by Callie Hart
Unfortunately? Hah. That fucker got what he deserved.
“He probably won’t be coming back to school for a while yet,” Dr. Harrison continues. “My colleagues and I are taking his work to him and helping him out at home whenever we can, though.”
Lowell smirks. His gaze passes over the kid sitting on the other side of Silver, but then he lingers on her, pausing a second too long for comfort. It’s as though he’s taunting her. Teasing her with the name of one of her attackers. If this had happened a month ago, I would have launched myself at this bastard and torn his fucking face off. My temper’s cooler now. I know better than to be so reactive, when my ass has only just been released from fucking Stafford Creek. This guy will pay, that goes without saying. I’m just going to be a little smarter about it than declaring all-out warfare in front of thirty other witnesses.
“Nice to know Raleigh’s faculty are so accommodating,” Lowell says slyly. “I heard about Cillian’s injuries. Such a shame that an athlete in his prime was paralyzed like that. I played high school football. I know how hard it’d be to lose a career under such tragic circumstances.”
Oh yeah. I can totally see it. This prick on a football team, calling the shots, lording his power over his teammates and terrorizing the other students. I bet this shithead was as bad as Weaving. Maybe he didn’t try to rape or kill anyone. Maybe he fucking did. Either way, he’s the type of guy to bully and manipulate, and that’s precisely what he’s doing here, in this classroom. This is all a show, supposed to get under Silver skin. From the way she’s nervously tapping the end of her pen against her notebook, I’d day his little performance is working, too.
“Does the DEA sympathize with rapists now, Detective?” I call out.
“Mr. Moretti! We haven’t suspended common decency in class just yet. If you have a question, raise your hand.” Dr. Harrison’s face is purple. Hilarious that he’s taken exception to the fact that I spoke without being given permission first, and not because of what I said.
“You people know Cillian hurt Silver. You all fucking do,” I growl. “You’re all just too chicken shit to hold your hand up and admit you threw your weight behind the wrong fucking team.”
No one says a word. Members of the chess club and the theater club alike all look down at their hands. Track stars, trendsetters, and teacher’s pets: their heads all hang in shame, looking anywhere and everywhere but at Silver. They know what they did. Every last one of them knows the pain and humiliation they put her through, and not a one of them has the nerve to face her and apologize for it. Motherfuckers.
“Alex, if you don’t curb your language, you’re going to find yourself on your way to see Principal Darhower. Now, Agent Lowell, is there someone else on your list that you’d like to speak to?”
Agent Lowell’s forgotten about Silver; he’s turned his gaze onto me, a curious smirk lifting up one side of his mouth. “Ahh yeah. Moretti. The trigger-happy kid. I heard they’d let you out.”
“Why would they keep me locked up? I saved someone from being murdered.”
His smile spreads. “We don’t know that, though, do we? We can only go off your testimony, along with what the girl said.” He nods in Silver’s direction. “You love this kid, sweetheart? You’d lie for him? Say something that wasn’t true to get him out of trouble.”
To my left, Silver looks like she wants to jump out of her chair and carve this guy’s face up. My fiery, fierce Argento. Her cheeks burn bright red. I watch the color spread down her neck, feeling my own ire rising. Dr. Harrison, at last, remembers who he is—the adult in charge of this situation—and speaks up. “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation to be had in front of the rest of the class after all, Agent Lowell. Sorry, but I’m going to have to insist that you talk to any students you wish to question individually. We’ll have to call their parents in first as well. I didn’t realize what kind of topics you were going to be covering, and without a legal guardian present—”
“It’s okay, Doc,” Agent Lowell says, cutting him off. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t think I need to ask those questions after all.”
Shhh, mi amore. Breathe. Nice and deep. If you do something stupid, they’ll shut you away again. How will you protect her if you’re behind bars?
Been a while since I’ve heard my mother’s voice in my head. I heed her, even though it requires monumental effort. My jaw cracks. I’ve been clenching my teeth so hard that my pulse is strobing in my gums. It’d be so satisfying to lay my fist into that fucker’s face. I can already feel it now—the pop of the connection. The blister and sizzle of pain in my knuckles. The rewarding thump of his body hitting the deck. I savor the thought of it, turning it over in my head again and again.
