by Pam Godwin
Too short.
Too see-through.
No thongs.
Too much skin.
Not appropriate.
Sends the wrong message.
He removed every garment I put in the bag. When my temper finally blew, I threw a bra at his face and told him to pack the bags himself.
The dickhead packed one bag. One. And he filled it with clothes I didn’t even know I owned. Conservative, underwhelming garbage.
Didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be here for long. I’d spent the entire night planning my exit.
Getting caught with alcohol, drugs, or weapons in my possession would guarantee my expulsion. But I had no way to obtain those things.
Setting my room on fire was an option. But I didn’t want anyone harmed in the making of my destiny.
If I had my phone, I could watch porn on max volume during one of my classes.
If I had my phone, I would call Keaton. He would listen to me and say all the right things. He would understand. But since I didn’t have access to my brother, I read the rules in the handbook while thinking up ways to break them.
I would have to be deliberately disobedient. Disorderly. Creative. Brave. Bolder than ever. I would have to do things I would’ve never dared to do in Bishop’s Landing.
Being bad wasn’t in my nature. I couldn’t fathom breaking things or stealing from someone. Hell, I’d never even smoked a cigarette.
But I was getting better at speaking my mind and sneaking around with boys. Since those were the very reasons I’d ended up here, maybe that was exactly how I would get thrown out.
Except the handbook had an entire chapter dedicated to the strict policies on male–female interactions. Electric fences surrounded each campus for fuck’s sake.
Maybe there was a way around the walls.
I needed to befriend the troublemakers, the girls who had been here long enough to know the lay of the land and all its weak points. Sion Academy may be strait-laced and prissy, but there was a bad crowd in every school. It wouldn’t be hard to find them.
Just before dawn, a flurry of footsteps pattered down the hall. It sounded like more than one person. Like a stampede. Only they were tiptoeing and making shushing sounds, trying to keep quiet as they rushed past my room.
I flipped over and glanced at the clock. And groaned. I’d only been asleep for twenty minutes, and the girls didn’t need to be downstairs for another two hours.
What on earth were they doing up so early?
Curiosity pulled me from the bed. I opened the door, catching a glimpse of someone’s backside as she raced to catch up. She vanished around the corner to the stairs, wearing a tiny tank top and thong underwear.
Son of a bitch. No thongs, my ass.
I clenched my hands and took off at a sprint, slipping past the closed door of the big sister’s room.
At the stairwell’s landing, I could go up or down. Muffled noise came from above, so I followed it, my pulse racing with nervous energy.
In any other situation, I would’ve felt under-dressed in a T-shirt and bikini underwear. But it was six in the morning, and I was chasing a girl wearing butt floss.
The stairs opened to the top level with an empty corridor identical to my floor, rooms on either side, and the air deafeningly quiet. I crept along the hallway, passing open doors and vacant dorms. Personal belongings filled each one, but every bed lay empty, the sheets in disarray.
Where was everyone?
Excited whispers drifted from the end of the corridor. I hurried toward the voices and stopped in the doorway of the last dorm.
A dozen girls plastered themselves to the two windows. With their backs to me, they elbowed and pushed, fighting to look outside. Some stood on the bed to see over the others.
There was more than one pair of thongs in the crowd. A lot of cheeky panties and bra-covered boobs. Big boobs. Curvy, womanly bodies.
Must be nice.
With my skinny bird legs and flat chest, I looked like a teenage boy compared to most of them. It was intimidating. But I was used to that feeling. I owned it.
The sun crested the mountains, illuminating the sky in pale pastels. I lingered on the threshold to the room, dying to know what could be so damn engrossing at the ass-crack of dawn.
“Look at him.” A pretty redhead sighed. “It’s not fair.”
“He’s actual, literal sex,” another girl whispered. “Even his sweat is gorge.”
“Those arms, though.”
“Arms?” A brunette with endless curves pressed her brow to the glass. “Girrrrl, look at dat ass.”
I sucked on my bottom lip, biting down on a smile.
The boys at St. John de Brebeuf must’ve been exercising in the athletic field. It was football season, and evidently, these girls had a favorite player. But how much could they see from this distance?
I inched closer, approaching their backs. Not one head turned toward me as I squeezed in on the end and peered around the edge of the window.
Oh.
My.
God.
That was no boy.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, muffling my gasp as I drank in the glory that was a half-naked Father Magnus.
Dressed in nothing but gray sweatpants, he stood beneath the window and stretched his arms overhead. The thin sweatpants hung low on his narrow hips, molding to the thick shape of his bulge and clinging precariously to the firm, round muscles of his backside.
That ass was no joke. I silently willed the waistband to give up its hold and fall already.
He clasped his hands behind his head and turned toward the sunrise, tilting his face heavenward as if soaking in the rays. His stance highlighted the definition along his spine, the dips and grooves of his carved torso, and the power in his legs.
Stunningly beautiful.
Dangerously delicious.
Sinfully pornographic.
Behind him, a cluster of outdoor fitness equipment scattered along the rubber jogging trail. The path wound across the campus grounds and led to the locked gate.
