Page 42 of Tell Me Lies

“I wasn’t gawking at you,” Cassie sputtered. He turned, because he could be a gentleman if he wanted.

“You sure bulked up,” Cassie whispered under her breath. Then after a few seconds, she said, “You can look now.”

Rage saw Cassie on the bed. She had wrapped herself in the comforter, shivering. On another day, she probably wouldn’t touch the sheets or any part of that bed. Now, it didn’t matter.

“Scoot over. I also need to get warm,” he said.

Cassie threw him a glare but nonetheless complied. Maybe she didn’t want him to catch a cold either. As the rain continued to drum on the roof, they sat together on the small bed. It hardly had any room for him, so their shoulders were touching.

“Uncomfortable?” he asked when she shifted for the second time.

Cassie was trying to find a position that would put some distance between them but to no avail. Maybe if she wasn’t so afraid of him, she would’ve kicked him out of the bed.

Too bad she had to make do. Falling sick was a no-no for him. Rage needed to get back to the MC clubhouse in one piece. Breaker and the club needed him in top shape. Hell, as the club vice-president, he could’ve ordered one of the club’s senior members to pick Cassie up. Everyone had been surprised, even Breaker, when he offered to do the job himself.

Cassie was only an errand. A means to an end. She didn’t matter, or at least that was what Rage constantly told himself, but the more time they spent together, he began to wonder if she could be something more.

Chapter Three

The Past

The hallways of Hanging Cove High buzzed with students rushing to their classes. Locker doors slammed and laugher echoed through the air.

Cassie took her books from her locker, surrounded by her clique of friends. As Breaker’s daughter, she was practically treated like royalty by most of the locals in town.

Emma and Madison dished out the latest gossip while Cassie eyed the students in the hall. As she caught sight of Randall Coleman, Cassie smoothened out her skirt and straightened her hair. As usual, in moments like these, her heart furiously thumped painfully.

Then she sauntered to his locker, well aware her friends followed behind like hungry hyenas.

She gave Randall a smirk. “Look who we have here, guys. Little Randall, the charity case.”

Her friends snickered and started piling on. Her heart sank a little as Randall’s eyes flickered with undisguised hurt and anger. Had Cassie crossed the line this time? She kept waiting for Randall to crack, to cry “uncle,” but he never did. He always reacted the same way.

Randall stared at her defiant eyes and his fists clenched to his sides. If Randall was built like Josh, her boyfriend and the school’s beloved quarterback, Cassie would have been more afraid of him. Of course, Randall was still the same skinny boy with the hand-me-down clothes she and her friends endlessly liked to tease.

Emma once asked her why Cassie always zeroed in on him. Cassie recognized the cruel glint in her best friend’s eyes and knew she had to lie or Emma would find out the truth. That some part of Cassie did find Randall cute.

“What do you want, Cassie? Can’t you find someone else to pick on?” Randall demanded.

“Don’t get all defensive, Randall. I’m just here to remind you of your place, in case you forgot.” Cassie and her friends circled him.

Emma and Madison continued slinging taunts at him. They tormented Randall on such a regular basis that all their insults seemed to do was bounce off whatever phantom armour Randall had developed.

“Your father might be the President of the Death Seekers MC, and thanks to him, you have money and popularity, but that doesn’t make you better than anyone else. One day, you’ll wake up and wonder why your life is so hollow,” Randall said in a quiet voice.

Madison and Emma laughed at him. Cassie parroted her friends, because she didn’t want Randall to know how much his words bugged her.

“This is boring. Let’s go, we’ll be late for class,” Emma suggested.

As Cassie walked with her friends, she gave Randall one last look over her shoulder.

Randall remained where he was, staring fixedly at his locker. His shoulders were slumped and he wore such a depressing and utter look of defeat on his face, Cassie halted. She could walk up to him and apologize for all the times she and her friends were nasty to him.

Where would that leave Cassie? If anyone overheard her apologizing to Randall Coleman, it would be social suicide. The perfect image Cassie struggled to build all her life would crumble to dust.

“Cassie, you coming?” Madison asked.

“Yeah,” Cassie answered distractedly.

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