I’d sit here for hours, happily caught up in the process of mentally beating the shit out this guy, but Silver snatches me out of the violent loop; her hand grasps mine underneath my desk, and the image of Lowell’s teeth exploding out of his head blinks out in a flash.
“Don’t,” she pleads under her breath. “He’s not worth it. They’re just clutching at straws. Jake’s guilty. The cops know that. There’s no way they’re gonna let some asshole like Lowell stab holes in their case.”
Lowell’s still smirking like he knows better. He gives Dr. Harrison an arrogant bow of his head before slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans and slowly sauntering out of the classroom. Forcing my body into submission, I ease the tension out of my shoulders and sit a little straighter in my chair, shaking free of my anger. Gripping onto it so tightly isn’t going to make me feel any better. No, I need to save it for later, for a more opportune moment. Lowell needs to let his guard down at some point. There’ll come a time when he gets distracted and he forgets to watch his six…and by then I’ll have figured out where he lives. I’ll have picked the lock on his front door. I’ll be waiting for him in the dark.
Smiling, I squeeze Silver’s hand, which is still gripping mine tightly under the desk. “No worries, Argento. My shit’s on lockdown. Nothing to worry about here.”
For now, at least.
The rest of the day, I’m wound so tight I’m on the verge of snapping. Silver’s none the wiser, since I make sure to maintain an ease around her that requires an obscene amount of energy, but on the inside I seethe away like that storm on the surface of Jupiter that’s been raging for hundreds of years. I fidget in my seat in the last class of the day, anxious to get the fuck out of school.
“Students of Raleigh High, we’re pleased to announce that your votes have been counted and a theme for this year’s senior prom has been chosen,” Karen, Darhower’s assistant drones over the P.A. system. “By popular demand, James Bond: Spies and Villains will be our party motif. Principal Darhower would like me to mention that all dresses worn by our female student body should be modest, with no slits above the knee, and shoulders should be covered at all times.” Karen huffs wearily. “It’s ludicrous that I should even have to read this part out loud, given the year we’ve already had, but please note, no weapons, real or fake, will be permitted on school property during senior prom. Anyone found in possession of a weapon of any kind, even as part of a costume, will be immediately expelled from this establishment of higher education without discussion. That is all.”
The bell rings once Karen’s done speaking. My fellow students are all too excited about the prom theme announcement to realize that they’re free. I, on the other hand, am already out the fucking door.
I drop Silver off to teach her first guitar lesson of the evening, and my blood is still churning with irritation over Lowell. I spend three hours on the internet, trying to bully my way into the DEA’s personnel files, but hacking is not my forte and so I don’t get very far. A simple google search reveals that Agent James Lowell is from Index, an hour east of Seattle. He went to Holcombe High, then on to USC, at which point it becomes difficult to find any information on him at all. The DEA probably don’t appreciate their agents splashing their personal
lives all over the internet, which explains why he doesn’t have a Facebook or an Instagram account.
I make myself some food, all the while boiling away, replaying the bastard’s targeted words as I down a beer and try to distract myself in front of the television. It’s no use, though. I can’t soothe the maelstrom of emotions that are tearing around the inside of my head. I need to get into the DEA personnel database, and to do that I need to engage the services of someone far more proficient at hacking than I am.
I used to know plenty of people at Bellingham who could breach government level cyber security, but here in Raleigh my options are pretty thin on the ground. Thin on the ground meaning one person, and that person being Zander fucking Hawkins. No chance I’m asking that douchebag for a favor. I’d rather drive all the way over to Bellingham and drag one of my other contacts out of their beds than owe him shit.