The girls obviously knew his schedule and set their alarms to watch him run that trail and stop at the equipment beneath the window. At six in the morning, he probably thought he had privacy.
Dummy.
Never underestimate the mind of a woman.
Gushing whispers continued around me. They hadn’t noticed my presence, their eyes glued on the forbidden view.
“Thank God for his dedication to physical health.” The black girl beside me traced a heart on the steamed glass inches from her face.
“Tucker said he lifts weights with the football team after his morning runs. I’ve never wanted to be a boy so badly in my life. Can you imagine working out with that man?”
“Yes. I can and do imagine it. All. Day. Long.”
“You’re going to hell.”
“For him, I’ll go on my knees.”
“I swear on all that is holy, I would suck the Jesus out of his cock.”
“Same, girl. Same.”
These bitches weren’t prissy at all. I’d found the bad crowd.
A smile stretched my face. I was right there with them, agreeing and nodding with everything they said. From afar, when his condemning glare wasn’t aimed at me, he was the sexiest man alive.
But up close, with his heat and anger and intoxicating scent smothering my senses, he was terrifying.
He did a few more stretches on the strength bars, eliciting sighs from his audience. Then he jogged off toward the gate, his ass flexing through ground-covering strides.
“I don’t know what those V thingies are called,” someone said. “But I want to lather them in butter and rub my naked body along the grooves.”
“They’re called sex lines,” I murmured.
“What?” A dozen heads turned in my direction.
“The V-shaped cut in the abs. They’re sex lines.” I stepped back and leaned a shoulder against the wall, absorbing the weight of their stare
s. “The scientific name is transversus abdominis. It’s a sheet of muscle that wraps around the body and supports the spine. When you have a super-strong core and low body fat, you can see the muscle’s edges. Also known as the Adonis belt, named after Adonis, the legendary god of beauty.”
“Are you smart or something?” the redhead asked in a tone that suggested I was a response away from being labeled uncool.
“I remember things. Like all the lickable parts of the male anatomy.” I pulled in a breath. “So you, uh, watch him run every day?”
“Morning worship begins at six,” the girl in the back said. “His body is our temple, and we come to pray.”
A chorus of Amens erupted, followed by laughter.
The curvy brunette hopped down from the bed and approached, giving me a head-to-toe perusal. “You’re Keaton Constantine’s sister.”
Here we go.
“I’m Tinsley. Just got here last night.”
“I’m Nevada. I went to Pembroke with Keaton.” She turned to her friends. “He was the rugby captain. King of the school. Talk about hot. Holy fuck, you guys, the guy is fire. He and I were like this.” She held up her hand with her fingers crossed.
“Funny.” I cocked my head. “He never mentioned you.”
“I transferred here as a sophomore, and he’s a year older, so…”
“Transferred? Were you expelled from Pembroke?”
“Maybe.” A wicked glint lit her eyes.
“I’d love to hear that story.” I smiled, encouraging her.
“That’s old news.” She waved it away. “I don’t mess around with boys anymore. Got my sights on a man. A man in black.”
“Father Magnus?”
“Of course. I have plans for that holy creature the next time I get him alone.”
Was she crazy? I couldn’t get the unholy sound of his roar out of my head. Had he never yelled at her like that? Or looked at her like he wanted to beat her black and blue?
“Doesn’t he scare you?” I asked.
“Totally.” She pinched her nipples and arched her spine, humming, “He scares me so hard.”
Frustration tightened my shoulders. I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this hussy.
“I only met him last night, and I thought…” How did I say this without sounding like a snowflake? “He’s meaner than I expected.”
“Oh, he’s mean. But every time I look into those sexy blue eyes, I go all melty and do whatever he demands.”
“So he hasn’t punished you?” I scanned the room, scrutinizing the reaction of each girl. “Any of you?”
Some of them shrugged. Others nodded with pursed lips. None of them looked scared or abused.
“I’m Carrie, the big sister on this floor.” The black girl raised a hand, gave a prim wave, and returned it to her cocked hip. “If you piss him off, he’ll make you do things, detention, extra work, shit like that. It’s not all bad. Some of us even like it, you know, when we get one-on-one time with him.”
Her smile made me relax. Maybe I’d overreacted to the whole thing last night.
“I don’t know.” A tall blonde stepped toward the door and paused. “Remember what happened to Jasmine last year?”
A wave of discomfort rippled through the room. Some of the girls drifted into the hall. Others stared at the floor.
Clueless, I tried to interpret their expressions. “What happened to Jasmine?”
“She stayed after class, took off her clothes, and straddled his lap. She told us she was going to do it.” Carrie lifted a shoulder. “She was gone the next day. No one’s seen or heard from her since.”
“But she doesn’t have all this.” Nevada slid her hands along her voluptuous figure. “I’ll succeed where Jasmine failed.”
“You’re going to get your ass expelled, bitch.” Carrie laughed on her way out.
Expelled.
I didn’t have the curves, confidence, or sex appeal to seduce a man like Father Magnus. But I didn’t want to succeed. I wanted to get thrown out.
As I wandered back to my room, I turned the idea over in my head.
