“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
I had chills up and down my arms. I hated Baron Spencer. According to Coach Rowland, he wasn’t even a very good football player, and I doubted he cared about the team that much. No. This whole nightmare of a night was orchestrated because he was a sadistic, violent fuck.
My mother yanked my white blouse and gritted, “I know some of these kids. They go to All Saints High. They are your students, Melody. You can’t let this happen.”
“The screaming one in the skinny jeans is Baron Spencer,” I whispered back. “His daddy owns this town.”
“Doesn’t matter.” My father shook his head, resting his hand on my shoulder. It felt so much heavier than it actually was, and I knew why. “This is about your integrity, Mel.”
Oh, fuck. That old thing.
I knew I had to step in. I also knew I was about to be royally humiliated in front of my parents. Vicious feared me just a little less than he feared a Chihuahua in a pink tutu. Meaning, he wouldn’t give a damn about me butting into this mess.
I crossed the road on shaky legs. Vicious’s ruthless voice was still booming in my ears, getting louder with each step I took. My spine crackled, but I moved forward.
“Rat out the asshole who’s responsible, or each and every one of you fuckers goes back home with a permanent mark.” He pointed his cigarette at his potential victims. A few ballers behind them hauled them up to their feet by their hair, and the captives cried in agony.
Vicious stopped in front of a heavy guy, who had tried to make it onto the football team last year, and inched the burning ember of his cigarette toward the guy’s forehead.
They are your students, Melody. You can’t let this happen.
My dad was right.
“Baron!” I hurried, lightly jogging from the crosswalk into Liberty Park. He was not going to hurt the kid. Not on my shift.
Vicious didn’t even have the courtesy to turn around and check to see who called him. “Take all suspects to the gazebo behind the parking lot for interrogation.” His voice was clipped and low.
That gazebo was isolated, a deserted, scary place where no one set foot at night. Bastard had a touch. No surprises there.
“Baron Spencer!” I raised my voice, only a few feet away from him now. Some of the students cleared out of the way for me, but the majority just snickered as I raced toward the teenager from hell. They were more scared of him than they were of me. I couldn’t blame them. “Stop this immediately! Let these boys go!”
When I reached him, he finally turned around, his face painted with boredom and pity.
When I didn’t back down, his expression darkened. Vicious might not be as beautiful as Jaime, Trent, and Dean, but he somehow had the most memorable face. He looked like a guy whose shit list you didn’t want to be on. I swallowed hard, hating myself for feeling intimidated by him.
“I’m sorry, remind me who the fuck you are?”
Of course he knew who I was. I taught him Lit every day, which is what made everyone around us laugh, pointing their beer bottles and Solo cups at me. Even his fucking captives chuckled.
I’m doing this for you, assholes.
Heat spread up my neck, and my hand tightened around my anchor necklace, as it did every time anger washed over me. I did everything in my power not to look at Jaime, because I was afraid to see what was written on his face. Was he laughing at me like all the rest?
“Do it now, or I’m calling the police,” my voice barely shook.
Vicious took a step forward, his face so close to mine I saw the crazy dancing in his irises. His eyes, black like an abyss, threatened to pull me to the dark side. I dug my heels deeper into the grass and balled my hands into fists. My body hummed with adrenaline. This was happening. I was standing up to him.
“I fucking dare you, sweetheart. Go ahead, test me. Actually, I’d love for you to do that. It’ll get you kicked out of your job, and I won’t have to see your sour-ass face every day.”
That was it. I was so pissed that I wasn’t above punching his smug face. I stepped back, fishing out my cell phone from my bag. So what if they fired me? They weren’t going to renew my contract anyway.
A warm, familiar hand stopped me before my fingers dialed 911. “Apologize,” Jaime’s voice commanded.
But the order wasn’t aimed at me.
Vicious tipped his head back and snorted, his straight teeth on full display. “Tanked again, Followhill? Jesus. It’s not even midnight yet.”
“You better do it,” Jaime sing-songed, ignoring the jab, stepping into his BFF’s face. Nose to nose now, their gazes dripped defiance. “Unless you want out of the HotHoles.”
I was baffled, to say the least. Two bullets in less than a month this guy had taken for me. Vicious and Jaime were locked in a stare-down. Vicious glowered under his devilish brows, begging Jaime to let it go—every muscle in his face quivering in anger—but Jaime wouldn’t back down. Finally, after a whole minute at least, it came. Sweet and orgasm-worthy.
“My bad, Greene.” Vicious’s words were sharp and insincere as his shoulder brushed past Jaime’s. He looked like it physically pained him to say them.
As much as his indifferent act sprinkled fear-dust on everyone’s heads at school, he was still mortal. Capable of feeling the loss of his best friend. And Vicious knew the truth. People didn’t like him, not really. They loved Jaime, Dean and Trent. The handsome, funny, wholesome jocks he hung out with.
He needed them.
But something told me that they needed him, too.
“Apology accepted. Now, break this thing up immediately.” I smoothed my blouse, arching one eyebrow and slanting my head to his captives.
“No,” Jaime said firmly, turning around to face me.
I allowed myself to drown in his face, even if for only a second. We were back to acting like a teacher and a student, playing our roles, but I knew those lips which he now rolled inward, probably to suppress words he should never say to his educator. Knew how they tasted and what they were capable of doing under my thin, worn blanket.
“Sorry, Ms. Greene, but you’ll have to sit this one out. This is a team matter. I give you my word, it won’t rub off on you. Someone screwed Trent over.” He shook his head, his lips pinching in annoyance. “We need answers.”
“Mr. Followhill—”