish I could have obliterated them all.”
“But you did.”
“No, not the main guy, but….” Rufio pauses, sweeping his tongue into my mouth for a glorious, hot kiss. “Seeing you kicking ass was hot as hell.”
His hand finds its way inside my T-shirt, and I can tell he’s a moment way from ripping it in two.
“Wait,” I say.
I take my sweatshirt off, and Rufio’s gaze immediately zeroes in on the T-shirt’s design. “You’re wearing a unicorn T-shirt.”
“A savage-as-fuck unicorn.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “I love how filthy your mouth is.” He kisses me again, then helps me out of my top and bra. When he captures my nipple with his mouth, I think I’m going to combust on the spot. I accidently touch his wound, and Rufio hisses. Crap!
“We shouldn’t be doing this. You’re hurt,” I remind him.
“And you’re the only medicine I need.”
Common sense is telling me this is a terrible idea, but hell, we almost died. I’m craving this connection. I need his touch like I need air to breathe.
While Rufio is busy playing with my boobs, I slip my hand inside his boxers, curling my fingers around his cock. He’s so hard already that I think I could send him over the edge without much effort. Using my thumb, I spread precum over the head, which only makes Rufio suck my nipple harder.
I gasp out loud, and in retribution, I run my hand up and down his shaft.
With a groan, Rufio curls his fingers tighter around my hair and yanks hard until it causes a little pain.
“I can’t… I need more,” I whisper.
He pivots me around, laying me flat on the seat. With eager hands, he peels off my jeans and underwear, then spreads my legs as far as the tight space allows.
“You’re so beautiful.” He slides his hands up my legs. “And strong.” His fingers caress the insides of my thighs. “And fearless.” He swipes his thumb over my clit, making my hips buckle. “Easy, darling.”
He keeps playing, first applying pressure to my bundle of nerves, then sliding a finger inside of me.
“Are you happy now?” he asks as he inserts another finger.
“About… what?” I close my eyes and let out a moan.
“Killing those motherfuckers.”
My eyes fly open and I lock gazes with him. “Yes.” My voice is hard now, and it somehow ignites a spark in Rufio’s gaze.
He pulls his hand away and retrieves a condom from his pocket. Wrapped tight, he positions himself between my legs, bracing his forearms on the leather seat so as not to crush me. But I catch the flinch. His shoulder is bothering him more than he wants to let me know.
“Rufio, you’re not okay.”
“I will be in a moment.” He lowers his mouth to mine, cutting off my next argument, and at the same time, he slides inside of me.
Then I get lost in the moment, in the feel of him. I’m aware of every tiny sensation he provokes with his tongue, with his thrusts. I slide my hands underneath his shirt, flattening my palms against his lower back. Then I grab his ass and silently urge him to go faster. This is not the time for words. Not telling, only showing. And I try to show him with my caresses how glad I am that he allowed me to exact my revenge without judgment, without hesitation.
The orgasm hits me in the precise moment the memory of me skewering that Fringe comes to the forefront of my mind. I yell Rufio’s name out loud and try not to think how twisted it was for me to climax with murder on my mind.
Rufio’s release follows soon after. He grunts and trembles, then kisses me long and hard as he rides the last tendrils of his orgasm. He tries not to collapse completely on top of me and ends up falling through the crack between the front and back seats.
“Damn. Talk about a graceful finale,” he says, making me chuckle. “Oh, you’re amused now.”
“I’m sorry, but that statement coming from you was pretty funny.”
I sit up so Rufio can do the same. He gets rid of the condom while I search for my clothes, but in the darkness, it’s pretty hard. Suddenly, the bright glow of a flashlight and a loud knock on the window earns a yell from me and a curse from Rufio.
“Daisy? Is that you?” a familiar voice asks.
“Who’s out there?” Rufio moves so he’s protecting me from prying eyes.
“Mr. X. Put your clothes back on and get out of the car.”
With my heart still thundering inside my chest, I search for my clothes blindly. My mind is going at a hundred miles an hour. What the hell is Mr. X doing here?
33
Bryce
The only sound in the dining room is of silver spoons hitting china. If I thought dinner at my folks’ was a depressing affair, Morpheus’s parents take the first prize. Morpheus and I came over for supper in the hopes of cornering his father later. We still don’t know anything about Daisy’s lineage, and Morpheus’s father is the closest expert in history we have.
But the man is as cold as a winter storm. He barely spared his own son a couple of words. I don’t understand where his animosity comes from. He should treat Morpheus like a king. There aren’t many Fringe families who produce an Idol heir.
“How are things at school?” Mrs. Malek asks. She, at least, seems to care about her only child.