Not gonna lie. He still scared the bejesus out of me. But if his corrections were as bearable as the girls claimed, I could power through them to earn the one punishment that would send me home.
CHAPTER 8
MAGNUS
The buzz of eighty chattering girls filled the front lawn of Sion Academy. I stood at the entrance of the main building, invigorated by the energy in the air.
White shirts and plaid skirts gathered in four groups, representing each of the four grade levels. Each group of twenty students was assigned to a teacher, an escort, who would lead them off campus for the short walk to the church.
I glanced at my watch, and right on time, the groups began to file through the gate. Plaid uniforms bounced and twirled, wriggled and skipped, constantly moving. Teenage girls and their endless energy.
The trail of green plaid streamed through the gate and down the street until one group remained.
I checked my watch. 7:50.
The last group didn’t move.
“Father Isaac?” I met his eyes over the crowd of students. “What’s the holdup?”
The elderly priest adjusted his glasses and squinted at his phone. “I’m missing one.”
“Who?” I made my way toward him, scanning a few of the faces in his group.
Seniors.
I knew who the no-show would be before he said, “Tinsley Constantine.” He looked up at me. “I’ll go get her.”
Father Isaac was a brilliant music teacher, exceptionally attentive and good-natured. The students adored him.
Tinsley would eat him for breakfast.
“Wait here. I’ll deal with it.” I turned to the girl at my side. “Carrie. With me.”
I walked fast, cutting the ten-minute trek in half. Carrie tried to keep up, her shorter legs forced into a jog.
“Have you seen Miss Constantine this morning?” I hit the stairwell and took the steps two at a time.
“Yes,” she panted behind me. “She was with us when we left our rooms. She must’ve turned back.”
I glanced over my shoulder, marking her winded breaths and the sweat beading along her brow. “Add thirty minutes of cardio to your daily routine.”
“I have a full schedule this year.”
“Get up earlier.”
She blushed. “Yes, Father.”
The girl was an extraordinary vocalist in the church choir. Highly intelligent. Strong work ethic. Her mother was the first African American senator in New Hampshire, her father the state attorney general. A powerful political family, and my investigator had yet to uncover any corruption among them.
Carrie was mostly well behaved, but she needed to choose better friends. She spent too much time with Nevada Hildebrand, heiress to the multinational Hildebrand pharmaceutical corporation. Nevada was wild and desperate for attention. I gave her a month before she was suspended.
When I reached Tinsley’s dorm, I pounded on the closed door and stepped away with my back to the room. I wouldn’t put it past her to come out undressed.
She didn’t come out at all.
“Open it.” I nodded at Carrie, keeping my back to the door.
She obeyed and slipped into the room. Her footsteps halted. Then she whispered, “Girl, you’re in so much trouble.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Is she decent?”
“Define decent.”
“Is she wearing her uniform?”
“Yes?”
Why did she answer that like a question?
I turned and found Tinsley sitting on the bed and shoving cookies into her mouth. She hugged a box of them to her chest and reached in to grab another handful.
“If you take one more bite, your punishment will double.” I glared at her.
She glared back and crammed the cookies into her mouth. Crumbs tumbled down her untucked shirt and gathered on her skirt. A skirt that wasn’t long enough to
cover her thighs.
“Stand up and join me in the hall.” I clasped my hands at my back with my feet braced apart.
She took in my stance and slowly rose.
Jesus. Most of the skirt had been sheared off. It was so short that only a strip of plaid peeked out from beneath her shirttails.
Rather than hiding the destruction, she held the box of cookies out to the side and struck a pose. “Rate the fit.”
“The fit?”
“Old people,” she huffed under her breath. “The outfit. Rate the outfit.”
Carrie choked on a laugh and quickly blanked her face.
“I gave you an order, and every second you disobey is another strike.”
“You’re no fun.” Tinsley tucked the cookies to her chest, munching on another handful as she marched into the hall.
“Carrie, grab the scissors off the desk and join us.” I held out my hand to Tinsley. “Give me the food.”
She pushed her lips out and stepped back, hugging the box tighter. “I haven’t eaten since lunch. Yesterday.”
“Catholics fast at least one full hour before receiving the Holy Eucharist.”
“I don’t know what that means but…phew. Good thing I’m not Catholic.” She ate another cookie and stared at my waiting hand.
I didn’t move, didn’t look away as I mentally added up her infractions.
Her breathing hastened, and she slowly moved the cookies toward me. I gripped the box, and she held on for a moment, tugging, testing me, before letting go.
Carrie appeared at my side. I took the scissors and gave her the cookies.
“Hold out your hand,” I said to Tinsley.
Her eyes popped wide. “No way.”
“The strikes are multiplying.” I kept my voice calm and my face expressionless. “Each one comes with a consequence. It’s going to be a very long day for you.”
“I won’t let you cut off my fingers. What kind of school is this?”
I lifted my gaze to her long, shimmery, pearl-colored hair.
“Not my hair!” She wheezed frantically and thrust out her arm. “If you draw blood, I’m suing.”
“The other hand.”
She growled and switched arms.
With a snap of the blades, I cut through the delicate diamond bracelet on her wrist and caught it as it fell.