Page 3 of Soul of a Psycho

It’s not that my grandmother wasn’t kind. It’s just that no such grandmother has ever existed.

A door at the end of the hall suddenly opens, and a guy steps out. It’s too dark to make out much of him, but when he pulls it shut, he turns back and rests his weight on the handle, dropping his head against the door. It’s a tortured stance that has me drawing my brows together.

Dorothy hasn’t heard him and is instead still clicking at the computer, oblivious to the quiet stranger behind her.

His frame is harrowing, like Lucifer himself has found his wit’s end. I’m sure whatever he’s feeling isn’t something he wants anyone to witness, but I can’t look away. The way his head hangs, and the dim light from the front piercing through the hollow arch of his body… It’s something similar to art.

“Here we go, Sky Lyons,” Dorothy says, alerting the guy behind her, and his head snaps in my direction.

I gulp as his eyes find mine. They glint in the light, and I quickly feel like a witness to a crime that I shouldn’t have seen. He stalks towards me, coming into the light, and I find myself holding my breath.

He has striking black hair that hangs lusciously over his forehead, and he’s taller than he looked at the end of the hall. He levels his sights on me, looking from under his brows, and my mouth goes dry. He’s wearing the guy’s version of the Hillcrest uniform, a white button down and tie, yet the tie lays around his neck undone. Something about his lack of concern for it stabs me with envy. Guys get to do whatever they want, meanwhile, I’m stuck in a skirt that’s too short. He’s even wearing a hoodie, black and unzipped with the sleeves pulled up, revealing threetattoos dotting his right forearm. Three perplexing birds. One lively, one dead, and one a pile of ashes, just a wing tip protruding from the remains. But I’m more concerned with the piercing way he’s staring me down and the sharp angles of his jaw and cheeks. His eyes are so dark that I have to remind myself he’s not a demon as my lack of oxygen clouds my thinking.

I’m aware that Dorothy is looking at me expectantly, and I force a breath in as she turns to see what has me captivated. She clicks her tongue and her movements get jerky as she snatches a paper from the printer.

“You might want to hurry, Ms. Lyons,” she says, pushing the paper towards me, and while I know that she means for class, I can’t help but feel like she’s warning me away.Hurry. The demon is coming for you.But my feet are glued to the floor.

“Thank… Thank you,” I mumble as said demon rounds the desk.

“Mrs. Kegler,” he drawls and nods down at Dorothy, tipping an invisible hat.

“Mr. Haven.” She purses her mouth and avoids his gaze.

His full lips pull up into a sinister smirk at the corner of his mouth, as if he likes the way she bristles in his presence, and then his eyes flick back to mine. I notice he has a tiny nose piercing, a delicate silver hoop that makes his dark eyes pop. He walks backward away from us, reaching around to pull up his hood. It quickly hides his eyes, but I feel them lingering on me as he backs out the door and vanishes.

“Stay away from that one,” Dorothy says once the door shuts. “He’s bad news.”

Chapter Three

Cade

Ikeep my head down, hood up. That’s how I fly under the radar, how I don’t draw suspicion. It’s an etiquette I’ve perfected. No one gets in, and I can bide my time without losing my shit. I don’t give a fuck who’s in this class or what anyone is doing as long as I can pay attention to Mr. Rykes and maintain my GPA. Everything rides on me being Valedictorian, and I refuse to let three years of planning be derailed.

So, tell me why my gaze snaps up when I hear the door open.

Bronze blonde hair sticks to the new edition’s face, and she tries to swipe it away as she stumbles into the room. I had a feeling she would be placed in this class. It’s a senior requirement.

She freezes as Mr. Rykes frowns at her entrance. She bites her lip, draws her brows together, and apologizes with her eyes.

Damn.My chest constricts in a foreign way with how her big brown eyes plea.

Rykes huffs and rolls his eyes, and I have no idea how he doesn’t crumble underneath that gaze.

“Another latecomer,” he says, pursing his lips at her before flicking his sights on me—the first latecomer.

Yeah, that look right there is why I keep my head down. Arrogant prick. I ignore his reprimand and track the girl’smovements as she tries to make herself small, slipping between all the eyes on her and finding an empty seat.

Right. Next. To.Me.

The back row we are in has two other desks—not to mention the bay window seats—that she could have taken, but instead she’s setting up residence on my left, dropping her bag on the floor by my feet. I twist in my seat, cock my head to the side, and wait for her to notice who she has sat next to.

No one sits next to me. Everyone knows better. I’m pretty sure anyone else would choose to stand if their only option was a desk on my left. She’ll figure it out though, hear through the gossip mill about my time away, and come to the same assumptions everyone else has. Their assumptions are correct, but they have no way of knowing that. If they really knew, I think they would act a whole fuck of a lot nicer. Either way, I stare her down from beneath my hood, trying to get the point across sooner.

She’s oblivious to me though and inhales through her nose before exhaling through pursed lips. Dust motes swirl as she flips her hair behind her. The action shows off her smooth neck, but my attention is rapt with those full lips. I wonder what they would look like wrapped around my dick, her pleading eyes looking up at me from beneath her lashes.

My brows smash together at the image. What thefuckam I thinking?

She seems to relax and then leans down to her bag. Something about the unfairness of it, that she gets to relax when she’s done whatever she’s done to me, has me swiping my foot around the bag and pulling it underneath me.

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