I pace the apartment until nine, at which point I realize that I’m gonna go out of my fucking mind unless I do something, so I throw my ass into the Camaro and drive over to Silver’s place. I’m a man about it this time. I park in the driveway, right behind Cam’s van, and I march right up the porch steps. The door’s open, just as Cam said it would be, so I let myself in. I haven’t even texted Silver to let her know I’m coming over. If I had, she probably would have given her dad a head’s up. Halfway through the door to his office, Cameron looks back at me over his shoulder, one eyebrow curved into a question: what the hell are you doing here? His surprise only lasts a second.
“Shoes off,” he commands. “Cleaner’s just been. No dirty footprints on the hardwood ’til Tuesday at the earliest.”
“When d’you turn into such a mom?” I toe off my sneakers, though, kicking them under the mail stand beside Silver’s Chucks. “Is that grilled cheese I can smell?”
“It’s mine. Make your own.”
“Fair enough.”
“Harry asked me if you and Silver would play a couple of songs at the diner next week. Don’t look at me like that. She told me you could play.”
I hit the stairs, flashing Cameron a shit-eating grin over the handrail. “I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll tell him you’re in.”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
Cam grumbles under his breath as he heads into his office. I resist the temptation to turn around and follow him in there just to torment him some more. He makes it too damn easy and giving him shit just took my mind off Lowell for a clear ten seconds. My mood’s already improved dramatically because of it.
I concocted another plan to relieve my tension on the way over here, though, and I’d much rather follow through on that one. Silver’s door is closed when I reach her room; I can hear music playing softly on the other side of it, along with the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of typing on a keyboard. The tapping stops the moment I knock lightly on the wood.
Silver stands in the open doorway a second later, drowning in a huge Raleigh High sweater, her hair tied up into a messy knot on the top of her head.
Lord have mercy on my soul…
The temperature outside’s bordering on Arctic, but it’s plenty warm in here. Her legs are exposed, the tops of her thighs barely covered by the tiny little grey shorts she’s wearing, and my dick stirs treacherously in my pants. I hadn’t planned on getting hard until I’d convinced her to take a drive with me but looks like my cock has other plans. She’s so fucking delectable. I want to strip her down, lift her up, pin her to the wall and drive myself up inside her right here, right now.
“Alessandro.” She tries not to smile.
“You expecting someone else?” My voice is a rough growl. My expression—brows drawn together, head lowered, eyes blazing—probably seems a little sinister, but fuck it. I’m feeling a little sinister. I have a number of intentions and none of them are good. I step into Silver, my hands claiming her hips, guiding her back into her room, and her eyes go wide.
“Oh. It’s like that, is it?” she whispers, lifting her arms to wind them around my neck. I kick the door closed behind me. “You could have messaged. I would have shaved my legs.” She stands up on her tiptoes, trying to plant that delicate, pale pink little mouth of hers on mine, searching for a kiss, but I lean back out of reach.
“I didn’t want you to shave your legs. I didn’t wanna give you the opportunity to clean yourself. I wanted to taste you just the way you are, Parisi. Your sweat. Your pheromones. Your come. I wanted to bury my face between your fucking legs and savor every last bit of you without you smelling like soap.”
Two tiny little dots of pink blossom like shy flowers high on her cheekbones. “What’s wrong with smelling like soap?” she asks in a high-pitched voice.
“What’s wrong with smelling like yourself?” I walk her backwards, my fingers digging into her skin through the thin fabric of her skimpy little shorts, until the backs of her legs hit the edge of her bed. “I want your sweet, sweet cunt, dolcezza. If I wanted a mouthful of perfume, I’d have stayed home and rinsed my mouth out with body lotion.”
I trail my fingers over the hollow of her neck, my gaze tripping over the red mark that still lingers there from Jacob’s noose. The doctors say it’ll fade to nothing eventually, that it’ll disappear altogether in time, but for now it’s still there—a reminder of the fact that I almost lost her. I pretend like the sight of it doesn’t make me angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. I pretend like I don’t see it at all. Silver’s oblivious to what I’m thinking, her heart already flying, her pulse visibly jumping in the graceful sweep of her neck. “Jesus, Alex…” she whispers.
“Get changed, or I’m not gonna be welcome in this house,” I command.
