I’d stood back and waited, and everyone waited with me. Except Jordan. Jordan immediately saw what I did. That Ella was made of something stronger than we’d seen before at Astor Park. Jordan hated it. I was drawn to it.
“I don’t want that kind of control,” Wade is saying. “I just wanna get laid, play a little football, annoy my mom’s boyfriends, and get wasted. I can do all that stuff even if Jordan’s terrorizing every pretty girl that breathes the wrong way. But you? You’ve got a conscience, man. But with all this shit…with Daniel still walking around the halls like he didn’t try to rape Ella…well, silence is kind of considered approval.” He gets to his feet. “Everyone leans on you. It’s a burden, I get it, but if you don’t stand up, it’s gonna be a massacre.”
I get up too and head for the door. “Let the school burn,” I mutter. “It’s not my job to put out the flames.”
“Bro.”
I pause in the doorframe. “What?”
“At least let me know which way things are gonna go. I don’t care. I just wanna know if I need to start wearing a hazmat suit.”
Shrugging, I glance at him over my shoulder. “Things can go to hell for all I care.”
I hear a sigh of defeat behind me, but I don’t stick around for another second. As long as Ella’s MIA, I refuse to concentrate on anything other than finding her. If everyone around me is miserable, then fine. We can all be miserable together.
I keep my head down as I trudge down the hall. I almost make it all the way to class without talking to a single person, until a familiar voice calls out to me.
“What’s the matter, Royal? You moping ’cause nobody wants to play with you?”
I stop walking. The barking laughter of Daniel Delacorte has me slowly swiveling to face him.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite hear you,” I say coldly. “Wanna repeat that? To my fist this time?”
He stumbles over his own feet, because the menace in my voice is unmistakable. The hallway is crowded with kids getting out of their after-class electives. Music students, debate team, the cheer squad, the science club.
I advance with purpose, adrenaline spiking in my veins. I got in one punch with this jerkwad before, but only one. My brothers dragged me away before I could do any more damage.
Today, no one is stopping me. The pack of animals that makes up the student body of Astor Park smells the blood in the air.
Delacorte shifts to the side, not fully facing me, but wary of having his back to me. I’m not the kind of guy to stab someone in the back, I want to tell him. That’s your deal.
But Delacorte thinks differently. He’s screwed-up in the head, preys on people he thinks are weaker than him.
Anger radiates off his lean frame. He doesn’t like to be confronted with his cowardice. Daddy gets him off, after all. That’s fine, but Daddy’s not here right now, is he?
“Is everything about violence for you, Royal? You think your fists can solve your problems?”
I smirk. “At least I don’t use drugs to solve my problems. Chicks don’t want you, so you drug ’em. That’s your MO, right?”
“Ella wanted it.”
“I don’t like her name coming out of your mouth.” I step forward. “You should forget her name.”
“Or what? Are we dueling to the death?” He spreads his arms out in invitation for the audience to laugh with him, but either they hate him or they’re afraid of me, because there’s not so much as a titter in response.
“No. I think you’re a waste of space. You’re taking up oxygen that could be better spent coming out of someone’s ass. I can’t kill you—stupid legal reasons and all—but I can hurt you. I can make every waking moment of your life miserable,” I say matter-of-factly. “You should leave school, dude. No one wants you here.”
His breath comes in shallow pants. “It’s you no one wants,” he jeers.
He looks to the crowd again for support, but their bright-eyed interest is in potential bloodshed. They move closer, pushing Daniel forward.
The coward inside of him snaps. He throws his phone at me, the plastic casing striking my forehead. The students gasp. Something warm and coppery trickles down, clouding my vision, coating my lips.
I could punch him. That’d be easy. But I want him to really hurt. I want us both to hurt. So I grab him by the shoulders and slam my forehead against his.
My blood paints his face, and I grin with satisfaction. “Your face looks prettier already. Let’s see what other magic I can make for you.” Then I slap him, hard.
He flushes with anger, more at the disdain in my touch than the actual pain. A slap is a girl’s weapon, not a blow exchanged between guys. My open palm makes a smacking sound when I slap him again. Daniel backs away, but he can’t get far from me—his retreat is halted by the lockers.
Grinning, I step in and slap him again. He blocks me with his hand, leaving his entire left side open. I deliver two strikes to the left side of his face before backing away.
“Hit me,” he screams. “Hit me. Use your fist!”