“Good.” Morpheus doesn’t meet her gaze.
She stares at him for a couple more beats before she turns to me. “How about you, Bryce? This is your senior year, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know which school you’re going to after you graduate?”
“I haven’t given it much thought,” I shrug. “Prism City University has excellent programs.”
“How can you not know what field you want to specialize in?” Mr. Malek speaks suddenly, watching me with a disapproving glare.
Boy, he and my father should hang out.
“Maybe because I’m a Gemini and I can’t make up my mind,” I joke, which flies right over the man’s head. I realize being a smartass is not going to win me any brownie points, so I decide to change my approach. “Truth is, I asked to tag along tonight because I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
I look quickly in M
orpheus’s direction. He sets his spoon down and watches me with a frown.
“Oh? Are you interested in becoming a historian?” Mr. Malek asks, clearly less antagonizing now.
“History is my favorite subject in school, but honestly, I have no idea what kind of work I could do after I get a degree in it.”
Mr. Malek cleans his mouth with his napkin and then folds his hands together. “Well, there’s always teaching.”
“Do you enjoy being a teacher?” I ask.
He nods. “I do, but what I really like is doing research for publication.”
“Ammon has written several scholarly books,” Mrs. Malek says with pride.
I catch Morpheus’s wince, then him shrinking in his chair. It’s no secret to us that he feels lacking when it comes to his performance at school. I’ve tried to tell him it’s all in his head. None of us are geniuses, and our GPAs are definitely average. But his issues are obviously related to his father, a well-respected professor in his field.
“Really? Do you only write about Idol history, or do you also dabble with Fringe and Norm history as well?”
“Well, a good historian can’t focus solely on one race. That wouldn’t give an accurate account of the truth, would it?” he replies.
“It makes sense. Sadly, most of the history events covered at school revolve around Idols.”
Mr. Malek nods. “That’s usually the case. It’s no surprise when Idols are the dominant race. They get to dictate the narrative.”
We’re talking in circles now. I have to get straight to the point.
“Even so, I stumbled upon an article about this Norm family that accomplished quite a few things.”
Mr. Malek arches his eyebrows in curiosity. “Oh? What family?”
“The Rodales,” Morpheus replies before I can, eliciting a frown from his father.
Shit. I want to kick him under the table. Things were going smooth with his old man. I hope he didn’t ruin the progress I made.
“I can’t think of a famous Rodale in history,” he replies.
“Are you sure? I could swear that was the family’s name,” I say.
Mr. Malek pushes his chair back and stands up. “There was a very infamous Norm family in the 1700s, the only one I’m aware of. Their last name started with an R. Come with me. I believe I acquired a book that talks briefly about them.”
I trade a quick glance with Morpheus, and we both stand up to follow his father.
“But you haven’t had dessert yet,” Mrs. Malek complains.
Ah damn. She had to bring up dessert. Considering food at dinner was amazing, I’m betting the sweet treat will be out of this world.
“Come on, Bryce. You can get your sugar fix later.” Morpheus snaps me out of my paralysis.
Mrs. Malek smiles. “Don’t worry. Dessert isn’t going anywhere.”
I grin and then follow Morpheus down the corridor. His father is already in his study, pulling books from the shelves.
“I know I’ve read a passage about this Norm family somewhere,” he says over his shoulder.
“If you could remember their name, I could maybe help locate it,” I offer.
Mr. Malek looks over his shoulder. “You can do that?”
I remember the time I found the information Daisy was looking for in the book she borrowed from the library. The memory brings a pang to my chest, but I’m still torn about what I should do about her.
Realizing Mr. Malek is still waiting for my answer, I reply, “Yes, sir.”
He sets a few more old books on his desk and begins to organize them in different piles. He doesn’t look up, keeping his brows scrunched together, until finally, after several minutes have passed, he picks a particular one from the collection.
“Aha! Here it is. The family was called the Rinnegati. They were Italian. Here, see if you can locate the article about them.” Mr. Malek hands me the tome.
Focusing on the name, I let my hand hover above the book. The pages begin to flick rapidly until they stop. The name Rinnegati is written in bold letters at the top. I’d read the entire passage myself, but I sense Mr. Malek staring at the book eagerly.
“Found it.” I hand it to him.
He reads a few lines, then says, “Yes, now it’s coming back to me. Rinnegati literally means renegades.”
“What did they do that granted them space in one of your history books?” Morpheus moves closer to the tome in question, looking down at the open page.
“They didn’t do anything grand, per se. They were famous because of the legend associated with their name.”
“What legend?” Morpheus and I ask at the same time.
