Page 31 of Ruthless Reign

He’s the enemy.

I shoved him back, hard. As hard as I could.

He stumbled back, having the audacity to look wounded.

“I don’t need you to save me,” I seethed at him. “And I’m not leaving. If you don’t want my blood on your hands then do something about it. And don’t fucking pretend you were ever my friend. You were only using me to get to them.”

I threw an arm toward the door.

“If you do anything to hurt them, I’ll kill you.” The words left my lips without forethought, but I felt the truth of them deep in the pit of my soul. I might not do a very good job of it, but he could bet his ass I’d try.

I stormed past him, but he stopped me, jerking my wrist, yanking me back to face him. I used the momentum to bring my other fist up and punched him in the jaw. He released me, bringing his fingertips up to rub the sore spot.

I would absolutely not let on how much my fucking knuckles were hurting right now.

“82 Frederick Drive,” he said when I moved to turn away again.

“What?”

“82. Frederick Drive,” he repeated, slower. “I’m renting an apartment at that address. If something happens…If you need a place to go?—”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

I flicked the lock and pushed out of the suffocation of the supply room, breathing unrestricted air as I all but slammed the door behind me.

All eyes turned to me, and I felt heat rise into my face.

The rest of the students were gathered in a semi-circle around my self-portrait, Ms. Benchwright among them, the eraser end of her pencil tapping against her chin. Someone said something I didn’t hear and a cold sweat broke out over my back.

No one said another word. They just stared.

Stared at my self-portrait with mixed expressions of concern, horror, disgust, and derision.

Stared at me with the same.

Lips began to whisper and sneer.

Ms. Benchwright sharply hushed a student next to her before she turned her attention back to me. She opened her mouth to say something, but I didn’t let her finish the thought.

There was poison in my blood and my heart beating through a heavy, viscous substance was the only thing I heard as I crossed the classroom and bodies scattered from my path.

I stopped only for a moment. One fever-mad instant where I felt my lips pull back over my teeth and I attacked the canvas with both hands. I dragged clawed hands down the still-damp surface in a great arc, feeling paint gather under my fingernails as I destroyed it.

I tasted the coffee in my own mug before pouring Becca a cup. Apparently I’d been making coffee wrong for the last six or seven years of my life. I had to admit, it tasted a hell of a lot better now. The first sip didn’t make all the hairs on my arms stand up or assault my tongue like a fucking acid punch.

Sighing, I made hers the way she liked it, knowing it was probably only a matter of time before she won the fight and made us buy one of those fancy machines with all the knobs and steam nozzle shit on it. But then she’d have to stay for good because there was no way I was going to figure that shit out.

Hardin’s bedroom door wasn’t open yet, which either meant he was still asleep or wasn’t here. I assumed the former since he wouldn’t fucking dare leave without telling me. Not right now.

Carrying Becca’s coffee to my bedroom door, I slowed when I heard her voice on the other side.

I was about to call out to Hardin to get the door, thinking she was talking to him, but what she said next made me shut up.

“No, stay there Aves. Damien is handling it.”

A pause.

“I promise I’ll tell you if shit gets super bad, ’kay?”

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