Page 28 of Promise to Break

The indignation on her face makes me want to shake her.

"I don't abuse people," she argues, and my mouth opens in disbelief. The truth is that she's done me no harm since the banana incident. The decree of her favorite deviant king applies to her as well, apparently.

"Maybe not consciously or directly, but we all abuse other people. People all around us are living in horrendous situations. Think about that when you're looking for the subject of your work. I am not asking this so that you will develop a conscience," he continues. "Think about it in a practical and business way." This is not the first time I've heard teachers at this school tell students to use other people.

"Yes, Fernandez?" Maverick asks as I raise my hand. "Can it take place in an orphanage? It's the one I lived in." I ignore the surrounding chuckles. I'm not and never will be ashamed of my prior life.

"You'll have to get written permission, but overall, yes. I don't want to see you in jail if you do something you shouldn't, so do it legally. Now, let's learn more about lenses, shall we?" And so we do.

When the bell rings and everyone stands and gathers their things, Mr. Hope says, "Fernandez, stay after class, please. I need to talk to you." I nod and take my time to put the lenses in place. The cameras in here cost more than I could ever afford.

"Yes, Mr. Hope? You need me for something?"

"Stop with the formalities," he says, waving a hand in the air. "How many times have I asked you to call me Maverick?" In my mind, I call him that, but I'd never do it to his face. "Never mind," he says with another dismissive wave. "Look, you have a raw talent for photography. Unlike the rest of this generation, you never just take pictures. You see behind the people and the things in front of you. You create real compositions, and this is a rare talent."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"I don't tell you that just to compliment you. I'm telling you that because when you graduate this year, I want to offer you a job." Judging by his smile, I'm certain I look ridiculous standing here with my mouth hanging open.

"A job?" The awe in my voice is clear as day. He thinks I'm good enough to be a pro.

"Yes, we're looking for photographers who aren't afraid of dangerous situations. I imagine you won't be partaking in the clean work of the Fierro clan?"

"For the news?" I don't react to his insinuation because my sister is now part of this clan, but this could be a dream, a goal.

"Sometimes yes, and sometimes just to show the world what even the news refuses to show. Look, you have a few months to think about it. I'll be honest; it's a hard job and must be a calling. Even if you come to me a year or two after your studies, I'd probably take you in, but I hope to have you sooner rather than later."

I never imagined that I would get a job right after graduation from this damn school. I always thought I'd have to hook up with photographers and work as their assistant until I got accepted into something big. This is my opportunity to get to know the real world, to travel and to pursue the truth.

"I'll definitely think about it. Thank you, Mr. Hope."

As I step out of the classroom, I immediately bump into Killian, who takes me by the hand and pushes me against the wall. What is with him and walls?

"I missed your wild scent, Little Girl. My tiny wild child." He nuzzles my neck, making me shiver uncontrollably. Fuck, he smells good. Clean, musky, and minty. Mint seems to always surround him like a fresh halo.

"Why'd you stay behind with the teacher? Is he giving you grief about something?" Killian's dead blue eyes penetrate mine. If he could show any feelings, I would guess he's worried, but Killian Fierro isn't one to have normal feelings or reactions. I suspect he, like all his friends, is simply anti-social. The only things he cares about are whatever is for his benefit. I don't matter. So why the fuck does my inner girl melt a little just because he asks?

I let his hands stroke my skin up and down, up and fucking down. His fingers are rough and calloused. I imagine it takes a lot of physical effort to kill people.

His body plasters mine to the wall, trapping me beneath him as he searches my eyes, looking, learning, waiting. His lips hover over my forehead, but he doesn't touch me there. He just presses against me intending to do fuck knows what.

Killian isn't my first sexual experience—if you could call that kiss sexual, and I'd say, yeah, you definitely could. I haven't fucked, but I have done other stuff.

My first kiss was with Robby, a neighbor at our old apartment. He worked as a truck driver, and each day I went to buy food, he'd smile at me. I liked the way I felt when he looked at me. Kind of warm and fuzzy. So I kissed him. It was sweet and warm and hazy, too. I was fifteen at the time, and Robby was twenty-one. After a few of those kisses, I needed more, so I touched him. Again, it was sweet and gentle. Nothing like the single kiss I shared with my bully.

Trying to avoid his eyes forces me to look at his lips. The lips that stole my breath, my reason, and my sanity. He took everything, but I took as well. Each touch of his hands and lips is engraved on my skin and in my soul. And I want more. I need more.

Killian took the simple act of kissing and turned it from a tender act to an act of war. He stole my peace, and I want it back.

His hand continues its tender menstruation. It doesn't suit him, but for the life of me, I can't work up the desire to stop him. All I want to do is drown in his scent and touch. My entire being seems to forget what he did to me over the previous eight hundred and forty-two days. My body doesn't care about all the humiliation. The only thing my skin, my blood, my cells want is more of this. More of him.

His lips brush against my hairline in a fatherly gesture. Fucking asshole. He knows what he's doing.

"Teachers," Killian whispers. "Maverick Hope, is he bothering you?" His voice is low, so low a person could get lost in its depths. I know I am. The amusement is there as well. Of course, it is. The fucker is playing with me.

"I don't have problems with teachers." I barely recognize my own voice. Everything is blurry when I'm near him. I want to tell myself it wasn't always like this, that he gained this unspoken power the moment he took my lips with his, but that would be a lie. I gravitated toward him from the moment we met. Two years of looking, hating, and yes, wanting. I can admit I want him. Sensibility has never been my strong suit. I've always wanted what was bad for me.

Still, I try to move away. I shouldn't let him touch me like this. As if he cares, as if I'm his. I'm not. For me to belong to anyone, I would have to give what I don't have.

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