She feigns ignorance. “What do you mean? What are you talking abo—”
I’m not letting her pull that shit. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you panting and pleading in my ear, ‘Please, Alex, please.’ About you screaming my fucking name. About you digging your fingernails into my ass cheeks as I fuck the living shit out of you, and you begging me to go deeper. About my teeth on your collar bone, and my tongue in your mouth, and all of me fucking taking you, and your father trying to knock my fucking teeth out for it. For God’s sake, Silver, put some fucking pants on at least. I’m going out of my mind…”
She silences me as quickly and effectively as a bullet to the back of the head. Her hand…ahh fuck!…she reaches down between our bodies and places her hand right on top of my erection, which is straining against the zipper of my jeans, squeezing fucking hard.
“Shh. Shh, calm,” she murmurs. “I’ll be a good girl. I’ll give you what you need.” Her cheeks are still bright pink, but she seems to have overcome the initial shock of me coming on so strong. Again, she stands on her tiptoes, demanding my mouth, and this time I give it to her. I’ll give her anything she wants if she continues to squeeze and rub my cock the way she’s doing right now. I drive my tongue into her mouth, past her soft, pliant lips, kissing her more roughly than I ever have before, and she lets out a low, needy whisper that sets my blood on fire. Quickly, I grab hold of a fistful of her hair, yanking it back so that the sensitive, pale skin of her neck is exposed. I bite down on that delicate skin hard enough to draw blood. Almost.
“Alex! Fuck!” She tears at my belt, frantically trying to get it open…
“Get dressed right fucking now,” I snarl.
She looks up at me, eyes the color of a winter stream, sparking with defiance. “Don’t...tell me what to do.” Before I can say another word, she’s unfastened my jeans, pushed them down over my hips, freed my raging hard-on, and she’s down on her fucking knees.
“No.” I step back, trying to cover myself, forcing myself away from her.
God.
Fucking…
The sight of her like that…
On her knees.
For me.
Shame spills through me, hot, dark and slick. It’s one of my favorite pastimes, imagining fucking her pretty little mouth
, driving myself down her throat to the very hilt of my shaft, until she’s fucking choking on me…unable to breathe around me…until I can’t take it anymore and I unload in her mouth…
I want it. I want it too fucking much. I can’t have her take me into her mouth and not be rough with her, though. I’m barely in control of myself as it is. I’ll have no hope of reining myself in if she closes her lips around my hard-on, and that makes me feel like a goddamn monster.
After the way Weaving, Sam and Cillian treated her, Silver deserves to be treated like a fucking queen. She doesn’t need my filthy fantasies sullying her. Trouble is, Silver has a mind of her own and she doesn’t seem like she’s going to give up on the idea of blowing me too easily.
I must be the only guy in high school to try and stop a girl from shoving his dick in her mouth. Silver shoots a baleful look up at me, grabbing me by the leg of my jeans, which is kind of hilarious. “Why?” she demands. “I’ve given you blow jobs before.”
“It may sound hard to believe, but I’m actually trying to be the good guy here. You don’t need to do anything for me. I just wan—”
“Hell no!” she scoffs. “You don’t get to bust in here turn me on in the space of five seconds flat, and then limit what I can and can’t do because you think you’re somehow doing me a favor. Has it ever occurred to you that the thought of going down on you makes me wet, Alessandro Moretti? That I think about it sometimes, feeling you getting harder and harder in my mouth, shaking because you need to come so bad, and it makes me want to storm into your apartment and demand that you fuck me immediately?”
Fuuuck. She fantasizes about blowing me? I fantasize about eating her pussy, so that doesn’t come as such a huge shock. Before Ben died, we were dancing around Silver’s desire to test the boundaries of our sex life. She wasn’t shy about going after what she wanted, then, and now is no different. Hearing her say this out loud is too fucking much, though. I swear to god, if I don’t have her naked really fucking soon, I won’t be held accountable for my actions. She’s still on her knees, still holding onto my jeans like she’s determined to get her way no matter fucking what.