Page 19 of Lock Up the Darkness

“Are you all right?” Liza asked, taking a break from hissing and glaring at the students coming at me, to look me over worriedly as we entered the auditorium.

“Fine, yeah, thanks.”

“Fine? It’s brutal.”

I shrugged. “I’m really okay.”

She scrutinized me in a way that caught my full attention. Did she not want me to be okay? Was that what she was really pushing for?

But then why would she still be at my side through all of this, when it was clearly not beneficial for her in the least?

Another shove had her swinging around and giving the girl who was responsible a piece of her mind.

I grasped her arm and dragged her away when it escalated too quickly, screaming of it turning violent. That was the last thing that I needed, because I knew I’d step in to spare her and reveal far too much about myself in the process.

“It’s fine. I appreciate you having my back, but let’s just focus on the class, all right?”

She blew out a breath and nodded, then followed me to the back corner of the small auditorium, and we settled into our seats, taking out our laptops, and readying ourselves.

Liza was majoring in Fashion Design, but minoring in Business, because her dream was to start her own line in the near future. It meant we shared some of the same classes.

Unfortunately, I shared pretty much all of my classes—aside from two electives—with the person who’d started this high school esque bullying bullshit, Killian Carmichael, because he was a Business major too.

And in every class he made damn sure I knew exactly where he was, that he was watching me with a glare full of disdain and malice throughout, trying to get under my skin.

Just like I had his.

Through the sea of bodies, the distractions of the followers continuing to send hate my way, Liza reacting to it despite my wish for her to let it go, I saw Professor Richards make his way in, and start setting up, moving the portable whiteboard, snatching up a marker and spinning it in his hand.

I focused back on my laptop, titling and dating my document, then getting ready to take notes.

Usually I got a thrill at the start of a brand-new class. But learning or discussing ethics of any kind wasn’t exactly what I wanted to be doing with what I was caught up in currently. There was nothing ethical or morally responsible about the means I was using and would use soon enough to achieve my ends. At least there would be justice and righteousness when I achieved those ends. The problem was, the rest, the dark and murky waters I’d be wading in to get there, might overshadow even that.

I jolted, my maudlin thoughts coming to a jarring holt when what had become a familiar wave of awareness rolled over me.

It came in the form of an irritating sensation pricking at my skin, making me restless.

I snuck a look in my peripheral vision to see Killian Carmichael surrounded by that usual swirling chaos of his most dedicated followers, striding into the auditorium.

The media darling.

The prince of the city.

The golden boy with the boy-next-door charm that afforded him everything he wanted.

The guy with the whole classic tall, dark, and handsome cliché that had everybody falling at his feet.

The star quarterback for the Hexwood Devils, our college’s football team.

Wealthy, protected, flawless.

Untouchable.

And the image he portrayed to the world and his adoring public and devoted fan club made people want to protect him, to fall at his feet and worship him like a freaking god.

He was perfect. To them all, he was absolutely flawless.

But as I’d determined, and as his reaction in that alcove had confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was just projecting an image. It was all just a mask.

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