“The legend of the Idol who reneged on her powers.”
“I don’t follow,” I say.
“It’s said that many millennia ago, there was a very powerful Idol who had such a terrible gift, she asked Gaia to take the power back.”
“Gaia? As in the mother of the universe?”
“Yes. Seeing how this Idol’s gift burdened her, Gaia granted the wish and changed the Idol into a Norm.”
“And the Rinnegati relate to that legend how?” Morpheus asks.
“They were her descendants.”
Shit, as interesting as this information sounds, it does nothing to decipher the mystery surrounding Morpheus’s vision.
“But of course, this is the watered-down version dispersed by Idols in power,” Mr. Malek continues. “Another intriguing theory, and much more dangerous, is that the Idol didn’t give up her power. It was taken from her.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because she was disgusted with the way Idols treated Fringes and Norms. She believed the sacred duty of Idols was to protect the weak. If they refused the call, they shouldn’t keep their powers.”
Holy shit. That’s exactly what Daisy’s father believed. There must be a connection there.
“Is there any chance the Rinnegati family changed their name or is related in any way to the Rodales of Hawk City?” Morpheus asks.
Understanding finally dawns on his father’s face. “You’re referring to Paul Rodale, aren’t you?”
“What if I am?” Morpheus raises his chin stubbornly.
His father closes the book with a loud thud. He looks pissed.
“Then you’d better drop the subject at once. Paul Rodale was a fool who liked to antagonize very powerful people in Hawk City, and he was killed for it.”
“He was a Norm and easy prey,” Morpheus retorts.
“Do you think those people care what race you are? Besides, you’re the only one in this family who was blessed with Idol powers.”
I don’t miss the venom lacing Mr. Malek’s words, and neither does Morpheus. He takes a step back, looking like a dog that’s been kicked to the curb.
“I didn’t ask for it,” he grits out.
“It doesn’t change the outcome, does it?” His father turns his back on him and begins to put the books back in their places. “I think it’s best if you return to campus at once.”
“You don’t need to say it twice.” Morpheus storms out of the study, leaving behind a trail of dark miasma. Shit. He’s not doing anything to rein in his gift.
I run after him, finding him already out the door. Mrs. Malek joins me in the entry foyer carrying a large plastic container.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Morpheus and your husband had a disagreement. We’re off to campus.”
Mrs. Malek lets out a sad sigh. “This is all my fault.”
I don’t understand what she’s implying, but I don’t get the chance to ask.
“Yo, Bryce. Are you coming or not?” Morpheus yells from inside his car.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” I turn to his mother. “I’m sorry we have to dine and dash. Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Malek.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Here. I packed dessert for you. I know you have a sweet tooth.”
My stomach grumbles, despite everything. “Thanks, Mrs. Malek.”
Morpheus presses on the horn, and I curse in my head. The ride back to school is going to be hella fun.
I barely have the chance to close the passenger door when Morpheus peels out.
“Damn it, Morpheus. Relax.” I clutch the container tighter, trying to prevent it from toppling over and spilling everything out.
“I knew he was going to say something to piss me off,” Morpheus grumbles under his breath.
“He didn’t say anything awful.” I open the container, unable to wait another second. “Yes! Baklava.” I take one of the sticky treats out and shove it in my mouth.
Morpheus doesn’t reply, but from the corner of my eye, I see the shadows are agitated again. Licking my fingers, I say, “He did get pretty antsy when he realized we were asking about Paul Rodale.”
“No, he didn’t become nervous because I was asking about Daisy’s father. He actually got angry because I said I wasn’t afraid to poke around.”
“I noticed that too. What was that all about?”
Morpheus rubs his face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.” I eat a couple more treats as silence reigns supreme for a few minutes.
The amount of sugar coursing through my veins should have put me in a better mood, but the fact that the renegade Idol and Paul Rodale shared the same ideals is sitting heavily on my mind. There’s gotta be a relationship between the two.
“Do you think the Rinnegati and the Rodales are related?” Morpheus breaks the silence, echoing exactly what I’m thinking.
“Honestly, I don’t know. But if the Rodales and the Rinnegati are family, and the Rinnegati are indeed related to an Idol who gave her powers back, then that means Daisy could possibly have demigod blood.”
“It would explain why you could bond to her with an infinity band in my vision.”
I clench my jaw and don’t say a word. My brain is too occupied trying to connect all the dots. Daisy could have an extremely weak link to an Idol, but why does that make her important to my mother and the Knights?
It seems the more we uncover, the further in the dark we plummet.
34
Ruthless Idols: A Paranormal High School Bully Romance (Gifted Academy Book 2) Page 18